Tracey the Thief

[Marcellomco]

Tracey the thief

By Donna Barber

Part One

Tracey was enjoying a relaxing holiday abroad, away from her demanding job in the City of London as a financial advisor to a top investment bank. She had been sunning herself on the beach in Gabbice Mare when she regretfully decided to move into the slightly cooler quarters of the town and put off her sun worship until tomorrow. It was too damned hot so Tracey wandered off to the local market.

Being dressed in just her swimsuit, and as a full-figured woman, Tracey drew a lot of admiring gazes from men and hostile looks from women. The odd cat-call and hiss were heard as she passed by.

As she entered the market, carrying nothing but her beach bag with her purse, a tub of sun cream, a towel and flannel inside it, she looked at the displays of fruit and flowers, of jewellery and perfume, of handbags, leather goods and various novelty items. There were so many things she wanted to buy but the prices were rather expensive in her eyes.

Maybe if I get a promotion at work I can afford stuff like this, she thought sadly. On my wages it’s impossible. Oh well, dreams are free.

As she walked through the market here gaze fell on one of the stalls selling jewellery. Tracey stayed for quite a while, admiring the many beautiful items on sale. Her thoughts were on the gems and rings and stuff he was selling and not at all on the street around her.

Suddenly a woman rushed up and bashed into Tracey. She gasped in shock, both at the impact and at the way that she dropped her beach bag on the floor.

“Scusi, signorina,” said the woman who had bumped into her.

“Prego,” said Tracey, one of the few Italian words she knew.

The woman gathered up her bag quickly and, as she did so, added to its contents five of the most expensive items on the stall. In the confusion she had time to put two of them in her purse and three in the beach bag, concealed by her towel. Then she gave them back to her and left promptly.

Tracey, by now shaken and feeling that she ought to move on and get back to the hotel, started walking away from the stall. The trader did not react at first but then suddenly realised some of his stock had gone missing. Immediately assuming that his browsing customer was responsible, he shouted after her angrily.

“Hey, lady, where you thinka you-a going?” said the stall holder.

“Back to my hotel,” said the startled Tracey. “Why, what’s wrong?”

“Whatsa wronga is you thinking you can steal from me and just walk off as if you done nothing,” said the market trader.

“But I haven’t stolen anything from you!” Tracey protested.
“Well, then you won’t mind turning out your purse to show me, will you?”

“I’ve got nothing to hide,” said Tracey indignantly.

She took her purse out of the beach bag and emptied it out on to a nearby chair where the trader had pointed to and told her to put the contents of her purse on. To her horror she saw an expensive bracelet and an equally pricey necklace, joining the lipstick, make-up and other items which she knew had been inside it. The bracelet was made of high quality gold and was studded with emeralds; the necklace was made of silver and adorned with diamonds.

“Those aren’t mine,” said Tracey lamely.

“No, you right about that, English bitch,” said the stall holder. “They is mine!”

“But I… I didn’t steal them,” she protested.

“Maybe I better see what else you got in your bag,” he said. “Turn out your beach bag and we take a look at that.”

To Tracey’s horror three more items of luxury jewellery, wrapped up in her beach towel, came to light when she emptied her beach bag. She was feeling very uncomfortable by now and worried about the prospects of being arrested.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “I’ve got no idea how those things came to be inside my bag or my purse. I certainly didn’t steal from you, signor.”

“So you keeps saying,” he said, gazing at her with a cold hard stare. “Maybe I call the police and let them take you away.”

“Please don’t, signor,” said Tracey anxiously. “You’ve got your gems so why don’t you just let me go? Please,” she added.

By now it had dawned on her that she had been set up by the woman who had bumped into her and then “returned” her bag to her, obviously after he’d first planted some stolen goods inside it. She wasn’t quite sure if the woman was a thief who’d hoped she’d be able to walk off and then she’d mug her soon after or whether she was in league with the stall holder and the whole thing was some scam to extort money from attractive single tourist girls or even if there was some other, more bizarre explanation for what had happened. Whatever way it was, she knew was in deep trouble because she didn’t know Italian and didn’t fancy her chances of talking her way out of the situation. Burning with anger at being so unjustly accused of theft, Tracey made one last attempt to escape.

“That woman who bumped into me,” she said. “She must have stolen the jewels and planted them inside my bag.”

“And why she do that? If she wanna thief from me why she no just steal the stuff herself? You talking no kinda sense. I think I just call the police and then you get to enjoy the hospitality of an Italian prison!”

“Please, no,” said an increasingly desperate Tracey. “Please just let me go. You’ve got your jewels back, why do you want to hurt me? I didn’t steal anything from you in the first place!

“Ah, you no justa thief but you is liar too,” said the stall holder. “You make-a me-a plenty sick! Is best I call the police.”

Poor, short and tubby Tracey found herself being grabbed forcibly by the trader as he shouted in rapid and voluble Italian for the police to come and help him. Before she knew it two officers of the Carabinieri were on the scene and the stall holder was telling them his side of the story as a frustrated Tracey could only listen in baffled incomprehension.

“So, signorina,” said one of the two cops when he’d finished speaking, “what is your name?”

“Tracey Smith,” she told him. “I’m an English tourist.”

“The proprietor of this stall has accused you of trying to steal from him. Do you admit the crime?”

“No, I don’t. I didn’t try to steal anything from him!”

