Thieves – Page 16 – Pickpocket Bob Arno

Scooter-riding bandits

Bob Arno in Quartieri Spagnoli, Naples, Italy.

Stung by a Wasp: Scooter-Riding Bandits
Buzz Bob and Bambi

I didn’t think it could happen to me.

There was no forewarning. One moment Bambi and I were walking down a narrow, cobblestone alley in Naples’ Centro Storico, having just looked back at an empty street. The next moment I was grabbed from behind, like a Heimlich maneuver—except I wasn’t choking on chicken. I was being mugged and there were three of them.

There was nothing slick about it; they were just fast and singularly focused on my 30-year-old Rolex. Without finesse, it was merely a crude attempt to break the metal strap. What these amateurs didn’t know was that they had selected a mark who had himself lifted hundreds of thousands of watches in his career as an honest crook.

Until now, I had never been on the receiving end of my game, even though I’d strolled often through ultimate pocket-picking grounds in Cartegena, the souks in Cairo, and La Rambla in Barcelona. I’d been pushed and shoved using public transportation like the Star Ferry in Hong Kong and rush-hour subways in Tokyo, London, and New York; yet I’d never been a victim.

A typical street in Naples\' Quartieri Spagnoli. — A typical street in Naples' Quartieri Spagnoli.

Finally my luck turned—I’m not sure for the good or bad—during a visit to Naples, Italy. Though I hadn’t been there in some fifteen years, I knew full well about its slick pickpockets, and particularly about the infamous scippatori. This latter is a unique style of rip-off which involves speeding scooters and short Italians with long arms. Little did I know that I would finally become a statistic in what must be one of the world’s highest concentrations of muggings and pickpocketings in an area of less than a square mile: Quartieri Spagnoli, a district even the police avoid.

Scippatori are marauding teams of pirates on motor scooters. The scooter of choice is the Vespa, a nimble machine with a plaintive buzz which, when carrying a pair of highway bandits, delivers a surprising sting. Scippatori ply their vicious bag snatching chicanery on unsuspecting tourists in Italy, and in Naples particularly. Handbags and gold chains are plucked as easily as ripe oranges by backseat riders in daring dash-and-grab capers.

It was therefore with extreme caution that Bambi and I walked these streets, popular with tourists primarily as a gateway city. It’s the starting point for ferry trips to Capri, bus tours to Pompeii, and drives along the spectacular Amalfi-Sorrento Coast. Let me emphasize starting point. Even Naples’ car rental companies urge tourists to drive directly out of town.

Though it hardly matches the beauty or historical magnitude of Rome, Venice, or Florence, Bambi wanted to photograph the colorful Quartieri Spagnoli. Its old section, the Centro Storico, has a seedy, rustic, old-world fascination, with its dismal balconied apartments stacked on minuscule dreary shops. As we walked, I reminded my wife that this was the birthplace of pickpocketing, and I scrutinized every scooter that buzzed by, making sure we were out of reach.

It was mid-afternoon, siesta time, as Bambi and I strolled the deserted lanes. Little light filtered down through the seven or eight stories of laundry hanging above the narrow alleys. Almost all the shops were shut, their steel shutters rolled down and padlocked, and it was quiet except for the snarl of traffic on Via Toledo, the perimeter street. A lone shellfish monger remained, amid shallow dishes of live cockles, clams, snails, and cigalo glittering in water. Though we were practically alone in the area, we frequently glanced behind us.

Still, they caught us completely off-guard. With silence their foil, they rolled down a hill: three young thugs on a Vespa scooter, its engine off. One guy remained on the scooter, ready to bolt; another held me with my arms pinned to my sides, and the third tried to tear the watch off my wrist. It was sudden, quick, and silent. No shouts or vulgar threats.

It‘s a joke, I thought that first crucial instant, expecting a friend or fan to say “Gottcha!” I’m quite often grabbed by people who’ve seen me perform; they like to make me faux-victim as a sort of role-reversing prank. Although this vice-grip felt deadly serious, my thought process, instant and automatic, cost me several seconds. I didn’t fight back with a sharp elbow or kick. And because my reflexes never got into gear, I didn’t have a chance to coil my muscles into a protective stance.

Decorative street marking in Quartieri Spagnoli.

