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R. Linda:
Well, ya just can't make this stuff up, ya can't. It may sound like it but me wee tale is about an Irishman who found himself in a pickle and decided to take matters into his own hands, and like the luck of the Irish it only got worse from there.
So there in County Clare is one Jamie McBride (changing the name to protect the not-so-smart) and our Jamie's phone gives a jingle, and he picks it up and on the other end is this excited voice telling our Jamie he's won a grand prize. Now the voice has an accent that Jamie has never heard before but sounds like something he might have heard in the flicks. But that thought went straight out of his head when he was told he was the winner of 50,000 euros. Begorrah me, but that be a sum to be proud to stuff your pockets with!
Forgetting the odd accent Jamie was lost for words.
"How? I mean when? I mean I didn't enter any contest, did I? I . . ."
Well, the voice said, his name was entered by someone, probably a friend and his name was picked and here we are with all this prize money and all we need do is get Mr. McBride's bank account number and Bob's your uncle, it'll be deposited on Monday morning. Well, OK! Jamie got out his bank book, read off his account number and then the man's voice on the other end got quiet and deep and not so excited.
"I should have asked first for some form of identification Mr. McBride, I was excited for you and jumped the gun as they say where you are. I need a credit card number so I can verify it is you. No charges will go through, I just need to make sure I am speaking to the proper James McBride."
Reasonable enough Jamie thinks and he flips open his billfold, slips out his card and gives the number. Now most of us would have taken pause, at what the speaker said and asked for, but not our trusting Jamie.
"Just a second Mr. McBride," the voice says. Then it comes back with this, "Do you have another, this one didn't go through."
Well, yes our Jamie had another, several in fact and strange none of them worked until the last. Warning flags for sure, but well, 50,000 euros . . .
"Please check your bank account on Monday Mr. McBride and you will find the funds have been transferred to you. You are a very lucky man."
For sure! An Irishman should know that when he's called a lucky man, it's the furthest thing from what he is.
Now this was on Friday, so the thieves, for that was what they were, had a slim window of time to transfer all funds from Jamie's bank account, but not enough time for Jamie to know about it, and to add insult to injury, the entire weekend to run all his credit cards up to the max. Yes, that is what happened and it took a good few days for our Jamie to realise he had been had.
Monday came and Jamie called every hour on the hour to check if the funds had been deposited. Nothing. Maybe some problem. Tuesday came and the same thing, only a suspicious phone call came in from one of his credit card companies inquiring about the heavy spending over the weekend. Was he away? Had he been to Nigeria? Well, no, no indeed and what were the charges for? Mostly monetary withdrawals, a few electronic items.
No, Jamie told them he hadn't been to Africa, nor had he withdrawn money he was coming into money, there must be some mistake. Well, there was no mistake and on Wednesday another credit card company weighed in and the bank notified Jamie they were closing his account because of insufficient funds from the funds he withdrew. WHAT?
A wee bit of background on our Jamie here if you don't mind. Jamie be a big man, somewhere around 6'5" tall, near to 21 stone and a bit of a bruiser. In other words, you don't think twice about messing with our Jamie. And our Jamie was mad as a hatter over this business. He marched to the bank got what he needed, and went to the constable who was not able to do much but did, within a week find out who the thieves were and where they were located and they did tell our Jamie they would refer his "case" to a higher authority who dealt with international criminals.
Only our Jamie wasn't going to sit and wait for that to happen. He borrowed money from one of his sisters and booked himself an airline ticket to Abuja, Nigeria. Upon arrival, he threw his bag in a seedy hotel and with a mangled piece of paper he had been thumbing the entire trip, took off to find the address written on it.
Kobie International was a back street address. No sign just a number in crumbling paint on the side of a stucco building. There were three men inside on telephones with laptops in front of them. They were all engaged it looked and from what Jamie could hear, they were giving other unsuspecting mates the same run around. Furious he strode toward the open doorway, his hand crumbling the paper to bits and with one spit on the ground he started inside. Once in the doorway he roared his anger and was quickly subdued by two other men who had been around back. A car pulled up out front and our Jamie was unceremoniously thrown inside, bound, blindfolded and gagged and off they went.
Next, he knows he is tied to a chair someplace while fingers rummage through his clothing.
"Ah, here it is, Jamie McBride. Address with phone, make the call."
Well, our Jamie heard the call as the man told his wife he had her Jamie held hostage and for 100,000 euros she could have him back.
There was a long pause on the phone, and for a moment there Jamie thought his wife didn't want him back and he started to sweat. This could not be happening.
