The walls of Captain William’s office in One Police Plaza were decorated with various awards, civic commendations, and glossy photos with politicians and VIPs. The neatness of his teakwood desk stood in stark contrast to the squalor of paper strewn across those of most precinct’s detectives, however the high-ranking policeman was not a useless flak for the NYPD.
Working as Sgt. Weinstein’s partner on the Bunko Squad, the two had busted Columbian pickpockets, pyramid schemes preying on immigrants, and credit card frauds. The Knapp Commission had terminated their collaboration, due to Sgt. Weinstein’s ill-conceived oral support of Serpico at PBA meeting.
They were still friends, but Sgt. Weinstein’s visit to the 10th floor was business and he shook hands with the dapper police official without any greeting. A thin-lipped man in the three-piece suit sat on the couch and his former partner said, "This is Mr. Hogan from the Chase Manhattan."
“So what’s the problem?” Sgt. Weinstein shook the bank executive’s uncalloused hand.
“What makes you think there’s a problem?” Mr. Hogan cleaned his glasses with a monogrammed hankerchief .
"I only speak to bankers after a robbery.” Sgt. Weinstein sat on a leather chair, which was slightly higher than the couch.
"The banks have a technical glitch with their ATMs.” Capt. was handed a file by Capt. Williams.
“ATMs are those new cash dispenser.” Sgt. Weinstein had learned over the years that the less you said in the top brasses’ offices the better.
“Correct.” The banker was clearly unimpressed with the overweight detective.
"Let me guess. An armed robber has been strong-arming your customers.” Willie Sutton, the infamous bank robber had stated that he always went to the banks, because that’s where the money was.
"The ATMs’ location stymies most armed robbery attempts." The banker paused to allow the detective another attempt at deducing the crime.
Desperate criminals were rarely innovative and Sgt. Weinstein chose to eliminate another of the most obvious possibilities. "They ram a backhoe into the ATM and drive off with the entire machine."
"Strike two," Capt. Williams answered and the banker rolled his eyes to indicate his impatience with the detective.
Sgt. Weinstein had spent most of his career apprehending thieves who robbed with their minds rather than violence. Not that they were so smart, only that their victims were stupid or greedy. "Then some genius has stumbled on a technical flaw in your system and is making the ATMs pay out more money than they should."
The two men's secretive glance annoyed Sgt. Weinstein and he rose from his chair.
"Am I right?" He’d bet his pension that he was on the money. “Or do I need to pull own my pants and jerk off in front of you?”
"That won't be necessary today." Capt. Williams motioned the sergeant to sit down. "The computer system running the ATMs take fifty minutes to register register the pay-out of $300, which is the limit on most accounts and a clever grifter has been depositing cash under a fake ID of, which they get from the DMV under a dead person’s birth certificate and social security numbers.”
”So why don’t they fix the flaw in the system?” It was the obvious solution.
“Their computer experts are working on the problem.”
”But without success.”
”So far this ‘crime wave’ has been localized in Lower Manhattan, suggesting a single perpetrator." Capt. Williams didn’t have the proper resources to stop this crime, but he couldn’t go wrong by putting on a good show.. "In all likelihood one of your previous cases might be involved.”
“It’s a possibility.”
“We’re asking you to stop them before this situation becomes more widespread." The banker regarded his fingernails, as if the manicurist had neglected the buff finish.
Sgt. Weinstein hated dealings with brass and civilians, both of whom regarded street police tainted by their dealings with criminals.
"Why don’t you shut down the ATMs?"
"That's not so simple," the banker sighed, convinced the detective was too stupid to follow him.
Sgt. Weinstein leaned back in his chair, so his belly seeped from his shirt, but the midriff display was a ploy to lower the Ivy Leaguer’s expectations. "So how much money has been stolen so far?"
"It's all in that file.” Captain Williams pointed to a report on his desk. “Pick yourself three officers and hit the streets,"
"Four men can hardly cover several hundred ATMs.” The banker's eyes clouded with exasperated disappointment.
"Sorry, that's all I can spare. After all the Federal government told the city to go to hell." Capt. Williams didn’t mention that the Republican president had frozen any lending, which was why the city had voted so heavily for the peanut farmer from Georgia.
"I could always alert the police force to the problem."
"We would rather keep this hush-hush." The banks couldn’t survive 30,000 cops tapping the ATMs for Christmas bonuses.
“Don’t you trust the NYPD?” Sgt. Weinstein asked and the banker answered noncommittally, “I share the same trust for the police force as the public.”
“Thanks for that vote of confidence.” Capt. Williams disliked Wall Street bankers or Park Avenue executives, since a single white-collar crime outnetted a hundred bank robberies and corporate embezzlers were rarely imprisoned, while the city jails were packed by shoplifters and petty drug dealers. Mr. Hogan disregarded the implied insult and told Sgt. Weinstein. “Criminals deserve to be behind bars.”
“All criminals.”
The banker shunned his eyes and Sgt. Weinstein convicted him of tax evasion and money laundering. His hunches were inevitably right.
“95% of police work consists of luck and the rest is a case of getting a guilty person to say the right thing about the wrong people.”
Time was money and the banker had little patience with police theories. He tapped his watch.
“I have an appointment midtown. I thank you for your time and wish you success in your endeavor.”
The banker left the office and once the door shut Capt. Williams reached under his desk for a bottle of whiskey. He poured Scotch into two paper cups.
“How can you deal with these assholes?” Sgt. Weinstein grabbed his cup. “I'd like to say that you get used to it, but the an asshole is always an asshole and these idiots are trying to shitcan the tellers, but the stupid machines can’t detect a simple robbery and now they expect us to catch these criminals rather than fix the machines. I can't wait for the NYPD to replace us with robots."
“You’ll always have a job.” Street officers were a thousand times more expendable than the brass. Thankfully Sgt. Weinstein had accumulated his twenty years for retirement. "So am I supposed to catch these thieves?"
"You most certainly are to try your best.” Capt. Williams pointed to the thin report on his desk.“Here’s the short of it. These criminals have hit twenty-four machines at $300 a clip in Manhattan, so localize your search to below 14th Street.”
“Not the Upper East and West Sides?” Sgt. Weinstein implicitly understood an unofficial squad from the NYPD was harvesting the midtown ATMs for the beach cottage fund.
"Exactly." Captain Williams sipped his whiskey, pleased that his old partner appreciated the importance of this information, plus the make-busy job would shunt the fanatical detective out of the way for the bagmen to collect the holiday stipends from Times Square.
“I get to do things the old-fashioned way.”
“As long as no one squawks too loud.” Meaning no newspapers or Internal Affairs.
"I'll try my best." Sgt. Weinstein downed his whiskey.
“That’s all I expect from my officer, Merry Christmas, Sergeant.”
Their meeting was over and Sgt. Weingstein left the office with his file on the thefts.
On the elevator he mentally examined the extensive list of suspects.
Bank robbers were after bigger takes.
Gypsies worked in clans.
Phone phreaks were more revolutionaries than thieves.
Still a clever thief had discovered this flaw in the bank’s defense. Not a genius or else the problem would have gone undetected, but success makes people sloppy and mistakes meant there was a good chance of his catching the thief or thieves, if you mixed in a little greed.
While it was the busiest time of the year in Times Square and this job might be for show, arresting the perpetrator would score points with the brass and Sgt. Weinstein left One Police Plaza dedicated to the hunt, because having friends in high places was always a bonus in the NYPD when you were a one-man show.
No comments:
Post a Comment