Probably all of us have in fond memory an incident we've seen or participated in where good guys won and bad guys lost in a humorous vein. Here's mine.

I visited an old friend and his Marine son who was home on leave. This was 1986 and Dave and his son picked me up at the airport. We drove toward his home in Los Gatos, California. As we neared his home - I think we were in Campbell, California, at the time - directly in front of us was an old man driving a huge car from the late 1970s. While he was not driving in any possible conception any way but safely and normally, an archetypal biker, replete with gang vest and the other usual accutrements of someone seriously antisocial was even with the old man's "bus" and was shouting, gesturing, and otherwise being what he was. This scene continued for several stop lights. Each stop light the biker on his tricked out hog got more aggressive while the old man did his best to ignore the man. Meanwhile my friend Dave got more irritated with each stop light, his son becoming perhaps yet more irritated. Two stop lights before our turn onto Dave's street, the biker pull right next to the old man, not more than a foot from his big car - and yelling some serious trash.

The light turned green. The old man did not accelerate from the light. The biker remained stopped as well. The old man glanced at the biker - opened the door of his big car, then closed it. The look on the biker's face was priceless - total disbelief as the door nudged his 700 pound Harley. The old man slowly accelerated on his way. The biker just lay in the street with his Harley laying on him - screaming death and violence against the slowly disappearing old man and his big, old car. . . . What a lovely ride from the airport it turned out to be.

life can be so very, very good...

I think the statute of limitations has run out on this one, so it is safe to tell.

When I was in school in Illinois (1976-78), I worked part time at a Kawasaki dealer. Set up and testing on the KZ900 and 1000's. Anyway, we had a place to quick test bikes, about a mile long. It had warehouse buildings on one side, and a four foot high retaining wall on the other. Lots of racing went on there.

There was this one prick cop named Al Young who used to set back at one end in an abandoned building and try to catch guys racing, etc. I had one of the customers tell me they used to install a cut off switch to the rear brake when he lived in Detroit. Tail light operated, but no brake light. So, after I built a 1060cc kit for my 900, I wired one in. First night, about 1am, I roll out of the shop with my plate taped over, and fly down this road. Sure enough, about halfway down, here comes Al with lights and siren on. The end of the road had a retaining wall as well, and a 90-degree right turn. Fifty yards out, and I hit the brakes. Al is waiting for that, to catch me. Oops, no brake light. He walks this Chevy Impala into the retaining wall, brakes locked up, about half sideways at close to 60mph. Wall did not move. Ten minutes later, I am at the shop, and have moved my custom paint job tank and side fenders onto a new bike. Every police car in the county screams up, like a DEA drug raid. Al in the forefront. He is so happy, got me good for the rest of my life in prison.

But, the insidious B-U-T, he ID's my bike by the paint job, and it is sitting there stone cold. They all just turned around and walked out the back of the shop.

I lived out of town, but every time I set foot (tire) inside the city limits I had an escort. As soon as summer school was out, I moved here. 1700 miles is just about far enough away.

Rich

When my father got transferred to N.Virginia to work in the Pentagon we bought a house on the Fairfax, Arlington line on a piece of high ground.
Down on the flats, one the same road was a young fellow who road a HD with very loud pipes. This young fellow took great delight in running up the hill fast and loud around 05:00 on week days and 02:00 Friday and Saturday. Several people went down to ask him to cease and desist, politely. He basically told them to shove it.
The concerned citizens called the county police which only aggravated the young man into more, faster and louder.
One of the young men in the neighborhood , since the noise was waking him up also, started thinking out a solution. Two bags of pea gravel in the curve solved the problem the very next morning.

Jim

Not sure it was good over evil, but in the 80's I neglected to send in a fuel tax report on time. I got a notice from the California Board of equalization that my fuel tax permit was revoked.
My wife and I went to the hearing, and and they revoked my $125 bond, assesed a $500 penalty, and made me put up a new bond for $500. While finalizing the paperwork, I was asked if this was still my current address. I replied, No it is now po box 124, etc. The board member told me I had to have a physical address. I told him we were living in the truck.
He said our permit was null. Out of frustration I replied that I didn't think Cal discriminated against disadvantaged minorities. He said "You're not a minority". I told him I was a homeless man. He said you are not a homeless man. I then asked him why I was being denied a fuel permit. He stammered and said "Because you don't have a physical... Wait right here."
A couple minutes later he returned, gave me back my two $500 checks, re instated my original $125 bond, and had also put me on an annual reporting basis, which I had requested for over two years.