The Collectors (5 page)

CHAPTER 8

"H
OW’S IT CHECK OUT?”
L
EO
Richter said into his phone headset as he punched in some numbers on the keypad. He sat in his car in front of a drive-through ATM in Beverly Hills. In a van parked across the street Tony Wallace, until recently a felonious boutique store clerk, examined the video feed on the screen in front of him. “Sweet. I’ve got a perfect frame of your fingers inputting the PIN. And I’ve got a tight shot of the face of the card going in. With the zoom and the freeze I can read everything on it.”

The night before, they had switched the metal box containing bank brochures that was bolted to the side of the ATM with a box of Tony’s manufacture. He’d earlier stolen a box from another ATM and built an exact replica in the garage of the rental house Annabelle had them staying at. Inside the fake brochure box, Tony had placed a battery-powered video camera with wireless feed pointed at the keypad and card slot for the ATM. The camera could send the picture up to two hundred meters away, well within range of the van.

As a backup they’d also placed a skimmer Tony had built over the ATM’s card slot. It was such a perfect replica that not even Annabelle could find fault with it. This device captured all the numbers on the cards, including the embedded verification code on the magnetic stripe, and fed them wirelessly to a receiver in the van.

Annabelle was sitting next to Tony. Across from her was Freddy Driscoll, who’d been plying his trade selling fake Gucci and Rolexes on the Santa Monica pier until he’d run into Annabelle and Leo. Freddy was manning another video camera aimed out the heavily tinted side window of the van.

“I’ve got a clear shot of the cars and license plates going through,” he reported.

“Okay, Leo,” Annabelle said into her headset. “Move out of the way and let the real money through.”

“You know,” Tony said, “we don’t really need the camera at the ATM because we’ve got the card skimmer. It’s redundant.”

“Transmission from the skimmer gets garbled sometimes,” Annabelle said, staring at the TV screen in front of her. “And you miss one number, the card’s useless. Plus, the camera gives us info the skimmer doesn’t. We’re only doing this once. No mistakes.”

Over the next two days they sat in the van as the ATM camera and skimmer captured debit and credit card information. Annabelle methodically matched this information with the cars and their license plates going through the ATM lane, loading it all on a laptop in a spreadsheet format. Annabelle was also prioritizing.

She said, “Bugatti Veyrons, Saleens, Paganis, Koenigseggs, Maybachs, Porsche Carrera GTs and Mercedes SLR McLarens get five stars. The Bugatti sells for one and a quarter million, and the others sell for between four and seven hundred thousand. Rolls-Royces, Bentleys and Aston Martins get four stars. Jags, BMWs, regular Mercedes get three stars.”

Leo jokingly said, “What about Saturns, Kias and Yugos?”

At the end of the two days they regrouped at the rental house.

“We go quality over quantity,” Annabelle said. “Thirty cards. That’s all we need.”

Leo read through the spreadsheet. “Perfect, because we’ve got twenty-one five stars and nine four stars all matched to their card numbers.”

“Only in L.A. would you see
two
Bugatti Veyrons going through the same ATM,” Tony commented. “A thousand horsepower, top speed of two-fifty and gas over three bucks a gallon. I mean, where do they get that kind of money?”

“Same way we do, they rip people off,” Leo answered. “Only the law says the way they do it is legal for some reason.”

“I fought the law and the law won,” Tony crooned. He eyed Annabelle and Leo. “You two ever done any time?”

Leo started shuffling a deck of cards. “He’s a real funny guy, isn’t he?”

“Hey, how come you took down their license plate numbers too?” Tony asked.

“You never know when it might come in handy,” Annabelle answered vaguely.

She looked at Freddy, who was going over some equipment he’d arranged on a large table in the adjoining room. This included a stack of blank credit cards and a thermal dye printer.

“You have everything you need?” she asked.

He nodded, looking over his tools with satisfaction while running a hand through his cottony hair. “Annabelle, you run a first-class operation.”

