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. I turned down a busy side street, and he turned with us. We turned back to our original route, and the fellow with the green sweater appeared to be gone. Then I noticed that the same man was again following us, with the sweater rolled up and behind is back. I suddenly turned and said, “Good morning. How’s your day going so far?” 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.
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.”
More on look-alikes later.
Reminder to women: don’t hang your purse on the back of your chair. Don’t put it on the floor unless you put your foot through the strap. Reminder to men: valuables in your coat pockets are vulnerable if you hang the coat on the back of a chair.
Legal-but-dirty, beat-the-system, shady business is being committed by Las Vegas homeowners at the inducement of a real estate agent, as reported by Joel Stein in TIME magazine (8/14/09 issue).
[Real estate agent Brooke] Boemio specializes in short selling, in a particularly Vegas way. Basically, she finds clients who owe more on their house than the house is worth (and that’s about 60% of homeowners in Las Vegas) and sells them a new house similar to the one they’ve been living in at half the price they paid for their old house. Then she tells them to stop paying the mortgage on their old place until the bank becomes so fed up that it’s willing to let the owner sell the house at a huge loss rather than dragging everyone through foreclosure. Since that takes about nine months, many of the owners even rent out their old house in the interim, pocketing a profit.
“It’s greedy. But we’re all doing it. Because why not?” It’s very hard, she says, to suffer as the one honest person in a town of successful con artists.
I have no problem suffering as the one honest person in Vegas and I know many others who’d say the same. Boemio seems to be implying that she has given up honesty and joined the con artists of Las Vegas. In a blog about scams and cons, how can I not report this smelly business allegedly occurring in my own backyard?
First though, I’m wondering why banks extend loans to people who already have a hefty mortgage. How do they qualify? Easy, says a real estate lawyer I consulted. The buyer claims the new house will be owner occupied, while the old one will provide income from rent. While investor loans may be hard to get right now, those for owner-occupied houses are not. The fact that the borrowers can afford to pay their mortgage—they just don’t want to!—and default on the loan, choosing to give their money to another lender on a “better” deal is a question of ethics, not legality. If you’re a person of principle, you might have a hard time walking away from the promise you made to pay back your loan. If you’re a Vegas scumbag, or a con artist, or really, really hurting financially, there’s another option: you can simply skip on the loan. Because, why not?
Ever hear of the Golden Rule, Boemio? “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” What a simple way to fix the world.
Anyway, back to scams and cons. While the broker is scamming the system, she’s not committing fraud. The homeowners knowingly and temporarily destroy their own credit for the privilege of upgrading their homes and lowering their financial obligations. But otherwise, only the banks are hurt—and who pities the banks? It seems to be the state of Las Vegas and, actually, the state of the country. Look out for yourself. Get what you can. Screw the other guy.
This is practically the definition of kiasu, the Chinese-Singaporean attitude of “me first.” Bob and I spent much time in Singapore, but never quite got the hang of pushing to the front of the line, taking all the lychees on the buffet in case there were no more later, diving into a train before the departing passengers can get off, etc.
We’ve imported so much from Asia. Now we have kiasu, If you don’t believe in the Golden Rule, get the hang of kiasu. Because, why not?
A tiny skimmer removed from an ATM way back in 2006.
A reader wrote of an ATM experience which, soon after, led to $9,000 in fraudulent withdrawals. He was abroad, but this happens at ATMs everywhere; and so frequently that I think it’s worth posting as a reminder.
As I was using an atm at a money exchange kiosk, I received the cash I wanted but was unable to get my card back. The man in back of me told me I had to enter my pin number again in order to have the card returned. He even reached in front of me and hit some buttons and told me to enter my pin. I did so and after a slight wait, the card came back. The experience was unsettling because I had never heard of entering a pin number a second time to get your card back after a transaction and no one had ever brazenly reached in front of me to assist me at an atm. Since I received my cash and finally my card, I felt everything was fine. But that was the day the mysterious withdrawals began.
