theft – Page 4 – Pickpocket Bob Arno

Knock-out gas on overnight trains

Atul and Smriti Shah experienced it first-hand. “It happened during the night,” they concluded. “The entire compartment was sprayed with some sort of gas that knocked us out. Then our suitcase was slowly extracted from under our seat, the lock twisted loose and, with all the time in the world, the suitcase was looted.”

Atul and Smriti live with their small daughters in Mumbai, India, where railway is the customary way to crisscross the country. For the occasion of a relative’s marriage, the family traveled to the town of Kanpur, in Uttar Pradesh. As tradition dictates, they brought along their finest clothes and jewelry to wear to the many matrimonial celebrations and ceremonies. As a high-caste woman from a wealthy family, now married to a successful businessman, Smriti carried an enviable display of gold and diamonds.

“She had diamonds on her fingers and in her nose and ears,” Atul explained with pride, “and gold bangles and necklaces. Also, she wore the good-luck vermilion mark on her forehead that Indians always wear when traveling away from home.”

After the wedding and family visits, the Shahs boarded the train for the twenty-hour journey home. They had one suitcase, but it was a large one: fifty kilos, Atul estimated. It contained all the family’s finery, including Smriti’s jewelry, and had a small padlock on the zipper tabs. Atul forced the suitcase under Smriti’s seat in the train compartment, where it was tightly lodged. They did not open the suitcase for the duration of the journey.

The Shahs boarded in the evening, had a meal packed by Smriti’s mother, and settled down for the night.

“The strange thing is that none of us woke up during the night,” Smriti told me. “Even the children slept the night through, and they never do.”

She remembers a vague sensation of bitterness in her mouth during the night, then the desire for water. But she remembers too the lethargy she felt, the heaviness of her limbs.

Food- and drink-drugging has long been a problem on trains, but could knockout gas really be in a thief’s arsenal? In my early research, doctors had doubted the likelihood of a thief acquiring the right gas and the victims not waking from the smell. I went back to the doctors and this time they all agreed it could happen. Chloroform is often used in primitive surgical conditions and has no smell at all, some said. An anesthesiologist mentioned Halothane, which would be readily available from any surgical facility or veterinarian. Halothane has a slight odor but not enough to wake an already-sleeping person.

“Within twenty or thirty minutes,” Dr. Jared Kniffen told me, “someone could be in a deep enough sleep so that you could enter the room without his awareness. The danger of this is you could kill someone if too much were used. There’s a second possibility—a gas called Cevoflurane. It’s odorless, but much more difficult to obtain.”

But wouldn’t the robber himself be knocked out? I asked.

“There are ways to avoid that,” Dr. Kniffen said. “A certain travel supply house sells a smoke hood that gives twenty minutes of oxygen.” It’s meant for use in escaping from a burning building, but a clever thief might employ one for another use.

It sounds too sophisticated to me, too troublesome and risky. But if the reward were a treasure chest like Smriti Shah’s, it must be worth one thousand times the risk of simply snagging a laptop from a business traveler.

Despite the Shahs’ conviction, gassing on an overnight train is only a remote risk; my paranoid apprehension on our journey to Prague was out of proportion. Breaking into and stealing from compartments is a real risk though, and so is food- and drink-drugging. Nembitol, scopolamine, and benzodiazepine are the drugs most commonly slipped into food or drink, but only after the thief builds trust and confidence with the mark.

This is Part 3 of 3.Â Â — Part 1. —Â Part 2

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

Theft on overnight trains

Overnight train travel requires watchfulness. Stations can be seedy. They’re open and available to anyone, with or without tickets. They attract a varied population of travelers and non-travelers alike. Vigilance is vital.

Stations with the biggest theft problems are those that are connected to, or nearby, bus or subway stations, which are often hangouts for gangs, drug dealers, and other undesirables. Thieves are able to loiter unchallenged within the stations, without attracting attention. Then they can take advantage of congestion for cover and easy escape.

Train stations and daytime journeys are covered in Chapter Six [of my book, Travel Advisory: How to Avoid Thefts, Cons, and Street Scams]. Here, I’ll discuss overnight trips. Certainly not all overnight trains carry such risks as the following, which are surely worst cases. They’re a popular and logical mode of travel, not to be dismissed. If you plan well, you make the most of your vacation days, see a bit of countryside, meet some other interesting travelers, and save the expense of a hotel night.

