The Great Rob Clerk
The Great Rob Clerk
What am I doing here? Why am I sitting in some sort of dodgy office, with a bunch of low-level gangsters hung out with each at what I presumed to be their version of a party? Why? Why is the easy part to explain, I had got involved because I seriously needed the cash and that’s the reason I was now stuck on this chair. Being pleasant and social with a bunch of misfits. I was a link in a chain of events that ended making up some very unlikely occurrences happen. Did I start this chain reaction? Well that depends on your point of view, Federal Wildlife Marshal Willenholly, had a few opinions about that and other nonsense.
I really had nothing to offer them. I had no access to codes or vaults. No keys to locked rooms, no knowledge of where things were kept safely. All I had was a rubber stamp. One of the simplest of things in the world. A piece of molded rubber, stuck onto a short plastic handle, that was a mirror image, of the required information, to be stamped onto something. It may seem ludicrous but that was how it worked back then; right place, right time, right stamp, it worked.
Simplicity is always the best plan, like the truth is always the best lie. All energy flows along the path of least resistance, (day 1 physics, first lesson). So all good plans should be about the flow of energy. A flow that is as natural as the tide of the River or the falling of leaves in autumn. The sense of flow maybe was my fault. That initial insight into how simple it would be to do, how few people or hands ever touch the relevant documents and goods at the same time and at the same place. The simple fact that if planned well enough the number of people could be brought down to one. One person is a good number in all plans, it is seldom the number that is used, but planning wisely, you couldn’t ask for more.
Finding a partner in crime is both harder and easier than you would expect. More and more people are willing to do “dubious things” but few of them have the mindset to do them under pressure. The truly brilliant criminal mind is one that must be well balanced and broken. A sociopath has the perfect criminal mind. They have their own structure and system for judging right or wrong, based entirely on their own Ego-King complex. They make up their own rules as they go along, but as they do, the new made up rules become “truths”, for as long as they need to be truths, be it ten seconds or be it ten years. A sociopath never lies, they just tell the truth, their own truth, which is to them the truth; therefore they are often believed and considered trustworthy, ironic really. Once you have your dream partner in crime, the sociopath, you are all set in your little office just waiting for the right moment to take action.
Now finding three such minds in the shape of Lucile, Catherine and Ingrid was not thought to be possible. But L.C.I. (as they called themselves) had started when three girls from a North-West London Grammar School for girls let in the new first year for the year 1974. The eleven-year-old girls were all neat and prime in their green and gray uniforms. A gray pleated skirt, gray socks or gray tights, a white shirt, gray green tie, and green blazer, with a green jumper or pullover. The badge on the blazer was an image of a beehive; the symbol showing that working together in a community is a good thing. The image of the beehive also shows us that when you get the work done you get the honey. The cap was no long part of the uniform but could be bought with the rest for a knock down price.
L.C.I. became fully active after the first term or quarter. Most of the other girls tried to find a friend and build pair groups that then would join into larger groups keeping the “best” friends in the pairs but allowing for a certain amount of interaction across the social board. L.C.I. joined up together as three right from the start. Like a magnet that nothing could stop. During the first three years they were all considered very bright girls, and their somewhat different socializing was even seen as a healthy thing by the younger members of the staff. L.C.I were even encouraged to sit together and use their resources to help each other, rather than be made to sit at other ends of the classroom so as not to talk or giggle. By the year 1977 things on the outside world had begun to change quite dramatically, and it wasn’t long before the sub-cultures of the late 70’s in London town began to have an important influence on L.C.I. By 1978 the girls were on an exploration of music and fashion to be found on the London Streets, Punk, Ska, and new wave. Groups started up every other day and the sound got revolutionized overnight. The soul, disco, smooth mooch had little to offer against the savage raw power of the Clash, The Pistols, the Jam, Dexy’s Midnight Runners, The Specials AKA, Blondie, even The Sparks. Music was the world and now fashion and music became so intertwined that the establishment couldn’t look the other way. “What on earth, are you wearing, my dear girls?”
School uniforms soon began to be redefined and it was not long before the attributes of street life began being noticed on the girls. It was their last year in Grammar school, unless they wanted to do A levels in the school. They agreed to continue their education but not in some school regime, but in a Colleges of Further Education. They had remained focused on study and all had over nine o levels a piece graded between B’s and A’s so it was just making the choice of “A” levels. Psychology number 1, you have to know who you are, History, where you came from, Philosophy, how to use your mind, Sociology and Politics, what world are you living in today. They each took the same five “A” levels Psychology, History, Philosophy, Sociology and Politics. Then there was their physical training program, which consisted of a series on martial arts including kung fu. They were extremely well conditioned, through long distance running and swimming, they also used ballet but mainly the balance and stretch parts.