Three days later Freddy had built thirty counterfeit cards, complete with colored graphics and a magnetic stripe encoded with the verification code on the back and embossed with the victim’s name and account number on the front. The finishing touch had been the hologram, a security measure banks have been using since the early 1980s. The only way to tell the difference was that real holograms are embedded in the card while the fake clung to the surface, something an ATM wouldn’t be able to distinguish.

“You can buy all the credit card numbers you want off the Internet,” Tony pointed out. “That’s where the real pros go.”

Annabelle replied, “And I guarantee you that none of those ‘quick’ cards belong to anyone who owns a Bugatti, other than by luck.”

Leo quit shuffling his cards and lit a cigarette. “It was probably a pro who told you that, kid, so you wouldn’t start doing it the smart way and competing with him. Sizing the mark up right is Con 101.”

Tony said, “Damn! Have I been that stupid?”

“Yes, you have,” Annabelle said. “Okay, here’s the plan.” She perched on the arm of a chair. “I’ve rented cars for all of us under fake ID packs. The three of you each take eight cards, and I’ll take six, which makes our total thirty cards. You’ll individually hit forty ATMs in the metro area and perform two transactions at each. You’ll alternate the cards you use at every ATM, so at the end you’ll have accessed each account ten times.

“I’ve got lists of all the ATMs. And I’ve plotted it out for each of you. They’re all drive-through, and there’s hardly any distance between them. And we’re all in disguise because of the ATM cameras. I’ve got outfits for everybody.”

“But there’re limits on how much you can take out of an account in a day,” Freddy said. “To protect against stolen cards.”

Annabelle said, “With the marks we’re going against, it’s a certainty they have elevated withdrawal limits. People who drive seven-hundred-thousand-dollar cars don’t like three-hundred-dollar limits on their ATM accounts. My contacts on the bank side tell me the usual initial bump-up is to twenty-five hundred. But aside from that, the counterfeit cards give us access to all of the mark’s accounts, savings, checking. If we make a deposit from savings into checking to more than cover the amount of the withdrawal, then in the machine’s mind that’ll net out as a plus and override the ATM withdrawal limit, whatever it happens to be.”

“So if we deposit, say, five thousand from savings into checking and withdraw four thousand, it won’t even register as a net withdrawal from checking,” Leo added.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” Tony asked.

“I did a dry run last month with ten of the major banks, and it worked every time. It’s a software glitch they haven’t focused on yet. Until they do, well, it’s a nice payday.”

Leo smiled and started shuffling his cards again. “After this gig, you can bet they’ll focus on it.”

“Why not do eight transactions at each ATM, one for each card?” Tony suggested. “That way we don’t have to hit so many banks.”

“Because it might look a little suspicious if you’re feeding eight cards into the slot while people are waiting behind you,” Annabelle said in an impatient tone. “With two cards, it just looks like there was a glitch and you’re feeding the card back in.”

“Ah, the criminal youth, so wanton
and
clueless,” Leo muttered.

She handed them all three-ring notebooks. “Inside these are the PINs for each card, and the exact amounts at each ATM you’ll transfer for deposit and then withdraw for each account. After we finish, the notebooks get burned.” She rose, went to a closet and threw them duffel bags. “Your disguises are in there, and then use the bags to carry the money.” She sat back down. “I’ve allowed you ten minutes at each bank. We stay in contact with each other at all times. If anything looks weird at one location, skip it and go on to the next one.”

Freddy looked at the dollar amounts listed in his notebook. “But what if the people don’t have the funds to cover the deposit? I mean, even rich people are sometimes short of funds.”

“They have the cash. I’ve already checked that,” Annabelle said.

“How?” Tony asked.

“I called their bank, said I was a vendor and asked if they had enough money in their savings to cover a fifty-thousand-dollar account payable that they owed.”

“And they just told you?” Tony said.

“They always tell you, kid,” Leo answered. “You just have to know how to ask.”