“Well, he says he found five items of expensive jewellery in your beach bag. How do you explain that, Signorina?”

“A woman rushed over and bumped into me. She sent me flying and picked up my bag. Obviously she must have planted the stolen goods inside it.”

“Please, signorina, I have heard some strange – how you say, excuses? – in my time but that one is simply ridiculous. A thief steals; he – or she - does NOT “plant” the stolen goods in another person’s property. Unless, of course, she is working with a confederate such as yourself,” he added. “Then – and ONLY then - it is possible that she might place the stolen goods inside your beach bag and purse. Not otherwise, signorina. Please do not insult our intelligence.”

Tracey, feeling increasingly desperate, carried on pleading innocence but the two police officers had obviously made up their mind that she was lying through her teeth.

“Well, signorina,” said the taller of the two cops, “it seems you leave us no choice. We gonna have to take you in for questioning.”

Just when Tracey thought that things couldn’t get any worse, an excuse of rapid and voluble Italian took place between the stall holder and the two policemen. A smile passed over the faces of the two cops and then the one who appeared to be in charge spoke to Tracey again.

“Si,” he said, looking at the trader. “Bene!”

Then he addressed Tracey directly.

“Signorina, the gentleman whose stall you tried to rob has made a request of us. He believes that you may have hidden other stolen items upon your – how you say, person? – and has requested us to check if that is true. I am afraid that I am going to have to ask you to strip, Signorina Smith.”

“Strip!” said Tracey angrily. “What do you mean, strip?”

“Please to remove your clothes, signorina. That is what strip means, no?”

“I know what it means,” Tracey almost shouted. “But why are you asking me to DO it?”

“Because, signorina, you have been accused of a serious crime and it is now necessary to search your person. That is why I must ask you to strip in order that we MAY search you for any stolen items.”

Tracey’s eyes, blazing with anger a few seconds again, suddenly filled up with tears of shame and frustration and humiliation. In a desperate plea, she turned to the two cops.

“Please, please, why are you doing this to me?”

“I have already given you the reason, signorina. If you do not comply with my instructions I will have no alternative but to COMPEL you to obey my orders. In other words, you will be forcibly stripped and searched.”

Tracey sighed with exasperation, realising that she had no choice but to do as he said. It would be marginally less humiliating to be stripped and searched if she removed her clothes voluntarily than if they were pulled off her by force.

“OK,” she said wearily. “Let’s go down to the police station and get it over with.”

The cop in charge looked at the stall holder, who once again let loose a torrent of rapid Italian that she didn’t understand a word of. Then he turned back to Tracey, a faint smile on his face.

“I am afraid that is not possible, signorina,” he said quietly. “It is necessary that we strip and search you here and now.”

Tracey went pale with shock as she took in the implications of what the man had just said.

“But… but you… you can’t do that!” she protested. “You CAN’T make me strip naked… in public, I mean! I demand to see the British Consul at once!”

“Signorina Smith, we CAN and we WILL. Under the law we have the right to strip and search ANYONE that we think has committed a criminal offence. If necessary and where appropriate – as it clearly IS in this instance – in public. Now, signorina, I repeat that you have a choice. You may take off your clothes voluntarily here and now or we will assist you in your duty. Which is it to be?”

Tracey’s eyes blazed with anger but she knew that she was beaten. It was hopeless and even though she was sure that the cops were doing something illegal she was hardly in a position to object. From their point of view she’d been found with stolen goods in her purse and beach bag and as far as they were concerned she might have hidden more jewels in her clothes. Even if they did send the Consul to meet her, by the time he arrived she would already have had to face the indignity and might even have been charged with theft.

“Oh, fuck it; I don’t seem to have much choice!” Tracey said angrily. “If I’ve GOT to do it let’s get it over with quickly and then I can get out of this place.”

Tracey was almost grateful that she was only wearing a swimsuit. At least the process of stripping wouldn’t take long. Reluctantly she took off her only garment and stood before them in total nakedness.

“There, you can see I’m not hiding anything inside that!” she said sarcastically.

“Marco, search her swimsuit,” said the cop in charge.

Marco made an elaborate pretence of searching the garment but of course found nothing inside it.

“OK, we have to give you a full body cavity search now,” said the first officer.

“For Christ’s sake!” Tracey almost exploded. “This is total bullshit! You can see perfectly well that I’m NOT hiding anything else so just fucking leave me alone! Give me back my clothes and let me go, please.”

Marco and the first cop exchanged glances and then nods of agreement. Before Tracey knew what was happening they’d forced her wrists behind her back and handcuffed her.

“Now, signorina, as well as a charge of theft you are now also facing a further one of using obscene language and of refusing to co-operate with police officers. We take you to the station now and formally charge you. Marco, take her clothes and bag.”

In a final attempt to preserve SOME dignity, Tracey made her last plea for mercy. It was as futile as she’d expected it to be.

“Couldn’t you at least take these cuffs off me and let me put my swimming costume back on?” she pleaded.

“No, that is not possible, signorina,” the cop told her. “The keys to the handcuffs are back in the police station. You must walk as you are.”

Tracey, her eyes filling with tears, was marched, naked and handcuffed, through the market and through the streets on the way to the police station!

“One good thing about this, signorina,” said the lead cop.

“What’s that?” asked Tracey angrily.

“At least you learn not to come to our country and steal. Even if you had to learn it the hard way!”