Russian Rip-off: pickpockets and thugs, part 4 of 5

Bambi Vincent and Anton at the art market in St. Petersburg, Russia.

Art market on Nevsky Prospekt. The arch leads to a deserted alley. St. Petersburg— “They think I robbed you,” he said.

By then it must have been obvious to the cops that we were not Mohammed’s victims, or anyone else’s, either. But they’d created such a melee they couldn’t let go, didn’t want to believe there really was no problem. Finally, they left with a warning to Mohammed, who was so shaken he just collapsed onto his low stool and hung his head. He wouldn’t look up at us so we left him, thinking he was angry with us for getting him involved.

So the cops had seen us and Mohammed together with a gang of known thieves. Why, then, did they arrest the local underdog, instead of the criminals? In St. Petersburg, where the police are pitifully paid (about 2000 rubles/month, US$70 at the time), payoffs are their bread and butter. Officers routinely roam the streets collecting 100 rubles ($3+) here and there, from unlicensed merchants selling caviar or souvenirs. Pickpockets pay police too. They buy a piece of property for a limited time span. This allows many thieves to work, and keeps them in their own territories. Vladimir, a pickpocket we met some years ago, had a one-hour-a-day claim on a short segment of Nevsky Prospekt. The Mongolian gang seems to own the Metro station corner.

When thieves are caught, they pay 700 or so rubles ($23) to the police and are let go. It’s well known, Mohammed’s friend Anton told us earlier, that police are corrupt and will take bribes for anything. They can be seen on the streets looking for unlicensed merchants in order to shake them down instead of looking for thieves. Why would they arrest thieves? The system works well the way it is, and rich foreign tourists fund it.

Bambi Vincent and Anton at the art market in St. Petersburg, Russia.
Bambi Vincent and Anton at the art market in St. Petersburg, Russia.

Tangentially interesting, Anton, who also works at the art market, told us that when a person is picked up for being drunk, the police steal everything from him: money, watch, and jewelry. Then they put the drunk in a cold shower to wake him up and put him out on the street. If the citizen complains of being robbed, the police claim he must have lost his belongings while he was drunk. Anton described his father’s clever hiding place for cash. He slits the inside of the waistband of his jeans and slips folded money inside. When he’s drunk and shaken down, the police don’t find the money, but take everything else.

This is Part 4 of 5. — Part 1

Russian Rip-off: pickpockets and thugs, part 3 of 5

Nevsky Prospekt street sign

St. Petersburg—Pseudo-cops!” we thought: bandits who pretend to be police. We’re about to be robbed! At the same time, I thought: no, we’re about to be robbed by real cops of the corrupt variety. The four of us in that deserted alley made a huge commotion.

Bob pointed to the entrance we had come from and shouted “You’re police? Okay, over there!” I shouted “in the public area!” and they shouted in Russian. We had no idea what they wanted. We carried a $1,000 digital still camera, but no video equipment and, thankfully, no hidden video equipment, which might have been considered illegal.

As our captors escorted us back to the art market alley entrance we heard the bleeping of police radios and saw police equipment under their shirts. Yet, knowing they were real cops did not put us at ease. We were still four agitated, confused, and rather scared people, unable to communicate. My thoughts were, get to a public place so we won’t be ripped off; find Mohammed to translate.

Russian men drink about a liter of vodka per day

The cops allowed us to lead them into public view, or they led us. Just outside the alley gate, in the art market, we saw Mohammed on the ground with a gun to his stomach. Four other plainclothes cops had him surrounded. Everyone was yelling and a crowd had gathered. Mohammed was the only one capable of translating for us and he was beside himself, terrified and at gunpoint. As soon as we arrived he was hauled up and shoved against a wall, the gun still at his belly.

My reaction was to grab onto Mohammed. I hugged him, trying to show the cops that he didn’t do anything wrong to us, that he was our friend. Bob tried to reason with the cops, but none spoke English. Then six uniformed cops joined the fracas and our concern escalated. How far could this thing go, and what is it? For a few minutes, the uniforms were more interested in the plainclothes than in the civilians. With machine guns pointed, they demanded IDs from the plainclothes officers and scrutinized them intensely.

Mohammed had told us the previous day that because of his looks, he is frequently stopped and challenged by the police. With everyone still shouting and confused, including him, we couldn’t find out if this was one of those “challenges.” Why did Mohammed have a gun in his stomach? Why were we hauled into this business?

Bob dropped the name of an ex-KGB officer we know, with no idea where it would lead. Like a silent fart mysteriously clearing a room, the officers scattered and disappeared. The only Russian sounds we could dredge up turned out to be powerful, indeed.

“What is the accusation?” I asked Mohammed, several times before he quieted and paid attention.

“They think I robbed you,” he said.

