Bambi Vincent – Page 15 – Pickpocket Bob Arno

Central and East European Train Crime

Railway mafia groups fight over territory along the thousands of kilometers of track across Central & Eastern Europe. The most lucrative connections are those between major cities which are most frequented by foreign tourists who are filthy rich, naive, gullible, and can afford to shed some of their wealth, in the eyes of the criminals who specialize in robbing sleeping victims.

…˜The mafia groups fight amongst themselves for territory and they use sleeping gas to subdue their victims,’ said the sheriff of a Polish railway station on the Polish-Czech border with over 30 years experience in his job who requested that his name be withheld. …˜They are very skilled and use the ventilation system to gas their victims or quietly inject the fast-acting gas into their cabins through a slightly opened door.’

Foreign tourists are followed and carefully watched. There is no easier place to rob them than in a train which they essentially control on some tracks way out in nowhere. They attack you when you are asleep, that’s their style and that’s their specialty.

—Central & East European CrimiScope
www.ceeds.com/cee-crimiscope [defunct]

THAT READ, we traveled exceptionally lightly for our week-long research trip to Prague. One change of clothes, computers and camera equipment, money, passports, and plastic watches each.

We boarded the Venice-to-Prague overnight train at 8 p.m. on a Saturday. After being forced to surrender our tickets to an unidentified man (who we eventually learned was our “attendant”), we were shown to a gritty compartment. Dust clumps the size of rats swirled around the floor. Sad brown floral curtains of a coarse material hung above mismatched cushions and general grime. The bunks had been opened and made up for sleeping, with bed linen that seemed fresh and clean enough. But it was stifling hot in the un-air-conditioned train, and the stale air was of suffocating stillness.

There was no choice in the sweat-smelly and sweltering compartment but to leave the window open for air, despite the deafening, rackety-clackety clamor which made sleep all but impossible. In the dark hubbub, aromas told a tactless tale. The smell of sweet wood smoke rushed in, then fresh-cut hay, and later cow manure. At every stop the train’s brakes sliced the rhythmic clatter with ear-piercing shrieks. I clamped my palms to my overly-sensitive ears in agony.

Then, stationary in a depot or switching yard, sometimes for half an hour or more, I worried about that open window. Could someone reach in and grab a bag? Voices shouted, neighboring trains clanged and clattered: but even in the relative quiet, I was afraid to drop off to sleep. And without the circulation of air, our somber cell quickly grew hot and sour-smelling.

We had read so much about East European train robbers I was, frankly, petrified.

Bolt your door from the inside, I read.
One common, square-hole key opens all compartment doors, I read somewhere else.
Bring wire with which to secure your door, and tie down your belongings.
Sleep on top of your bags.
Don’t sleep!

What scared me most were the tales of the gassers, who knock you out in the dead of night by fumigating your compartment from under the door. Then they break in and help themselves to your belongings. My doctor friend Ann had said there was no gas she knew of that wouldn’t wake you up with its smell, or make you gag or throw up, or kill you. Was that supposed to be comforting?

I was primed for panic when aroused from a light and fitful nap by the quiet rattling of our door. I heard a key jiggle in the lock and the bolt was thrown. The door was yanked open an inch and stopped by the safety chain, which held. A flashlight shined at me through the crack and several male voices mumbled quietly.

Not very sneaky, I thought. But maybe they have knives! They couldn’t have expected as light a sleeper as I. Or—I sniffed the air—maybe they’ve gassed us, not expecting an open window to dilute the chemical.

“Passports,” Bob murmured from the bunk below me—not the night-train-novice I was. We were at the Austrian border.

Thus experienced, I was prepared for the repeat performance several hours later at the Czech border. We were not well-rested when we arrived at Prague at 9:00 in the morning.

But arrive we did, with bags and tickets intact.

This is Part 1 of 3. Part 2

Excerpt from Travel Advisory: How to Avoid Thefts, Cons, and Street Scams
Chapter Three: Getting There—With all your Marbles

Oktoberfest: Breasts, big beers, and Bavarian barf

Women wear dirndls: long or mini; racy or demure; traditional, sequined, or alt.

Called in to pickpocket goodies from the massive Munich Oktoberfest crowd, Bob and I, just back from Japan to do a show for Monsanto in Las Vegas, raced to catch the last two days of the bawdy Bavarian festival. (Tokyo, Vegas, Munich in five days. Thank goodness for business class.)