My Swedish friends called me “exotic” because I had never been on an overnight train. It’s easy to find a European who has never been on an airplane, they told me, but everyone’s been on an overnight train. So when Bob and I found ourselves in Venice, Italy, ready to visit Prague in the Czech Republic, we decided to go by rail, overnight.

We boarded in late evening, and it seemed we would encounter our first train scam immediately. A large, slobbish, dreary man blocked the aisle and demanded our tickets.

“Tickets!”

He wore baggy black pants and a soggy white shirt. Nothing official, no monogram, badge, cap, embroidery, name tag, nothing to identify him. Yet, as his bulk impeded our path, we had no choice but to give him our tickets. He pointed to our reserved compartment. Thankfully, he didn’t demand money. But he didn’t return our tickets, either.

We could have been assigned to an Italian-owned wagon, or an Austrian one, possibly even a Swiss one. But we got a wagon owned and maintained by the Czech Railroad. We entered our dismal compartment and tallied up the security risks.

First though, what happened to our tickets? Bob went to find the big sour slob who had confiscated them. I could just imagine the moment a uniformed conductor would come to punch our tickets.

“But… but… we’ve already given them to the conductor!” we’d say.

“What conductor?”

“The man in black pants!”

“No tickets, no travel! Get off the train!”

Bob and the Czech ticket-taker argued in mutually exclusive languages. Bob returned without the tickets. We had nothing, not even a receipt. My turn. I tried another way. I found a Czech lady who explained: the man is our “attendant.” He keeps the tickets to show officials at border crossings. He’ll wake us in the morning, and will return the tickets then.

Okay.

Back in our dusty quarters we assessed the realistic hazards and dismissed the rest. We would not, for example, worry about knock-out gas being snuck under our door as a precursor to robbery. Bob said we wouldn’t worry about it. I merely insisted we keep the window open. Where, then, shall we put our luggage? Under the window is the obvious place, but not if we leave it open. The only other possibility would block the door.

Block the door.

We had not brought anything suitable to secure the door, but its flimsy chain would be enough. Bob said so.

I couldn’t sleep.

The gentle rocking I had imagined would seduce me to slumber was instead a rude awakening. It was jerky and ruthless, like being aroused by an earthquake. If I slept, I could be rolled like a drunk and never parse the violence of the assault from the brutality of the jolting train.

The noise from the open window was deafening. The rhythmic, metallic percussion of the tracks combined with a menagerie of whistles, screeches, and shrieks when we stopped at stations and borders. It was torment, but I wouldn’t shut the window.

Just a few days before, we had interviewed a railway police officer in Milan whose detail was theft. He claimed that most, if not all, the “gassing” tales are made up by victims too embarrassed to admit that they had slept through their own robberies. I had read an interview of a young Czech train thief who described exactly how he enters a compartment, watches his sleeping victim, slices open the victim’s pocket, and lets the wallet drop into his hand. Without gas or drugs. That sounded unbelievable to me; impossible. Surely the victim would awaken? But having experienced the dreadful noise and ceaseless motion of an unair-conditioned overnight train, I realize how horribly possible it is.

This is Part 2 of 3.Â Â —Â Part 1.Â Â —Â Part 3

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

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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

drug robbery theft Thieves train

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

Traveling with luggage

I’m sure it sounds obsessive to mention the necessity of onboard watchfulness when you fly. The likelihood of theft while on an aircraft is low, granted; but it’s unpredictable, and that’s the problem. If you’re carrying valuables, say cash, jewelry, even credit cards, you may as well continue with your precautions. The risks are to the carry-on items you can’t see: those in the overhead compartment can be ransacked practically under your nose—or above your nose. Those under the seat in front of you are vulnerable if you sleep or leave them while you get up. [Read Kayla’s experience, below.] I want to stress that these are low-probability scenarios, especially if you’re not traveling alone. Your degree of precaution must harmonize with your comfort level and the value of the items you carry.

Sadly, suitcases are occasionally compromised while in the airlines’ possession. The odd unscrupulous employee needs only the moment of opportunity. It’s well-known that most luggage locks are next to useless. Keys are generic, and even combination locks have certain pressure points which free latches.

Halliburton

Bob and I believe in hard-sided luggage. The ones we use are aluminum, made by Zero Halliburton. They’re not for everyone, being both heavy and expensive. But when our bags were forced with a crowbar or other tool somewhere on the nether tarmac of the Miami airport, the locks and hinges held tight. Shiny scars in the seam, as if gnawed by a metal-eating mouse, were the only evidence of serious tampering.

