Don't Trust.
Verify.
— A Chumper Sticker
I was supposed to be on my way to Home Depot when I spotted our first official mark. He was driving a bright blue Prius with an orange bumper sticker that said, "Don't Trust. Verify." That's solid advice, bro. It's also a crypto slogan, so I followed him.
He went to the AMC Theaters at the Southlake Mall, and bought a ticket for the Denzel Washington flick, The Little Things. I bought a big bucket of popcorn and called Claire.
The mark would be easy to spot on his way out of the movie. He was at least 6'2" and wearing a red puffer jacket. The problem was, he wasn't alone. Claire would have to get him away from his friends long enough to convince him to ask her on a date, and he had to think the date was his idea.
When Claire showed up, I asked how she'd get the guy, and she got pissy. She acted like I was questioning her skills.
"I got this," she said, rolling her eyes almost out of their sockets.
"Tell me how."
"Girl, you can't be serious."
"Come on. How are you gonna get some random guy walking out of a movie to ask you out?"
"FINE," she said, in a way that proved it wasn't. She backed up maybe twenty paces and barked at me. "C'mere, bitch."
As we walked toward each other, she collided with me, bumping me hard enough to send popcorn flying.
"Ouch! What the fuck?!?"
"Oh my God," she said. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I guess I wasn't paying attention to where I... oh... Hey, oh, hi! Uhm... You're... cuuute."
She batted her eyelashes while running her fingers through her hair, twirling the ends that ran past her shoulder. Then, she dropped her purse, which I must say, was the show stopper. "God, I'm so clumsy," she said, as she bent over to pick it up. She tossed the strap over her shoulder as she stood back up, arching her back. And she cocked her head to the side with a turn, causing her hair to swoosh to the side. I'm sure if I was a guy, she'd have flashed a flirty look. Instead, her eyes shot me daggers as she said, "Have I made my point?"
Goddamn.
This guy didn't stand a chance.
"Okay, Claire. Yeah, wow."
"Told ya," she said. "I'll get him."
"I believe you. But when you do, I want you to wear this."
I handed her a red rubber bracelet.
"What the fuck?"
"We've both gotta cut down on our swearing, but especially you, because it's your job to charm the marks. Use this bracelet as a reminder. Every time you curse, take it off and put it on your other arm. Don't say why. Just do it. If the guy asks, tell him it's a nervous tick. Swapping the bracelet from arm to arm will help you become aware of how often you curse. I know it sounds weird, but it works, and we've both gotta cut down on the vulgarity. Like, way the fuck down."
"Looks like you need a bracelet too, bitch."
"I need a drink."
"You need to get a dehumidifier for the garage, so we don't end up with mold. Get something to play music on too. I'm supposed to be entertaining these guys."
"Yeah, yeah. This whole thing is a work in progress."
"You're done here, Shay. I'll see you when I'm done too."
I left to run some errands, and I nervously waited for an update. When I got home, Claire was on the couch with her feet propped up on the coffee table.
"How'd it go with the guy?"
She said, "His name's Dave. We're meeting at a pub for happy hour tomorrow." She brought him back to the house the same night.
I was impressed.
Dave, however, was obnoxious. I know it's rude to judge the guy you're trying to rob, but damn. Bro had nothing to say, yet he kept on talking, and I kept the door to my bedroom open a crack so I could eavesdrop. That's probably rude too.
Don't judge.
They were in the living room for a while. He was facing away from me, but I could see Claire.
After watching her adjust with her glasses and swap the bracelet from arm to arm nine times (GODDAMN, GIRL), Dave asked what the deal was. Bro was as tactful as an actual tack. Ouch.
Claire said, "I, uhm... I fidget. It's a thing. I used to twirl my hair, but a guy said it made me look like a ditz. Well, FUCK that guy. Hahaha... Ahem. Anyway, I had one of those fidget spinner things for a while, but I kept sending it flying off the table, so my sister said, 'Enough!' She gave me the bracelet to fidget with instead. It kinda works."
Not really, but still... Whoo-hoo! She handled it like a pro.
Eventually, she talked him into taking a dip in the hot tub, which took less than ten seconds. She went into her bedroom to get changed, and he used the bathroom.
Once they were in the garage, I went looking for his pants. He put them on her bed. Wishful thinking, I guess.
I grabbed his wallet, and took a picture of his driver's license. Then I snatched his keys and headed downstairs.
His keychain had seven keys on a quick-release flippy thingamabob. It was easy to remove 'em and put 'em back on when I was done making copies with my Speedex. I stashed my copies in my desk and put his keychain back in his pants. I also made a note to buy a shitload of quick-release keychains. Those are great!
My work for the night was done in under ten minutes.
Claire's job of getting him out of the house took forever. Bro stuck around for hours. I kept the door to my basement workshop open, as I waited for her to lose him. Finally, I heard Claire say, "I just don't think we're a match." That's girl code for "We're done here. G.T.F.O."
When the mark begrudgingly left, it was time to talk.
I yelled up the stairs, "Took you long enough!"
"Yeah, well, he wouldn't shut up! He showed up with some quality hooch though! Hang on! I'll bring you some!"
She came to the basement with a bottle of spiced rum, a bottle of Dr. Pepper, and two glasses. "Here you go. Cheers, Shay! I might've already had a lot. Whatcha working on?"
"I'm looking up your guy online to see what I can learn about him. How'd it go?"
"He's dirty."
"Eww."
"I don't mean it like that. I'm saying, he's a bad guy. Do your thing."
"Gotcha. Well, the info on his business card doesn't tell me shit. What does he do for a living?"
"Don't know. Don't care."
"Well, what'd he talk about?"
"His dog, his car, his gym, and how he cheated on his ex. Why the fuck do guys talk about that?"
Bro's got a dog? That's good to know.
"Any issues?" I asked.
"Nope. You?"
"Nope."
This was starting to feel too easy, and we were only on our first official mark. Shhhhh. She didn't know Andre was a mark.
Our process for getting their addresses and house keys was flawless. And living in the house with her was working out too.
When Claire was drunk, she was fun. When she was sober, she was quiet and moody, but not like my mom. Claire didn't hide or disappear. If she was pissed about something, she'd bury her face in a book. She drank like a fish, but I did too. Only at night. Usually. And sometimes afternoons, but why not? We had a lot to celebrate.
Things were going well.
I kept the fridge stocked and made sure she always had money in her pocket so she didn't ask questions.
She needed to start asking the marks more questions, though.
"Hey, so, Claire... you're doing a great job, but I need you to pry some info out of these guys. Try to find out stuff that'll be good for me to know when I hit their homes."
"What do you want to know?"
"It's easier to search for their Bitcoin seed words if I know what to expect when I get there. You mentioned this guy has a dog. That means I need treats. Is the dog friendly? Does this guy live with anybody? Does he work regular hours? Details help me a lot. So, get him talking. Make up bullshit stories about your past and use 'em to ask leading questions. He'll start spitting out all kinds of info. And flatter him. He'll tell you even more to impress you, and all of it helps me."
"Got it."
Did she, though? I needed to know, because this whole thing depended on her.