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I don’t usually associate with criminals unless I’m writing
about them. I’m breaking with my policy this time. I’m not only associating
with an admitted criminal — I’ve become a co-conspirator.
Her crime is feeding pigeons. The crime scenes vary. She
makes it a point to juggle the illegal feeding times so that authorities cannot
easily stake out the crime scenes. I won’t use her first name. Just let me say
that her last name is not Dickinson or Post. And Simon and Garfunkel were not
singing about her when they performed “For ______, Wherever I may Find Her.
”
She called me today because of a chance encounter at one of
her crimes scenes when, in fact, she was committing the crime.
I notice these things, so I very carefully worked my way
into her confidence. She’s a remarkably normal-looking immigrant from an
unnamed country that was once part of a larger group of countries that was once
our main enemy during the Cold War. She’s from a country that once had a nasty
nuclear generator accident. But I’m not going to disclose anymore.
Here’s the thing: she’s looking for an accomplice who’s not
afraid to risk life and liberty to ensure that her pigeons get their daily
meals.
“They are there at the same time every day,” she told me.
“They are waiting for me, but because I don’t have a car right now, I can’t
always get there.”
She offered this bit of conspiracy: “I’d be happy to pay
someone to come and feed my friends. I’ll buy the food and I’ll stash it behind
nearby trees.”
