Buy-a-Brick (continued from Part 1)

Our first clear capture of the actual swap occurred on a sidewalk. The partners were running after their customer, afraid they’d lost the sale. They did the switch behind him, right out in the open. It’s beautiful in slow motion, like world-class magic. You see the “magician’s assistant” hand over one sack, turn, and tuck an identical one under his jacket.

When the sale had been concluded, Bob told the victim he’d just been swindled. The man didn’t think twice. He turned and bolted down the street, caught the con men, and got his money back, no questions asked.

In later visits to Naples, as our equipment improved, we used tiny hidden cameras with remote controls. This allowed us to get the ultimate exposés, including the scenes we helped capture for ABC 20/20.

Eventually, we were introduced to a trio of swap-thieves. I was waiting on a corner with Luciano-the-tram-thief while Bob fetched a translator. He was gone forever, it seemed. Meanwhile, it was my job to entertain Luciano and keep him from disappearing, from going back to work. We tried talking, but both of us were frustrated.

“Pacco,” Luciano said, pointing toward Bait-and-Switch-Central where a few men offered video cameras and cellphones to innocent but greedy foreigners. He waved them over. I tensed, wondering if they’d recognize me, worried about what Luciano was telling them about us. These were mobsters, intimidating men impervious to laws. “Pacco,” Luciano said again, indicating the three men who each had an electronic item in his hand, and I understood that pacco, Italian for package, was the slang term for their swindle. Also, that they all spoke rudimentary English.

“I am Davide,” one of the pacchi said, “and my friend is Guiddo and he is Giandamo.” I was obliged to shake their hands.

“Amigos, four years,” I told them, patting Luciano’s arm. Luciano said something in Napolitano and they all nodded. The pacchi told me that they “change” packages. I said I know, they sell water, or salt. They laughed. I was dizzy with conflicting emotions: high on being “inside” this fraternity of impermeable criminals, and full of fear and revulsion at the same time. With a jovial facade, I took a camera bag from one of them and made a show of tugging a zipper on it, as if it couldn’t be opened. They laughed again, knowing I was referring to the trick of gluing or melting zippers to delay the discovery of the scam.

We struggled with conversation until a few tourists wandered over and the pacchi pounced, pitching their wares. I got instant sweat in my armpits and a heartbeat in my throat. They caught my eye and I gave a barely perceptible nod. Inside, I was petrified. They carried on, eyes flicking back to see that I wouldn’t interfere with their scam. I couldn’t believe they let me stay in the vicinity. One piercing look and I would have fled.

Their quarry eventually decided against the purchase and walked away. The pacchi waited an instant, then ran after the mark making the switch without cover, in front of my watching eyes, and calling behind the mark: “Papa, papa,” hoping now to make the sale at any ridiculous price.

Bob returned just then with an aura of urgency that dominated my attention; the pacchi scene faded out like a movie transition. Officially introduced now, it’s unlikely we’ll be able to film the Naples switcheroo again.

What astounds us most about Naples’ bait-and-switch game is not the fact that it occurs right out in the open in full view of surrounding residents and businesses. Nor is it the perpetuation, the reliability of finding these guys on the same corner, year after year. Nor is it the fact that they haven’t been bashed up by a returning pack of angry victims.

No, it’s that the crime is committed smack under the noses of Naples’ law enforcement agencies. It is, apparently, tolerated, at the least.

The primary location of bait-and-switch activity is directly across the street from the city’s maritime terminal. Visiting cruise ship passengers congregate in the area, and must traverse the corner to walk anywhere. They usually pause there, either gathering the nerve to cross the wild traffic, or recovering from just having done so. Other people are in the area to catch ferries to Capri, Sorrento, or Ischia. There on Via Cristoforo Colombo, tourists and, presumably others, are scrutinized by Marine Police sentries. Naples’ City Police patrol by car and, in packs of five, on foot. There is also the Falchi Squad, the civilian-dressed motorcycle cops who look for “micro-crime.” All these, and the republic’s military force, are usually present on this intersection.

Yet, with all but a nod and a wink, the fearless mobsters carry on.

[Continues in the next post.]

Excerpt from Travel Advisory: How to Avoid Thefts, Cons, and Street Scams

Chapter Eight: Con Artists and Their Games of No Chance