The Adventures Of Johnny Ace

The Johnson's Place

Five hundred fifty-seven Neptune Avenue was the brick-front split entry that infests this town we call Draycott. Its perfect lawn, tidy little garden, and the white picket fence, the Johnson residence was just another suburban clone-home. I strolled down the walk and knocked on the front door. I have to admit, I didn't mind asking Brenda if she'd step outside to answer a few questions.

We all gathered in the driveway. Bobby stood off to the side, making imaginary lines on the ground with his dress shoes. Brenda stood beside me. 

"Bobby always locked his bike to the fence," she said. She'd taken her hair out of the bun, and it hung in loose curls just below her shoulders. The way the sun was hitting her made her shine like an angel.

"Where exactly was it locked?" I asked.

She led me to the spot, and I took a close look at the fence. There was no damage to the wood or even to the paint.

"What kind of lock was it?" I asked

"Just a regular lock," she said.

"A combination lock?"

"It was just a regular lock," she said in a tone that made me think she was getting annoyed by my questions, and when people get annoyed by my questions, I get interested. I learned at the school of hard knocks you can't cross anyone off your list of suspects, even if they're a dame and you've gone dizzy over them.

"One of those U-shaped locks?" I asked.

"Look," Brenda said, a flash of red in her cheeks, "we don't care about the lock. Bobby wants his bike back, not the lock, the bike! It's red with, like....a yellow banana seat, white streamers and a silver bell on the handlebars. We don't care about the lock. We can get a new one of those."

A kid that looked like an Oreo riding around on a big yellow banana? The poor sap would have drawn less attention to himself riding a unicycle.

"Could I at least see the lock?" I asked, trying not to laugh. 

"Why would we have the lock? They robbed us. Remember? Are you even taking this seriously, James?"

Before I had a chance to answer, Bobby spoke up in a voice so low he could've been singing bass in the school band at Early Grey. "It was a U-shaped lock, with a blue plastic covering." 

"What?" I asked, turning to the kid. Was he just pulling my leg with that voice?

"It had a blue plastic covering," he said again. This was no joke; Bobby's voice was deeper than the bass drums playing in professional bands. 

"Were you the only one with a key?" I asked

Bobby nodded

"Do you know anyone who would want to steal it?"

"If we knew who wanted to steal the bike, we'd, like....... go find them ourselves," Brenda said.

"Maybe the Gangbang boys took it," Bobby said, ignoring her.

"Bobby," Brenda said, walking over to him and putting her hand on his shoulder, "those boys are too big to be interested in your bike. They couldn't even ride it."

"But they could sell it," Bobby said, obviously getting excited about being involved in a real investigation. 

"At the Flea Market," I added, with a smirk.

"Yeah," Bobby nodded. "They'd sell it at the Flea Market."

FYI-The Gangbang Boys are a bunch of high school thugs who get their loot from stealing stuff from honest kids like you and me. Then they unload the merchandise down by the Draycott River on Saturday night. Real classy.

"Sounds like a good lead," I said, flashing Bobby a "good thinking, kid!" kind of smile. But I had serious doubt that anyone, let alone the Gangbang Boys, would get much on the black market for a bike with a yellow banana seat and streamers.

"No one would steal Bobby's bike to sell it," Brenda whispered, leaning close to me. "He got it for his seventh birthday, but he hasn't grown for, like......five years, so he can still ride it. He loves that bike so much that Mommy and Daddy can't bear to get him another one. But nobody else would want it. It's just some jerk out for a cruel joke."

She smelled like coconut sunscreen. I thought, for a brief moment, we made a real connection, but then it was gone. "Don't worry, Brenda," I whispered. "I'll find the bike, and I'll get it to you by two."

She smiled and squeezed my arm, sending the most pleasant electrical tingle through my whole body. "Let me know if you need anything else," she said. "Come on, Bobby, we have to set the table for dinner."

I wandered down to the street and sat on the curb. I had less than twenty-four hours to find a bike that nobody in their right mind would want to steal. If I was going to crack this case, I had to stick to the facts:

1. Bobby's bike was stolen last night.

2. It was attached to the fence with a U-shaped lock.

3. The lock and the bike are gone.

4. Bobby loves his funny little bike.

5. Brenda's easy on the eyes

(I couldn't help adding that last one. She really is a knockout.)

I walked back up the driveway and squatted by the fence where the bike had been locked. In my experience, and I've dealt with a few stolen bikes in my time, most bicycle thieves worth their salt would use liquid nitrogen to smash Bobby's lock to bits. It's easy, quick and quiet; you just dip the lock into the nitrogen and then whack it with a hammer. The thing is, there's always chunks of metal and plastic left behind on the ground. Granted, it rained last night, but I'd still bet my love for Brenda there'd be a few pieces scattered here and there. But there was nothing. More importantly, if the thief smashed part of the lock or even if they used some next level material, why would they take a broken lock with them? It was a small detail, but it bothered me. 

All this speculation was adding up to something. I just didn't know what this "something" was. The problem was I had nothing to work with except Bobby's crazy idea that the Gangbang Boys had swiped his bike to sell on the black market. It was probably a dead end, but it was something to go on, and I knew exactly who to talk to.