Robbed in Georgetown, Part II: Adrenaline
Second in a series.
The police officer was sighing. He commiserated as he recorded the items I had just "lost." Lost? They were taken, brashly, during a five-minute absence from my car at the gate of my new home in Georgetown. "Purse," he stated. "What kind?" Coach. "How long have you had it?" Three years. Wallet, how long, what value. Cash ($100), iPhone (6 months), Blackberry (4 months), camera. Checkbook, credit cards, iPod, everything.
I was all adrenaline. My new neighbor Katherine came out sleepily with her dog Yogi. "I'm so sorry!" she said.
I spoke quickly. I was worried. Sorry to meet you like this. The house keys were taken. The robber has the gate keys. Everyone in the building could be exposed.
"I'm so sorry," I said. She didn't seem worried, padding forward to keep Yogi under control. "Just call the management company."
"Assault at Wisconsin and N," crackled the officer's radio. "Assault?" I asked.
"I've got a theft from auto, over," he copied. He would be late to the assault. Saturday night in Georgetown.
After calling in the police report, the officer suggested I be on my way.
On my way?
I had no money, no keys, no transportation.
On my way...how? But his radio was calling.
"Could you take me home?" I asked.
No he couldn't. It was Saturday night in Georgetown. But he would give me a lift to M Street. I could plead my way from there. I thought about my begging skills.
He turned on his siren and lights for a moment and stopped a taxi. "How much will it cost to take her to - where is it?"
The cop offered the driver some single dollar bills and asked him the favor of taking me home. The turbaned driver reluctantly complied.
I tried to think fast. My car was blocking my new neighbors. I had just exposed their home to criminals. I had no keys to my car, no money, no credit cards. Hopefully I could find a hidden housekey.
I called my friend Bill on the taxi driver's cell phone. Some friendships don't require smalltalk. "Bill, I've been robbed. All my keys were taken, my phones. Could you get the number for Allstate emergency service?"
A little groggy, Bill said he would.
Five minutes later, the cabbie's cell phone rang. Bill gave me the number. In about an hour, a loud tow truck sputtered in front of my old house, where I'd never been robbed.
The driver said his name was Jose. "Sure, I'll take you to Georgetown, no problem."
Jose, it turned out, was not his real name.
Robbed in Georgetown is a multi-part series describing a frequent crime in an unexpected place. Tomorrow: Alley life after midnight.
Photo by Airborne Guy.