This is part 3 of 5. Part 1 — Video in Part 2

Russian Rip-off: St. Petersburg pickpockets and thugs, part 2 of 5 (video)

St. Petersburg pickpockets

St. Petersburg pickpockets

St. Petersburg pickpockets

St. Petersburg—we were surrounded by five hostile faces. Shaking inside, we stood firm until the men stalked off. Bob and I crossed the street to photograph the scene of the crime. Since the gangsters were still at work, I ducked into a shop doorway to be less obtrusive. Two men followed me in. They were thieves ready to snatch my camera, so I threw its strap over my head, pirouetted in the vestibule, and stepped back onto the street. The suspicious pair trailed me out, gave Bob the once-over, and wandered off. It was a cosmetics shop I had entered, filled with only female customers.

St. Petersburg pickpockets
Bob Arno and translator Mohammed

We returned to the subway station with an ad hoc interpreter. Mohammed is a law student with a summer job selling paintings at the art market on Nevsky Prospekt. We’d met him the day before. He’s soft-spoken, a bit shy, black-haired and olive-complected; a Muslim Russian from the south of the country.

He was skittish about getting involved with a criminal gang, but in the end his curiosity got the better of him, or he couldn’t resist our pressure. Off we went to the Metro station, a block away. When we found them, all five predators were in the station lobby, watching for lucrative marks.

Here’s a bit of video. It’s confusing and hard to follow, but try. You’ll see the team of six St. Petersburg pickpockets at work outside the Metro station. It’s hard to spot them all. One wears a red hat, one a white hat, and the others are pointed out with arrows. You’ll see them start out fast after a victim, then go out of view. In the second sequence, all six surround a victim, then the biggest of them crashes into his chest to delay him. Then they turn and meet beside the canal to divvy up the swag.


Mohammed’s first timid overtures were rejected with disinterest. Then he used the words “Las Vegas,” and vor, Russian for thief, and the gangsters turned to look us up and down. A moment later we had them outside, and suggested we get out of the crowd. The eight of us walked a block away and around a corner, where there was less traffic.

St. Petersburg pickpockets
Four pickpocket thugs in St. Petersburg, Russia
St. Petersburg pickpockets
Four pickpocket thugs in St. Petersburg, Russia

By then Mohammed had warmed them up and the gang members were smiling and curious, though not comfortable. Bob got a two-fingered grip on the big guy’s wallet and gave him a little shove from behind, neatly extracting the wallet. That’s when they relaxed half a notch. We stood around small-talking for ten minutes, but nothing of substance was discussed. They claimed they throw away credit cards instead of using or selling them, but we’re not convinced. Mohammed said their Russian was not very good. Soon a well-dressed man with a briefcase joined us. “Professional,” one of the thugs said in English, and he made a gesture for pickpocket, stroking the back of the index finger with the tip of the middle finger.

You just tried it, didn’t you!

One by one, cell phones started ringing. I think the thugs were speaking with each other. A group of tourists paraded by, and two thieves caboosed them around the corner. Our conference dispersed, but ice had been broken.

St. Petersburg pickpockets
Entrance of alley behind Nevsky Prospekt

Bob and I walked Mohammed back to the art market. He led us down a street parallel to Nevsky Prospekt, then cut through a long narrow alley to the back of the art market. After saying goodbye, Bob and I headed back into the alley.

Halfway through it, two scrawny young men came running up from behind us, shouting “Police!” They flashed ID at us. “Pseudo-cops,” we thought, bandits who pretend to be police. We’re about to be robbed!…

This is part 2 of 5. Part 3.
Read Part 1.

Russian Rip-off: pickpockets and thugs

Bob Arno at The Church on the Spilled Blood

St. Petersburg— The beefiest of the five Mongolian thugs shoved his fist in front of Bob’s face, thrust forward his chin, and stared. Bob stared back and so did I. Two more brutes joined the first. One pointed to our camera and said “No!” The other swept his hand as in “get out of here, scram!”

Experienced at this sort of confrontation, we didn’t back down. That doesn’t mean we weren’t nervous and aware of the danger. We’ve been threatened before, not to mention spat upon and mooned. But pickpockets, by our own definition, are nonviolent. Sure, there are the unpredictable drug addicts desperate for money for a fix, but these five fixed us with alert and stone-cold eyes. They did not look harmless.

Metro station on Nevsky Prospekt

We’d spotted two of the gang within minutes of reaching Nevsky Prospekt, the broad boulevard of St. Petersburg. They stood on the corner of what might be the city’s busiest intersection, where tourists get their first glimpse of the magnificent Church on the Spilled Blood, a subway station upchucks clotted streams of humans, and tinny, battery-operated speakers screech the muffled pitches of Russian barkers selling canal cruises.

We picked the pair out of the crowd as we crossed the street toward them. They crossed and passed us, then u-ied and immediately separated, one in front, one behind us. The Russian sandwich. Instead of worry, we felt glee. Bob had a prop wallet stuffed with newspaper in his back pocket. Bait.

A pickpocket team in Russia

As Bob and I paused outside the subway station, the crew ditched us, ducked inside, and came out following a tourist. Bob managed to snap two blatant frames with a camera, one of which shows the gang leader looking straight into the lens as a partner shields a backpack for another’s grope.

Did they get anything? We don’t know because, as always, the thieves cover their moves. But a moment later…

This is part 1 of 5. Next (with video)