Deal Gone Bad - A Thriller (Frank Morrison Thriller Series Book 1) by Tony Wiley Page A

the
card’s magnetic strip and store them up in memory. The fiberoptic camera would
capture the user’s fingers punching the PIN on the keypad and voilà . You
left the equipment in place just long enough to gather a few tens of sets of
codes, then you uninstalled it, no trace left of the device ever having been
there, and went back to your base to extract it all. Once you matched the cards’
magnetic tape info with the PINs, you had everything you needed to start
tapping the unfortunate customers’ bank accounts. When the equipment was that
well made, all customers fell in the trap. You really had to know a lot about
security not to. Nice job , thought Morrison. Looks very professional.
    But it still represented
competition. However crude it was.
    He checked the two other
ATMs over. The same type of card reader had been overlaid on them too. Morrison
dumped the one he had just extracted in the garbage can, but he left the others
in place.
    An interesting thought
flashed through his head: There’s a better way to get rid of these than to
do it myself . But first, he had to leave the bank lobby and get back to the
Navigator.
    He would make his phone
call from there. It was safer that way.
    He turned around and proceeded
toward the heavy glass door. Pushed it open with his shoulder. Stopped in the
doorway. He had to wipe his prints off the handle. That installation had
nothing to do with him but, hey, you could never be too careful. He was about
to head back south along Main Street when he heard the voice.
    Low and deep. An annoyed
rumble.
    It came from behind.
    And it said, “Just what
d’ya think you’re doin’ here, little shit?”

Chapter 12
    Morrison turned around
sharply. The man standing in front of him was not a monster, but he was not a
skinny puppy either. Six feet tall. One hundred eighty pounds. Reasonably fit. Morrison
figured he was in his mid-twenties. Head all dark hair and angry eyes. Morrison
had never seen him.
    “You’re talkin’ to me?” he
said.
    “Don’t see no other little
shit around,” Angry Eyes said.
    “Show some respect, will
you?”
    The man stared him down
and sneered. Morrison was a lot smaller and a lot thinner than him. Not a
threat, obviously, in the guy’s mind.
    “I have trouble with
people who don’t mind their own business,” Angry Eyes said.
    Morrison shrugged. “What
are you talkin’ about?” he said.
    Angry Eyes nodded toward
the street. There was an unmarked white van parked at the curb on the other
side.
    “Cut the crap,” he said. “I
saw you take the skimmer off and dump it into the trash can.”
    Just my luck, Morrison thought . He
was probably making a round to retrieve his stuff. He said, “A skimmer? Is
that what it is?”
    “You know exactly what it
is. Nobody ever notices them.”
    Morrison nodded. “I have
to give you this,” he said. “It’s a good-looking device. Real neat. But your
whole setup is not serious.”
    “Let me worry about my
setup, midget.”
    “It’s inefficient and
dumb. By duplicating actual people’s cards, you piss off a lot of them. And together,
they make a lot of noise. All for a payoff that just doesn’t justify it. People
usually have low withdrawal limits. When you operate like this, you have high
fixed costs and low margins. High risks for low rewards. Obviously you haven’t
been to business school, buddy.”
    Angry Eyes shook his head.
“Who are you?” he said. “Warren Buffett?”
    Morrison ignored him and
pushed on. “The way to go is to target prepaid debit cards. You know, the
anonymous kind that isn’t pegged specifically on an individual. Lots of
corporations have them. That way, you don’t victimize anyone. Don’t cause too
much fuss. The bank alone takes a direct hit. And for them, it’s a drop in the
bucket. A crime without a victim. But you don’t do that by skimming ATMs, of
course. It requires a whole different skill set. Much more sophisticated. Probably
too much for a brainless dimwit