Forthnights

Lost and Found

Well, i did get my wish. I finally found my motorbike again, after weeks and weeks of chasing the police.

After not having any luck myself, i handed the baton to my father to deal with the stupid police force... and i guess maybe they take him more seriously or whatever i dont know. But we did eventually get around to some guy who did point us to the right place. The plate number had been changed, and resprayed, so i could recognize it without being told the new number. It all happened because we just happened to bump into one of the more senior officers in the station, and under his instructions, suddenly everyone was helpful and friendly. I wasnt buying any of it and just showed a sour face. One of the officers, in front of the senior man, had the cheek to try to point the blame on me, saying that i didnt give clear details on my case, therefore they were not able to help me in any way. The nerve of these people.

Anyway, i did eventually get to see my bike in some yard a couple of miles away from the actual station, and what a far cry it was. When i was first told of my bikes rescue, i was told that the bike was still in running condition. The person had just changed the registration number and used the bike. When i last saw my bike, it was a shiny silver, clean, new looking with a nice basket to boot. But in front of my eyes was a half cannibalised, black motor that looked like it has been there for years. My heart sank at the sight. How did my motorbike ever get like that? That was not the definition if 'running condition'. I asked the officer what happened to the bike, and he said it was usual for the thieves to cannibalise all the parts they want. Liar....liar....liar...............

I felt with every certainty that it was these culprits in blue who savaged my bike. Firstly, the arrest was done cleanly, at a road block. Yes the thief sprayed the bike and changed the things here and there to make it look different, but no self respecting thief would have their head lights dangle out of the motor, the wheels totally out of alignment, unable to even turn, and unable to change gears. But that was precisely what condition my bike was it. Knowing that they did the arrest with my motorbike in one piece, the question was, where are my keys? No keys were given to me. My question to the officer was, if the bike was transferred all the way from danau kota (where it was found) to the police station, and now to this yard, how did they do it? Did they ride it here? He didnt like my questioning, and just said that i should only be concerned as to how i will be reclaiming my bike. How they did their work should not concern me. I took that as a sign that they weren't entirely honest in their work... but then again.. duh... its the police we are talking about. So from the look on my bike, i could conclude that these stupid guys savaged my bike for whatever parts they fancied, and loaded the rest onto a truck, and literally threw it into this ship yard.

My father was willing to play the smilling game, i wasnt. I had no intention of smiling with them or shaking their hands. The more they tried to portray themselves as honest and helpful, the more i felt sick. The euphoria of it all turn into dissapointment and brewed into anger and frustration at these people. At that point in time, i told myself not finding my bike seemed the less stressful situation. To find the bike, i had to go back and forth, back and forth, again and again, and now finally identifying it, i had to sign their release form back at the station, and finally collect my bike. How to collect it? How to ride a condemned bike? No worries, the police have it covered. He readily whipped out the card of a willing foreman who does this kind of repair work. It was a 'personal favour' to us, just to help us out of a tight spot. But it was a little too smooth to me. I'd bet anything that this 'helpful' officer was taking a cut off what he was about to charge. So much for a clean and efficient police force.

So thats that. The repairs will cost RM250. I dont know where we are going to find that, now that even the car has broken down. The image of my bike in the yard, in pieces, a far cry from how i last saw it lingers in my head. Thank you Mr. Policeman. Thank you so much...... Thats the last time i trust the police with anything...

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 2:36 am Comments: 0