EuroFilm Project Turns up Talkative Thieves
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Only half an hour before, Mario and his partner Tony had lifted Arno's wallet. The wallet was
empty, of course, and the theft was on camera. The pickpockets sheepishly returned the wallet on
demand, then agreed to a little chat over coffee. That's when Mario explained his mo: he steals
credit cards and uses them to purchase Rolexes, then fences the new watches for several thousand
dollars each.
Despite being oceans apart in moral values, Arno and Mario swam in similar schools. The schools
of deception.
Arno's deception was unintentional. "I'm the same profession as you," he'd explained to Mario in
their common language, Mediocre French. "But I do it in casinos, in theaters." Arno meant this
sincerely.
By the time Mario proposed partnership, his misconception was becoming clear. Mario thought
Arno practiced thievery in casinos and theaters. Which – Arno does, in a manner of speaking.
Except that everything is returned to its rightful owner.
In the summers, Arno and Co. research real, honest-to-goodness pickpockets and con artists. This
summer, they focused on the "gentleman" thief.
"Summer in southern Europe is perfect for our research," Bambi said in a telephone interview,
"because the crowds are thick as--well, thick as thieves. Bob and I are hypertuned to inappropriate behavior; suspects pop out of the crowd as if they had tv-news graphic circles
drawn around them. One of us merely has to

Athens Subway: Greek victim (l) grabs Albanian thief (r) as female accomplice (c) exits with wallet.
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say "ten o'clock" and the other glances slightly left
and knows exactly who, of the hundreds in view, is meant."

Algerian solo theif "Plaid Shirt" favors back pockets in Barcelona
What are those pop-art pictures called, the wallpaper-like fields of swirly pattern that, when stared
at long enough finally push forward an object or scene? Blink, and the object disappears into the
repetition of the pattern. Likewise the Arnos' suspects: with practice and concentration, thieves
materialize out of sameness into a dimension all their own.
This is how Bambi explained their success at spotting thieves.
"Sometimes we feel as if we're wearing x-ray glasses," she said, "able to see what no one else can.
This has proven especially true when we go out with television crews and tell them at whom to
point their hidden cameras. How did you know? they always demand, incredulous after the crime
is in the can. How could you tell in advance?
Take Harik and Dahni, the two Albanian pickpockets the Arnos followed and filmed in Athens.
Decked out in hidden cameras and with a skeptical film crew in tow, the Arnos hopped on and off
sweltering trains in the shadow of the Parthenon. The Albanians were spooked and
wouldn't--couldn't--talk, until they found their comrade, Yacine, an Algerian pickpocket, who
spoke, cautiously, in French.
The eight were seated at lunch: three pickpockets at one end, producer, camera- and sound-men
opposite, Arnos in the middle; a constellation of
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cameras pointed at the culprits. As plates of
olives, bread, and roasted vegetables were served, Yacine described his favorite steal for use in
restaurant situations.
A cellphone rang. Harik removed one from his satchel and looked at it. He removed another. And
another. Half a dozen phones lay on the table before he found the ringing one. As Yacine
described his behind-the-back breast-pocket-steal, Harik opened the phone and removed its SIM
card. The ringing stopped. Harik tore the tiny chip to shreds in his fingers.
"I can't show you without a jacket," Yacine continued. "But we won't find one in Athens. It's 90
degrees." Off the hook, he thought.
"We'll go buy one," Arno said, and the odd assemblage trooped into a men's clothing shop, where
the pickpockets had the improbable luxury of selecting the ideal coat from which to steal.

Kharem, Lebenese, opens a bag not his own in Barcelona
Next, a suitable cafe was found for the demonstration and the doubtful tv crew arranged the
setting at Yacine's direction. Chairs and tables rearranged, Yacine sat back-to-back with Arno and
slickly snagged Arno's wallet.
"Now the piece de resistance," Yacine said. "I get the money--without removing the wallet!"
The flabbergasted film crew left Athens ecstatic, and the Arnos tucked another pickpocket
interview into their portfolio.
Pickpockets always work in teams, according to conventional wisdom. Not so, say the Arnos,
after this summer's revelations. In Barcelona they filmed a solo they called Plaid Shirt for an hour, as he preyed on the
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perimeter of a street performer, slowly opening the buttons and flaps of men's
back pants pockets and low cargo pockets. If his subjects turned to glare at him with suspicion,
Plaid Shirt gave them a guileless grin and moved on. Round the preoccupied circle he went,
opening numerous pockets.
When the Arnos later cornered Plaid, he readily discussed his profession with them. And when
they found him again several weeks later, elegantly dressed and hard at work, he eagerly took a
break, pulled his old confidants into a bar, and bought drinks all around. His name was Salah
Occi, an Algerian illegally in Spain after being expelled from France.
Next they watched, then interviewed Kharem, a 36-year-old Lebanese who admitted to picking
pockets for 17 years, 12 of them in Paris, the past five in Barcelona. Another solo, another illegal.
Kharem clarified the "soccer steal" with an on-camera demo, then revealed his "unique technique"
which is accomplished with the creative use of postcards.
And there was an unnamed 20-something Romanian, who bragged of his solo career in the streets
of Barcelona. All these characters helped to disprove the long-held notion of teamwork. "Lone
wolves" are out there.
Gypsy thieves in Pisa were not as talkative as the solos in Spain, the Algerian in Athens, or the
mobsters in Naples. The Arnos dogged one gypsy group for hours until, one by one, the
threesome bowed out with a bare-butt moon for the camera.

Camera-shy Pisa pickpockets
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