La Rambla, Barcelona—On observing the behavior of someone like Plaid, we label him a suspect. We follow and film, yet we can’t be certain he’s a thief.
“He could be a pervert,” police have told us. “Watch his eyes.” Plaid’s eyes said wallet. His furtive fingers opening buttons said pickpocket. We stayed glued to his back until he gave up.
“Let’s go talk to him.” Bob was already trotting toward him. I had to run to catch up.
“Scuza,” Bob called, “por favor…” He was mixing up his languages in the excitement.
Plaid stopped and bestowed an empty grin on us.
“Do you speak English?”
“No, no English. I speak French. And I speak Algerian.” Plaid held up his hands as if he were off the hook and turned to continue on his way.
“En francaise, c’est bien,” Bob said, dredging up his French. “We want to talk to you.” He tossed the video camera to me.
“Okay, nice to meet you.” Plaid offered his hand. Bob shook it without hesitation, neatly stealing Plaid’s watch at the same time. I was still fumbling with the camera so half the watch steal was filmed upside down.
“We’d like to ask you some questions.” Bob dangled the watch in front of Plaid, who glanced at his naked wrist then back to Bob. He broke into a bewildered smile.
“That’s superb. Please…”
Bob will often steal something from a thief then return it for a reaction. His unique talent instantly establishes rapport with an outlaw and, more often then not, they’ll talk to us.
Plaid, an opportunist pickpocket whose method is stealth, is a lone wolf. He works solo, without a partner. His neat clothes and haircut, decent shoes, and polite manner are calculated to blend into a crowd. He’s a chameleon. We call him a gentleman thief, a type almost impossible to detect.
“I want you to explain for me—”
“Why me?”
“Because we have watched you work.” Bob tried to explain that he is an “artiste,” a stage performer, but Plaid couldn’t grasp the concept of stealing as entertainment.
“Please, don’t tell anyone what I do. I know this is bad work. You know, this is Spain, and there is no job for me. I have no papers… that’s why I’m doing this. Because I have a child to feed. See, I have reasons to steal, because I need to feed my baby.”
He tried to give Bob a little advice, one pickpocket pal to another. “Use your brain, be smart. You don’t need violence. Use your mind.”
The pickpocket took a few steps backwards, itchy to make his escape. “You need patience to do this. Now I must go. Let me say good-bye.”
And the gentleman thief was gone, an invisible germ in an oblivious crowd.
Excerpt from Travel Advisory: How to Avoid Thefts, Cons, and Street Scams
Chapter Five: Rip-Offs: Introducing… the Opportunist
I think that he’s still there – he looks familiar. I’m sure that we’ve seen him on our frequent visits into the city when showing guest around the place.
Yes, we saw Plaid several more times working on La Rambla. When he saw and recognized us, he invited us into a bar for beer and tapas. He seemed to pour his life story out to us as we sat there at the bar, but neither Bob nor I could glean much from his Arabic-tinged French. We were frustrated, disappointed, and charmed.
Did you ever run into Plaid again?