“Your Honor,” Peg began, “the motorcycle in question was purchased with funds stolen from my mother’s nursing home fund. I have bank statements, a sworn affidavit from a psychic who saw the whole thing, and a photograph of the defendant wearing a T-shirt that says ‘I ❤️ Fraud.’ The shirt is arguably the strongest evidence.”
“You could’ve just taken the bike,” said the cop, Officer Griswold, a man whose mustache had more authority than he did. buffaloed 2019
Now, at twenty-six, Peg sat handcuffed to a radiator in a Buffalo Police substation, her leather jacket smelling like regret and stolen staplers. The charge was “aggravated mischief,” which was just a fancy way of saying she’d repossessed a motorcycle from a deadbeat who happened to be the nephew of a city councilman. The job had been clean. The paperwork had been forged beautifully. The problem, as always, was that Peg couldn’t resist the encore. “Your Honor,” Peg began, “the motorcycle in question
The first call came within an hour. A landlord whose tenant had vanished with six months’ rent and the building’s copper piping. Peg took the case for fifty percent. By Friday, she had the money, the piping, and a signed confession that the tenant had also stolen a snowplow. She sold the plow back to the city for twice its value. The charge was “aggravated mischief,” which was just