Fortunately, pickpockets are generally petty criminals who can easily be scared off. They prefer stealth, diversion, and speed to violence as their modus operandi. Bambi reacted a moment before I did, bravely smashing my captor on the head with her umbrella. Other than breaking the umbrella, this had no effect at all.

As soon as my adrenaline kicked in, I yelled at the top of my voice “Polizia, polizia.” Years of stage speaking enabled me to project my voice throughout the neighborhood. Instant reaction! They scrambled away as fast as they had appeared.

We walked away, lucky but shaken. My steel watchband didn’t give despite considerable force applied in attempting to snap its pin. All I had lost was my own track record. I could no longer claim that pickpockets had never tried to steal from me.

Bambi still tenses at the buzz of a motorcycle behind her—not a bad legacy, perhaps. And both of us now strip down to skin and cloth when visiting this most colorful district. The proof of my own stupidity, namely, wearing a Rolex in Naples, was a scratched up wrist. I should have known better.

First rule for avoiding pickpockets: don’t attract them. Don’t signal you’re worth their while. Second rule: acknowledge that it can happen to anyone. Whether you’re strong, confident, aware, or careful, you are not immune. Even a veteran pickpocket can become a victim.

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

Good pickpocket victim is a know-it-all

A pickpocket steals from a back pocket, aka the sucker pocket.

Over-confidence is the enemy of travelers in unfamiliar lands. The know-it-all risks loss and embarrassment. Henry started his story with the wistful remark we’ve heard countless times:

“I didn’t think it could happen to me,” he said, shaking his head. “I never even sensed the other guy was near me.”

Henry and Kathy were world travelers. We met them in the third month of their current foreign travel adventure. Only in their forties, they were quite young compared to others with the time and resources for extended travel. Both were physically fit and mentally sharp. To Kathy’s alert, quiet reserve, Henry radiated self-assurance and arrogance.

On this day, as usual, Kathy carried their cash in the deep front pocket of her tight shorts. Henry carried nothing but the plastic boarding card issued to him by his cruise ship.

Another pickpocket's back-pocket technique.

The couple was standing on a street corner near the souk in Casablanca when a large local man approached. Glancing at Henry’s Blue Jays cap, the interloper leaned into Henry, lightly knocking his shoulder.

“You from Canada?” he slurred, in a drunken act. Henry, always on his toes, second guessed the ulterior motive.

“Keep your hands off me, pal,” he said threateningly.

The stranger backed away and glanced across the street. Kathy followed his look and watched as a second man approached them. He was the big guy’s partner.

“Sorry, I have no use for this,” the partner said, and held out Henry’s boarding card. The couple had never even noticed him near them; yet somehow, he had been.

I like this story for its considerate thief. Most, with hopes of snagging a credit card quashed, would drop the worthless plastic in a trash bin, or more likely on the ground. The notion of a quixotic thief appeals to my wispy romantic being. Luciano, that ever-present menace on Naples’ trams, told us that, since he doesn’t use the credit cards he steals, he drops them into a mail box so they can be returned to their owners.

Had Henry Smartypants read the U.S. State Department’s report on Morocco, he would have known that “criminals have targeted tourists for robberies, assaults, muggings, thefts, purse snatching, pickpocketing, and scams of all types,” and that “most of the petty crime occurs in the medina/market areas….” Perhaps he would have thwarted the thief who snuck up behind him; his antennas would certainly have been up.

If misfortune befalls the unwary and swindlers seek the weak, enlighten yourself and raise your awareness.

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

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The cozy-up steal

Cargo pockets are easy to steal from. Buttons or Velcro take the thief an extra second or two.

Sandy and Frances thought little of the gaggle of girls who flopped onto the bench they were resting on. There were more girls than could fit on the bench: half a dozen or more. They were pretty, 15-16-year-olds and with them was an adult woman. Their teacher, perhaps, Frances thought.

The girls cozied up to Sandy, making room for one more to squeeze onto the bench. They wiggled and squirmed, like impatient students in class, while the woman spoke to them. Sandy and Frances didn’t understand the language they spoke.

The couple didn’t notice that all the other benches were empty. They didn’t wonder why this gang, or “class,” had to crowd onto their bench. They were not the least suspicious of the girls.

