Fight back

That Time I Tracked Down the Thief Who Stole My Car and Got the Car Back

I am not entirely innocent in this scenario, but I am tenacious

Photo by cottonbro studio: https://www.pexels.com/photo/monochrome-photo-of-woman-leaning-on-counter-top-7319480/

I waited for hours for the return of the guy who took my car for a pizza run. Then I waited overnight.

It was our third date, and no sex had occurred. I had a false sense of security because he was being a gentleman. Even though the fact that he didn’t have a car should have been a waving, snapping, iridescent red flag. This is Texas, not New York City.

I waited in vain, finally going to bed and hoping to awaken to find my car, if not the guy. Like a kid anticipating Santa Claus, I jumped up in the morning and looked out to the driveway. No car.

Did I do what a normal person would do and call the police? No. Why? Because I had given the guy my car keys. The police would laugh. That’s what my friend, the detective, told me when I called him.

If there are more embarrassing phone calls to make, I haven’t made them.

“Hi, Tom. It’s Carol. So, here’s a crazy story. Someone stole my car.”

Detective Tom: “Have you called the police station?”

Me: “Well, no, because you see, I gave him my car to go get pizza. He never came back.”

Detective Tom, suppressing a laugh: “Yeah, I see the problem. Police don’t consider a car stolen after only 24 hours if you gave the thief the key. What can you tell me about him?”

As it was, not much. I gave him the guy’s name, where he worked, and that was about all I had. But I asked him to give me an hour and I’d get more.

The car only had liability insurance. I was a single mother pinching pennies. I had to get it back.

Car-thief-guy had told me his ex-girlfriend’s name. Why? I’m a therapist. People tell me their life stories if I let them.

This was pre-ubiquitous internet. I looked her up in the phone book and called her.

After identifying myself and asking if she knew Car-thief-guy, I told her why I was asking, “He stole my car.”

“Yeah,” she answered, “Sounds like him. He’s stolen from his own grandmother to fuel his habit. He’s a heroin addict.”

You know those heart-sinking, stomach-grinding moments? This was one. He hid that from me. I thought he fell asleep sitting up on my couch because he worked long, late hours.

“Would you help me find him?” I begged her.

“I only know where one of his friends lives,” she answered, “Maybe try there.” She gave me a name, and the address and apartment number.

I thanked her profusely, and called my detective friend.

“Here’s a name and address his ex-girlfriend gave me. She says he might go there.”

“Okay,” he answered, “I’ll go there now and see if your car is there.”

“Can I go?”

“NO,” he said. That’s how I heard it, not how he said it. He is a gentle giant and I’d never heard him raise his voice.

“I can’t arrest him yet, even if I find your car there. I’ll have to knock on the door, ask for him, and then ask him to give me your car keys. Only if he refuses can I arrest him, because you GAVE HIM YOUR KEYS.”

Again, that’s how I heard it. He didn’t really yell. I was just so embarrassed that my brain screamed this at me every time I thought it, or heard him say it.

Forty-five minutes later, Detective Tom calls me back.

“Your car is here. I’ve knocked on the door but no one answers. After I knock again and call his name, if they don’t answer, I’ll have the car towed to you. If he does answer, I’ll tell him he either gives me the keys or I’ll arrest him.”

Twenty more minutes pass. My phone rings and my friend asks, “Can you get a ride here? He gave me the keys.”

I got a guy friend to drive me there. Yeah, I seem to have a lot of guy friends. Maybe that’s why I naively trusted Car-thief-guy. My usual guy friends are trustworthy.

When I arrived, everything in me wanted to confront the thief. My detective friend’s cooler head prevailed.

“You got your car back, Carol. Take the win. And please don’t ever trust someone you don’t know well with your car keys again. Or with anything else for that matter.”

I drove home, vindicated and relieved, and vowing to be smarter and less trusting. If you ask my friends, they’ll probably tell you I’m still too trusting, but I continue to work on a balance.

Several years later, Car-thief-guy emailed me an apology. He was in a twelve-step program and making amends. I’d like to tell you I was forgiving. I wasn’t. He’d also forged a check of mine which cost me way more than the amount of the check to rectify. He embarrassed me in front of my police officer friend.

In truth, I embarrassed myself.

The experience taught me to trust, but always count the cards. Even credit cards. read the link for how I helped shut down a credit card theft ring.

Moral of the two stories?

Don’t mess with single mothers operating on a shoe string and looking for love in all the wrong places. We will take you down!

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