As we watch our silvery Halliburtons trundle off toward baggage handlers in Lusaka, in Santiago, in Mexico City, filled with sound and video equipment or perhaps with our favorite shoes from Florence, we’re eternally grateful for and confident in their sturdy locking mechanisms. Even more so after trying desperately and failing to break into our own locked suitcase when it jammed once in London.

Of course bags like these do call attention to themselves and an argument can be made for using inexpensive luggage. One world-traveling couple we met swore by the cheap stuff. After repeated thefts from their Louis Vuitton cases at Heathrow airport, they resorted to department store brands, buying new bags every year or so. A small price to pay, they say, given the cost of their trip and value of their belongings. That’s their argument, but I don’t buy it. I say buy the best bags you can find and afford and use their locks [whenever possible].

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

Theft on a plane

“Kayla,” a 15-year-old girl, told me how her wallet was stolen on a cross-country flight. Her mother and sister supported Kayla’s story. The thief was a 35ish woman sitting next to her. In the middle of the flight, the woman bent down and pretended to be digging in her purse. But Kayla felt something and looked, and could see that the woman was digging in her (Kayla’s) purse. Kayla said she was too scared to say anything. The woman got up and went to the bathroom. Kayla checked her purse and found that her wallet was gone. She told her mother. Then she and her mother told a flight attendant. The flight attendant found the wallet in the bathroom, missing only Kayla’s cash. Kayla was still too afraid to say anything to the thief. When the plane landed, the woman just left.

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Street crime in Lisbon

Thieves are thick on Lisbon’s two main tourist trams, 15 and 28. Within five minutes of arriving at a tram stop for #28, we’d pegged a pair of pickpockets. One carried a flat messenger bag and a newspaper, the other carried a jacket in the sweltering heat.

They stood well away from the gathering crowd waiting for #28. I was among the crowd; Bob watched from across the street, then down the block.

When the tram eventually lumbered along its tracks toward the stop, it was as if a director had called “action!” The waiting passengers tried to anticipate its exact stopping point; the two thieves moved in; Bob got into line; I kept to Bob’s right, camera aimed at his back pocket; one pickpocket threw his jacket over his left arm and went for Bob’s (prop) wallet; the other pickpocket got behind me, trying for my purse.

Slowly, we all mounted the tram stairs. I knew the thieves hadn’t succeeded, because they boarded also. If they’d gotten anything they wouldn’t have; but they still thought they had a chance.

Bob and I were both using new video cameras, and we both missed the shot. I had the better opportunity. Perfectly positioned, I saw everything. But I didn’t press the record button hard enough (though I thought I did). I missed the money shot.

The thieves moved to the back of the tram, where another pair, a man and a woman, joined them. It looked like they planned to work together. We were pretty sure they would try to block a departing passenger and pickpocket him on the stairs. Bob wanted to be that passenger, but I wanted to wait and see how their game played out.

A good samaritan warns of her city's thieves with a laugh.

Meanwhile, a woman looked at me with a big, friendly smile. “His wallet,” she said, patting her hip, “it’s dangerous…that way.” Laughing, she pointed her thumb behind her toward the back of the tram. To Bob she said “In her pocket is better.”

As the tram trundled on, I wondered why one of the pickpockets moved on my purse.

Signs onboard don't help boarding passengers.

It’s made of thick, rough leather, has a narrow opening high in my armpit, and a deep shape. It would be impossible to get into—unless the man had a razor blade. Even with a blade it would be a challenge, but the cutpurse wouldn’t necessarily realize it. Not particularly stylish, the purse is perfect for thiefhunting. I found it in Beijing.

Too soon, the tram came to the end of its line and no one departed in front of the thieves. As the team of four dispersed, Bob accosted the original pair. We learned that they’re Portuguese, as was the third man, while his female partner was Bosnian. One of the thieves got busy on his mobile phone and wandered off—we guessed he was speaking with the third man.

We kept up a conversation with the second, who was willing to talk. He demonstrated his technique, nipping the wallet between his first and second fingertips.

Bob and I waited for the next tram to go back. So did the foursome, smoking, separated, cautious, on the grassy area at the end of the line. We got on; of course they didn’t.

The old elevator tower: scene of many crimes.

We learned that pickpockets are also active on the stairs around the old elevator tower, despite the presence of security guards. We didn’t spend much time there. Worse, gang activity has increased dramatically over the past year, with immigrants arriving from the favellas of Brazil. Car-jackings are commonplace, even in the city center. Graffiti was everywhere.

Not all graffiti is this colorful. Many buildings are this dilapidated.