"Mrs. McBride? Mrs. McBride, are you there?" The voice asked.
Well, she was, and in a state of utter shock, but she did manage to say she would try to get the money and if she couldn't get all of it, would some do?
"No, we either get the entire amount or you never see him again," the voice said with a wee bit of anger tinged to it and the man hung up.
Oh, this was terrible, the wife had no such funding to give to these thieves and our Jamie reckoned he was as good as dead. But he wasn't going without a fight, no not he, he'd think of something.
Meanwhile, back in Ireland, Mrs. McBride shakily replaced the receiver on the phone and a cold feeling took her over. What to do? She immediately got her purse and ran out to the constable's down the road. Once there she explained in a breathless voice what had happened. Because our Jamie had been to the constable's office when all this ill luck started, the police were well acquainted with the case. They called Interpol and soon the McBride house was swarming with police and detectives with expertise in international crime.
Back in Abuja, our Jamie was in amok sweat trying to loosen the ropes that bound him and trying to think of a way out, but seemed to no avail, coupled with the worry his wife could not get the money to pay his ransom. Sigh.
The phone rang at the McBride residence several more times and the line was traced and deals were made, not at once. The first was Mrs. M telling them she needed more time, she was working on getting all the money. The second was Mrs. M telling the culprits she was close and would have the rest in three days' time. The last was where to send the money, for it was to be wired to an account in Nigeria, but it was a traceable account because our thieves weren't too smart either. Well within the week, the men of Interpol knew exactly where our Jamie was being held and without any trouble at all went into the shoddy building and found the kidnapping thieves to be unarmed. Within seconds our Jamie was a free man. Free, but still poor. His money was gone, and his credit was destroyed, but he was alive and well to start all over again. But it smacked him in the face that all this time he had got his ropes loose enough and could have jumped his captures, but that he thought they be armed to the back teeth, but nope, nope, nopers as me friend the Weasil would say, not a gun or knife in the place. Our Jamie could have saved everyone a whole lot of trouble and got himself out. Even the door was unlocked and a man his size could have easily knocked the skulls of the two diminutive kidnappers together with ease and walked on out. SIGH.
So for all Irishmen out there, when someone tells you that a bit of luck has come your way, don't ya believe it.
R. Linda:
Well, ya just can't make this stuff up, ya can't. It may sound like it but me wee tale is about an Irishman who found himself in a pickle and decided to take matters into his own hands, and like the luck of the Irish it only got worse from there.
So there in County Clare is one Jamie McBride (changing the name to protect the not-so-smart) and our Jamie's phone gives a jingle, and he picks it up and on the other end is this excited voice telling our Jamie he's won a grand prize. Now the voice has an accent that Jamie has never heard before but sounds like something he might have heard in the flicks. But that thought went straight out of his head when he was told he was the winner of 50,000 euros. Begorrah me, but that be a sum to be proud to stuff your pockets with!
Forgetting the odd accent Jamie was lost for words.
"How? I mean when? I mean I didn't enter any contest, did I? I . . ."
Well, the voice said, his name was entered by someone, probably a friend and his name was picked and here we are with all this prize money and all we need do is get Mr. McBride's bank account number and Bob's your uncle, it'll be deposited on Monday morning. Well, OK! Jamie got out his bank book, read off his account number and then the man's voice on the other end got quiet and deep and not so excited.
"I should have asked first for some form of identification Mr. McBride, I was excited for you and jumped the gun as they say where you are. I need a credit card number so I can verify it is you. No charges will go through, I just need to make sure I am speaking to the proper James McBride."
Reasonable enough Jamie thinks and he flips open his billfold, slips out his card and gives the number. Now most of us would have taken pause, at what the speaker said and asked for, but not our trusting Jamie.
"Just a second Mr. McBride," the voice says. Then it comes back with this, "Do you have another, this one didn't go through."
Well, yes our Jamie had another, several in fact and strange none of them worked until the last. Warning flags for sure, but well, 50,000 euros . . .
"Please check your bank account on Monday Mr. McBride and you will find the funds have been transferred to you. You are a very lucky man."
For sure! An Irishman should know that when he's called a lucky man, it's the furthest thing from what he is.
Now this was on Friday, so the thieves, for that was what they were, had a slim window of time to transfer all funds from Jamie's bank account, but not enough time for Jamie to know about it, and to add insult to injury, the entire weekend to run all his credit cards up to the max. Yes, that is what happened and it took a good few days for our Jamie to realise he had been had.
