out, her shoulders at risk from tree branches. She yelled in her sturdiest voice, “Anyway, there were two cameras! I took plenty of pictures, too! So we still have pictures of Sam the Baby even if you stole Kit’s camera. So there!”
Chapter 8
R OWEN CALCULATED THAT HALF the cars in New Jersey drove around just to drive around. Nobody had a destination. Everybody was cruising, listening to the radio, not thinking of much. To keep his mind busy, Row was trying to figure out how that ATM scam had worked. It was complex. According to the radio reports, the criminals had manufactured a couple of ATM machines of their own and put them illegally in public places like malls. People went up and stuck their bank cards in to get cash and the machines copied down their account number and PIN number, which the criminals now had. Then the bad guys made their own bank cards, and using the PIN number — supposedly known only to the card carrier — they could hit any real ATM machine anywhere in the country and get money out of the victims’ bank accounts.
It was clever, and yet, Row didn’t see how it could really work.
You’d have a bushel basket of fake bank cards, and in order to use them, you’d have to carry around your printout with the PIN numbers. Then what did you do? Line up with regular customers at an ATM, getting your money a hundred or two hundred dollars at a time? Did you run ten cards through the machine while other people waited behind you? And how many ATMs did you go to? Because the bank machines were programmed not to allow too many withdrawals at a time — it was suspicious.
So did you just cruise the state — or several states, because according to the radio, the scam was up and going in Pennsylvania and New York and Connecticut as well — looking for ATM machines?
Row himself cruised down a street he had driven about ten times already in the last hour, because he was circling near Kit’s two houses and near Shea’s, so that he could intercept them.
He was too worried and too disgusted with himself to show up at Shea’s and wait. He could imagine so well, so painfully well, what his aunt and uncle and cousin would say to him.
He put his mind on crime once more.
In your fake ATM, which you were using just to get the bank card numbers to start with, no money would be distributed to customers. Some customers would just grit their teeth and forget it, but wouldn’t the rest call in the ATM failure? And wouldn’t the bank realize they didn’t have an ATM at that location? And wouldn’t that bring the police? So didn’t that mean that you’d be constantly picking up and moving your fake ATM to fake locations? And wouldn’t that increase your risk something fierce?
Row had a fantasy in which he himself was a master criminal. Not the scummy type that ripped off innocent old ladies’ retirement money in investment plans that didn’t exist — but some cool fabulous way of stealing cool fabulous things — like diamonds from mines. He was a little concerned by his fantasy, since his father was the type just to shoot him if he even expressed it, but he liked his fantasy, and pulled it out fairly often; he could really get into his plans for the Big, Big Crime.
How would he have done the fake ATM scam, if he’d been in charge?
It seemed to him that yet another problem was that you’d have to have a crew. You’d have to have a truck to move the ATM, you’d have to have people cruising around banks to use the fake bank cards, so you could not do this alone. And the more people you had in on your scheme, the tougher it would get to keep it secret.
He remembered traffic, and took a quick glance around to be sure he wasn’t driving sideways — and there, next to him, in a four-door black sedan which seemed far too tame and lacking in style, was Dusty. The ex-stepmother herself.
Such a beautiful woman! Her hair glistened tawny gold. Her earrings shimmered. She was studying herself in her own
Chapter 8
R OWEN CALCULATED THAT HALF the cars in New Jersey drove around just to drive around. Nobody had a destination. Everybody was cruising, listening to the radio, not thinking of much. To keep his mind busy, Row was trying to figure out how that ATM scam had worked. It was complex. According to the radio reports, the criminals had manufactured a couple of ATM machines of their own and put them illegally in public places like malls. People went up and stuck their bank cards in to get cash and the machines copied down their account number and PIN number, which the criminals now had. Then the bad guys made their own bank cards, and using the PIN number — supposedly known only to the card carrier — they could hit any real ATM machine anywhere in the country and get money out of the victims’ bank accounts.
It was clever, and yet, Row didn’t see how it could really work.
You’d have a bushel basket of fake bank cards, and in order to use them, you’d have to carry around your printout with the PIN numbers. Then what did you do? Line up with regular customers at an ATM, getting your money a hundred or two hundred dollars at a time? Did you run ten cards through the machine while other people waited behind you? And how many ATMs did you go to? Because the bank machines were programmed not to allow too many withdrawals at a time — it was suspicious.
So did you just cruise the state — or several states, because according to the radio, the scam was up and going in Pennsylvania and New York and Connecticut as well — looking for ATM machines?
Row himself cruised down a street he had driven about ten times already in the last hour, because he was circling near Kit’s two houses and near Shea’s, so that he could intercept them.
He was too worried and too disgusted with himself to show up at Shea’s and wait. He could imagine so well, so painfully well, what his aunt and uncle and cousin would say to him.
He put his mind on crime once more.
In your fake ATM, which you were using just to get the bank card numbers to start with, no money would be distributed to customers. Some customers would just grit their teeth and forget it, but wouldn’t the rest call in the ATM failure? And wouldn’t the bank realize they didn’t have an ATM at that location? And wouldn’t that bring the police? So didn’t that mean that you’d be constantly picking up and moving your fake ATM to fake locations? And wouldn’t that increase your risk something fierce?
Row had a fantasy in which he himself was a master criminal. Not the scummy type that ripped off innocent old ladies’ retirement money in investment plans that didn’t exist — but some cool fabulous way of stealing cool fabulous things — like diamonds from mines. He was a little concerned by his fantasy, since his father was the type just to shoot him if he even expressed it, but he liked his fantasy, and pulled it out fairly often; he could really get into his plans for the Big, Big Crime.
How would he have done the fake ATM scam, if he’d been in charge?
It seemed to him that yet another problem was that you’d have to have a crew. You’d have to have a truck to move the ATM, you’d have to have people cruising around banks to use the fake bank cards, so you could not do this alone. And the more people you had in on your scheme, the tougher it would get to keep it secret.
He remembered traffic, and took a quick glance around to be sure he wasn’t driving sideways — and there, next to him, in a four-door black sedan which seemed far too tame and lacking in style, was Dusty. The ex-stepmother herself.
Such a beautiful woman! Her hair glistened tawny gold. Her earrings shimmered. She was studying herself in her own
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