Bleary-eyed, we were surprised to find the RTL TV Extra crew at the airport, cameras rolling. They whisked us straight to the heart of the party for 8 million, pausing only to slip Bob into lederhosen. Most people there wore traditional costumes: men in lederhosen, women in dirndls.

Big big beers and Bavarian barf. Drinking starts 10am. Beers are a full liter. By noon, people are doubled over and hugging trees.

It was noon, and the revelers had been drinking since 10 a.m. Some stumbled along, supported by friends. Others sat on the ground, heads in hands. No wonder: beer is sold by the liter mug and the whole idea is to drink as much as possible. The gutters ran with pee and puke.

Make room for another beer: lederhosen: made for easy peeing.

Right away Bob and I noticed “suspects”—probably pickpockets, in our opinion—scanning the crowds. Time was short though; Bob was supposed to steal from sober partiers. No time for thiefhunting. We stood on a grassy slope among the sick and sleeping, the singing, the happy, the tired. A man lay sprawled face down at our feet, right arm extended clutching his cellphone like a torch, like a fallen statue.

“Let me have this one,” our producer said with a wink. He bent and slipped the phone from the man’s grip. Too easy. Unable to rouse the plastered guy, we finally stuffed the phone into his back pocket and considered it safer than it had been.

Bob and I surveyed the mob, looking for likely marks. We had a to-do list of items to steal; and we hoped for victims who’d be good for television. We didn’t want the type who’d punch Bob in the face if they caught on— granted, though, they’d be great for television.

The failed wrist-cam hinders Bob's movements and misses the steals no matter how it's mounted.

In preparation for this challenge, our special cameraman, Frank Jeroschinsky, built a fancy “wrist-cam,” a lipstick camera he strapped to Bob’s arm with a cord that ran up Bob’s sleeve and into a backpack, where the recording device was stashed. The device was meant to capture the steal as Bob’s hand entered a purse or pocket. We didn’t have the heart to tell Frank how many cameramen before him had rigged similar set-ups. Bob just ran through the tests and trials and Frank saw for himself the disappointing results.

Interesting to watch the regimented Germans let loose. As we mingled, futilely trying to blend in, we saw heaps of humanity crumpled on the ground, and those attending to them. A policeman tried to rouse a man splayed on a sidewalk. A first aid team huddled around an unconscious body. Friends supported friends as best they could.

Roving red cross wheel the sick away on stretcher wagons with yellow vinyl tent covers for privacy, window in vinyl for light.

Before Oktoberfest was over, Munich police had arrested more than 80 pickpockets. They had come from many surrounding countries, as expected. A more inviting gathering for thieves cannot be imagined. Celebrants with traveling cash flooded in from all across Europe and beyond. Flocks of Russians had flown in. Grassy parking lots were lined with hundreds of buses from Italy, Czech Republic, Spain, and more.

Pissoir optional. I was told even women skip the loo queues and use a tree.

Expecting a flood of pickpockets from Romania, authorities had also imported a special team of Romanian police.

Poor guy lost his head. Simultaneaous puking & peeing.

What struck me among all the drunk and sick and out-of-control partiers was the overall peacefulness. In two long days I didn’t see a single fight, didn’t hear shouts, insults, or curses.

Jan, the sweet cameraman always in the right place, uh—'lost' his wallet during the shoot.

Beer-garden veg-free dinner: crispy roast duck, pretzel w/ cheese & onions, beer too heavy for me to lift one-handed. No, couldn\'t finish it. Sample prices: beer, â‚¬8. hotel wifi, â‚¬17. Half a duck with nothing else, â‚¬25.

Fish-on-a-stick. Steckerlfisch grill over fires in long rows.

Bob Arno in lederhosen, pickpocketed the Oktoberfest crowd for German RTL TV 'Extra.'

RTL Television’s Extra segment was broadcast the evening of October 5 to a 27% audience share. 17% has been their maximum, so it’s considered a huge success. Although it’s not officially online, we expect to get a copy of the piece shortly. Perhaps we’ll upload it. If so, I’ll link it here.

Bob Arno crowd pickpocket steal tv

Hotel Oddity #4

We checked into a hotel last month and plodded through the tedious check-in procedure in a daze. It was a Millennium Hotel, but I won’t say in what city.

I liked our room right away because it had an open window. Then I thought: isn’t it strange that the window is already open? And the tv was on and tuned to CNN—also unusual. It wasn’t until all our bags were settled in that I noticed a man’s jacket sprawled on a chair. The room was already occupied.

I tried calling the front desk, but in ten minutes of trying, they never picked up the phone. Then I noticed that the room number printed on the phone didn’t match the number of the room I was in. Sloppy.

