A black four door older model caddy in need of some body work and a new muffler turned into our street. The car drove quickly but furtively, the driver seeming to not quite know where she wanted to go, to the end of the faux cul-du-sac off of which each development’s street radiated. A sharp left turn brought the vehicle next to a large storm sewer inlet, and out of the car flew a suspicious black thing with wires. The car roared off, too quickly to get the plate but not too quickly to be able to describe it and its occupants.

An electronic, repetitive, alarm-like noise emanated from the sewer, presumably from the object left behind.

A phone call is made.

“911, state your emergency”

“Ah, some people just drove by and threw something in the sewer, and it’s making a noise. I think you should take a look.”

Locational details given, a promise of a patrol car given.

Twenty minutes later, a second call.

“911, state your emergency”

“Ah, this is the second call. I think maybe you guys missed the point the first time.”

“State your emergency.”

“I’m calling to report suspicious behavior. A suspicious car with suspicious people in it drove down the street, stopped, and deposited a suspicious package, what appears to be a bomb in the sewer, and drove off quickly. It might not be a bomb, but I’m sure not going near it.”

“Oh. Can you describe the suspects?”

Precise, Joe Friday like description of suspects and suspect’s vehicle provided in a crisp, efficient manner.

“We’ll have someone there right away.”

Fifteen minutes pass. The police station is a ten minute walk away. The “bomb” is still making noises.

But we are far enough away that it really does not matter to us. It may only matter to the day care facility ten feet from the location of the suspicious device. So we go back to grilling our hot dogs, annoyed, but figuring there was not much more to do.

Five more minutes pass. A patrol car with a young police officer pulls up.

He is directed to the sewer. He can hear the funny noises. He approaches slowly. He stands back from the sewer and glances in with his flash light. He comes away and says “I don’t think it’s a bomb, because, well, it looks like it’s not, but, well, oh, here’s my Sargent. Let’s see what he says.”

The Sargent pulls in with his special Sargent car. He is an older guy, with more experience and less hair. He has seen plenty in his career. He has heard sounds emanating from sewers before. He walks right over and looks in.

By this time a third patrol car has arrived with two officers. The Sargent directs them to remove the sewer grate, and one of them reaches inside and removes the device.

It is a half dozen disk-shaped objects attached to wires. Most of them are beeping. Anti-theft gadgets removed from shoplifted merchandise.

Note to the assholes in the black caddy: Don’t you be dumping your stupid-ass stolen shit in my sewer on my street. Follow up note to the assholes in the black caddy: We shall meet again, because I shop where you steal. One of these day’s I’ll see your distinctive car and your distinctive ass at Target or Best Buy or somewhere and I’ll have a little conversation with the security people in said store. That will not be a good day for you.

The last time someone dumped stolen shit on our street is was a big giant six wheeler owned by Kirby Puckett’s cousin. They drove it down our street in the middle of the night and stopped on a dime. Unfortunately, the dime was in our free-standing 8-unit mailbox.

What are we, the city dump?

Have you read the breakthrough novel of the year? When you are done with that, try:

In Search of Sungudogo by Greg Laden, now in Kindle or Paperback
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