Crooked road

I wasn’t able to write about this immediately but I saw last week a student of about nine or ten years old adeptly swipe an FM radio from one of those sidewalk stalls along Crooked road.

Two steps towards the stall, reach out, lift, conceal, walk — all that took only a second or so. Of course, what I saw was the culmination of days of planning. That kind of seamless larceny doesn’t happen on a spur of a moment. He studied how the old lady manning the stall always seemed busy talking to somebody, a friend, a customer, or passersby. I know because I studied that vendor’s habits just to see how the boy did it.

Looking back, I think his timing was perfect. If I had to do it, I would have done exactly the same thing.

Let’s see, the time would be between 3:30 to 5 p.m. when the students or employees would have gone home from school or work. That way, the streets would be busy with students and workers. How is that important? Mornings wouldn’t have been as busy since people or students wouldn’t loiter around the area without risking being late for work or wherever students go these days. Plus, the vendor’s alert in the morning unlike in the afternoon when distractions and fatigue are sure to falter her sharp instincts.

Twice in a row I saw the same guy in a Muslim headgear taking up most of the lady vendor’s attentions at about the same time the crime occurred. This must be what the boy saw was the perfect opportunity.

Also, the thick crowd in the afternoon makes for a great screen to obscure the theft or, more importantly, a hasty retreat.

Being casual is the key. Who would anyone think an elementary student has the gall to steal in broad daylight?  The casualty can result to a potential witness second guessing himself, which in turn buys the boy some time to make his escape.

It’s rare for a witness who just watched a crime being committed to take action. Surprise renders the witness motionless while his/her mind process whether what he saw was real or not. The odds get higher if it was a first-time witness.

I wonder how the boy knew this.

His casual manner and the item he stole made me believe that it wasn’t his first time. I could understand if it was food he pocketed but an FM radio is so superfluous. This is something you brag to your classmates and friends afterwards. The kind you do on a dare. I wouldn’t be surprised if he narrated to his friends in detail how he pilfered the radio from a sidewalk stall.

I hate social profiling but the kid was clean, mestizo and quite portly. The kind of kid you see lounging around exclusive schools waiting for their ride home.  He’s got a Spiderman backpack which he hugged towards his chest to conceal the loot inside his white polo shirt.

I followed him towards Madayaw and while his behavior appeared casual enough, his strides was uptight, walking on tiptoe as his stance tilted at a nearly 45 degree angle — a taut little birdy in his first flight.

The traffic light at the intersection turned green. The boy stopped and I caught up with him and we were now standing side by side. His sandy hair reached out only to my solar plexus.    

I had to let him know that, you know, God was watching.

“Dong, unsa nang naa sa imong polo?” I asked him pointblank.

“Wala ‘ya oi,” he mumbled.

“Nakita nako naa ka gikuha sa tindahan ganina, asa to?” I probed, more stressful this time.

Subdued and anxious he showed me the loot, a black cube measuring 2” by 2” and still encased in plastic.

“Okay, tagoa na basi makita ka pa sa uban,” I said. “Asa ka uli?”

“Sa Matina ‘ya,” he replied, obviously surprised I didn’t turn him in.

I gave him P10 for fare back home.