Bob took the elevator down to the lobby, leaving me alone in the room to face the jacket-man when he returned, or emerged from under the bed. We changed rooms without incident—just inconvenience.

Who's jacket is in my hotel room? Or, whose room am I in?

I wonder now how many times other people have entered our various hotel rooms while we’ve been out. It happened once while we were in—in bed. It was in Paris. Two men entered our room in the dead of night. Luckily, we woke up and Bob dramatically commanded them to get out. “Pardon,” they said, “c’est une erreur,” it is a mistake. The strange thing was that they had been standing there whispering for a moment. If it had truly been a mistake, wouldn’t they immediately back out of an occupied room?

How are hotel rooms assigned to multiple parties? The most basic computer system shouldn’t allow it.

hotel key odd security travel

When TSA confiscates your pocket knife…

Brother-in-law, though a frequent flyer, forgot to move his pocket knife from his carry-on to his checked bag. He groaned when TSA discovered it. The knife was a gift from us, a gorgeous little oval less than two inches long, but heavy and well-made. Bob and I found it on a trip to Germany, and bought one for ourselves, too. A Mammut MicroTool, it’s called.

B-I-L, the self-proclaimed Swedish Okie and country bumpkin, was on his way back to Sweden. When the TSA officer dangled the contraband with its dangerous half-inch blade, B-I-L recognized a glint of proud ownership in the eye of the new beholder. The officer beheld a prize. B-I-L is a sore loser.

B-I-L snatched the knife away, determined that it should not slip beneath the crumpled handkerchief in the warm pocket of the TSO. He could not bear the thought of his fine knife snug among the unmentionables, in pilled cotton intimacy under an overhanging gut. B-I-L intended to destroy the little tool.

He hadn’t counted on the strength of the precision German instrument. He ripped, he stomped, he tried to bend. It took him fifteen minutes to render the tool unusable, the stubborn vengeful bumpkin.

I know a man in Las Vegas who makes his living on the forgetfulness of travelers. He buys great lots of TSA’s confiscated pocket knives for pittance at auction, and sells them one by one on eBay. (The profit, they say, is in the “shipping and handling” fee.) He’s never seen a fine little tool like the exotic Mammut MicroTool. He must get an, um, filtered selection.

What we call “confiscated items,” TSA refers to as “voluntary abandoned property.” [sic] If I were a TSO, I’d protest the extra work involved in providing envelopes to passengers. I’d say it’s a bad idea. It would mean I’d have to hand over an envelope, wait for the passenger to address it, then collect a fat fee and provide a receipt. All that work! No more perks!

airport brother-in-law claes security TSA

Hotel safe theft

What would you do if you opened the safe behind the hotel manager’s desk and found your passports gone? One woman took creative action.

Mary from Michigan and her two adult children just quit their jobs and sold or stored everything. They’re taking a year to travel the world. Oh, what a plan!

After seeing our show, Mary told us about her recent visit to Laos. She and her son and daughter stored their stuff in Bangkok and took a boat down the Mekong to Laos. There, Mary put her few valuables into the hotel lobby safe: the family’s three passports bundled with $2,000 folded into an envelope, and some very large camera lenses.

When she went to retrieve her things, only the lenses remained. Mary quickly discovered that one key opened all twenty safe deposit boxes, and her interrogation of the hotel manager led her to suspect an employee (rather than a guest).

Mary channeled her fear and anger and made a plan. She and her kids fanned out among the alleys surrounding the hotel and shouted into the darkness with volume and authority. “I’ll pay $200 for the stolen passports!” Within half an hour, Mary was lightly tapped on her shoulder, the passports, still bundled, proffered.

And Mary paid up. She told me that people think she was crazy to pay, but she’d promised. The thieves hadn’t discovered the $2,000.

Airport bags for liquids

The new 3-1-1 profit is here. Or in Ireland, anyway. For a euro ($1.47), you get two quart-size plastic bags in a plastic egg.

The retail price for a 1-quart ziptop plastic bag, if bought in bulk, is as low as 8Â¢. Airports pay a mere fraction of that and give the bags away.

Look at the expense the airport in Cork, Ireland goes to in order to profit from the bags. Elaborate packaging, huge vending machines, multiple instruction placards, packaging waste, and maintenance of the whole setup.

Airport bags for liquids: 3-1-1 bag-in-a-bubble vending machines. — 3-1-1 bag-in-a-bubble vending machines.

Something from nothing.
Anybody buying?

