What do I do with THIS?

Nikita went on a journey this morning. 

I got a phone call from the neighbor before 7 am.  He informed me that my child was out in the neighborhood, walking down the street with somebody.  In my sleep-wake state, I thought that the dog had gotten out of the yard and was roaming the street.  My mind raced to visions of terrified old ladies fighting Bascha off with a stick.  It was the mention of pajamas that shocked me awake and made me realize that it wasn't Bascha, but Nikita.

Richard bolted out the door to discover Nikita walking away, about four houses down the street with some guy in a motorcycle getup, complete with bike at his side.  When a whistle turned them both around, Richard heard the whole story.

By the grace of God, the man who found Nikita walking toward one of the busiest roads in the city, was Michael's fourth grade teacher, Mr. Sperka.  Mr. Sperka had been on his way to the school when he found our little boy, dressed in his pajamas with no shoes and a fistful of change, walking about a quarter mile from our house.  Apparently Nikita informed him that he was on his way to the ice cream store.

Mr. Sperka convinced Nikita to turn around and managed to get him to lead him to our street.  But then Nikita pointed to our next door neighbor's house and said "That's my house."  Nikita ran up to the front door, opened it and walked in.  Mr. Sperka said he just kept walking toward the school until Nikita ran out the door, down the street and caught up with him.  (The neighbor heard Nikita come in the door as he was stepping in the shower.  Ran out and asked Nikita what he was doing and apparently frightened our child back out the door.)

Thus the phone call from the neighbor, which led to Richard finding Mr. Sperka and Nikita on their way to the school where the plan was to hopefully figure out whose child this was and where he belonged.

I'm finished laughing.  Crying isn't happening.  This is beyond anger.  I ask again, what do I do?