“Why don’t we move so they can all fit,” Sandy said after a couple of minutes. He and Frances settled on the next bench.

“We needn’t have bothered,” he said, watching as the group immediately left the bench and the area.

Londoners Sandy and Frances had just flown into Barcelona to take a cruise. They were too early to board, but it was a gorgeous, sunny afternoon and they didn’t mind waiting the ten minutes before the gangway opened.

Although this cargo pocket has buttons, a hand can slip in between them. And did.

Soon they were in their stateroom, unpacking. Sandy opened a drawer to put away his wallet and, of course, you know: his pocket was empty. He’d had it in the cargo pocket of his pants, “secured” with two buttons. He told us how he went cold all over. How he checked and rechecked his pocket, not believing his wallet was really gone. But from the first instant, he knew exactly what had happened.

Are you groaning? Not another Barcelona story, please! I’m afraid so.

Sandy told us over and over how stupid he felt for letting it happen. There was a lot of money in the wallet, but his insurance would replace it. He just felt like an idiot. Although I’ve never heard of this particular technique, I assured him that this gang was well-practiced in the art of portraying innocence. They knew exactly how to behave, how to avoid rousing suspicion.

The thief hadn’t even unbuttoned the pocket. She didn’t need to. The gap between the two buttons was large enough for a slim hand and a wallet.

They got thousands of British pounds. I don’t think they’ll work for a while. We’re all safe from this gang, at least for the next week or two.

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The proliferation of Barcelona’s living statues

Ramblas\' living statues apply their make-up on-site. — Ramblas' living statues apply their make-up on-site.

Adrian has been a living statue on Barcelona’s Ramblas for two years. He was a chef in Romania before, and part owner of a small hotel. But economic opportunities are greater for a statue; or they were, before major changes were instituted about two months ago.

No one needs a permit to be a statue on La Rambla, but there are rules and regulations. The statue must design and make an original costume. And the statue must be still, moving only to reward contributors to the hat.

Living statue: Electric Man used to use pre-existing crowds, collecting coins from diners in Ramblas cafes. — Electric Man used to use pre-existing crowds, collecting coins from diners in Ramblas cafes.

Performance artists are no longer allowed on La Rambla, because they often draw large crowds of spectators. The crowds attract pickpockets. Pickpockets can easily steal from a stationary, distracted victim who expects others to crowd in behind him.

This is a good theory, in general. In practice, many a performer fails to draw a crowd, and quite a number of statues have learned to do so. But there may be something to the new initiative.

It’s not a fair comparison, but I’ll compare anyway. In three days of walking La Rambla last week, Bob and I saw very few “suspects;” i.e., characters we deem worth watching due to suspicious behavior. Quite unlike our previous observations five months ago. See Barcelona Street Crime Today and the articles linked within it. Granted, it was pouring rain two of those days last week. The few brave souls out in the weather wore raincoats or jackets that made pocket access difficult. Anyway, the pickpockets stayed home. Not that rain always stops them! Our third day of tramping the tourist trail was mostly morning hours. This too, is not prime time for thieves.

Living statues. Rain doesn\'t always stop the thieves. There were five, though you can only see two here. — Rain doesn't always stop the thieves. There were five, though you can only see two here.

Even including a few afternoon hours, the avenida was quiet, perp-wise. Sure, the three-shell pea gamers were out, and we saw one pea crew under arrest, waiting for transport. But the population of thieves has moved on. Not far, I’m sure, but off the main drag.

And while the thieves are fewer on La Rambla, the living statues have proliferated. In some prime areas, near mcDonald’s, for example, and at the intersection of Portafarissa, barely six feet separate the statues from one another, six or seven of them in a row.

Living statue Adrian on a smoke break. — Adrian on a smoke break.

While some stand dejected, others have mastered a certain glint in the eye, a beckoning dare: “want to see what I do? Drop in a coin!” The plastic bottle man rarely stands still. The green fairy’s fingers are constantly coaxing passers-by nearer. The black horned creature has enormous curved wings, which he swivels to hide his face from photographers until he gets a coin. The toilet man makes faces. I’m pretty sure that the Michael Jackson statue is the same guy who used to do impressions at the bottom of La Rambla. He used to get huge crowds, and probably pretty good money. Now he stands frozen in costume, bucket begging, but not terribly enticing. His huge talent is wasted here. People walk on by.

