They led him into a dimly lit interrogation room, where a single, stark-white chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a harsh light on the table below. Across from him sat Sheriff Snowden, a man who looked like he had stepped straight out of a strange fusion between a Viking saga and a police procedural. He was tall; about 6'1" with a blond beard that was a bit unruly, and he filled out his uniform in a way that suggested the fabric was struggling to keep him contained. He reminded Ivan of Thor from 'Avengers: Endgame', only somehow more intimidating and less godly.
They locked eyes across the table, Ivan's nervous gaze meeting Snowden's scrutinizing stare. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken questions, until a sharp knock broke the tension.
"Come in," Snowden grunted, his voice low and gravelly.
A young officer entered, holding a document folder. He cleared his throat and handed it to the sheriff, glancing briefly at Ivan with a curious expression.
"Sheriff, we searched his apartment. Here's what we found." He listed off Ivan's possessions: "Four dollars and seventy-two cent in loose change, an old watch, a lighter that's out of kerosene, a New Caledonian-issued passport, a driver's license showing he's a legal resident, a rental contract, and…" He paused, smirking slightly, "twenty copies of the same resume."
The young officer and Sheriff Snowden exchanged a look, their expressions softening as they took in Ivan's pitiful list of belongings.
Sheriff Snowden shook his head slightly, a hint of sympathy creeping into his stern demeanor. "So, this guy shows up in a strange city with less than five dollars to his name, can't even afford lighter fluid, and is lugging around twenty resumes hoping for a break."
The officer added with a nod, "Doesn't exactly scream 'accomplice to a high-profile thief,' does it? I mean, the Kangaroo Thief has made off with over 120,000 dollars in cash. Would his buddy be walking around in the same suit he's been wearing for days?"
Sheriff Snowden grunted, conceding the point. "Yeah, fair enough." He glanced at Ivan, crossing his arms. "Alright, Mr. Ivan, looks like you're not the criminal mastermind type after all."
Ivan exhaled, finally feeling a shred of hope. "Exactly! I've been saying all along, I'm just a bystander who got dragged into this."
But a glint of curiosity and perhaps something more mischievous, flashed in Sheriff Snowden's eyes. "Still, you spent quite a while with the Kangaroo Thief. You must know something."
Before Ivan could protest, the sheriff called out, "Bjornsen, get in here! We've got an interrogation to handle."
The doorway darkened as a mountain of a man appeared, even bulkier than Snowden, with arms that seemed ready to burst from his too-tight police shirt. Bjornsen's expression was one of pure intensity as he lumbered forward, blocking out the light from the hallway. Ivan's stomach dropped as he recognized the officer who had practically crushed him during the arrest.
Ivan's voice cracked as he stammered, "W-wait! You don't have an arrest warrant… you can't detain a legal citizen without cause…"
Sheriff Snowden smirked, clearly enjoying the shift in power. "Oh, we have cause if you're cooperating with a known criminal." He leaned in, his tone low and ominous. "Besides, I should mention… Bjornsen here is, uh, shall we say… very enthusiastic about his work. Especially with certain suspects."
A wicked smile crept over Bjornsen's face, and he took a step closer. Ivan's eyes widened as he took in the man's hulking frame, the subtle but unmistakable gleam in his eye that was both intimidating and unsettling.
"Listen, I can explain everything!" Ivan blurted out, his nerves fraying under the looming presence of the giant officer.
Sheriff Snowden raised an eyebrow, leaning back with a self-satisfied grin. "See? That's the spirit. There's an old saying, you know; a man who knows when to talk is a smart man." He nodded approvingly. "Alright, Mr. Ivan, let's hear what you've got."
Bjornsen halted, his smile faltering in disappointment as he was ordered to step back. Ivan released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, immensely relieved as the behemoth retreated to the door.
Ivan took a moment to collect himself, swallowing hard. "Okay, what exactly do you want to know?" He had to remind himself to tread carefully. One wrong word, and he could find himself in even deeper trouble.
Sheriff Snowden leaned forward, the harsh chandelier light accentuating the intensity in his gaze. "Let's start with the basics. Tell me everything you know about the Kangaroo Thief."
Ivan sighed, gathering his thoughts. "Well, first off, she's a woman. I saw her face; she wasn't wearing any disguise when we met."
The young officer taking notes glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "She?"
Ivan nodded, trying to sound as cooperative as possible. "Yes, she. I mean, unless she's… you know, hiding something else." He shrugged awkwardly, hoping they wouldn't read too much into that comment.
Sheriff Snowden's expression turned contemplative, and he exchanged a look with the younger officer. "A woman, huh? Alright, go on. What else can you tell us?"
Ivan hesitated, searching his memory for any detail that might be useful without implicating himself further. "She… she was pretty confident, I'll give her that. I mean, she just waltzed up to the bank like it was a regular day at work. She didn't seem worried at all."
As soon as Ivan finished speaking, a stunned silence fell over the interrogation room. The young police officer blinked, then, as if suddenly realizing the weight of what Ivan had said, gasped dramatically.