I called my bank as soon as I realized there was a problem. The woman I spoke with immediately closed the credit card account linked to my atm card. Within a couple weeks, the bank had deposited the total of the disputed withdrawals into my account.
There are two essential goodies the card fraudster needs: the info on your card and your PIN. Info on the card can be gained in many ways. A snapshot can be taken of it with a cellphone camera, an imprint can be made, or a skimmer can be attached to the ATM itself. Nowadays, skimmers can be tiny and imperceptible. The vital PIN can be easily obtained by the crafty thief’s strategy. The example above is a classic: the false samaritan. The fraudster offers help in order to gain what he needs. Sometimes these “samaritans” even make cellphone calls to helplines, handing the phone to the mark; but the person on the other end of the phone call is the fraudster’s colleague, who pretends to be a bank official.
To protect against these scams, first, don’t use an ATM that looks suspicious in any way. Unfortunately, they usually don’t look suspicious, even if they’ve been tampered with. Second, shield your PIN with your hand as you enter it. A wireless video camera may be mounted to capture the entry of your PIN. The illicit video camera, which is only the size of a sugar cube, might be in front of you, so your body won’t block it. Use your hand. Third, if your card gets stuck, get suspicious! Do NOT accept help from a stranger. Walk away from the card if you must, but do not give up your PIN. And lastly, always suspect the stranger who enters your personal sphere. That’s just not natural. He or she is after something—of yours!
It’s sad that we must suspect a friendly stranger, but a look at identity theft statistics is enough to convince anyone that it’s better to be safe than sorry. Ruthless, creative scammers specialize in benevolence, and they’re darn convincing. CONvincing, as in gaining your CONfidence. That’s why they’re called CON artists!
All these photos are framegrabs from video; not very high-resolution. Here the victim watches as the thief, in front of him (in a gray-striped shirt) puts her hand in his pocket. In the background, another Clavelera (in gray sweater) conducts another theft.
The Offer of a Flower is a Foil for Filching
Palma de Mallorca, Spain— Bob and I trailed a trio of young women through Palma’s shopping district. Working separately but near each other, they halfheartedly approached a seemingly random selection of meandering tourists. Most ignored the women’s overtures, but one amiable couple paused with interest.
Bob filmed the scene and I alternated between watching the scam and watching Bob’s back. He was balancing a huge camera on his shoulder and I carried the ponderous tripod and brick-like battery. Neither of us could hear the exchange, if there was one, but the con artist must have made her desires clear. The male tourist had his wallet out, then replaced it in his front shorts pocket. Bob and I could see the pocket from where we stood, behind him. As we watched (and filmed), the con woman reached across the man and put her hand into his pocket! She made no particular effort to disguise her move, and the man reacted not at all. How brazen she was, and how trusting was he. How well she read him.
Bad photo, but I like the action.Remember this face.
Suddenly, I was roughly pushed. I had failed to notice that one of the thief’s partners had observed our camera focused on her teammate. She raised her hand to push away the camera and I blocked her with my arm. Her fist crashed down on my wrist, breaking my stainless-steel watchband.
“No photo!” she shouted.
Now Bob swung around and looked at the woman through his lens.
“No photo!” she yelled again, and ineffectively waved a tissue at the camera. Then she swiveled, bent, and rose in one fluid motion, and hefted a massive rock. In a classic pitcher’s posture—or was she about to throw like a girl?—she aimed for the camera lens. A frame captured from the video makes a lovely portrait of her, rock poised in one hand, dainty bouquet of carnations in the other.
Wound up and ready to smash our camera, she bared her teeth and raised one foot.
“Hey-hey-hey!” commanded a male voice behind us, or something to that effect in the woman’s language. A cloud of dust rose and the earth shook as her boulder plunked to the ground.
With a sneer, the would-be destroyer turned and rejoined her companions, who had just finished their scam. Bob and I caught up with the victims.