Living statue — This creature doesn’t always wait for a coin. It moves, illicitly, startling passers-by in order to attract viewers.

One creature, a strange head resting low in a pile of blue satin, manages to get huge audiences. Like a jack-in-the-box, the head pops out of the fabric with a a growl and a shout, its single hand gesticulating wildly. The crowd screams and backs up, leaving a wide berth around the unpredictable danger. Strange, since it’s fairly obvious that the performance artist is crunched up in a box, non-ambulatory. Anyway, the spectators’ noisy appreciation attracts others to the circle, and the crowd grows.

The difference between the large crowd surrounding the head-in-the-box, and the crowd that surrounded the Michael Jackson impersonator, is an important one to the pickpocket. The head-in-the-box has a limited repertoire, and therefor cannot hold a crowd. Michael Jacksonesque performed many songs, holding his audience and giving the pickpockets plenty of time to select a mark and do their dirty work.

People walk right past living statue Michael Jacksonesque, who was previously compelling with music and motion. — People walk right past Michael Jacksonesque, who was previously compelling with music and motion.

Adrian, who stands statue-still then poses for pictures for whatever coin he’s thrown, is in one of those concentrated rows of statues. Beside him is a magician, from Romania, like Adrian. The magician, wearing an ordinary black suit and white shirt, has a bit of a crowd around him. He’s performing with a trick rope, a black-covered book under one arm. He appears nervous, looking up and down the street. When he suspects police are near—perhaps he’s signaled by someone—he steps onto a small, low platform, flips open his book, and stares at it. Poof: a statue.

Adrian’s disgusted by the magician’s cheating way. He empties the small coins from his money-box as he complains about his neighbor. He says the tricks are lousy, just purchased things, performed without soul. Yet the magician gets crowds and Adrian doesn’t. Adrian tips his box and I see that a few one- and two-euro coins are glued to the bottom.

Adrian claims to get eight to 15 euros in his best hours. The magician gets more, he admits, and that makes Adrian mad. Still, he works the hours he wants to work, takes off when it suits him, and is able to send money home to his wife and two daughters.

It’s easy to see that the most interactive statues, those with the best costumes, those whose photos are most sought, make more money than the passive ones. Adrian said the best make 40 to 50 euros in a good hour.

The clowns make even more: 50 to 60 euros per performance for the best one, according to Adrian. Of course they no longer work on La Rambla either.

The city seems to be on to something. Or maybe it’s just a temporary lull. Time will tell. Bob and I will report later.

Barcelona crowd spain street crime street entertainment Thieves

A false sense of security

We met Lionel, an American, while traveling in Dubai.

To a pair of pickpockets in London, Lionel Skidmore looked like an easy target. The thieves mounted a bus, then immediately turned and got off, pushing past Lionel, who was just getting on. Checking and noticing that his wallet was gone, Lionel ran after the perps and demanded the return of his wallet. One thief took off. The other pointed to the ground, where the wallet had been dropped. Nothing was missing from it.

The novel part of this story, to me, is that Lionel’s wallet was deep in his pocket, attached to a chain. Granted, the metal ring attachment was a weak one, according to Lionel, but the pickpockets didn’t know that when they decided to take the wallet.

Many people believe that rubber banding a wallet, as Lionel shows, prohibits pickpockets. Pickpockets tell us otherwise.

This reminds me that there are no rules in pickpocketing; or rather, that there are, but they’re all bustable. For example, how many of you have heard that wrapping a rubber band around your wallet makes it harder to steal? Hands up. Right, I thought so. No, the thieves tell us—a rubber band makes their job easier. It gives them something to grip, and it keeps the wallet closed, preventing corners from catching in the extraction.

It’s easy to think that a wallet on a chain is safe (no comment on the fashion statement it makes). You’d think that pickpockets would move on to an unchained wallet—the vast majority of them. Turns out that the chain makes a handy little extraction tool. And according to Lionel, a long-time chain-user, most chains are cheap, Chinese-made metal with weak attachment rings.

