Naples, Italy— For most of this day, we’ve been accompanied by Mario, a friend and fabulous translator. Born in Italy, educated in Australia, now settled in Las Vegas, Mario grew up speaking textbook Italian at home while secretly imitating his parents’ Napolitano dialect, which he wasn’t allowed to use.

“No way!” Mario had said earlier, as Officer DC explained why the pacco men are allowed to continue their bait-and-switch scam year after year. They were now offering Bob a cell phone as we traversed their territory, not noticing our plainclothes police pal. When they recognized DC, they flocked around him like awestruck fans. DC eventually pushed through the gangster gauntlet, complaining that we’d never get to lunch if we stopped to talk with every crook. [More on bait-and-switch, eventually.]

We turn into the Quartieri Spagnoli telling Mario how it’s not just your ordinary neighborhood. We pass the spot where Bob had been pinned from behind so long ago, a two-handed Rolex-robbery attempted on his old model by three of AS’s butterfingered predecessors. DC selects an empty trattoria. He orders “a mixture” for all of us, and a feast arrives, plate by small plate. Crisp-fried sardines, miniature arugula, zucchini flowers, and the tenderest calamari we’ve ever eaten.

“Watch your bag,” DC cautions Bob, who sits closest to the open door. DC, of course, has his back to the wall. “Do you know how they steal a watch when you’re driving a car?

“Yes,” I say. “When you’re stuck in traffic, they squeeze between cars on their scooters and fold your side mirror to get by. You reach out to fix the mirror and the next scooter-rider grabs it.”

DC seems disappointed that I know.

“How would they do it if you wear your watch on your right wrist?”

I say I don’t know.

“They make you shake hands, for some reason,” Bob suggests. DC doesn’t say.

This is part 3 of 5.  Part 4  Part 1

Naples, Italy— We’re introduced to AS, tattooed and be-dogged, in front of his female family members. Women of several generations sit in plastic chairs in the shady alley—shady as in dim and dubious—surrounded by lots of girls, one with an arm in a cast. The men, presumably, are mostly in prison. The boys, presumably, are out on scooters, scippatori-in-training. Two little boys, six or seven years old, buzz by on the cutest little scooter, a perfect replica with authentic speed and a full-size spine-chilling whine. If you’ve ever been the victim of scippatori, scooter-riding bandits, as we sort-of were in 1994, the beginning of our street-crime research, you never forget the sound.

When we first met DC three years ago, he and a colleague gave Bob and me a tour of this hillside hood on the backs of their souped-up motorcycles. He introduced us to AT, another of the top three Rolex thieves, who is now taking a five-year chill. When we asked, AT had copped to stealing about ten Rolexes a week. And that was in the presence of a police officer. But AT was skittish about the video camera we held in plain sight. He wasn’t worried about being identified; he said he didn’t want to show a bad image of Naples.

Like AT three years ago, AS speaks in front of Officer DC as if he were a collaborator, not a cop. At Bob’s request, he shows some methods of stealing Rolexes. One style is to grab the face and twist it. But it depends on the age of the watch. The old ones could be swiped by a single person. New ones take two. AS snaps a Rolex on Bob, who sports plastic today, and demonstrates a two-handed rip-off. I ask if I can videotape the demo from behind and AS allows it.

This is part 2 of 5.  Part 3  Part 1.

Rolex theft

Naples, Italy— Here’s something you didn’t know about Rolex theft. It takes two men to steal a new model Rolex, while the older ones can be snatched by a single person. That’s the sort of gem our research nets, if we don’t piss off the mafiosi by pointing a camera into their faces (while they’re looking). Their rottweilers look like overstuffed pups, but you know there’s a reason the dogs are kept close, and you know the animals’ allegiance is backed by ferocious power, flesh-shredding choppers, and bone-crunching jaws.

I wonder if Rolex is aware that it doubled labor requirements in the hostile acquisitions market? Still, everyone wears a Rolex in this neighborhood. The children of thieves wear them. “They don’t have one euro in their pocket,” we’re told, “but they wear a Rolex.”

The manpower numbers come straight from an expert: one of the three major Rolex thieves in the capital city of Rolex theft. “AS” [can’t use real names, sorry], our source today, is currently at large; but his two buddies are in jail, arrested by our guide and host, Officer DC, of Naples’ Falchi Squad, the tough undercover cops who fight power with power.

So it’s a strange sort of respect and cooperation and turning a blind eye when DC knocks on the big steel door in the heart of Quartieri Spagnoli, Naples’ no-go zone if you’re not mafia (or police). A peek-a-boo slot opens and words are exchanged. “No video,” Officer DC says to me, drawing a big square around his face. I take it to mean that I can film, but not faces.

This is part 1 of 5.  Part 2