Monday came and Jamie called every hour on the hour to check if the funds had been deposited. Nothing. Maybe some problem. Tuesday came and the same thing, only a suspicious phone call came in from one of his credit card companies inquiring about the heavy spending over the weekend. Was he away? Had he been to Nigeria? Well, no, no indeed and what were the charges for? Mostly monetary withdrawals, a few electronic items.
No, Jamie told them he hadn't been to Africa, nor had he withdrawn money he was coming into money, there must be some mistake. Well, there was no mistake and on Wednesday another credit card company weighed in and the bank notified Jamie they were closing his account because of insufficient funds from the funds he withdrew. WHAT?
A wee bit of background on our Jamie here if you don't mind. Jamie be a big man, somewhere around 6'5" tall, near to 21 stone and a bit of a bruiser. In other words, you don't think twice about messing with our Jamie. And our Jamie was mad as a hatter over this business. He marched to the bank got what he needed, and went to the constable who was not able to do much but did, within a week find out who the thieves were and where they were located and they did tell our Jamie they would refer his "case" to a higher authority who dealt with international criminals.
Only our Jamie wasn't going to sit and wait for that to happen. He borrowed money from one of his sisters and booked himself an airline ticket to Abuja, Nigeria. Upon arrival, he threw his bag in a seedy hotel and with a mangled piece of paper he had been thumbing the entire trip, took off to find the address written on it.
Kobie International was a back street address. No sign just a number in crumbling paint on the side of a stucco building. There were three men inside on telephones with laptops in front of them. They were all engaged it looked and from what Jamie could hear, they were giving other unsuspecting mates the same run around. Furious he strode toward the open doorway, his hand crumbling the paper to bits and with one spit on the ground he started inside. Once in the doorway he roared his anger and was quickly subdued by two other men who had been around back. A car pulled up out front and our Jamie was unceremoniously thrown inside, bound, blindfolded and gagged and off they went.
Next, he knows he is tied to a chair someplace while fingers rummage through his clothing.
"Ah, here it is, Jamie McBride. Address with phone, make the call."
Well, our Jamie heard the call as the man told his wife he had her Jamie held hostage and for 100,000 euros she could have him back.
There was a long pause on the phone, and for a moment there Jamie thought his wife didn't want him back and he started to sweat. This could not be happening.
"Mrs. McBride? Mrs. McBride, are you there?" The voice asked.
Well, she was, and in a state of utter shock, but she did manage to say she would try to get the money and if she couldn't get all of it, would some do?
"No, we either get the entire amount or you never see him again," the voice said with a wee bit of anger tinged to it and the man hung up.
Oh, this was terrible, the wife had no such funding to give to these thieves and our Jamie reckoned he was as good as dead. But he wasn't going without a fight, no not he, he'd think of something.
Meanwhile, back in Ireland, Mrs. McBride shakily replaced the receiver on the phone and a cold feeling took her over. What to do? She immediately got her purse and ran out to the constable's down the road. Once there she explained in a breathless voice what had happened. Because our Jamie had been to the constable's office when all this ill luck started, the police were well acquainted with the case. They called Interpol and soon the McBride house was swarming with police and detectives with expertise in international crime.
Back in Abuja, our Jamie was in amok sweat trying to loosen the ropes that bound him and trying to think of a way out, but seemed to no avail, coupled with the worry his wife could not get the money to pay his ransom. Sigh.
The phone rang at the McBride residence several more times and the line was traced and deals were made, not at once. The first was Mrs. M telling them she needed more time, she was working on getting all the money. The second was Mrs. M telling the culprits she was close and would have the rest in three days' time. The last was where to send the money, for it was to be wired to an account in Nigeria, but it was a traceable account because our thieves weren't too smart either. Well within the week, the men of Interpol knew exactly where our Jamie was being held and without any trouble at all went into the shoddy building and found the kidnapping thieves to be unarmed. Within seconds our Jamie was a free man. Free, but still poor. His money was gone, and his credit was destroyed, but he was alive and well to start all over again. But it smacked him in the face that all this time he had got his ropes loose enough and could have jumped his captures, but that he thought they be armed to the back teeth, but nope, nope, nopers as me friend the Weasil would say, not a gun or knife in the place. Our Jamie could have saved everyone a whole lot of trouble and got himself out. Even the door was unlocked and a man his size could have easily knocked the skulls of the two diminutive kidnappers together with ease and walked on out. SIGH.
So for all Irishmen out there, when someone tells you that a bit of luck has come your way, don't ya believe it.
Gabe
Copyright © 2010 All rights reserved
Copyright © 2010 All rights reserved