There\'s always a weakest link. In this case, Lionel\'s hefty new ring attachment is threaded through a flimsy wisp of dried leather. — There's always a weakest link. In this case, Lionel's hefty new ring attachment is threaded through a flimsy wisp of dried leather.

Lionel showed us his new, heavy-weight chain-attachment-ring. Looks strong! But it’s threaded through a thin layer of worn, flimsy leather at the corner of his wallet. Easily the weakest link in a weak system. A useless grommet, freed from the loose leather, slides around the ring. Lionel feels his chained wallet is secure. His (false) sense of security allows him to travel the world with confidence.

pickpocket Security steal Thieves wallet

Retail loss prevention

The crotch-walk was demonstrated, just before a strip-tease, at the Virginia Retail Loss Prevention Conference last week. We do get to see some oddball demonstrations, like how to steal a Rolex, the miraculous faro shuffle,Â and how organized crime families work.

An armed robber bursts into a small retail shop in a mock robbery.

Thursday evening, attendees saw a comedic demonstration of pickpocketing—performed by the inimitable Bob Arno, of course. We all scooted out of the conference in time to catch the VP debates.

Friday morning began with an armed robbery—rather, a mock robbery—staged and acted in a corner of a hotel ballroom fitted out with the works of an entire discount apparel store. Within the mock shop, a real FBI agent played customer, looked after by an attentive shop employee. When a gunman burst through the door brandishing real blue steel and shouting for cash, the shop employee raised a baseball bat. (Wrong move.) The enraged robber emptied the till, waved his weapon about, and demanded the contents of the safe. When the cowering employee insisted there was no safe, we thought the robbery would become a murder. But the perp fled and a police detective showed up to quiz witnesses (attendees) for descriptions. Height, weight of suspect? scars? tattoos? clothes? hat? weapon? which way did he go? car? license plate? It all happened so fast it’s amazing what we missed.

Each woman wears eight outfits, layers applied in the shop\'s dressing room. — Each woman wears eight outfits, layers applied in the shop's dressing room.

After breakout sessions on till-tapping, sweethearting, environmental anti-theft design, and other esoteric topics, lunch was served, accompanied by a thieves’ fashion show. Brilliantly written by Susan Milhoan, president and CEO of the Retail Alliance, male and female models paraded across the stage to pulsing new-age music lying under Susan’s slick narrative. We were introduced to shoplifters with a variety of ingenious methods and containers for hiding their ill-gotten gains: a gift-wrapped box with a hidden flap, a loosely-closed umbrella carried upright, booster-bags slung about the hips under voluminous skirts, and many more.

In a thieves\' strip-tease, two shoplifters peel off the layers. — In a thieves' strip-tease, two shoplifters peel off the layers.

Finally came the crotch-walker: a woman in a dress who casually strolled before the crowd and, on command, dropped a small appliance to the floor from its snug position, gripped tightly between her thighs. Whole hams are frequently stolen this way, our fashion narrator explained, then sold at a discount for quick cash. Yum.

The thieves’ fashion show finale was a raucous strip tease starring two young, slim women who sidled onto the stage with slinky grace. Classic stripper music began and the women proceeded to peel layer after layer off of their bodies. Each wore eight complete outfits and, though they stopped stripping while still decent, stood among a mountain of garments, with a value of thousands of dollars.

95% of retailers in Virginia are small businesses with only one to five employees. The sole function of the Virginia Retail Loss Prevention Alliance is to provide these business owners with resources to help prevent “shrinkage.” According to Milhoan, only three organizations like hers exist in the U.S. Yet, what they offer is of immense value to small retailers across America. I’d like to see the Virginia Retail Loss Prevention Conference tour as a road show. Any sponsors out there?

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Research crime before your trip

It was Cecily’s dream vacation: she and her family had rented an ancient stone farmhouse near St.-Paul-de-Vence on the French Riviera. Recently renovated to luxurious standards, it stood between an olive orchard and a lavender farm, strolling distance from the sea, and it came with a Renault.

For their first morning, coffee, baguette, and fresh farm butter had been delivered by the agent. Cecily feasted lightly on the terrace, then drove into Nice and shopped for groceries. So far, excellent. She loaded the Renault feeling spiffy, pleased with her success, and rather… je ne sais quois. Perhaps rather French.

