I was looking through a few old USB sticks when I found this. It made me laugh. I had forgotten all about it. I also found the story which I have posted below. I can’t remember where it was published but it was at least 10 years ago.

Granny Bike

‘This is the Police! Come out with your hands in the air!’

Three police cars had parked strategically around the front of the gas station, where an alarm had been activated. There had been a spate of break-ins and they had finally caught the culprit—in the act. Fire-arms used in the previous two robberies made the police nervous and they were ordered to guard themselves behind their cars. Neighbours awakened by the early dawn invasion, gathered cautiously outside their homes to observe the commotion.

‘“’Do you hear me? This is Police Officer Brody. Come out with your hands up!’

The door opened slowly revealing a petite laced-up boot. The officers dropped down behind their vehicles; guns cocked.

‘Please don’t shoot,’ came a quiet shaky voice that was barely audible.

The door opened a little further and an elderly woman hobbled out, stooped low and walking with a cane.

‘What the…? Ma’am, please step out in the open and put down your… cane.’

She dropped the cane and raised her hands as far as her skinny arms would take them.

Officer Brody stepped forward to access the situation and motioned Police Officer Mandy Walters to carry out a body search. Brody steadied the shaken old lady with his powerful hand under her elbow. Officer Walters placed the crooked walking stick back into an arthritic hand and stepped back.

With an indignant expression, the woman faced the officer in charge. ‘I think there’s been a mistake. You see, I left my keys in the bathroom and when I went back in to get them, I noticed I had grease on my clothes.’ She rubbed at the spot on her weathered skirt. ‘I tried to wash it, but I had to take it off because the skirt wouldn’t reach the faucet. I locked myself in so no one would disturb me. Unfortunately, I think the nice young man behind the counter must’ve closed up for the night and didn’t realize I was still there.’

‘Where’s your car, ma’am?’

‘Oh, no sir! I don’t own a car.’ She lifted her cane and pointed with her bent fingers past the squad cars and confused police officers. ‘That’s my motorcycle.’ A Harley Davison sheltered under an ancient oak tree, glistened in the morning sunlight.

‘Ma’am, I find this all hard to believe. Tell me how you were in there all night without triggering the alarm?’

‘Well, you see… I sat on the lid of toilet seat to adjust my tights and I slipped off into the corner. I was stuck and didn’t have the energy to get up until this morning. When I left the bathroom, I discovered I couldn’t get out; so I shook the door. That pesky alarm just kept screaming at me.’

Brody scratched his head, completely mesmerized while she shuffled towards the Harley across the road. She mounted the motorcycle with only a little difficulty, placed an opened-face helmet over her greying, outdated hairstyle, and turned the key. The engine started up with a roar. Thrusting the cane into a side pouch, she flipped the kick-stand up and drove off in one smooth movement.

Officer Brody glanced at a smug-faced Walters before replacing his gun into its holster. ‘What are you looking at? You can do the report when we get back.’

© Chrissy Siggee

Archived in: 🦋 Short Fiction