Annabelle said, “And over the last two days I’ve visited all the marks’ homes. Each one, to my eye, was worth at least five million. There were
two
Saleens at one of the mansions. The dollars will be there.”

“You visited their homes?” Tony said.

“Like the lady told you, license plates come in handy,” Leo remarked.

“The total take will be nine hundred thousand, an average of thirty grand a card,” Annabelle continued. “The banks we’re hitting all net out their ATM accounts on twelve-a.m. cycles. We’ll be finished long before that happens.” She looked over at Tony. “And just in case someone gets the urge to cut and run, the next short con is going to double what we make off this one.”

“Hey,” Tony said in an offended tone, pushing a hand through his styled hair. “This is fun stuff.”

“It’s only fun if you don’t get caught,” Annabelle pointed out.

“So have you ever been caught?” Tony asked again.

In response, Annabelle said to Tony, “Why don’t you read over your binder? That way you make no mistakes.”

“It’s just ATM stuff. I’ll be okay.”

“It wasn’t a request,” she said stiffly, and then walked out of the room.

“You heard her, kid,” Leo said, not trying very hard to hide his grin.

Tony muttered something under his breath and stalked out of the room.

“She keeps things close to the vest, doesn’t she?” Freddy remarked.

“Would you want to work with a con who didn’t?” Leo countered.

“Who is she?”

“Annabelle,” Leo answered.

“I know that, but what’s her last name? I’m surprised I haven’t crossed her path before. The high-stakes con world is pretty small.”

“If she’d wanted you to know, she would’ve told you herself.”

Freddy said, “Come on, Leo, you know all about us. And I’ve been around the block. It goes no further.”

Leo considered this and then in a low voice said, “Okay, you gotta swear to take it to your grave. And if you tell her I told, I’ll deny it and then I’ll kill you. I mean it.” He paused as Freddy promised.

“Her name’s Annabelle Conroy,” Leo said.

“Paddy Conroy?” Freddy said at once. “Now,
him
I’ve heard of. I assume they’re related.”

Leo nodded, keeping his voice low. “His daughter. But that was a well-kept secret. Most people never knew Paddy even had a kid. He passed Annabelle off as his wife sometimes. Pretty weird, but that was Paddy for you.”

“I never had the pleasure of working with the man,” Freddy added.

“Yeah, well, I had the
pleasure
of working with ol’ Paddy Conroy. He was one of the best cons of his generation. And also one of the biggest assholes.” Leo glanced in the direction that Annabelle and Tony had left the room, and his voice sank even lower. “You saw that scar under her right eye? Well, her old man did that. She got that for blowing a claim con when they were cheating the Vegas casinos at roulette. She was all of fifteen but looked twenty-one. Cost the old man three grand, and she got a hell of a beating for it. And it wasn’t the only time, I can tell you that.”

“Damn,” Freddy said. “His own daughter?”

Leo nodded. “Annabelle never talks about any of it. I heard from another source.”

“So you were working with them back then?”

“Oh, yeah, Paddy and his wife, Tammy. They had some good stuff going on back then. Paddy taught me the three-card monte routine. Only Annabelle’s a better con than her old man ever thought of being.”

“How come?” Freddy asked.

“Because she has the one quality Paddy never had. Fairness. She got it from her mother. Tammy Conroy was a straight-up piece of work, at least for a con.”

“Fairness? Strange quality for people like us,” Freddy remarked.

Leo said, “Paddy always led his teams with fear. His daughter does it with prep and competence. And she’ll never ever screw you. I can’t count the times Paddy blew town with the entire haul. That’s why he ended up working alone. Nobody would touch his action anymore. Hell, even Tammy finally ditched him, so I heard.”

Freddy remained silent for a bit, apparently letting all this sink in. “Any word on the long con?”

Leo shook his head. “It’s her game to call. I just work here.”

As Freddy and Leo headed into the kitchen to get some coffee, Tony peered around the other doorway. He’d left his notebook in the room and had come back in time to hear the entire conversation. He smiled. Tony loved knowing things people didn’t think he knew.