Just as Cecily got into the car a nice-looking man approached and asked her something: where could he buy a newspaper? where was a petrol station? Cecily’s French had rusted since high school, but she struggled to understand.

“Don’t worry,” the man said in English. “I am not going to steal from you.”

What? Cecily swiveled in her seat just in time to see another man, a partner, dash off with her purse which, sadly, still contained her entire family’s passports and return air tickets. The nice-looking man at her window was gone.

Cecily had spent weeks researching French villa-rental companies and poring over their offerings. After deciding on the 400-year-old farmhouse, she read up on the nearby perfume factories, the MusÃ©e Picasso, and where to tour an olive oil processor. She compiled a list of every enticing restaurant she’d read about within a hundred-mile radius of the farmhouse, whether Michelin starred or a village secret. Crime reports were the furthest thing from Cecily’s mind. She’d focused on weather reports.

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

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Panama Cannons: gangsters gone good, part 6 of 6

Part of the police contingent present at Bob's lectures.

Panama City, Panama—Bob asked one of our Panama police escorts what serious crimes against tourists had occurred recently. The officer stunned us with a horrific story of some visitors who had rented a car and driven to a lodge in a rainforest. They were ambushed somewhere out in the countryside and robbed of everything.

With disgust all over his face, the officer went on: the perpetrators, it was later discovered, were police officers. They had been tipped off by someone at the airport or car rental agency.

Two days later, we saw an English-language Panama paper:

Tourism Cops Busted For Torture

…members of the Tourism Police who arrested three men who are suspected of being part of a gang that robs tourists allegedly smashed the suspects’ fingers with a hammer, beat them with golf clubs and forced their heads into bags full of pepper gas in an attempt to make them reveal what happened to the proceeds of a string of robberies. According to a report, the crime was allegedly aggravated by the cops’ motive to make the suspects reveal where the money was so that they could take it for themselves. —The Panama News

It was pitch dark in Casco Antigua. It's amazing what a good digital camera can do.

We returned to Panama half a year later and, though it was already 9 p.m., made straight for the old, dilapidated, historic section of Panama City. We walked the dark and dangerous streets with our cameras dangling and very soon approached a few people loitering on a corner to ask for Angel or Jaime, the former thieves.

The loiterers whistled over an English-speaker: amazingly, it was Angel’s mother. She and one of the men, a private security guard, walked us to a gangster hangout, and there we spoke with about a dozen young thugs, Angel’s mother translating.

Again, this was a dark night. Taken with a flash and lightened in Photoshop.

The boys sized us up quickly and automatically, and we did the same. I looked at their smooth skin, fake-tough faces, and posturing, and couldn’t prevent wistful thoughts of their youth and potential, or lack of potential. Bob did some goofy steals on the guys. One of them brandished a cellphone and fancy money-clip full of cash, claiming he’d just lifted them. Despite all their braggadocio, the gangsters clearly wanted a little old-fashioned fun. Like the thieves we speak to the world over, they blossom when spoken to with simple respect.

Eventually, a stoned-looking Angel arrived, with bloodshot eyes, no job, no vocation, and apparently still one of the gang. We wouldn’t be surprised if he was back to thieving. Jaime, on the other hand, was working with the Department of Tourism, we were told.

The gangsters got a kick out of Bob's attention. They probably behaved themselves because of Angel's mother's deference to us.

A pair of cops arrived on the scene and chastised us for clowning around with these criminals. We were not allowed to be in this area at this hour. There had been a murder right here five days ago. The cops pointed us out of the neighborhood and gave us a virtual kick in the butt along with the virtual spanking. Before we left the district, Angel’s mother brought us into her friend’s house. Angel followed and asked us for a gift of cash, which we gave him.

As far as gangsters go, these don't look too threatening. But what do all their hand gestures mean?

This is part 6 of 6. —— Part 1.

See our pickpocket summary page.

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Panama Cannons: gangsters gone good, part 5 of 6

Angel's mother talks to Bob while Angel and Jaime play. Notice Jaime's prop.

Panama City, Panama—Angel lives in the school building with his mother and assorted siblings. Aha! So that’s who’d done all the neat laundry hanging inside the school gate. Bob asked Angel to fetch his mother who, to our surprise, was not only willing to speak with a camera in her face, but did so in English. She used to work in a casino, which is how she learned English.

