South American Jewel Thieves Targeting Smaller Cities
Allegedly, a violent, well-organized ring of South American jewelry thieves is expanding its operations away from large metropolitan areas such as New York, Miami, Houston and Chicago and hitting targets in smaller cities in the South.
In one incident in Little Rock, diamond merchant Faramarz Hakimian, 48, of New York had just pulled into the parking lot of an upscale strip mall July 29 when two masked men jumped out of a black Chevrolet behind him, smashed his car windows, pulled a gun and told him to lie down on the seat. The assailants took his keys and stole a satchel with half a million dollars’ worth of jewelry from the car’s back seat, all in broad daylight in front of witnesses at the jewelry shop that Hakimian had come to visit.
Between April 22 and May 15 in Houston, at least $3.5 million worth of jewelry was stolen in six robberies, which the FBI considers related and linked to the South American ring. On May 14, a jewelry merchant was robbed at a gas station. Despite massive media and law enforcement attention, the next day another salesman was pistol-whipped and robbed in a Waffle House where he had stopped for lunch.
A mysterious Russian billionaire has trumped his big-spending rivals and broken a world record by splashing out €500 million (£392 million, or $750 Million) on one of the dopest villas on the French Riviera.
The price of the Villa Leopolda, a Belle Époque mansion on the heights of Villefrance, has amazed estate agents but fuelled local worries that the invasion of Russian money on the Côte d’Azur is getting out of hand.
Since the early 1990s, Russian oligarchs, drawn by memories of the Riviera-mad old Russian aristocracy, have been piling into seaside properties at Cap Ferrat, Cap d’Antibes, Saint-Tropez and the other great playgrounds.
The previous record for a house was said to be the £57 million that Lakshmi Mittal, the steel tycoon, paid for a property in Kensington Palace Gardens in 2004.
The price for the Leopolda, which once belonged to the late Gianni Agnelli, the Fiat tycoon, has dwarfed the €20 million paid six years ago by Roman Abramovich, the Chelsea Football Club owner, for the semi-derelict Château de la Croë.
The house was owned previously by Lily Safra, the widow of Edmond Safra, a Lebanese banker who was killed by an arsonist’s fire in Switzerland in 2003. I remember this whole fire thing, it was mad fishy.
When the crib was Gianni Agnelli it was the setting of many a “Jet-Set” gig. Back in the days of the true International Playboys.
The true cost of this crib is going to keep it stocked with champagne.
Time for a trip to Côte d’Azur…
The Rest is Up to You…
Michael Porfirio Mason AKA The Peoples Champ AKA Your favorite International Playboy’s favorite International Playboy AKA Michael Dynamite The Guide to Getting More out of Life http://www.thegmanifesto.com
The soul singer-songwriter (and G Manifesto Hall of Fame Member) Isaac Hayes, known for his gravelly voice, shaven head and copious jewelery (and dope music), died on Sunday at his home in Memphis, Tennessee. He was 65.
Hayes was found by family members, who discovered him lying next to a treadmill in a basement room at his home. Sheriff’s deputies performed CPR until paramedics arrived. He was taken to hospital but was pronounced dead an hour later.
Hayes, a distinctive and flamboyant figure among the black rhythm and blues stars of the early 1970s, found fame later in his career as the voice of Chef, the laid-back womaniser on the cartoon series South Park.
But it was his hit song for the soundtrack of the blaxploitation movie Shaft that made and cemented his reputation. An atmospheric blend of Hayes’s lover-man vocals, breathless backing singers and a funk-fuelled wah-wah guitar arrangement, Shaft – the song and the character – became synonymous with black urban cool. It also provided Hayes with an image that stayed with him for the rest of his career.
How are you? I hope the summer is producing many knock-outs…
Unfortunately, Ive been on the grind and haven’t much time to tour the scenes. I just read your recent post regarding Voice Mail Gangsters and Text Message Bullies.
I must say your break down is extremely on point so with that I say, Kudos to you.
However you left out some key points, one of which is my personal favorite…
The “I know where you live” line that some brokester raps to me…
I always chuckle when I hear that one since more often than not,
I don’t know where I’m going to be next week… So unless they have some sixth sense they purchased at Pacific Sunwear, it holds no weight.
Its also comical because by the time they take the greyhound or cash in their credit card miles to find me, I’m gone.
The other consideration is that these guys are chumps. Instead of getting angry at the real culprit (their girlfriend), they get mad at us and leave bottomless threats. If they actually sat down to think about it, they’d realize, it’s the girls fault, not ours. Perhaps they were doing something wrong and left the girl with no choice but to cheat. But then again, maybe its their fault too.
There is one recent story that comes to mind regarding these faux gangsters…
I was entertaining some guests in town at the Hudson Hotel. While sitting at our table, suited down in a Kiton, three button grey chalk stripe bespoke number with a lavender Brioni shirt blown open, I was approached by two spikey haired dudes with barb wire tattoos. I had noticed these guys online outside when I walked in but now they seemed obviously more drunk. I suppose to they needed to fill up on liquid courage to approach me.
But that’s neither Peter Lugar or Sturm, Ruger.
Anyway, the more brazen of the two, said, “yo bro, were you hitting on my girl last week?” Of course, I looked puzzled and embarrassed, One because I try to avoid Papa Roach and his compadres and Two because I sincerely didn’t know who he was talking about. Smoothly and politely, I replied “I don’t know, which one is she?” and that’s when he got a bit enraged. This was obviously more embarrassing for me because he’s just going to make a scene. If I was in real trouble, I probably would not have seen them coming.
As Brokester 1 was talking I could feel one of my guests stand and I quickly around turned to quell the situation. As I turned back around to see Brokester 2 chime in, I interrupted him with a simple question… “Why is it my fault if your girlfriend plays you? She played you, not me… I’ve never been played before but if so, I highly doubt I’d approach you to talk about it” The question clearly struck him off guard as I could see thoughts of mediocrity inundate and paralyzed him. Images of overdrafted bank statements, cute face but overweight girls, sale items at Hollister and trophy chests with only JV letters ricocheted off his mind’s eye and piled together in one big sub-par lump. At that point he had no choice but to walk away, ashamed. While walking away, his friend turned around to say “youre lucky” but I smirked, luck has nothing to do with this equation.