CHAPTER 9

T
HE SCAM NETTED
$910,000 because Tony had gotten greedy at one of the ATMs.

“What’s the poor schmuck gonna have to do, trade in his Pagani?” he said snidely.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Annabelle said firmly as they sat over breakfast in a new rental house five miles from the first one, which had been thoroughly cleaned in case the police paid it a visit. All the Hertz cars used to steal from the thirty accounts had been turned back in. The disguises that had been worn were in several Dumpsters scattered around town. The money was in four different safe-deposit boxes that Annabelle had leased. The film footage and computer files had been erased and the notebooks destroyed.

“What’s an extra ten grand?” Tony complained. “Hell, we could’ve taken ’em for a lot more than what we did.”

Annabelle pushed a finger hard against his chest. “It’s not about the money. When I lay out a plan, you follow it. Otherwise, you can’t be trusted. And if you can’t be trusted, you can’t be on my team. Don’t make me sorry I picked you, Tony.” She stared the young man down and then turned to the others.

“Okay, let’s go over the second short.” Then she eyed Tony again. “And this one is a face-to-face con. If you don’t follow instructions and play the mark just right, your ass is going to the can, because the margin of error is zero.”

Tony sat back, not looking nearly as enthusiastic.

She said, “You know, Tony, there’s nothing better than seeing a mark eye-to-eye and taking a measure of him
and
yourself.”

“I’m cool.”

“Are you sure? Because if it’s a problem, I need to know right now.”

He glanced nervously at the others. “I got no problems.”

“Good. We’re heading to San Fran.”

“What’s there?” Freddy asked.

“The mailman,” Annabelle replied.

They made the six-hour drive to San Francisco in two cars, Leo and Annabelle in one, Tony and Freddy in the other. They cut a two-week lease on a corporate condo on the outskirts of the city with a partial view of the Golden Gate. For the next four days they took turns pulling surveillance on an office complex in a posh suburb of the city. They were watching the pickups from the outdoor mailboxes that were filled to overflowing on most days, with packs of mail stacked next to the stuffed container. On each of those four days the mail carrier arrived within a quarter-hour window, between five and five-fifteen.

On the fifth day, at precisely four-thirty, Leo, dressed as a mail carrier, drove up to the box in a postal truck that Annabelle had gotten from a contact of hers an hour’s drive south. This gent specialized in providing everything from armored cars to ambulances for less-than-honest purposes. From a car she was parked in across from the mailbox Annabelle watched Leo approach in the truck. Tony and Freddy were posted at the entrance to the complex. They’d alert Leo through his ear fob in case the real mailman showed up early. Leo would only be taking the mail stacked outside the box, since he didn’t have a key to unlock the box. He could’ve picked the lock quite easily, but Annabelle had vetoed that as unnecessary and potentially dangerous in case anyone saw him do it.

She’d said, “What’s lying on the ground or sticking out of the box will be plenty.”

As Leo stacked the mail inside his truck, Annabelle’s voice came through his earpiece.

“You’ve got what looks to be a secretary running at you with some mail.”

“Roger that,” Leo said quietly. He turned and faced the woman, who looked disappointed.

“Oh, where’s Charlie?” she said.

Charlie, the regular mailman, was tall and good-looking.

“I’m just helping Charlie out because there’s so much mail,” Leo said politely. “That’s why I’m here a little early.” He looked at the stack of letters in her hands, and he held out his mail sack. “You can just dump that right in here.”

“Thanks. Payroll’s gotta go out tonight. That’s what’s in the letters.”

“Really? Well, I’ll take super-good care of them, then.” He smiled and went back to collecting the stacks as the woman returned to her office.

Back at the condo they searched through the haul quickly, dividing up the usable from the irrelevant. The letters that were of no use Annabelle had Tony take down to the corner mailbox and post. The others were pored over by Annabelle and Freddy.

When Tony came back, he said, “You guys cut loose a bunch of payroll checks. What’s that about?”