"Oh, this is valuable information!" the officer exclaimed, nodding in solemn agreement.
"We finally have a breakthrough!" Bjornsen practically shouted, looking like a kid on Christmas morning.
"That's right, write it down!" Sheriff Snowden barked, visibly animated.
Ivan was dumbfounded. 'Is the San Francisco Police Department really this… lost?' He thought back to the staggering sum Martha; apparently the "Kangaroo Thief" had stolen, and realized that the police didn't even know the thief's gender. 'This isn't 2023! How can they be this far behind?'
Noticing Ivan's bewildered expression, Sheriff Snowden gave an awkward smile. "Ahem… doesn't matter. Just, uh, keep going."
Ivan collected himself, piecing together more details. "Alright… well, she didn't cover her face when we talked. She looked like she was in her twenties, maybe a little over five foot three, with short hair."
Snowden nodded, eagerly jotting this down.
"She told me she was Mexico. Said she stowed away to the States when she was only nine. Her parents…" Ivan hesitated, feeling a pang of sympathy. "Her parents died during the journey."
"Wait, she said she was Mexico?" Sheriff Snowden's eyes flashed with excitement, and he suddenly lunged forward, gripping Ivan's shoulders with surprising force.
"Yeah, that's what she said," Ivan replied, startled by the intensity in Snowden's gaze.
"What else? Did she tell you anything else?" Snowden's voice was trembling with anticipation.
"Oh, and… she called herself Martha."
Sheriff Snowden's expression shifted to one of shock, as if Ivan had just revealed a secret of cosmic proportions. He released Ivan, stumbling back, his face a mixture of awe and disbelief.
"Martha of the Mexico …" he murmured, sinking into his chair with a faraway look, as though the weight of years of frustration was suddenly lifted.
"Martha of the Maxico!" Bjornsen echoed, his face lighting up as he grabbed the young officer in a bear hug. Both men looked on the verge of tears.
"Someone go tell Bigger to stop scrolling through Hollywood mugshots!" Snowden said, wiping at his eyes. "We finally have a lead!"
Ivan, more baffled than ever, looked around the room. 'Was this the San Francisco Police Department… or an asylum?'
"You don't understand, Mr. Ivan," Sheriff Snowden said, collecting himself. "This Kangaroo Thief… thus guy's a legend. A ghost. For years, we couldn't even pin down what they looked like. Every report was different. And now… now we know. Martha. Mexican. It's something to hold onto."
He leaned forward, his eyes now filled with a mixture of exhaustion and determination.
"The first sighting of the Kangaroo Thief was two years ago," he began, speaking in a low, almost reverent tone. "It was a normal day at the Convenience Bank on Eighth Street. Witnesses say a young, tall, thin Black man with dreadlocks walked in, calm as anything. No mask, just a sports jacket and a black Colt M1911 in hand. He took control in seconds, had the tellers fill his bag, and was gone with 16,800 dollars in three minutes flat. By the time we got there, it was like he'd vanished."
The young officer slapped a thick file down onto the table, his face grim. "We dubbed him the 'Kangaroo Thief' because he wore his backpack backward, like a kangaroo pouch. We thought he'd slip up, that we'd catch him in no time. But then, three days later…"
The officer's voice took on a note of exasperation as he continued, "He shows up at the Checkered Bank as a different person, a Indian man in a white turban and thick beard, speaking broken English with a thick accent. Same routine, same speed, and gone before anyone could catch him."
The young officer shook his head, flipping through pages in the file. "Next time, he's an Arab. Then a Asian with braided hair. Then a Viking wearing a horned helmet, and even Santa Claus with a full white beard! The man's a chameleon. There was one incident where a priest swore he saw Jehovah himself walk out of the bank with a sack of cash."
Ivan's mouth fell open. "Are you telling me… this thief's pulled this off over and over without you figuring out who he or she really is?"
Sheriff Snowden nodded, lighting a cigarette and exhaling heavily. "Sixty-three banks in two years. She'll hit one for a few thousand, another for tens of thousands. We'd just get a night's rest, think we were safe, and bam, the Kangaroo Thief strikes again. Each time, a different disguise, a different persona."
He took a long drag on his cigarette, his eyes weary. "If we hadn't analyzed her body shape and movements, I'd have thought the League of Nations had started an International Robbery Bureau. Sh's become one of the most wanted criminals in California, the number one bank robber in San Francisco. The pressure from the state government is mounting; we have to catch this thief."
The sheriff turned back to Ivan, his gaze intense and unyielding. "And you, Mr. Ivan, are our only lead right now. You're the only one who's seen her, the only person to actually speak with her. You're our only hope."
Ivan swallowed, feeling the weight of their expectations settle heavily on his shoulders. 'How did a chance encounter with a strange girl on a tram turn into this?'
"So… what now?" he asked hesitantly, glancing around at the hopeful faces.
Sheriff Snowden leaned forward, placing a hand on Ivan's shoulder, his voice low but determined. "You're going to help us bring her in."