I like gardening. It's a relaxing hobby and I happen to have the knack of making plants grow. Give my brother and me two identical plants and what happens? He carefully plants his one, adds the right fertilizer, tends it carefully, watches over it like a mother with her baby, right up to the time it dies on him. Me, I slap my plant down into the soil and jump back to give it room to grow. A natural talent and a green thumb, I assure my brother. Pure arsed luck, he tells me.
As a result of this green thumb I have a very nice garden. I've even won a few neighbourhood prizes for best garden, which irritates my brother no end. I have a very nice array of roses along one side of my garden. When they're in flower I have no objections to the neighbours taking a few roses, as long as they don't strip a bush. Some of the local girls take advantage of this to get themselves a nice posy occasionally. Even the odd lad has been known to take a couple to give to his girlfriend.
What was new to me was walking out one day and finding a complete bush gone. Someone came along overnight and dug it up. A very nice 'Love and Peace' rose, a multi-coloured specimen.
Having someone pinch a complete bush really irritated me, especially when I spotted the bush in a nearby garden a few days later. I knew it was my rose but how the hell could I prove it? A few minor bits of pruning and it was no longer my bush. Nothing I could do but swear eternal vengeance and go skulking back home.
Losing one bush was an irritant. Losing a second one a week later was tantamount to a declaration of war. What did the stupid woman think she was playing at? The family was new in the neighbourhood. How did one go about letting them know that sticky fingers weren't appreciated?
I was standing there glowering at my lost bushes, now settling nicely into their garden, when the woman who lived there came out. She was around forty, reasonable looking, friendly and knowledgeable about roses. Did I like her latest two bushes? Her daughter had got them for her. She knew a place where she could get them cheap, apparently. How interesting. I'd really have to have a chat with her daughter at some stage.
I had seen a young woman who I thought was probably her daughter a couple of times. She'd been delighted to know she could pick a few roses as she liked to have some in her room. Now that I thought about it, the first few roses she took were from the 'Love and Peace' rose that subsequently went walkabout. Yes, I really wanted a word with that young lady.
There was no rush. I kept an eye out and bided my time. It happened. Another bush went, and I waited for a certain young lady to come past. She wandered past that afternoon, stopping to admire my roses with a smile on her face.
"Beth, isn't it?" I casually asked her, leaning against the fence.
She nodded.
"You really have a nice lot of roses, don't you?" she said.
"I do indeed. Would you believe that some lowlife actually stole one of my bushes last night? You can get some real scumbags around the place, can't you? I mean, if even the plants on your yard aren't safe, what is?"
Beth was all sympathetic, agreeing that there were, indeed, some low lifes around.
"Third time it's happened," I groused. "Fortunately I've got a nasty shock in store for them this time."
"Ah, you do?" she asked.
I nodded. You can't see it from here but there's a high definition camera installed up in the eaves. Comes complete with low-light penetration, allowing me to get really good shots even at night. I'll just need to print out a few prints and turn them over to the cops while I fill out the complaint. I'll probably tack a few up on the lamp-posts around the neighbourhood, letting the neighbours know who to watch out for."
For some reason Beth had gone a little pale.
"Say, want to come in and watch the film with me? Maybe you know the person and can point them out to me."
"Um, no, I don't think so," she muttered. "I've got to be getting home."
"Ah, no, I think you really want to come in and see the pretty pictures. I'm sure you'll enjoy the show. It's amazing what these modern cameras can show. It's just like filming in the middle of the day and there was only moonlight."
I reached over and opened the gate, indicating that she should enter. Looking a little sick, she did so. I escorted her silently along the path and into the front room.
"Do you really want to see the film?" I asked. "There are some very good shots on it. Would you believe that you actually looked directly at the camera at one stage? The face spotting technology in the software just zoomed in on you for a lovely little close up."
"What are you going to do?" she asked, ignoring the question.
"I believe I've already answered that," I pointed out. "You know, the printouts, the formal complaint to the police, the posting of the photos. I wouldn't worry about the cops too much though. You'll probably only get a bond or a minor fine. I'm assuming this is a first offence?"
"Yes," she muttered. I guess it's hard to speak when your teeth are gritted together.
"Or possibly the first time you've been caught?"
"No. I've never done anything like this before. I just wanted to improve mum's garden."
"Mm. She's going to be real proud of that garden now, isn't she? I wonder how she'll feel when the cops come knocking."
"I'm sorry. Do you really have to go the police? I'm willing to pay for the bushes."
"The cops were my second choice," I told her. "But then I figured that if I take this to the police then you're screwed, even if it is only figuratively. My first thought was to catch you alone, rip your clothes of, and screw you literally. Wiser council suggested you might prefer the figurative screwing to the actual."
From the look on her face that decision might have gone either way, although neither appealed. But I suspected that she really did not want the cops involved.
"I said I'm sorry and that I'll pay for the bushes. Can't you just let it go at that?"
"No. Then you'll think you can just buy your way out of trouble. You may not realise it but I am really quite angry about this."
She reddened and looked elsewhere. I let the silence linger for a few moments. Then I offered her a straw to grab.
"You don't want to get screwed literally and neither do you want the cops and the figurative screwing. What would you suggest? That I just give you a beating and send you on your way with your promises to be good?"
"That'd work," she said quickly. "There'd be no need to involve the police or anything. I won't do anything like this again, I swear. I couldn't bear it if my mother found out. And to have everyone talking about me and pointing. . ." She gave a delicate little shudder.
I laughed.
"It's not on, kid," I told her. "Neighbours are not supposed to go around handing out corporal punishment to the kids in the area, no matter how much they deserve it. And if you're considered a juvenile you'll only face the Children's Court and there'd be no adult record kept."
"Stop calling me kid," she said, gritted teeth rubbing together again. "I'm not a child. I'm eighteen. Nearly nineteen. And if I say you can beat me then it's no-one else's business."
