Everyone ends up being a pawn in this kind of legal wrangling
By HOWARD TROXLER
Published December 22, 2003
Len Stamos has owned Beach Cyclist Sports Center in St. Pete Beach for nine years. A couple of Saturdays ago, a guy came into his shop and asked to test ride a $300 mountain bike.
"It's a common practice," Stamos said. "I don't expect people to buy a bike without a test ride."
After the usual procedure, he asked to hold the man's wallet, which the customer gladly forked over.
Only when the guy didn't come back did Stamos look inside the almost-empty wallet and realize he'd been had. Fortunately, the bicycle thief was not exactly a brain surgeon. The wallet contained a pawn shop receipt from a previous transaction.
Police identified the thief, and Stamos fingered him in a mug shot. So far, the police still haven't found the guy, but they will. In the meantime, police tracked down Stamos' stolen bicycle at a different pawn shop in St. Petersburg by matching up the serial number.
Happy ending?
Not quite. The pawn shop that has the stolen bike says that if Stamos wants it back right away, he'll have to fork over the $150 the pawn shop paid to the thief. Otherwise, Stamos has to get a court order for the bike.
The idea of paying a pawn shop to get back his stolen property came as a novelty to Stamos, as it did to me. You would think that when there is a slam-dunk identification, such as with a serial number, the return would be automatic.
But you would be wrong, according to Chapter 539, Florida Statutes.
A Florida pawnbroker is not required to surrender property identified as stolen without a court order for a "writ of replevin." That is a legal term that more or less means: Give me back what is rightfully mine. It is a small-claims matter that is done easily enough, but it still is an inconvenience.
Even some people in the justice system are not entirely clear on the rules. The most knowledgeable and helpful was Sgt. Bill Korinek of the St. Petersburg Police Department's economic crimes and property recovery unit.
Korinek said the law was changed a few years back to establish a fair procedure. Before then, people went into pawn shops all the time claiming that things had been stolen from them. Most of the time, it wasn't true. Either the claimants were mistaken - they were sure that doodad on the shelf was Aunt Minnie's, when it wasn't - or they were lying.
So Chapter 539 established a clear procedure. To prove that something in a pawn shop was stolen from you, you go to small-claims court. The pawn shop is not allowed to sell your property in the meantime. The good news is that if you win, all your costs are paid by the pawnbroker.
For that reason, Korinek said, "Nine times out of 10, the pawn shop is just going to give the stuff back" without the whole legal rigamarole. But the pawnbroker doesn't have to. He can insist on going to court. Now and then, the original property owner, to save the hassle, just buys his stuff back.
John Walker is manager of Southern Pawn, 4545 Fourth St. N in St. Petersburg, which has the bicycle that was stolen from Stamos' store. I asked him, why not just give it back? "There's procedures to be followed," he said. "Everybody is going to have an interest involved."
From the pawn shop's point of view, it also is a crime victim. The bike thief stole the shop's money when he represented that the bike was his.
Still, my sympathy lies more with Stamos. It seems unfair that his stolen bicycle, matched by serial number, is sitting in somebody else's store and that he must go to court to get it.
I understand the argument of the pawn shops. I do not believe that anybody should be able to just walk into their stores, claim something was stolen and grab it off the shelf. But, you know, pawnbrokers are in one of the oldest professions in the world, and it is not news that some people who come through their doors are crooks. The special inconveniences of doing that kind of business should be borne by them alone, and not imposed on the general public.
The law should be tweaked. I doubt it will, however, until crime victims organize and hire lobbyists to sweet talk the Legislature, just like everybody else does.