The whole city is crumbling. Peeling plaster and missing tiles made for some interesting textures on the walls. Unfortunately, Lisbon can’t pull off the elegant flaky-paint look the way Venice does. Lisbon just looks terribly dilapidated, its glory days over, deteriorating as we watch. Its structures are still grand, but they’re dressed like homeless derelicts, with the same empty-eyed glower, all dignity and self-respect burned off by neglect.

What I have always loved about Lisbon (and other Portuguese cities) are the sidewalks; and these, I’m happy to report, are still immaculately maintained. Black and white mosaics of smooth marble cubes, they are still neat, level, and polished to a slippery shine. The designs are different wherever you walk, some simple geometric shapes, some extravagant patterns, even signs of the zodiac. I’ll post about the making of these mosaics later.

Lisbon's lovely marble mosaic pavements.

Next day, same place. Waiting for tram 28. We’re melting in the heat and up shuffles this guy, with a thick, dirty sweatshirt tied around his waist, and a messenger bag. Not too obvious, is he? When the tram neared he dragged himself into position, and stared blankly up at the shouting driver. The driver was not shouting at him; he was saying something about a broken door, that the tram was going out of service. No one got on. Our man trundled away, like a tram off its tracks, with no discernible destination.

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Drink-drugging on the rise

Drink-drugging as a means to theft and/or sex is not new, but on the rise. It’s increasing in Colombia and known to be an M.O. in Russia, Hong Kong, Thailand, Ecuador, and many other countries. I didn’t expect to see Tokyo on the list, but there it is. Sad.

I forgot where I heard this, but it’s funny: When given a drink by a stranger, say “It’s one of my country’s traditions to trade drinks with the host.” Hard to imagine doing that.

Anyway, it’s a good idea to keep this in mind when offered food or drink by a stranger. And try not to leave your food or drink unattended.

drink drug robbery theft

Street crime in Buenos Aires

When my friend, Stephen Kane, described what he witnessed on a recent afternoon in Buenos Aires, I begged him to write it down for me. Following is his account.

Bad action in Buenos Aires

Prior to my first visit to Buenos Aires I was warned about the mustard/ketchup gag. As you’re walking, carrying a shoulder bag, someone sneaks behind you and squirts mustard or ketchup on your back. The accomplice later offers to help you clean it off. You remove the bag from your shoulder to do that and then it disappears along with the thief. So I felt particularly foolish when it almost immediately happened to me. I noticed I had been squirted but just kept holding my bag tightly and walking until I was safely out of the area. I have been back to Argentina many times and, thankfully, have never been threatened with robbery again.

So I suppose I was due for one particularly eventful day. I wasn’t the victim but the witness of two different scenes.

I was having Saturday lunch in a cafe on the corner of Corrientes and Florida. I was sitting at the window and had a very clear view of the crowd of people and traffic at the intersection. If I hadn’t been looking in the right direction I’d have never seen it happen. It was much too fast; so fast that nobody nearby realized it had happened until it was over. A tall, beautifully dressed girl was standing with her boyfriend waiting for the light to change so they could cross the street. Mixed into the traffic speeding down Corrientes was a large motorcycle carrying two men. The cycle suddenly stopped right in front of her and the man on back jumped off. He grabbed the girl from behind, putting one of his hands over her mouth to keep her from screaming. With the other hand he grabbed her necklaces and purse. By the time she was able to even make a sound and alert her boyfriend the thief was back on the cycle with his accomplice and speeding away in escape. But the event wasn’t finished. Someone standing nearby actually did see the robbery and managed to capture a picture of the thieves on a cellphone camera. I watched as they all summoned a policeman and showed him the photo of the cyclists. Of course, during the discussion that followed, the victims were much more animated than the policeman. After pleading with him for several minutes they eventually gave up and went on their way. So did the crowd. So did the policeman.

Petter, a thief in Lima, told us that one member of his team always carries a knife.

After lunch I walked a few blocks down Florida and turned into a small, uncrowded side street. I noticed a commotion in Continue reading

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Social engineering—is it time to curtail trust?

Judy Stevens, who has more than 270 identities.

A couple of scumbags have been casing neighborhoods in Las Vegas, preying on elders. They chat up residents, pretending to be a former resident or a relative of a neighbor. They ask questions and gather information. When they’ve learned enough about someone elderly on the street, they approach the senior armed with facts and trivia—enough to garner the senior’s confidence. In every case, the bottom line is that they need money. The money’s not for them, of course; it’s for one of the neighbors, who is in a costly (fictitious) emergency situation, something medical, or maybe legal. The two solicitors are merely good samaritans.