Federal Wildlife Marshal Willenholly is ready for any and all the terrorist sonsabitches! That’s what it said on his bumper sticker of his official federal van. He had Joe from the advertisement agency downtown, make it up for him special, that was the time when Joe had run over a dear in his van at night and not reported it, but Marshal (that was his first name not his rank) had seen the dents on the car and confronted him with it. “How could you Joe? How could you drive away?” Joe felt like crap and asked Marshal if he could do anything to make up for his foolishness. That’s when Marshal had the brilliant idea of the bumper sticker. No one else had that sticker cause they weren’t made for sale, just for particular persons. Joe had that kind of printing equipment you needed to do bumper stickers. So it saved Joe getting a fine for hit and runs on wildlife and Marshal got his kick arse bumper sticker, sweet deal all round.
The set up sounds complex but really it isn’t that hard to grasp. If the invoice and travel papers were stamped, before the shipment came, then any number of cargo containers could be written on the form. When the containers arrive the travel documents get passed straight into the “inner” office. The “outer” office counts the containers off loaded from the truck. Once the ”outer” office confirms the number, the “inner” office stamps the form and writes down the number of containers to be transported. A double check.
After all the containers are counted and stamped for invoicing, they are considered to be the same format with different delivery addresses. So they are not in any way, shape or form registered again against the initial form stating the amount of containers you had left. You leave 20 containers and you write down on the invoice you left two containers, then, if you get it stamped, you left 18 containers for no cost whatsoever, free of charge. This all depends on the “outer” office and the “inner” office communication.
If you can create a situation where the “inner office” and the “outer office” one and the same person, for a period of 45 minutes, you could theoretical, unload and reload 26 containers. With any number a containers you liked written down and stamped. You could pay for one and get twenty-five, reduced considerable. Lets say one tenth of the price, one tenth is a good deal for everyone.
So Catherine and Ingrid got to go to Helsinki to nail the deal. As it turns out the really meeting was never in Finland but in the back streets of Stockholm’s suburbs, Aspudden. Smoke screens and mirrors, Lucile did the deal while leaning over the sheep and goat pen. Nice goats. Screw the goats, do we have a deal? Oh yes we have deal Mr. Clerk. We need a test run to see things don’t go wrong, when can that happen Mr. Clerk? A full 26 container run with untraceable goods? That’s the deal. Two weeks from today, Thursday 22 nd, 12,30 to 13,15, that’s the frame. Good, we will meet here again on the Wednesday before to confirm the run. Lets say we meet same time here by the rabbits, they smell less, “good day”.
Federal Wildlife agent, Marshal Willenholly hung back in the horse’s pen; he had found the perfect watchtower, while he still was invisible, a perfect line of sight of Lucile and the guy in the brown leather jacket. He was able to see the whole thing go down. If he only had some equipment like a camera or a bugging device he could have heard what they were saying, but no, Marshal Willenholly was not funded and his budget came out of his own pocket, most of it had been spent on travel and hotel bills. The federal Wildlife authorities had began to wonder why Marshal was flying to Stockholm Sweden when he was meant to be part of the brown bear count up Ridge Creek, or had Marshal lost the plot while on the Canadian Goose count? He had taken to talking through a megaphone at people, which was slightly disturbing but hardly “whacked out” as some would have it.
It was on the 24 November 1994, at 12,30 the first real shipment arrived. The entire lunch rotation had been turned once back and once forward, for a period of 45 minutes, which meant the person responsible for the mistake now manned the outer and inner offices, and as the boss Rob Clerk was ultimately responsible. Rob Clerk opened the gate as the truck rolled down the ramp. Within 15 minutes of arriving the truck left empty through the front gate. At 12,50 the extra transport arrived and together with the driver Rob loaded the 26 containers in ten minutes, the concession and travel documents were signed and stamped, the driver gave a last nod and handed back to Rob the conformation of delivery. At 13.00 hours the bay door to the outside street was closed, and Rob Clerk sat on a plastic chair just at the side of the loading bay. He took out a cigarette and lit it up. The smoke twirled slowly upward catching the extra electric light of the bay area. The travel document stayed carefully folded four times in his thigh pocket. At a quarter past one Roger and Backis strolled in from lunch, they sat down on the bench a light up cigs, “anything?” Nope. Nothing ever does midday.
He sat in his office looking out over the wind blown streets of Folkungagatan. The day grew more tiresome, especially the early afternoon from about twelve to three, then you go home. He had nothing much to do. He had made long term planning very efficient, so normally what most people took hours to do, he would have done in a few minutes. This gave him large portions of time to dream up plans and schemes and how to make a fortune by selling some secret information or coming up with the perfect crime, a crime that just disappeared into thin air and that could never be proved or disproved to have happened or to have succeeded. A victimless crime.