Angel was always different from his brothers, his mother explained. Eventually he stopped going to school, stayed out late, and didn’t listen to his mother. He’s changed a lot since he’s been in this program, she said. Now he’s good, he’s home every night, goes to bed early, and gets up early.

With reluctance, Angel's mother allowed me into her home. A television blared among the mattresses in the empty bedroom.

The audacious Bob Arno asked to see where she lives and where Angel sleeps. There’s no end to Bob’s impudence. He has no humility.

What thoughts of hope played in Angel’s mother’s mind as she led us to her “apartment?” Who are these impertinent snoops, she must have wondered, poking around here two days in a row, sometimes escorted by police chiefs, bodyguards, and interpreters? Foreign dignitaries? Potential benefactors? Deus ex machinas?

She shuffled to a wooden door and ordered Angel to get rid of the dogs yapping in front of a knee-high board. “I’m sorry. Be careful,” she said, pointing to the scrappy barrier.

I don't know who felt worse about this intrusion, Angel's mother, or I.

“My wife will film it,” Bob said, manipulating me forward. I was mortified, ashamed by my violation of the poor woman’s privacy. But like the woman, I wasn’t given a choice, and it would have been more embarrassing to refuse. I couldn’t think how to stop on a dime after I’d been pushed down a slippery slope. I shouldered the offensive video camera and, with one eye on the viewfinder and the other watching my feet, stepped over the dogs at the door and the scrap of wood meant to keep them out of the room.

There was also a chest of drawers in the room, with all its drawers open and spilling clothes.

Angel’s mom showed me around, pointing out her possessions. She kept a running dialog, but I heard none of it, due to a blaring television, yapping dogs, and my extreme discomfort with this assignment.

Handicapped, double-jointed, or injured? ? A dog in Casco Antigua. — Handicapped, double-jointed, or injured? A dog in Casco Antigua.

This is part 5 of 6. —— Next. —— Part 1.

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Panama Cannons: gangsters gone good, part 4 of 6

Properties in San Filipe, a World Heritage Site, are being purchased and restored by foreigners.

Panama City, Panama—Bob and I had come to Panama as guests of the national and local police departments and the Panama National Hotel Association. The Central American country aspires to a boom in tourism and recognizes the need to curb street crime in its cities, tourist areas, and especially San Filipe, aka Casco Antigua, Panama City’s old town and a World Heritage Site.

Bringing in Bob Arno as a consultant to the tourism industry and trainer for police departments and security divisions was a major organizational feat involving numerous government agencies.

(The coup is entirely credited to the gentle, eloquent, and now retired Carlos Sanad of the Office of the Attorney General in Panama.) Bob and I were treated like dignitaries during our stay in Panama, hosted at the country’s newest, grandest resorts, provided with several translators, and always shadowed by bodyguards. We were transported in police vans but, in order to conduct our simultaneous research, often felt the necessity of ditching the navy-suited men talking into their wrists.

Guests of the government require ever-present bodyguards.

When we interviewed Angel and his pal Jaime, we left all badge-bearers outside. What would the gangsters tell us with police present? Perhaps that is why they felt free to demonstrate their pickpocketing techniques and speak of their criminal exploits. That, and Bob’s easy, simpatico demeanor. They showed their choreography with pride.

Jaime shows Bob how he extracts a wallet.

Bob was unimpressed with the boys’ talent. I was a bit more forgiving: presumably, they were rusty, being officially out of the business. Not to mention under great pressure with an audience of two foreign “filmmakers,” and cameras rolling.

Angel and Jaime claimed they didn’t exploit the credit cards they got in wallets, though they occasionally sold them to a fence. They received so little money for credit cards that they usually just threw them away. They wanted cash; the wallets they took usually contained $40-100, sometimes as much as $200. (Panama uses U.S. currency.)

Jaime listened intently and answered intelligently.

Now that they’re out of the business, the boys miss the healthy takings they used to enjoy. They find it difficult to live on their legitimate incomes of two to three dollars a day, which they get from the government.

This is part 4 of 6. —— Next.Â Â ——Â Â Part 1

gangsters Panama pickpocket Thieves