The 'Psycho' N.Y.C. "Bistro Bandits" Part #2

Randy was the type of guy who seemed to be a bit of a loner. Some might say that he was a “shadowy figure” of sorts. Not very tall, and of rather slight build, he non-the-less commanded a certain amount of, guarded respect.

                        

It wasn’t as if people flocked to his side, they mostly tried to keep their distance; except knuckle-heads. He wasn’t the friendliest of creatures…yet, if he liked you for some reason, you could get a smile out of him; maybe a little conversation too.

Randy seemed to like me for some reason…I don’t know why. Maybe he sensed that I was a kind of independent type too? I had plenty of friends or friendly associations with people in the pool hall, but I was rarely a follower…never a tag-a-long schmuck. If you stayed out of my way, I’d stay out of yours; a pretty simple philosophy, in my mind…

People must have sensed that about me after sizing me up, they must have also sensed you couldn’t easily fuck with me, and get away with it. If you were looking for an easy mark, you’d better look somewhere else.

                    

Randy knew that too…he was a street smart kind of guy; I’d see him eyeballing me at times from a distance, watching my moves, my conversations, my reactions…all the usual sizing up type stuff.  He knew I was a nice guy, but certainly not a slouch. I didn’t rob, cheat, steal or bully people, and if I was your friend, you can count on me when needed. Randy knew…I’m sure of it.

Looking back, I think that Randy was trying to be my friend. He never had much regular conversation with people, but would with me. He’d wander over to me at the snack bar, from his ‘alone’ space near the front of the pool hall, seemingly just to say hello and talk...

Once, he asked me if I could come over to his apartment and "maybe fix a broken coffee table" in his living room. I told him that wasn’t the type of work I did; I was a Home Improvement Contractor, but used to restore some furniture. Randy practically pleaded with me to at least come and look at the table’s broken leg, it was special to him and he didn’t care how much it would cost to repair.

                         

He had recently been displaying a lot of money in the room, big wads of twenties, fifties and hundred dollar bills…Randy was challenging guys to some sort of bill flipping game too. That’s where you flip a bill from out of your hand onto the floor, and then the other guy flips his to match heads or tails. Another way they played was your bill had to ‘top’ the first guys throw; just like we did with baseball cards when I was a kid.

One night he kept losing to a guy who began rubbing it in…laughing and smirking about winning Randy’s money. When the guy decided to quit the game while he was ahead, Randy became visually and verbally upset. Calling the guy a pussy, Randy said that he didn’t care about the money, he had plenty where that came from.

With that, he peeled a hundred dollar bill from his stash, lit it with a lighter, and let it burn…then another, and another…I finally stopped him. I told him he was burning food out of the mouths of poor kids in the world (Where I got that from, I’ll never know) but, it sounded good at the time, and it worked.

Finally, I went to his house to look at the broken table. It was a pretty nice piece of furniture, as a matter of fact; his apartment looked a lot nicer than I thought it would…clean, fresh smelling and well decorated. I told Randy that the leg could be fixed, but he’d be better off bringing it to a furniture restorer, if he needed it done right away. He seemed a little disappointed, and said he’d wait for me to have time.

                         

Before leaving his house, he asked me if I’d drive him to Manhattan, and then back to Queens again; he had something quick to do…he’d make it worth my while. All I had to do was, drop him off, wait a few minutes then give him a lift back home. Since I was already wondering how Randy was getting his money, suspecting that it was from some nefarious deed, I bowed out with some excuse; and happy that I did.

He had become a hold-up man…mostly at high end boutiques or eateries in Manhattan; hence the News Media label, “The Gentleman Bandit” which later was changed to the “Bistro Bandits” after the ‘The Sandman’ and ‘Gloves’ partnered up with him…This all culminated with them shooting two people during one of their robberies; two innocent people, just out shopping for their daughters wedding.

                         

                         Randy's money, turned out to be...blood money...

END of Part #2

To Be Continued ... Another 'True' Tale by @angryman on Steemit, June 7, 2018

Link to Part #1

Link to Part #3

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