The End
What am I doing here? Why am I sitting in some sort of dodgy office, with a bunch of low-level gangsters hung out with each at what I presumed to be their version of a party? Why? Why is the easy part to explain, I had got involved because I seriously needed the cash and that’s the reason I was now stuck on this chair. Being pleasant and social with a bunch of misfits. I was a link in a chain of events that ended making up some very unlikely occurrences happen. Did I start this chain reaction? Well that depends on your point of view, Federal Wildlife Marshal Willenholly, had a few opinions about that and other nonsense.
I really had nothing to offer them. I had no access to codes or vaults. No keys to locked rooms, no knowledge of where things were kept safely. All I had was a rubber stamp. One of the simplest of things in the world. A piece of molded rubber, stuck onto a short plastic handle, that was a mirror image, of the required information, to be stamped onto something. It may seem ludicrous but that was how it worked back then; right place, right time, right stamp, it worked.
Simplicity is always the best plan, like the truth is always the best lie. All energy flows along the path of least resistance, (day 1 physics, first lesson). So all good plans should be about the flow of energy. A flow that is as natural as the tide of the River or the falling of leaves in autumn. The sense of flow maybe was my fault. That initial insight into how simple it would be to do, how few people or hands ever touch the relevant documents and goods at the same time and at the same place. The simple fact that if planned well enough the number of people could be brought down to one. One person is a good number in all plans, it is seldom the number that is used, but planning wisely, you couldn’t ask for more.
Finding a partner in crime is both harder and easier than you would expect. More and more people are willing to do “dubious things” but few of them have the mindset to do them under pressure. The truly brilliant criminal mind is one that must be well balanced and broken. A sociopath has the perfect criminal mind. They have their own structure and system for judging right or wrong, based entirely on their own Ego-King complex. They make up their own rules as they go along, but as they do, the new made up rules become “truths”, for as long as they need to be truths, be it ten seconds or be it ten years. A sociopath never lies, they just tell the truth, their own truth, which is to them the truth; therefore they are often believed and considered trustworthy, ironic really. Once you have your dream partner in crime, the sociopath, you are all set in your little office just waiting for the right moment to take action.
Now finding three such minds in the shape of Lucile, Catherine and Ingrid was not thought to be possible. But L.C.I. (as they called themselves) had started when three girls from a North-West London Grammar School for girls let in the new first year for the year 1974. The eleven-year-old girls were all neat and prime in their green and gray uniforms. A gray pleated skirt, gray socks or gray tights, a white shirt, gray green tie, and green blazer, with a green jumper or pullover. The badge on the blazer was an image of a beehive; the symbol showing that working together in a community is a good thing. The image of the beehive also shows us that when you get the work done you get the honey. The cap was no long part of the uniform but could be bought with the rest for a knock down price.
L.C.I. became fully active after the first term or quarter. Most of the other girls tried to find a friend and build pair groups that then would join into larger groups keeping the “best” friends in the pairs but allowing for a certain amount of interaction across the social board. L.C.I. joined up together as three right from the start. Like a magnet that nothing could stop. During the first three years they were all considered very bright girls, and their somewhat different socializing was even seen as a healthy thing by the younger members of the staff. L.C.I were even encouraged to sit together and use their resources to help each other, rather than be made to sit at other ends of the classroom so as not to talk or giggle. By the year 1977 things on the outside world had begun to change quite dramatically, and it wasn’t long before the sub-cultures of the late 70’s in London town began to have an important influence on L.C.I. By 1978 the girls were on an exploration of music and fashion to be found on the London Streets, Punk, Ska, and new wave. Groups started up every other day and the sound got revolutionized overnight. The soul, disco, smooth mooch had little to offer against the savage raw power of the Clash, The Pistols, the Jam, Dexy’s Midnight Runners, The Specials AKA, Blondie, even The Sparks. Music was the world and now fashion and music became so intertwined that the establishment couldn’t look the other way. “What on earth, are you wearing, my dear girls?”
School uniforms soon began to be redefined and it was not long before the attributes of street life began being noticed on the girls. It was their last year in Grammar school, unless they wanted to do A levels in the school. They agreed to continue their education but not in some school regime, but in a Colleges of Further Education. They had remained focused on study and all had over nine o levels a piece graded between B’s and A’s so it was just making the choice of “A” levels. Psychology number 1, you have to know who you are, History, where you came from, Philosophy, how to use your mind, Sociology and Politics, what world are you living in today. They each took the same five “A” levels Psychology, History, Philosophy, Sociology and Politics. Then there was their physical training program, which consisted of a series on martial arts including kung fu. They were extremely well conditioned, through long distance running and swimming, they also used ballet but mainly the balance and stretch parts.
