Stolen Bike, Not Valor

Koa was riding his new electric bike through the city park not too far from the US Embassy where he served in an Asian country. The ride was a part of his daily evening workout. He didn't really like the idea of an electric bike because he thought it was lazy. Besides, Koa had another good mountain bike he'd bought here used and it gave him a much better workout. But this one was his girlfriend's gift for his 29th birthday that she had taken the trouble to ship to him across the ocean. Koa felt obliged to ride it out at least occasionally, but promised himself not to use the battery. He even took it off the bike, to avoid the temptation.

Suddenly, he heard a young female voice crying out for help. He knew the local language well enough to make out "Get away from me!" and "Help, somebody, help!" He turned his bike toward the voice and in about a minute saw a park bench with the commotion.

Koa quickly scanned the situation. The girl was about 18-20, probably in college as her textbook was lying open on the ground. She was surrounded by young guys in their late teens or early 20s. One sat on her left, rummaging through her backpack, against her protests and pleadings. Another guy sat on her right, holding down her hands, aggressively trying to kiss her. The remaining three were standing around, touting the "kisser."

"Leave her alone!" Koa said in the local language, dismounting from his bike and leaning it against the tree. "Are you OK?" he asked the girl, approaching the group decisively.

She shook her head no, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Leave her alone!" Koa repeated. "Let her go!"

"Oh, American!" the kissing perpetrator recognized the accent, clearly surprised. Koa's Hawaiian looks confused locals who took him for their own too many times. "What are you, a hero?"

"Not even trying to be," Koa said, trying not to escalate the situation. His marine training and the Embassy instructions told him not to get into confrontations with local civilians. "Just let her go and leave!"

"Oh what?" the failed kisser asked with a smirk and nodded at the two guys standing around. They immediately moved and stood behind Koa. The kisser was obviously the leader in this group.

"Or nothing," Koa said slowly and calmly in English. "It's just unfair, she is alone against the five of you and she clearly doesn't like your company."

"Vot you said?" the leader asked in broken English. "Vant trouble?"

"No, I don't want any trouble," Koa said. "I just want you to let the girl go."

"Ok, American, as you wish," the leader said mockingly, and Koa thought he must have watched the Princes Bride movie too many times. The thug let the girl's hands go and stood up, nodding at the other guy to give the girl her backpack. She quickly put her book into the backpack and ran away.

"Thank you," Koa said, watching the girl disappear around the alley's turn. He turned away to get back on his bike when the two guys closed in on him, blocking his way.

"Halt! Ve not dun," the leader said in gangster movies English. "I vant your bike."

"Can't give it to you," Koa tried to keep calm, "It's my girlfriend's gift."

"Oh, lidl' boy has girlfriend," the leader said mockingly to his gang and they all started to laugh. At 5′ 7″ Koa was no stranger to bullying for his height. He stepped toward his bike, just wanting to go away.

Everything happened so fast that Koa couldn't even react properly. The other two guys jumped him from the back, holding his arms and hands on each side. The leader ran up to Koa and in a pretend-karate move kicked him in the right knee. As Koa's knee buckled, the leader landed a hard blow on his left eye. When Koa fell, all five of them started to kick him fiercely, all at once.

"Can't fight civilians in the host country, that's not what your training is for," Koa repeated the Embassy orientation mantra in his head. He just covered his head with his arms and hands, to mitigate the blows. He did kick one of the guys instinctively in his sheen, and the latter fell and started to nurse his leg, apparently in pain. The other four continued kicking Koa.

Suddenly, he heard a croaking voice, "Stop! What are you doing? I'm calling the police!"

The attackers stopped to turn around and look. Koa saw an elderly woman waving her cell phone in one hand and a cane in the other. The attackers scattered. One of them grabbed Koa's smartphone from the ground and the leader jumped on Koa's bike and rode away.

The old lady started to yell loudly for others to stop the attackers. There were no other people now at the park. She moved toward Koa, while he tried to sit on the ground. The sharp pain in his ribs pinned him back down.

When the woman came up to him, Koa pulled out a card from his zipped breast pocket and pleaded in the local language, "No police, please. Call this number."

It was too late. Two policemen were running toward them. Where were they when most needed? "Story of my life," Koa thought as they started asking questions he didn't want to answer without the Embassy personnel.

The woman dialed the number Koa gave her and let him speak into the phone. The Embassy security chief and medic were on the scene two minutes later. They helped Koa into the Embassy car and tried to settle it with the police quietly. But when the old lady said that she saw almost everything and the thugs stole Koa's bike and phone, the police said it was the aggravated robbery and assault case now. It was a matter of national importance to solve it, to have good relations with America, they said.

Koa had to be taken to the local American hospital for X-rays. Two broken ribs and dislocated jaw fixed up, they expected him to recover quickly.

"The local police wants you to come in and do the perpetrator's sketch for identification," the Embassy security chief told Koa.

"Do I really have to?" Koa asked warily.

"Do you want your bike back?" the security officer asked. They already tracked and found Koa's phone that the thugs had thrown into a street trashcan after they failed to break the Embassy-installed security software, fingertips wiped with a sanitizer.

"It was my girlfriend's gift," Koa said reluctantly.

"Then you need to do the sketch," the security officer said.

A couple of days later, Koa was taken to the local police headquarters. He was surprised by the advanced computer technology the sketch artist had available. They had to bring in a local interpreter for the session as Koa's knowledge of the local language was not enough to explain the details of the perpetrator's face.

As they were working on the sketch, at least five different police officers came into the room, observing the process and asking questions about the details of the incident. Koa was weary of all the questions that were pretty much the same, "How many guys jumped you? Why didn't you fight back? Don't you have special training for that? Are you really a marine? You are not wearing your marine red beret, is it not required? How badly did they beat you up? Why did you just lay on the ground?" and on and on and on.

At some point, Koa was so tired of all the questions that he asked the interpreter, "Who are all these people? Why are they asking the same questions? I answered them once, don't they have a protocol or something?"

The interpreter was curious as well so she excused herself for a bathroom break and followed one of the officers when he left after questioning. He went into an open room across the hall where the previous officers were congregating, discussing the incident and laughing and mocking Koa.

"Did you see the guy? He is this short and a marine? I've read that his name, 'Koa,' means 'warrior' in Hawaiian. What kind of a warrior is that? He just dropped to the ground and covered his head when they were kicking him! What kind of a marine is that? Aren't they supposed to throw around like 20 bad guys at the same time? He was saved by an old lady!" They obviously were both shocked and amused by Koa's non-display of military might and masculinity.

"This is not a Steven Seagal movie! He saved the girl! I'd love to see any one of you in this situation," the interpreter snapped at them and immediately felt their embarrassment. She left before they could say anything back.

When she came back into the sketch room, Koa asked, "What did you find out?"

"Nothing, they were just curious to see a real American marine," the interpreter said, sparing him the details.

When the sketch was done, the lead investigator on the case looked at it and said, "This can be any guy on the street." The sketch indeed looked like a generic Asian face, but Koa insisted that there were no distinctive or remarkable marks on the guy and the sketch was correct.

The perpetrators were never caught. The bike never retrieved.

P.S. The Embassy personnel chipped in to gift Koa exactly the same bike for his 30th Birthday before he returned home to his girlfriend.