FIDDLERS ON THE HOOF

Today's shoplifter is more likely to be part of a ruthless and
well-organised gang than a chancing opportunist, as Iain S Bruce reports

EVER since he was 16, Edinburgh Johnny has been blazing a larcenous
trail through the capital's stores, shoplifting jeans, jackets and
electrical goods - anything within his unobserved reach - in a
frenzied battle to keep pace with a heavy smack habit which he
acquired in the heat of the Eighties heroin boom.

"I'd get up in the morning, walk to Princes Street and get two pairs
of jeans to sell for a tenner bag," he recalls. "Then, in early
afternoon, I'd go out and try to chore enough for my night-time fix
and maybe a wee something for waking up the next day. It was crazy,
but it was that or withdrawal."

Currently serving a supervised attendance order for the latest in a
string of almost 30 shoplifting charges, Johnny had served no less
than nine custodial sentences for shoplifting by the time he was 21. A
confirmed heroin addict at the time, his string of offences renders
him typical of the 750,000 young people who are estimated to be
actively engaged in shoplifting across the UK today.

Recounting tales of past felonies, he describes the occasion when,
after having been caught by one store's detectives for the third time,
he was given a community service sentence which involved driving old
people in residential care on shopping-centre outings in Kilmarnock.
Rather than embarking upon this task a chastened individual, he
welcomed the change of scene - his face was too well-known in
Edinburgh's shops - and the excellent shoplifting camouflage which a
pensioner in a wheelchair offered.

"I just couldn't stop," he claims. "The buzz is that addictive. I know
lots of people who claim they only do it for the money. But that's
rubbish, everybody gets a kick from it."

Several subsequent periods of incarceration did little to dissuade
Johnny from his felonious activities, a fact that he puts down to his
now controlled addiction and the all-pervading nature of shoplifting
among those sections of society where the need for fast cash is high
and loyalty to the judicial system is low. "Everyone was into it," he
insists. "I'd take a whole shelf of T-shirts and my parents would sell
them at their work the first day and come back asking for more."

As if to confirm Johnny's story, deep in the smoky heart of a pub in
the East End of Glasgow sits Mick the Fix, the fruit cocktail drink in
his hands sitting incongruously with his surroundings - stark walls
stained the colour of urine diluted with too much beer and punctuated
only by the mock Tudor lattice work that seems to be the trademark of
every concrete dive in the city. Here, a complete new identity
including driver's licence, chequebook and credit cards comes in at
UKP150.

Squinting through the dull fluorescent glare, Mick points out, greets
or introduces a steady procession of shoplifters as they stroll
through the doors. The landlord, mindful of his business, keeps his
eyes firmly glued to the beer taps in an attempt to ignore the fact
that his establishment is one of several key venues for the
distribution of recently stolen goods.

Nobody wants to be caught with stolen gear on them, and the hostelry
has become a regular port of call for thieves keen to secure a quick
sale for the day's haul. From alabaster-faced junkies proffering a
motley collection of razor blades, batteries and compact discs to
expensively clad wide-boys with new video recorders - a snip at UKP40
- - Mix The Fix's claim that he can give me access to "anything you
want, any time you want it," looks good for its money.

There are, he says, basically two kinds of shoplifter, the casual
opportunist and the organised professional. The first, like Johnny,
accounts for the vast majority of thieves active on the high street
and comprises a broad spectrum of individuals, from single parents
struggling to get by to hard-bitten addicts scrabbling desperately for
the price of their next hit. The goods they bring in vary widely from
leather jackets to large jars of luxury coffee, but anything will do
so long as it is available to swipe and easy to sell.

The only thing any of these individuals seem to have in common is a
grinding need for money to support families or habits. Men and women
are equally represented, as are young and old. Mick barely bats an
eyelid when he is reminded of the tale of Tracey Pearson, the
26-year-old mother who last week was sentenced to a jail term after it
was discovered that she had taught her four-year-old son to aid and
abet her during shoplifting sprees. "Fagins? That's nothing new around
here. They'll set their weans targets, telling them they'll get UKP260
worth of gear or a leathering, and then send them into town. What else
can they do? These folk are serious junkies whose faces are well known
and so they can't go out to do it themselves."

He says that, as further justification for their actions, such parents
are fully aware that as children their nefarious broods are virtually
immune from prosecution. In the majority of cases, the worst that will
happen to them if they are caught is that they will spend an hour or
two waiting in the police station for their parents to come.

More professional, better organised and often extremely intimidating
are the second category of shoplifter, the organised gang.
Sophisticated, systematic professionals, small groups travel to busy
shopping areas to make carefully planned lightning swoops on selected
shops. Dressed in expensive clothes so as not to look out of place in
designer shops, the gangs target high-value, high-demand goods which
they know can be sold quickly at a decent profit. While some
Glaswegian teams are known to have ventured across to the Continent,
most gangs restrict themselves to the UK, travelling any distance at
short notice to reach areas ripe for the picking.

"They're running amok in the new Buchanan Galleries centre at the
moment," Mick confides. "It's perfect, the shops are mostly high-class
places selling expensive gear and because it's only just opened, the
place is mobbed with people coming to have a wee look. Crowds are the
shoplifter's best friend - they cover your movements and give security
so much to look at that they can't take it all in."

The strength of such gangs lies in their close-knit nature. Even when
staff catch one member in the act, the others escape with goods worth
hundreds, even thousands, of pounds. In return for their tight-lipped
refusal to incriminate their colleagues, captured members of the team
are supplied with legal representation, money for bail, or any goods
or services which they might require should a custodial sentence be
their lot. Some operate under different standards, however, keeping a
tight rein on their membership with violence and intimidation. Mick
describes one individual, known as "the Indian", who operates out of a
warehouse on Glasgow's Southside. When one of his team was arrested
during an outing to steal a predetermined list of items and then
placed the operation at risk, he was forcibly evicted from his flat,
beaten and left for dead in the street wearing only his underpants.

Goods taken vary widely in value and type. Opportunistic junkies
frequently aim for large jars of coffee and, bizarrely, tins of pink
salmon - items which most pub punters would both use and regard as a
tempting bargain. Many of the professionals aim solely for gold
jewellery, sold as scrap for around UKP160 an ounce, although
electrical goods, designer clothes and perfumes sell well in the pubs
too and there is always a lucrative market for cheap baby clothes in
the schemes. The methods used to secure the goods are equally varied,
requiring differing degrees of subterfuge - Mick has a vast array of
stories in which bold felons have carried off whole racks of jackets.

Most shoplifters, he says, are unimpressed by the array of technology
which is being brought into play on the high street in an attempt to
clamp down on the problem. Bags fashioned from tinfoil will prevent
most electronic security tags from setting alarms off, and a simple
device made with wire and two crocodile clips can bypass a system and
allow access to whole racks of expensive electrical goods. Technology,
argues Mick, has made things easier in many ways, as staff now rely on
gadgetry and this can lead to complacency setting in.

"Getting caught is an occupational hazard," says Edinburgh Johnny,
"and nine times out of ten you're let off with a fine anyway. That's
why so many people get into it in the first place. Rob a house and
you'll definitely go inside, lift something from a shop and it's a
smack on the wrist.

"It doesn't matter how secure you make something, people will find a
way to get their hands on it. It's been getting worse for years and so
long as people want bargains, it'll be easy to sell the stuff they
steal. That's what this is all about - money. We need it and we'll get
it whatever the law, whatever the risks - end of story."