Shred

Do not let a power outage compromise your security.

identity theft

Hotel oddity #3

On the wall under the shower head, three feet above the floor, this pipe drained water after every shower. Not one of the nicer rooms we’ve stayed in, so I won’t name the place.

hotel odd travel

Aggressive hospitality

A reader of this blog recently wrote to me and described a suspicious encounter:

In Dublin, I noticed a tall young man in a green sweater keeping pace behind us, regardless of our window shopping.Â I turned down a busy side street, and he turned with us.Â We turned back to our original route, and the fellow with the green sweater appeared to be gone.Â Then I noticed that the same man was again following us, with the sweater rolled up and behind is back.Â I suddenly turned and said, “Good morning.Â How’s your day going so far?”Â The fellow said “Fine,” and then turned and walked off.

—Vern (and Pattie) Leming

I like the way Vern confronted his green sweater suspect. What he did is actually what many police and security officers do. It’s called aggressive hospitality: a friendly encounter meant to indicate “I see you, I’m watching.”

At a street festival, for example, police want to prevent incidents. When they spot a known suspect lurking, or an unknown person exhibiting suspicious behavior, they may confront the person with a friendly question: “Enjoying the festival?” or “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” A security guard at a theme park or in a mall will do the same. “Have you lost someone?”

Walmart practices the same principle to stem shoplifting. Called the “10-foot rule” there, store employees greet every customer who comes near them. If employees suspect shoplifting in progress, they offer to help the customer with his shopping.

Hotels and resorts also engage in aggressive hospitality. While guests notice a friendly staff greeting them at every turn, thieves, rogues, and transgressors lose their anonymity and feel watched.

Richard Buske, Security Manager of Nordic Hotels, takes this philosophy a step further. All staff members at his hotels are trained in security matters. All are taught to be observant and are praised for alerting management to suspicious behavior. Security is considered a team effort to be conducted in a friendly, positive manner.

hotel security theft

How Bernanke’s ID thieves did it

Shonya Michelle Young (Credit: U.S. Marshal Service)

Anna Bernanke hung her purse on the back of a chair at Starbucks. It was stolen and, soon after, she and Ben became victims of identity theft.

It’s extremely simple to steal a purse that isn’t attached to a person. It could be on the back of a chair, on an empty chair, or on the floor. Bob’s done it many times for television news shows. Yep, even in busy coffee shops and mall food courts, where you’d think a few people would notice. It has to do with how you drape a coat over the purse.

In her handbag, Anna carried what thieves call a spread: credit card, identification, checks, and her Social Security card (shame on her!). This is the jackpot for a pickpocket and identity theft ring.

Not all pickpockets know how to exploit checks and credit cards. But by now they know at least to sell them. In the old days, some thieves would actually bother to drop them in a mailbox.

Some pickpockets have their own ID theft specialists on staff or on call. When they snag a bag containing a spread, they want to cash a hefty check or two, and they want a fat cash advance on the credit card. They could just buy murch—stuff at a store—but then they’d get just a fraction of its value from a fence. A cash advance is the best, especially in cities with casinos. The thieves can request several advances simultaneously, at different casinos. Each will be approved because none has actually been granted yet. A thief can easily make about $60,000 in an hour with just one credit card.

I wrote of this in a forum a few years ago, and someone asked:

How can they get a cash advance without showing an ID matching their face to the name on the card? Whenever I’m in Vegas I get asked for ID when using credit cards even for a 5.00 purchase.

That’s where the pickpocket’s staff comes in. These thieves have a covey of accomplices on standby. “A blonde, a brunette, an Asian, an older woman with gray hair, and a heavy-set,” a practitioner of this business told me. They call them look-alikes. When the pickpocket gets a check or credit card with ID, he phones the accomplice who looks most like the victim (and that doesn’t have to be much!). The accomplice practices the victim’s signature a time or two, then goes to collect the cash advance (which the thief applied for at a machine.) At this point, the accomplice is referred to as a writer. She writes the check or signs for the cash advance. The harried teller or cashier takes a quick glance, sees a vague resemblance (maybe thinks: oh, honey, you’re having a bad day), and doles out the cash under pressure to serve the next person in line.

The suddenly-infamous George Lee Reid was [allegedly] the identity theft ring’s writer of one of Bernanke’s checks, at a bank in Maryland. The ring’s main writer, Shonya Michelle Young (pictured above), has just been captured. In her possession, she had fake ID, credit cards in the name of others, and “wigs worn while cashing fraudulent checks.”

PICKPOCKETS, CON ARTISTS, GANGSTERS, THIEVES, AND TRAVEL