Broken

Me & my crime fighting mama, after a big evening on the job

This is a follow up post to my last post "Humiliation" In that post I shared the story of how my wallet was stolen by the infamous San Francisco con artist, Alan Young. It gets better. I caught the son-of-a-bitch. Sort of.

The night after my wallet was swiped I went for drinks and dinner with my parents blocks away from where I had been the previous evening. I joked to my folks that perhaps we would spot Alan. We had a window seat at a bar on Powell and had just taken the first few sips of wine when my mother blurted "That looks like him" (I had pictures of Alan on my phone, and she had spent a good amount of time reviewing them earlier in the day.)

I looked in the direction she was pointing, and sure enough, it was him. He was even wearing the same damn suit. I sprinted out the door and called after him "YOU STOLE MY WALLET!" He turned and looked at me, mumbled something and continued walking. I ran to catch up to him. My adrenaline pumping. "YOU STOLE MY WALLET" I shouted again. People on the sidewalk were turning to stare. "I stole your wallet? I did not." He answered. I laid into him. "You're all over the f*cking Internet!" (yes I used that language.) "You're a known criminal! You are an asshole who preys on nice people. That's some life you live." I blubbered on, then took out my phone and told him I was calling the police. He told me to go ahead. He didn't seem to mind much at all. He didn't run. He just continued to walk slowly away. At that moment I saw a cop car driving buy. I waved frantically for him and he stopped.

I blurted out what had happened, and he asked Alan to stop and talk to him. He had him wait at one end of the car while I stood at the other rehashing the story. Several times I exchanged choice words with Mr. Young all the while my mother was trying to shush me from behind. She was afraid that our criminal would get violent.  I had no fear, only anger. 

We stood at that street corner for nearly a half an hour. The kind officer was exchanging calls with the investigator on my case and Mr. Young's parole officer. Finally I was told that Alan had been arrested over 100 times. He has been in and out of jail and is currently on parole. As I stood there the manager of the restaurant I ran out of came over to tell me that he recognized Alan as well, and that Alan had skipped out on a hefty dinner bill a month ago. Clearly we are dealing with a disturbed man. I was told that Alan would not be arrested that evening because my charges were for misdemeanor theft. He could not pick him up without a warrant, unless he had committed a felony. If Alan had grabbed the purse off my arm, he could have gone to jail that night. But because he sweet talked his way to our table, led me to let down my guard and then swiped the wallet out of my purse which was sitting on the floor he was free to go....for now.

A warrant has been put out for his arrest. Whether or not he will go to jail I do not know. It doesn't matter. It will only be a matter of time before Alan is back on the streets, hitting dark nightclubs and charming his way with another group of pretty women, then stealing their belongings and trust.

I looked at Alan in the eye that night. I tried to convey to him my anger, and I'm glad that I had the opportunity to do so, but I got nothing in return, merely dead eyes. He had no emotion. I don't know what is wrong with that man, but my anger has turned to pity. Pity for a man who has to make up grand stories in order to get the admiration and attention that he craves. Pity for a man who will likely never have a real relationship with another human being. Pity for a man that is clearly broken.