Federal Wildlife Marshal Willenholly is ready for any and all the terrorist sonsabitches! That’s what it said on his bumper sticker of his official federal van. He had Joe from the advertisement agency downtown, make it up for him special, that was the time when Joe had run over a dear in his van at night and not reported it, but Marshal (that was his first name not his rank) had seen the dents on the car and confronted him with it. “How could you Joe? How could you drive away?” Joe felt like crap and asked Marshal if he could do anything to make up for his foolishness. That’s when Marshal had the brilliant idea of the bumper sticker. No one else had that sticker cause they weren’t made for sale, just for particular persons. Joe had that kind of printing equipment you needed to do bumper stickers. So it saved Joe getting a fine for hit and runs on wildlife and Marshal got his kick arse bumper sticker, sweet deal all round.
The set up sounds complex but really it isn’t that hard to grasp. If the invoice and travel papers were stamped, before the shipment came, then any number of cargo containers could be written on the form. When the containers arrive the travel documents get passed straight into the “inner” office. The “outer” office counts the containers off loaded from the truck. Once the ”outer” office confirms the number, the “inner” office stamps the form and writes down the number of containers to be transported. A double check.
After all the containers are counted and stamped for invoicing, they are considered to be the same format with different delivery addresses. So they are not in any way, shape or form registered again against the initial form stating the amount of containers you had left. You leave 20 containers and you write down on the invoice you left two containers, then, if you get it stamped, you left 18 containers for no cost whatsoever, free of charge. This all depends on the “outer” office and the “inner” office communication.
If you can create a situation where the “inner office” and the “outer office” one and the same person, for a period of 45 minutes, you could theoretical, unload and reload 26 containers. With any number a containers you liked written down and stamped. You could pay for one and get twenty-five, reduced considerable. Lets say one tenth of the price, one tenth is a good deal for everyone.
So Catherine and Ingrid got to go to Helsinki to nail the deal. As it turns out the really meeting was never in Finland but in the back streets of Stockholm’s suburbs, Aspudden. Smoke screens and mirrors, Lucile did the deal while leaning over the sheep and goat pen. Nice goats. Screw the goats, do we have a deal? Oh yes we have deal Mr. Clerk. We need a test run to see things don’t go wrong, when can that happen Mr. Clerk? A full 26 container run with untraceable goods? That’s the deal. Two weeks from today, Thursday 22 nd, 12,30 to 13,15, that’s the frame. Good, we will meet here again on the Wednesday before to confirm the run. Lets say we meet same time here by the rabbits, they smell less, “good day”.
Federal Wildlife agent, Marshal Willenholly hung back in the horse’s pen; he had found the perfect watchtower, while he still was invisible, a perfect line of sight of Lucile and the guy in the brown leather jacket. He was able to see the whole thing go down. If he only had some equipment like a camera or a bugging device he could have heard what they were saying, but no, Marshal Willenholly was not funded and his budget came out of his own pocket, most of it had been spent on travel and hotel bills. The federal Wildlife authorities had began to wonder why Marshal was flying to Stockholm Sweden when he was meant to be part of the brown bear count up Ridge Creek, or had Marshal lost the plot while on the Canadian Goose count? He had taken to talking through a megaphone at people, which was slightly disturbing but hardly “whacked out” as some would have it.
It was on the 24 November 1994, at 12,30 the first real shipment arrived. The entire lunch rotation had been turned once back and once forward, for a period of 45 minutes, which meant the person responsible for the mistake now manned the outer and inner offices, and as the boss Rob Clerk was ultimately responsible. Rob Clerk opened the gate as the truck rolled down the ramp. Within 15 minutes of arriving the truck left empty through the front gate. At 12,50 the extra transport arrived and together with the driver Rob loaded the 26 containers in ten minutes, the concession and travel documents were signed and stamped, the driver gave a last nod and handed back to Rob the conformation of delivery. At 13.00 hours the bay door to the outside street was closed, and Rob Clerk sat on a plastic chair just at the side of the loading bay. He took out a cigarette and lit it up. The smoke twirled slowly upward catching the extra electric light of the bay area. The travel document stayed carefully folded four times in his thigh pocket. At a quarter past one Roger and Backis strolled in from lunch, they sat down on the bench a light up cigs, “anything?” Nope. Nothing ever does midday.
He sat in his office looking out over the wind blown streets of Folkungagatan. The day grew more tiresome, especially the early afternoon from about twelve to three, then you go home. He had nothing much to do. He had made long term planning very efficient, so normally what most people took hours to do, he would have done in a few minutes. This gave him large portions of time to dream up plans and schemes and how to make a fortune by selling some secret information or coming up with the perfect crime, a crime that just disappeared into thin air and that could never be proved or disproved to have happened or to have succeeded. A victimless crime.
The End
posted by rob at 10:38 AM
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