(ITEM: a former student at the University of Toronto was convicted of theft by a Provincial Court of Ontario judge and sentenced to seven days in jail, a three year probation and 300 hours of community service. The guilty man was also required to pay $3,000 against almost $13,000 worth of overdue library books.)
Sergeant Estevez crouched behind an Ontario Provincial Police cruiser, blowing on his hands in a vain attempt to keep them warm. “Dammit!” he thought to himself. “Why do these things always happen in the worst weather?”
Sergeant Estevez picked the magaphone up off the ground next to him and turned, aiming it at the house under siege. “Please,” his voice boomed, “we know you’re in there and we have the place surrounded. There is no way you can escape. Throw down your weapon and come out with your hands up…”
A tiny voice from somewhere in the house responded: “Don’t make any funny moves, or the books get it!”
Officer Woodward ran up to Sergeant Estevez. “Get down!” the Sergeant hisssed. “Oh, yeah,” Woodward responded, dropping to a crouch. “What have you got?” Estevez asked.
“His name is Bundolo,” Woodward answered. “He’s 29. He graduated from the University of Toronto two years ago. Doctorate in philosophy. Doesn’t have a telephone – doesn’t believe in technology.”
“So, he fits the profile?”
“To a tee. They say he may have as many as 89 books in there with him.”
“My god,” Estevez, who thought he was a hardened veteran, softly exclaimed.
“Yes, sir,” Woodward continued. “We’ve got snipers covering every door and window, and they’re waiting for a signal from -“
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Estevez grimly stated. Raising the megaphone once more, he shouted, “Doctor Bundolo!”
“Leave me alone!” the tiny voice responded.
“You know we can’t do that,” Estevez pleaded. “Those are innocent books you’re holding in there. Please, let some of the older books go and I’ll be in a better position to bargain with you…”
There was silence from the house.
An old woman walked up to the police cruiser. “Is this the place?” she asked. “Is Peter Bundolo holed up in that house over there?”
Estevez and Woodward looked at each other, then at the woman. “Yes,” Estevez told her. “Who are you?”
“I taught Petey in grade school,” the woman replied. “I’m Mrs. Gooden, an English teacher and school librarian.”
Woodward flinched. “I…I don’t think it’s a good idea to have a librarian try and talk to the boy,” he advised.
Estevez put a hand on Mrs. Gooden’s shoulder. “We appreciate your concern,” he told her, “and, if we think you can be of assistance, we’ll let you know. In the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you’d stay in the background, okay, Mrs. Gooden?”
The old woman looked disappointed. “Sure,” she said, “if that’s the way you want to play it.” As she started moving away, Mrs. Goode turned and added: “He was a notorious bed wetter. Do you think that might be important?”
“Fits the profile?” Estevez asked Woodward.
“To a tee.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Gooden,” Estevez said with a smile. Turning towards the house, he spoke through the megaphone once more: “This is getting us nowhere. We’ve asked your mother to come and speak to you…”
“Aww, why did you go and do that?” Bundolo protested.
“Where is his mother?” Estevez asked Woodward.
The other man shrugged. “Hung up in traffic,” he answered. “There’s some sort of sports celebration going on today…”
Just then, another woman, in her 40s, conservatively dressed was escorted to the police cruiser by another officer, who identified her as Mrs. Irene Bundolo. Estevez quickly explained the situation to her. “That boy never did have the sense that god gave a cactus,” Mrs. Bundolo grumbled, grabbing the megaphone away from Estevez.
“Peter!” she boomed, “Stop this silliness at once!”
“Aww, ma,” her son shouted back, “I need these books!”
“That’s not the way I raised you!” Mrs. Bundolo argued. “You’ve committed a very serious crime, here, and you’re going to have to be punished!”
“Aww, ma!” Bundolo cried.
Estevez pulled Mrs. Bundolo down behind the cruiser. “I’m not sure you quite understand what we’re trying to do here,” he told her, going on to explain that she was supposed to convince her son to give up by appealing to his better nature. “You’re supposed to sweet-talk him out,” he said, “not scare him to death!”
“Oh,” Mrs. Bundolo responded. “Son,” she finally boomed, “Please give yourself up. All that stuff about punishment was just your old mother being silly. We…we just don’t want you to hurt any innocent books…”
“Her heart’s not in it,” Woodward commented.
“Aww, you know I wouldn’t hurt any books, ma. I don’t even have a matchbook. I just…I just had to graduate, you know, I had to do well in school. I needed those books…”
Hearing that he wasn’t armed, Sergeant Estevez ordered his men to enter the house and arrest Dr. Bundolo. In the meantime, the man kept talking to his mother, promising, no matter what happened, to write.
Much later, Sergeant Estevez and Officer Woodward were sharing a coffee in 54 Division. “Why do you think he did it?” Woodward asked. Estevez shrugged.
“Why does anybody turn to a life of crime?” he mused. “He thought he could get away with it.”