all matched to their card numbers.”
“Only in L.A. would you see
two
Bugatti Veyrons going through the same ATM,” Tony commented. “A thousand horsepower, top speed of two-fifty and gas over three bucks a gallon. I mean, where do they get that kind of money?”
“Same way we do, they rip people off,” Leo answered. “Only the law says the way they do it is legal for some reason.”
“I fought the law and the law won,” Tony crooned. He eyed Annabelle and Leo. “You two ever done any time?”
Leo started shuffling a deck of cards. “He’s a real funny guy, isn’t he?”
“Hey, how come you took down their license plate numbers too?” Tony asked.
“You never know when it might come in handy,” Annabelle answered vaguely.
She looked at Freddy, who was going over some equipment he’d arranged on a large table in the adjoining room. This included a stack of blank credit cards and a thermal dye printer.
“You have everything you need?” she asked.
He nodded, looking over his tools with satisfaction while running a hand through his cottony hair. “Annabelle, you run a first-class operation.”
Three days later Freddy had built thirty counterfeit cards, complete with colored graphics and a magnetic stripe encoded with the verification code on the back and embossed with the victim’s name and account number on the front. The finishing touch had been the hologram, a security measure banks have been using since the early 1980s. The only way to tell the difference was that real holograms are embedded in the card while the fake clung to the surface, something an ATM wouldn’t be able to distinguish.
“You can buy all the credit card numbers you want off the Internet,” Tony pointed out. “That’s where the real pros go.”
Annabelle replied, “And I guarantee you that none of those ‘quick’ cards belong to anyone who owns a Bugatti, other than by luck.”
Leo quit shuffling his cards and lit a cigarette. “It was probably a pro who told you that, kid, so you wouldn’t start doing it the smart way and competing with him. Sizing the mark up right is Con 101.”
Tony said, “Damn! Have I been that stupid?”
“Yes, you have,” Annabelle said. “Okay, here’s the plan.” She perched on the arm of a chair. “I’ve rented cars for all of us under fake ID packs. The three of you each take eight cards, and I’ll take six, which makes our total thirty cards. You’ll individually hit forty ATMs in the metro area and perform two transactions at each. You’ll alternate the cards you use at every ATM, so at the end you’ll have accessed each account ten times.
“I’ve got lists of all the ATMs. And I’ve plotted it out for each of you. They’re all drive-through, and there’s hardly any distance between them. And we’re all in disguise because of the ATM cameras. I’ve got outfits for everybody.”
“But there’re limits on how much you can take out of an account in a day,” Freddy said. “To protect against stolen cards.”
Annabelle said, “With the marks we’re going against, it’s a certainty they have elevated withdrawal limits. People who drive seven-hundred-thousand-dollar cars don’t like three-hundred-dollar limits on their ATM accounts. My contacts on the bank side tell me the usual initial bump-up is to twenty-five hundred. But aside from that, the counterfeit cards give us access to all of the mark’s accounts, savings, checking. If we make a deposit from savings into checking to more than cover the amount of the withdrawal, then in the machine’s mind that’ll net out as a plus and override the ATM withdrawal limit, whatever it happens to be.”
“So if we deposit, say, five thousand from savings into checking and withdraw four thousand, it won’t even register as a net withdrawal from checking,” Leo added.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?” Tony asked.
“I did a dry run last month with ten of the major banks, and it worked every time. It’s a software