“Payroll and accounts receivable checks are useless to us,” Freddy said with the confidence of the expert he was. “They have laser locks binding the toner ink to the paper and secure number fonts so you can’t alter the dollar amounts.”

“That never made any sense to me,” Leo said. “Those are checks going out to people they
know.
”

Freddy held up a check. “This
is
what we want: a refund check.”

Tony said, “But they’re being sent to complete strangers.”

“That’s what doesn’t make sense, kid,” Leo said. “You put security stuff on checks sent out to people who work for you or you do business with. And you got zilch on checks going out to who the hell knows.”

Annabelle added, “I picked that office complex because it houses regional offices for a number of Fortune 100 companies. Thousands of checks flow out of those places every day, and those accounts are loaded with money.”

Five hours later Freddy had assembled eighty checks. “These are pretty clean. No artificial watermarks, warning bands or detection boxes.” He carried the checks over to a small workshop he had set up in one room of the house. With the others’ help he placed Scotch tape over the signature line, front and back of each check, placed them in a large baking pan and poured nail polish remover over the paper. The acetone in the polish remover quickly dissolved everything on the checks that wasn’t written in base ink. After they’d taken the tape off the signature lines, all that was left were essentially eighty blank checks signed by the company’s CEO or CFO.

“Somebody ran a bad check on my account once,” Leo said.

“What’d you do?” Tony asked.

“Tracked the bastard down. He was an amateur, doing it more for kicks, but it still pissed me off. So I did a change of address on him, diverted all his bills, and the guy ended up being dunned by creditors for a couple of years. I mean, you got to leave this stuff to the professionals.” Leo shrugged. “Hell, I could’ve ripped him off big-time, assumed his ID, the whole nine yards.”

“So why didn’t you?” Tony asked.

“I’ve got a heart!” Leo growled.

Freddy said, “After we dry out the checks, I’ll redo the Federal Reserve routing numbers.”

“What’s that?” Tony asked.

“Are you sure you’re a con?” Leo asked in a bemused tone.

Tony exclaimed, “My tools are computers and the Internet, not nail polish. I’m a twenty-first-century con. I’m paperless.”

“Whoopee for you!” Leo shot back.

Annabelle held up one of the checks. “This is the Federal Reserve routing number,” she said, pointing to the first two digits in a string of numbers on the bottom of the check. “That tells the bank the check was deposited at the clearinghouse the check’s supposed to go to. The New York clearinghouse number is zero-two. San Fran’s is twelve. A New York-based company using checks issued by a New York bank usually has New York’s routing number on its checks, for example. Since we’ll be passing the checks here, Freddy will switch the routing numbers on all the checks to New York. That way it takes longer for the company to get the paper back and realize it’s a bad check.”

Annabelle added, “And more importantly, these are all big companies that keep their accounts payable books by zero cash management methods. So the odds are very good that even with a bad check in the mix they won’t turn up a relatively insignificant transaction until they get their end-of-the-month statements. Today’s the fifth; that means we have about a month before they discover anything wrong. By then we’re long gone.”

“But what if the bank teller looks at the check and sees that the routing number is wrong?” Tony asked.

“I guess you never saw that TV program, did you?” Leo asked. “The one where investigative reporters zip into a bank with a check that had written across it, ‘Don’t cash me, I’m a forged check, you effing moron.’ And the effing moron still cashed it.”

Annabelle added, “I’ve never heard of a clerk spotting the wrong routing number on a check. Unless you give the teller a reason to suspect you, they won’t spot it.”

After the checks had dried out, Freddy scanned them onto his laptop. Six hours later he stacked eighty checks on the table totaling $2.1 million.

Annabelle ran her finger down the perforated edge of one of the checks, a usual indicator that the check itself was legit, even if the amounts and payee on it weren’t. She glanced at the others. “Now comes the human side of the con. Passing the bad paper.”

“My favorite part,” Leo said eagerly as he finished a ham sandwich and washed it down with a large swallow of beer.