Yesterday, we were waiting for our dinner guests to arrive: I was sitting at the computer in the bedroom, Angela was in the kitchen cooking, and Vito was standing on a little chair looking out of the peephole in the front door. There was a bit more excitement than usual because the opening ceremony of the Sochi, Russia olympic games was going to be on television later.
Our guests arrived, but there wasn't the usual commotion in the apartment. In fact, it seemed like no one had entered. I could tell that the front door was open, and there was a ruckus in the hallway outside our apartment. I went out to look and Angela was chasing off a couple of kids who had been stirring up trouble in our building.
"Call security," she ordered.
Upon further investigation, I noticed that there were two crushed KFC paper cups on the stairwell and the steps were all wet. When I asked what was going on, Angela explained that two kids had been eating, climbing onto the roof and throwing down rocks and garbage on unsuspecting guests, and hiding in the storage closets when she came after them with a wooden spoon.
"Did you see them?" I asked, and she described the pair. A few weeks ago, I noticed a couple of kids matching her description eating in our stairwell when I arrived home from work. I didn't think anything of it at the time but, going out later that evening, I saw that they had left their trash on the steps where I had seen them.
I walked to the security office at the front of the compound and described what happened to the security guard on duty. He followed me to our building.
"There was a bike in front of the building," I revealed. "I took it."
"I will take the bike," the guard said while I was showing him the rubbish on the side of the building. I started to collect the crumpled bags and wrappers, but the guard told me to leave it. I guess he didn't want me to disturb the crime scene. We entered the building and, when I brought out the bike, Angela reiterated everything that I had already told the guard, but with the enthusiasm of a witness.
The guard left with the bike, and the rest of the evening continued without further incident. Somewhere between the parade of athletes and the lighting of the olympic torch, Angela recovered the garbage that the two kids had hurled off the side of the roof.
"Look what I found," she smiled, holding onto the rumpled KFC bag. Our guests and I took a closer look. "They left the receipt on the bag and their address is printed on it."