The Collectors

Chapter 8

“How’s it check out?” Leo 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.