“First they pretended to give us the flower,” the woman said cheerily, “but then they asked for one peseta.” She and her husband were both smiling, amused by the bold stunt and pleased to be interviewed.
“When I gave her some money, she gave it back,” the husband cut in. “She said no-no-no. And she put her hand in my pocket and the hand came out. I only lost 400 pesetas.”
That explained their jovial mood.
The Massies, British tourists, happily fall for the scam.
Palma de Mallorca has long been a favorite holiday destination for Germans and Swedes, and for Europeans in general. Many British retire to Mallorca, or have second homes there. Ferries bring daytrippers from mainland Spain, and cruise ships regularly dump sightseers by the thousands to bask in this balmy Spanish paradise. Its beaches and nightclubs are a perennial draw, and have been long before the spotlight hit Ibiza. Low-lying criminals, too, are attracted to Palma’s easy-going lifestyle and laid-back law enforcement.
“Claveleras, that’s all we do!” one of Palma’s police officers told us in exasperation. Clavel means carnation; claveleras are the thieves who use them. The police officer had stopped us from filming an incident at the claveleras’ request.
Bob's filming brazenly, from over his head. The thieves jump at the camera, then threaten me. The Massies look on, baffled and unaware that the women are thieves.
“Why do you protect them?” I asked the cop. “They’ve been here for years!”
“It’s not possible to arrest them,” the officer said. “They only took 200 euros. It’s not enough. They must take 300.”
“But they’ve been doing this for years! It’s ruining Palma’s reputation.”
“Yes. I know all of them. Their names, their addresses.”
“Then why don’t you let a tourist,” Bob said, “like me, put 400 euros in his pocket, let them take it, and then you can arrest them.”
The conversation circled unsatisfactorily, revealing firewalls between politicians, law enforcement, journalists, tourist bureau, and the unfortunate tourists. We, like the police, threw up our hands.
After all the commotion we cause, the women snatch the carnation away from the Massies.
We met Douglas and Evelyn Massie outside the fortress, yet another pair of British victims. Their nemesis was a young woman, perhaps in her 30s, who wore track pants and a jacket—an updated wardrobe.
“Would you like to go to the police station?” we asked them. “You won’t get your money back, but a police report might help you with a claim to your insurance company and we’ll translate for you.”
Another clavelera thief who doesn't like her picture taken.
At the police station we were perfunctorily handed a poorly-photocopied theft report form in English. Heading the list of common M.O.s was “woman with carnation.” The Massies duly Xed the box while Bob and I marveled at a system that could officially acknowledge and simultaneously condone such activities. After all, we’d observed this swindle for ten years: same women, same technique, same locations.
A tattered photo album was put before the Massies without comment. Page after page of female mug shots stared up from under plastic. There was the grandmother gang, and there a pair of tall sisters we’d watched. There was the Massies’ snaggle-toothed tormentor and there, grinning wryly, was our infamous rock thrower.
Our rock-thrower's mugshot is at the upper right.
The Massies huddled judiciously over their theft report and laboriously printed out in block letters a story that would likely never be read.
But their tale will be told—by the Massies and by thousands of people who have had the good fortune to visit Palma. The story begins: There was an old woman, who gave me a flower…
This is Part 3 of The Flower Gift Lift. Read Part 1Â Â Â —Â Â Â Â Part 2
There\’s a victim for every thief. Two claveleras have their backs to the camera.
Palma de Mallorca, Spain— Thirty to forty women practice this form of filching every day in Palma. They linger where the tourists are: around Palacio Almudiana in particular, and in the small cobblestone streets around Plaza Mayor. The women perform one-on-one, but they work in groups. We see them walk “to work” in gangs of six or seven, gossiping merrily along the way. As they approach their territory, they don their “uniforms,” tying dark aprons around their waists, scarves on their heads. Many are younger women, in their 30s, 40s, and 50s. The youngest eschew the scarves and, instead of aprons, tie jackets around their waists, keeping the pockets available.
