He was a very cute little kid, about 1-1/2 to 2 years old, walking around the apartment complex in his “I’m With The Band” t-shirt and his near-overflowing diapers. Kinoo and I took that kid all over the complex for a half-hour, making noise, ringing doorbells, knocking on doors. Every neighbor I saw was interrogated. “Have you seen this kid before?”
No one had.
Two of the neighbors (females, I might point out, since the males I had asked simply shrugged and went on their way), came out to help me ferry the child from building to building looking for an open door, children’s toys in the walkway…anything that would identify the child. Nothing. Nada. No one who would open their door had seen the boy before.
Shit.
After an hour of mutual investigative efforts, I told them I’d keep the kid at my place and feed him something (he turned out to only want “cookies,” his word for potato chips). I called the manager, then 911. By now I’d had the kid for about 1-1/2 hours. I was pretty angry with the parent(s) for not having appeared, frantic, looking for him.
The police arrived about 10 minutes after I called them. He was very intrigued by the police man. I wasn’t happy about handing him over because I was certain this kid lived nearby. Thankfully, the police woman turned the corner to my building followed closely by…the boy’s father. Young guy. Very young.
“You’re the father?” I asked.
Okay, I hissed.
“Where have you been for the last couple of hours? I found your kid wandering around the parking lot and pool.”
“It wasn’t two hours. I was in the shower.”
“For two hours?” the police woman asked.
“No, twenty minutes.”
“I’ve had people helping me look for you for an hour and I’ve had your kid on my own for longer than that.”
I didn’t cuss him out or smack him.
Too many witnesses.
The police escorted the child, now named “Christopher,” and the father back to their place. I had to follow a little while later because Christopher’s dirty socks were at my place. The two women who’d helped me search were still outside, eager to report that the police had just passed by with the child. I thanked them for their help, let them know which unit he was in so we’d know where to return him if it ever happened again.
But I doubt it will. The police were giving him a talking to when I handed him the socks. Good thing it was them…I wouldn’t have been as nice.
