The Theft
There he was, walking down the center aisle of the busy mall pushing his purple walker (hence the nickname Mr. P.W) and inhaling supplemental oxygen. It had taken me some time to relocate him, I had briefly gone into a store and he bypassed me. He gets along pretty good for a man in his shape! He was slightly hunched forward with his face tilted to the ground watching where he stepped, he took short steps but they got him to his destinations. He paid no attention to the throngs that passed him so closely they bumped up against him. Not good judgment. Everyone should be alert when in public these days, especially the frail and young. Any number of opportunities presented themselves to swipe his billfold, which was my goal.
When he got to the children’s area, he sat down on his portable seat. He seemed to enjoy watching the kids amuse themselves. I, myself, was amazed the kids never seemed to be injured with all the rough housing they did. Everything was heavily padded and geared for the communities smallest citizens. Adults were restricted from the play area being allowed spectators rights only. I could still see the prominent bulge in his sweat pants pocket (the back pocket! Keep your mind clean!) .
I stayed at a distance to keep him from spotting me, though there was little danger of that, I doubted he would be able to pick me out in a horde this size. He was paying no consideration to the other shoppers. Dumb. Most of the mall’s customers looked more like prison parolees, wearing spiked dog collars about their necks, pants that looked like double duty duffle bags, big enough to tote all their belongings, (or conceal weapons), and shirts displaying glorified demonic images. Kids playing hooky from school, dropouts, unemployed bums, wolves in lambskin vests. This place was crawling with evil looking for prospects and I hoped to be the first hit on this man. I’d be kind to him, a gentle hit and run.
Mr. Purple Walker was the ideal target, unmindful of danger. In addition, a WW2 vet at that, as advertised by his baseball cap. That placed him in his eighties. As much as he must have seen in his life, you think he would have learned vigilance. Doesn’t he read the papers, the elderly are easy marks, and crime against them is on the rise. I was just waiting for my chance to add him to the statistics, prowling after him like a lion in the African savannah. He was old and feeble, easy prey for a hungry lion. Heck, a lone, malnourished rabbit could topple him over!
At a bookstore’s cash register, I spied several large bills in Mr. P.W’s arthritic hand as he paid for his purchases, which had taken some time for him to select. Wow, he had lots of mullah on his body. He placed his wallet casually into his hip pocket, so casually I could see three inches of his chubby money receptacle just pleading to be heisted and I was willing to accommodate its desires. I looked about to be certain no one else detected my objective; however, good criminal minds know how to wear a poker face. There could have been dozens of other “lions” tailing Mr. P.W but I vowed to strike first. He needed to be taught a lesson about safety and I was volunteering to be his tutor.
My opportunity was fast approaching. I recognized the path he was heading down now, a long hallway leading to the rest rooms behind all the stores, practically deserted. It was the closest thing to a dark alley. I psyched myself up for his exploitation, stealthily following him, flabbergasted he never turned to look back. Not the least bit aware of his circumstances or upcoming ordeal. It was only the two of us now. Witnesses were far away in the main section of the mall. No one would hear him cry out. Closer, closer. The wallet was screaming at me. We were yards into the hallway and several feet from the men’s room when I leaned forward with my thumb and forefinger ready to grab Mr. P.W’s identity; a wallet full of personal information, address, credit cards, identification and of course his cashed retirement check’s residual.
I was so focused I didn’t notice the men’s bathroom door open. I got the wallet! Success! Wrong. I was looking into the face of a security guard who caught everything. Mr. P.W turned around, (not very quickly and not very shocked) to stare me down. He looked confused when he spotted his wallet in my hands.
The guard promptly approached me while beckoning for help on his walkie-talkie. A young punk, not even old enough to shave yet was getting ready to seize me and claim victory over crime! It wasn’t long before the exit was blocked with white shirted high school graduates wearing replicated Canadian Mountie hats and badges, looking very self-important. I was their answer to a slow afternoon.
“What are you doing?” Mr. P.W questioned.
“Teaching you a lesson about being careful with your wallet.” I responded displaying my trophy.
“Well, call me when you need a ride home from jail,” Mr. P.W offered serviceably as he headed into the bathroom snickering, pushing his walker ahead of him and puffing on his oxygen cannula.
“Dad come back here and help me explain this!” I yelled as the guards descended on me.
“What! And ruin this lesson! Not on your life!”
The bathroom door closed leaving me alone in the corridor with five excited mall guards and a fast forming crowd of spectators.
Duet. 5:16
Prov. 1:10-19
1 Tim. 5:1
James 1:27
1 Pet 5:5
1 Pet.5:8-9