At Palacio Almudiana, we planted ourselves at the end of an elevated walkway to the Moorish fortress. We had a JVC professional video camera on a tripod that day—a huge, heavy thing—and with its long fine lens we could film close-ups unnoticed at a distance.
From around a corner at the far end of the stone walkway appeared a group of six men—German tourists, we later learned. Happily oblivious, they had just toured the fortress. As they turned into the otherwise empty walkway, five women from the morning babushka brigade rushed after them, literally running, with heavy, effortful steps. The eldest woman found a victim first, grabbing the arm of one of the men and roughly poking a flower into his shirt. As she began her swindle, her colleagues, all four of them, attached themselves to four others of the men. In a jolly, holiday mood, the men allowed the women’s aggressive physical appeal without suspicion.
Examining their wallets, the men tote up the damage.
It only took about two minutes. One by one the men broke free, some wearing red carnations, some not. As they sauntered towards us on the walkway, folding and replacing their wallets, the five women regrouped behind them and disappeared around the far corner. Bob stopped three of the Germans.
“Did you lose any money?” he asked, without explaining what we’d just witnessed.
“And why would we?” one of the men challenged.
“I saw you with some thieves,” Bob said. “Count your money.”
All three brought forth their wallets and checked their contents.
“Fifteen thousand pesetas—gone!” one of them shouted. That was about U.S. $85 at the time.
“They got twenty-five thousand from me,” said another, “and now I realize how. She said she wanted a peseta and I tried to give it to her. But she returned it and now my money is gone.”
“I was pinching the wallet like so,” the third man explained smugly. “She wanted to get into the wallet, but I didn’t let go. I have all my money.”
The claveleras use whatever aggression is required to give their flower gifts.
We filmed numerous encounters by this gang and by others, in this location and around the town, on this day and over the course of ten years. Without speaking to each victim, it’s impossible to state the percentage of these thieves’ success. Even the victims aren’t always certain whether or not a few bills have been taken, or how much money they started with. Only the thieves know for sure. Clearly, it’s a worthwhile game for them.
In one brilliant piece of footage, several women can be seen earnestly engaged in their one-on-one scams. We pan from one encounter to another, close up. One of the women is seen “closing her deal,” pushing her left fistful of flowers against her opponent’s wallet. As she steps back, apparently satisfied, she loses her grip and money flutters to the ground.
The victim and thief both notice, one puzzled, the other disgusted.
In another scene, an Asian visitor smiles delightedly when a bright red carnation is tucked into his shirt pocket. The old woman, dressed in black from head to toe, raises one finger. One peseta, she requests. The tourist withdraws his wallet and offers a bill, still smiling. Taking the money, the woman raises her finger again, then returns the bill. As the Asian tourist replaces his money, the thief moves in on his wallet and a subtle battle ensues. The man’s expression begins to shift from pleasure to perplexity, then consternation. The woman, defeated, snatches back the flower and moves on.
This is Part 2 of The Flower Gift Lift. Read Part 1 — Read Part 3
Palma de Mallorca, Spain— She looks like your grandmother—possibly even your great-grandmother. With a gap-toothed smile, she offers you a single red carnation. Wordlessly, she pokes its short stem through your buttonhole. Is the old woman an unofficial ambassador of this island resort town?
“One peseta,” she pleads, or “one cent.”
Her black skirt and apron make you think of “the old country,” wherever it was your family began. Her simple cardigan sweater, dingy and pilled, gives her plump body a cozy look, a familiar look. Wisps of gray hair have escaped from the babushka tied tight beneath her chins. She is the image of trust.
The foreign coin she asks for is less than nothing to a tourist. Why not? You smile. You open your wallet, extract a small note.
Grandmother springs to action. “No, no, no,” she says urgently, as if you’re giving too much. Is the flower a gift, then? Or does she want a donation? What is she trying to communicate with such concern creasing her forehead?
She reaches for your wallet, points to your money, touches it. Whatever language you speak, she doesn’t. The international symbol for “this one” must do. Sign language and monosyllabic utterances.
