Crooks, Monks and Bad Thai Food

Have you ever been handcuffed before? The sharp, taunting sound of the click that makes your stomach drop. The coldness of the metal, biting lightly into your skin if you move. Each moment restricted and heavy from the constant pressure on your wrists. You’re vulnerable, completely exposed to the person in-front of you. It’s humiliating.

The van took a sharp left, and I sank deeper into my seat. Jesus, you’d think a criminal was behind the wheel. Instead, we were the criminals — flopping around like fish thanks to Officer Pete’s driving.

The big guy across from me let out a grunt as his head smacked against the metal wall. I tried not to look.

I really did.

But it was hard not to. Especially when someone looked big enough to make his own mother swear off childbirth forever. The guy was an absolute ogre — tattoos crawling up his neck, down his arms, disappearing beneath his sleeves. Think Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson… but bigger. Like someone had hit “expand” and forgotten to stop.

Aside from me and The Rock’s angrier twin, there were two others crammed into the police wagon. A small girl with red streaks in her hair sat beside him, her boots barely touching the floor. Across from her — next to me — was a skinny guy with a long beard, dressed like the Dalai Lama. Full robes. Sandals. The whole spiritual-package deal.

And all of us were being tossed around like laundry in a spin cycle.

“Rob any banks lately?”

The words were out before my brain could stop me

Every head in the van turned toward me.

Right. Fantastic.

Forget what I said about the handcuffs earlier — they were the only thing standing between me and the mountain of muscle sitting opposite me. Without them, I was pretty sure he’d fold me into a paper airplane and throw me out the window.

I’d take humiliation.

Humiliation was survivable.

“My dad is going to kill me,” the girl muttered.

“Killing one’s child is a terrible sin,” the bearded man said solemnly. “Tell me, does he know our savior — Jesus Christ?”

“Dalai, you need to calm down. I think you’re freaking her out,” I said, as she scooted closer to Dwayne's look-alike.

“Child, there’s no need to be afraid,” Dalai continued gently. “Do you think God would let you walk this path if it wasn’t meant for you?”

“Oh my God, can you please shut up?!” she snapped. For a quick second, a look of worry flashed in her face.

“Why would your dad kill you, kid?” I asked, mostly because I needed a distraction. The itch on my nose was driving me up a wall.

“I—I borrowed his new Lexus,” she admitted. “And I don’t exactly… have my license yet.” I blinked.

“You’re telling me you’re in federal-cage territory because you took Daddy’s luxury sedan on a joyride?”

She winced. “I didn’t say I was good at driving.”

The van hit another violent turn. Somewhere up front, Officer Pete laughed.

“Hey… I think I know you!” she blurted, staring at Dalai with sudden clarity.

He froze.

And then it clicked for me too.

The beard. The robes. The whole discount-messiah aesthetic.

His face had been everywhere this week — plastered across every news channel and grainy social media post. Wanted for breaking into churches and stealing their offerings.

So much for being God-sent.

Dalai gave us a slow, serene smile. “The media often misunderstands a man’s mission.”

“Your mission?” I said. “You robbed donation boxes.”

“I liberated funds,” he corrected gently. “The Lord provides.”

“Yeah,” Dwayne rumbled for the first time, his deep voice vibrating through the van. “Just not to you.”

The girl shifted again, suddenly less interested in divine destiny and more interested in not sitting next to a headline.

Once again, the van swerved. Seriously who taught this guy to drive?

“Why are you here?”

My eyes widen when the scariest one in cuffs asked the question.

"Yeah! Why are you here?” the girl added, scrunching her nose. “You look like you’ve been running.”

“You look as you smell!” Dalai chimed in.

I lowered my head and sniffed my armpit.

…Yeah. That was unfortunate.

I grimaced. “Well…”

God, how do I say this?

“I was on my morning jog before school. I’m a high school teacher—” I paused. Probably shouldn’t give personal details to a van full of criminals. “Anyway, this old lady was trying to cross the street, so I tried to help her. But she thought I was trying to rob her, and… well.” I shrugged weakly. “Now I’m here.”

Silence.

For a moment, I almost thought they bought it.

Then Officer Pete barked a laugh from the front seat.

“That didn’t happen.”

My shoulders sank as I let out a frustrated huff.

“Officer,” I said carefully, “you weren’t even there.”

“Oh, I was there,” he replied. “I was the one chasing you around the family’s house and through the yard!”

Dalai gasped softly. “Blasphemy!”

“I’m sorry, you’re judging me?” I said, turning to Dalai.

Across from me, the big guy actually looked amused.

“Wait!” Officer Pete called from the front. “Tell them why you were really there.”

Jesus. Could he go back to driving instead of publicly ruining my life?

“You weren’t trying to steal something?” the red-haired girl asked.

Oh God.

“No. Well… I was on my morning run, but I had some really—really—bad Thai food last night. I just… couldn’t hold it anymore. And it was either the bushes or this random house with an open window!”

“You did not,” she shrieked.

Oh, but I did.

“I knocked first! No one answered, so I did what I had to do in order to survive. But halfway through relieving myself..the husband found me. Before I could explain, he grabbed a pan and started going all Rapunzel on me while the wife was calling the cops.”

The van went silent.

Dalai slowly shook his head. “Even Judas had more dignity.”

The big guy snorted.

Tears were streaming down the car thief’s face.

And Officer Pete laughed so hard the van swerved again.

“Why are you here?” I asked, directing my question to Mr. Muscle. The van got quiet. I asked the question the others were scared to ask.

He raised his head at me and let out an uneasy smile.

“I was protesting against the the banning of squirrels being fed.”

The silence was deafening. I turned to Officer Pete for confirmation, and all he did was give a slow, deliberate nod.

“They passed a by-law,” the giant continued, completely serious. “No feeding squirrels in public parks.”

Silence filled the van.

I stared at him. “You got arrested… for squirrels?”

“They depend on us,” he said firmly.

“They are squirrels.”

“They were starving,” he replied. “Winter was rough.”

The girl squinted at him. “So what did you do? Write a complaint?”

“I organized a demonstration.”

“Meaning?” I asked carefully.

“I brought twelve pounds of peanuts to the park and started feeding them anyway.”

Officer Pete snorted from the front.

The giant ignored him.

“Then people joined in,” he said. “Kids. Old folks. A couple joggers.”

“Wait,” I said slowly. “You started a squirrel protest movement?”

“They tried to confiscate the peanuts,” he said, his voice lowering.

“And?”

“I refused.”

“What does that mean exactly?”

He crossed his massive arms.

“I sat down on the bench.”

“And?”

“I kept feeding them.”

Dalai leaned forward. “So the police arrested you… for civil disobedience?”

“They said I was violating municipal code 13-B.”

The girl burst out laughing.

“You’re telling me,” I said, “that the biggest guy in this van got arrested for… feeding squirrels?”

The giant looked offended.

“They have families.”

Suddenly, the van screeched to a violent halt, nearly throwing us out of our seats.

“Alright,” Officer Pete said, turning back to us with a wide grin. “Let’s get you crooks behind bars.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

Next time… I’m ordering Pizza.