Rick Shawn, who has more than 1,000 identities.

Classic social engineering. This pair of con artists has bilked 19 known victims in Las Vegas, all over age 73, out of tens of thousands of dollars. It’s likely that they’re connected to similar incidents in Arizona and California; it’s probable that many other victims exist, unaware they’ve been scammed, or embarrassed to come forward.

It sounds like a couple on a crime spree, but it’s much more than that. From our intensive workshop with NABI, we know that this is organized crime. Assistant district attorney Scott Mitchell called them gypsies. Most likely, they are members of one of the families called Travelers. These families move from town to town as they pull their scams, often on the elderly. They have a large repertoire, including sweetheart swindles, pigeon drops, fake lotto schemes, and home repair. Many of these are combined with plain old burglary.

The Travelers are organized crime families. So organized, that when they find a particularly gullible victim, they pass his info to the next family members scheduled to roll through that town. Then, even if the victim realizes that the roof repair or driveway resurfacing job was shoddy, he won’t recognize the brother or cousin who offers to paint the house with leftover paint from a job down the street, or the sister collecting funds for the sick man a few houses down.

'My dog is accused of eating neighbours chicken Plyz help with bail.' Don't be tempted.

These fraudsters go to extremes in order to impersonate a good samaritan. Through social engineering, they manipulate their victims with a realistic story, bamboozle them with bullshit, dupe them, and exploit them. It always ends one way: the victims’ money in the Travelers’ hands. The two pictured above go so far as to drive their victims to their banks or ATMs.

These two have been arrested and are being held, as of this moment, at Clark County Detention Center in Las Vegas. Travelers are known to have lawyers on retainer and bail money at the ready. Although the two are considered flight risks, they may bail out on the condition that they wear GPS ankle devices.

Actually, that’s not likely. I just spoke with Lieutenant Bob Sebby, Las Vegas Metro, who said that 15 additional victims have been confirmed. Metro is asking other victims to come forward.

fraud gypsy Las Vegas scam senior crime social engineer steal theft Travelers

The tasteful tourist

Pickpocket, left, pretends innocence after stealing a wallet from Diaz, right.

Bob and I looked at each other in disbelief. Only we knew the incredible odds we’d just beaten. To stroll into Rome’s Termini, the main train and subway station, pick a platform, peg a pair of old men as pickpockets, position a victim, and have it all work as if to a script, in under twenty minutes, on Take One… we were flabbergasted, giggly.
The fact that the film crew’s hidden cameras captured it all was merely the cherry on top. This had been our hope and our plan, but we never dreamed we’d pull it off so quickly, if at all. Our prey were Italians; ordinary-looking, regular citizens. Not ethnic minorities, not immigrants, not identifiable outcasts. We’d begun this project for ABC 20/20 with this, the toughest challenge of them all.

Just last night, at dinner in a wonderfully touristy trattoria, investigative reporter Arnold Diaz and segment producer Glenn Ruppel had expressed their severe doubt. They wondered why ABC had allowed this frivolous endeavor, invested the time and significant expense in so improbable a venture. Hidden camera expert Jill Goldstein, serious videographer though she was, just seemed pleased to be along, on her first trip to Europe, her first trip abroad. The five of us ate an innumerable procession of courses any Italian would have pared by half, toasting luck first with Prosecco, then wine, grappa, and finally little glasses of thick, sweet limoncello.

Arnold Diaz interviews Bob Arno about pickpocketing techniques.

Bob and I had worried all the previous two weeks, fretting over myriad potential obstacles. How could we be certain to lead the crew to thieves, get Arnold Diaz pickpocketed, and get it all on film? How would we find the perps in all of Rome?

Our hopes slipped a little when we first met Arnold. With his refined Latin looks and flair for fashion, he blended right in with the local Italian crowd. He didn’t look like a typical American tourist, who may as well have the stars and stripes tattooed across the forehead. Arnold didn’t look like a tourist at all; rather, he looked like a European businessman. So we gave him a five-minute makeover. We slung a backpack on him, put a guidebook in his hand, a camera around his neck, and a “wife” by his side (me!) and, poof—there he was: a tasteful tourist, ready to be ripped off.

All text and photos © copyright 2008-present. All rights reserved. Bambi Vincent

Excerpt from Travel Advisory: How to Avoid Thefts, Cons, and Street Scams
Chapter Two (part-g): Research Before You Go

Bob Arno Italy pickpocket Rome street crime subway termini theft Thieves tourist tv victim