A bunch of flowers and a newspaper hide her theft from the victim.
Without words, grandmother is trying to convey something. Her hands are fluttering around yours, pointing, tapping, hovering. A small bunch of red carnations is in her left fist and their spicy fragrance is intoxicating as she waves them around.
You’re focused on your wallet, your money, the old woman’s hands. What is she trying to tell you? If you’d look at grandmother’s pallid face, you’d be surprised to see such fierce concentration, such tension and determination. But you don’t look. She’s pointing, tapping. What is she trying to say?
She gives the bill back to you and you put it away. “Altra,” she insists. Finally, she taps a bill half exposed in your wallet. It’s the same one you offered in the first place! Her eyes flick up to yours for an instant. Permission sought and granted. With thumb and forefinger, the old woman removes the bill, nods her thanks, and pushes on the wallet with the bouquet. Put the wallet away now, is her implication. We’re finished.
Her last glance lacks grace, lacks the kindness you’d expect from a welcome-woman. Oh well… it was a small donation.
Or was it? It may be hours before you realize the old woman’s expertise.
With incredible skill and speed, she has dipped into your cash, snagged most of the bills, and folded them into her hand. She never takes all the notes—you’d notice. But most of them have been hooked around her third or fourth finger, expertly manipulated under the flowers, and hidden in her fleshy palm.
She’s a one-trick magician, a walk-around performer who needs an audience of one. And her audience-participation act leaves many a disbelieving assistant in her wake. I need a volunteer, she may as well have said. Hold out your wallet and I’ll show you a trick. She needs no applause; her reward goes into her apron pocket.
A shoulder-surfer in Stockholm gets seniors' PIN, then steals their ATM card.
I want to wail even in Sweden, because the country has long been perceived as enjoying a relatively low crime rate. And it did. But not any more.
The day I arrived in Stockholm, the paper featured a spread on thieves lurking at ATMs who preyed on the elderly. The scam stars a shoulder-surfer lying in wait for seniors to come use a cash machine. He watches them enter their PINs, then tricks them into allowing their bank card to be physically stolen in one way or another. The thief may ask to change a ten crown note, or may meet the mark at the parking meter and ask for a small coin. Anything to get the mark’s wallet out.
One wallet, many hands.
Then what? “Magic arts,” one victim said. “Finger magic,” said the police. Hard to believe that a bank card can be stolen from a victim’s wallet right under his nose. Yet, Bob and I recognize the trick we call the “flower gift lift,” as practiced by women in Palma de Mallorca (and I’m sure other places, too). It’s forceful, brazen, devious, and it works. I’ve written about that here.
The Stockholm shoulder-surfer was part of an international gang from Romania. He and one other were sentenced to a few years in prison. Police say they’ve operated all over Sweden, targeting the elderly and handicapped. ATM surveillance photos show victims in wheelchairs and using walkers.
At around the same time. a community newspaper warned of “false policemen” also targeting seniors at ATMs. The thieves convinced the seniors that they needed their bank cards and PINs in order to control illegal withdrawals. Police report additional ploys: door-to-door police impostors warn of burglaries in the neighborhood and want to photograph jewelry and valuables. Whatever the ploy, the thief gets in—cash and valuables go out.
Graph from www.bra.se
As I was writing this, the evening news came on. Seems some scammers are knocking on seniors’ doors to give them tips about H1N1. Rather, one scammer knocks and talks. While the senior is occupied, the other slips in and robs the resident.
Meanwhile, last month, police saw for the first time credit cards being skimmed at gas pumps. “So far police have no suspects and haven’t been able to determine how the skimming operation has been carried out.” I have advised them!
Skimmers have been found attached to ATMs at Ikea and a Stockholm Toys R Us store. There was a home invasion in the sleepy suburb where my family lives.
What has Sweden come to?
You can save up to 20% when you change money abroad if you shop around. Maybe more.
