The only clue we noticed was the pattern. Always it happened on Thursday or Friday lunchtime, when there was a big queue for the cash machine and customers were drawing out large amounts for the weekend.
We contacted the police and they told us about a scam they had heard of which could well be our problem. Very clever is this. It involves two crooks in the queue either side of the intended victim. The first crook pretends to use the machine but in fact he is actually sticking a piece of black card over the hole where the money comes out.
Then he stands to one side and allows the genuine customer to order cash. The cash can’t come out because it is blocked by the piece of card, which cannot be seen by anybody over three feet tall. Then crook number one tells the victim that his money didn’t come out either and suggests that they both go inside to complain. This allows crook number two to remove the card, take the money and saunter off to pick out another victim. Told you it was clever.
The police promised to put some plain clothes officers in the area to keep an eye on things and hopefully catch the crooks red handed.
One Thursday lunchtime I was just going out of the door of the branch to buy a sandwich when a customer I knew stopped me to complain that the cash machine had kept his money. I dashed out hoping to catch crook number two, reached for the cash dispensing hole in case the card was still in place, and was promptly smacked hard against the wall face first. My arms were wrenched sharply up my back and handcuffs snapped shut around my wrists.
“You’re nicked,” shouted a triumphant voice.
Funny that. I was under the impression that the British police were supposed to go through all that “Anything you say can and may be used in evidence against you…” crap. No. I just got the phrase ‘you’re nicked’ and my face scraped along the wall until the officer was satisfied that the top two layers of skin had come off.
“I’m the managers assistant. Let go of me you bleeding fuckwit!” In the circumstances I thought I showed a great deal of restraint in my choice of language.
The officer looked at the people in the queue, still scraping my face across the wall.
“He’s not is he?” The people in the queue mostly nodded that he had indeed just assaulted the manager’s assistant. “ Oh fuck,” he said. At least he stopped mutilating my face with the brick wall.