Mr Dibbs Fixes Bikes

15

Alfie took control of the broken-down bicycle and the lad allowed him, his only thoughts for his mother and the police officers that stood at the gate to his house. The lad hesitated, looking toward Alfie with a look of resignation. He accepted the fact that police were at his door so easy. Were it Alfie, though he'd never knowingly broken a law in his life, not one worth a police visit that is, he would have had kittens. Even now, his heart fluttered for the boy.

"Go on, lad. I'll be right with this here bicycle." He gave a little jerk to his chin, toward the scene, and the lad's head dropped. "Best to face such thing as ignore it. Thee mother needs thee."

Frederick picked up the pace, but he didn't run as Alfie would have expected at any other time. He sloped forward, trudging, but at a fast walk, and Alfie saw the tenseness creep into the lad's shoulders. A stiffening, as though he were about to launch into a fight. As Frederick neared his home, his mother caught sight of him, mentioning so to the officers, and they, in turn, swivelled around to watch as Frederick approached.

His mother reached out to him, collecting him by the shoulders, turning Frederick to face the officers and they looked at him as though he were some hardened criminal, instead of a fearful child. Alfie hadn't known the lad long, but he couldn't see him getting into the kind of trouble as would require a visit from the police.

He rolled the bicycle closer, trying not to look as though he paid attention to the events nearby. The gate to his home squeaked and one of the officers turned to look. Her eyes fell to the bicycle, narrowing, and she began to head toward him. Alfie paused, leaning the bicycle against the open gate and reached for his handkerchief.

"Good morning, sir." She looked three times her actual size, in those bulky uniforms they wore these days, all pouches and reflective material. Walky-talky, or police radio, as they no doubt called it, attached near her shoulder. "You are Mister Alfred Dibbs? We had a report of a stolen bike and the complainant states you were fixing it for him. Is this true?"

"Aye. Puncture." He watched as she paid close attention to the bicycle from the canal. "Does thy reckon it were me that stole it? Well, I've not and neither has yon lad. That 'complainant' left his bicycle here for days, rain and shine. Didn't care that much for it afore."

"I see." The officer took out her notebook, surprising Alfie that they still used them. She flipped pages over before looking at the ruined bicycle again. "Is this your bike, sir?"

Alfie glanced across to the lad and his mother as the other officer talked to them. The mother looked fit to collapse, hands fidgeting against the lad's shoulders, tears welling in her eyes. The boy said nothing, looking down to the ground, kicking at nothing with his training shoes. The officer fair snapped at the lad to answer a question and Alfie couldn't hear the mumbled reply. The officer beside Alfie coughed, requiring his attention.

"Nay. It's not." He didn't like this. Didn't like the way the lad and his mother simply accepted the grilling without even attempting to argue. It didn't sit right. "Does thy think this is the one stolen? Eh? Does it look like a bicycle a young lad'd ride these days? Nay. It isn't. We found it in t'canal. If thy wants it, thy can have it. And I've a mind to tell thee where to go. Coming around here accusing folks as just moved in. Nay! The lad's done nowt! Stolen nowt. Or does thy want to search my property? Thy'll need better reasons than thy's got to do that, I can tell thee!"

Where the anger had come from, he couldn't imagine. To see the lad accused of stealing anything, only on the say-so of a little tearaway that didn't even know how to say 'please' and 'thank you', bothered him. He rubbed his nose with the handkerchief and glared at the officer as he put it away. She didn't appear to care, continuing to look at her notes and the wreck of a bicycle beside Alfie.