I found myself in Rome recently, with a wad of Swedish money I wanted to get rid of. Instead of buying American dollars with the Swedish crowns and buying the euros I needed with U.S. cash, I wanted to change the crowns to euros.
For this story, the country of origin of the money doesn’t matter much. It’s just a numbers game.
I decided to take my own advice: “Before you buy foreign currency, compare the posted prices at several booths or banks. Find out whether they charge fees or commissions [or both]. Compare, and ask for better deals.”
Let’s say the Swedish cash I had to change was worth about US $800. I popped into the first change booth I found, “Forexchange” on Via Solferno.
“How many euros will you give me for 6000 Swedish kronas?” I said.
“429,” the woman said, after some poking on her calculator.
“Is that your best offer?”
“For you, 452.”
See, I could have made 23 euros without even a pretty-please. It was a terrible deal, though. Forexchange takes a fee of €4.90 and a whopping commission of 19.7%. Of course. They’re in the business of making money by buying and selling currency.
I went to another foreign exchange booth where I was offered 495 euros. Up 66 euros from the first quote. Still a bad deal.
American Express will wave its fee for Platinum Card holders, but even with this discount, I’d only get 522 euros for my 6000 SEK. Still, that’s €93 more than the first quote.
Finally, I went to a branch of BNL bank where, after locking all my metal objects into a lobby locker, I stepped into a glass capsule that shut behind me, holding me briefly captive before opening inward and allowing me to enter the bank. The offer there was €535. 106 euros more than if I’d just made a quick change at the first available place. That’s a difference of about $150 on my $800 exchange.
Even with the recent rise in credit card companies’ foreign transaction fees, I believe in using plastic whenever possible for foreign purchases. The fees are now 2 or 3%, but that’s all. For me, credit cards are convenient and economical, and I like the other benefits of using them. But I still need to buy small amounts of local currency—enough for coffee, taxis, souvenirs, and tipping. My experience in Rome last month reminded me that it pays to shop around.
In Bangkok, seemingly corrupt police are extorting large sums from foreign visitors. In South Africa, pseudo-cops are stopping drivers and pedestrians, requesting wallets in order to see identification or “search for contraband,” then absconding. In Stockholm, thieves impersonating police lured seniors into give up their PINs at ATMs in the name of “controlling withdrawals.”
This strategy seems to have exploded recently, or at least is being recognized for what it is, or at least making it into the news.
The strategist elite are those who make participants of their victims. Like the Palma claveleras, they’re in your face with a story. Their only goal is to walk away with your wallet. Consummate con artists, they’re the slipperiest, wiliest, and most difficult to detect. Garbed in a counterfeit persona designed to gain your confidence, they lay bait and entrap their prey: usually the unsuspecting traveler.
Fake Police = Pseudo Cops
These strategists concoct ingenious schemes. Who could avoid falling for what happened to Glinda and Greg? They were walking in a foreign park in—well, it could have been anywhere, this is so common—when a gentleman approached them with a camera. He asked if one of them would mind taking his picture, and the three huddled while he showed them how to zoom and where to press. Suddenly two other men arrived and flashed badges. The man with the camera slipped away while the two “officials” demanded to know if the couple had “made any transaction” with him. Had they changed money with him illegally? They would have to search Glinda’s bag; and they did so, without waiting for permission.
“It all happened so fast,” Glinda told me a few days later, “I knew something wasn’t right, but I didn’t have time to think.” The “officials” absconded with Glinda’s wallet, having taken it right under her nose. In variations on this theme, the pseudo cops take only cash saying it must be examined, and they may even offer a receipt. Needless to say, they never return and the receipt is bogus.
On first impression, the pseudo cops’ scam is believable; their trick requires surprise, efficiency and confusion: they don’t allow time for second thoughts. Theirs is a cheap trick, really. They depend on a fake police shield to gain trust; they can’t be bothered to build confidence with an act. Authority is blinding, and that’s enough if they’re fast. It’s a thin swindle, but it works.
