The Bank Raid that Rocked the Met’

A horror story that has it’s Kafkaesque–Orwellian origins rooted in the date of 2nd June 2008, has now come – a year and a half later - a haunting full-circle from when more than 500 of the Met’s finest plods smashed their way into thousands of safety-deposit boxes to retrieve guns, gold, drugs and zillions of quidsworth of criminal assets – or at least that’s what their Snitchford-based ‘Think Tank’ had planned for Operation Rize Krispies.

Police vehicles – helicopters, hovercraft, cars and armoured trucks – pulled up in Scumborough Hamlets and totally blocked the entire North Circular.
Dozens of armed o­fficers in their new EU / HSE-compliant hi-viz vests were standing by, supping Starsucks extra-caffeine Somali brand coffee and nibbling Weetabix spread with Marmite, waiting to be given the coded go-ahead (a wolf whistle) to storm inside an anonymous-looking building and double-tap anyone who even looked remotely like a Brazilian electrician.

Earlier that morning a special taxpayer-funded breakfast briefing was held at Neasden’s Shitty Chef chew and spew café for teams from the DD6 (Dodgy Deposits Unit) and the AFC19 (Amateur Firearms Command), who hunkered down to a greasy high-cholesterol fry-up with technicians from the Met’s BFI 22 (Brute Force and Ignorance Unit).
Also present were dog handlers, their snarling canines trained to sniff out explosives, old socks, tins of Spam, forged Greedy Grocer loyalty vouchers and stashes of the recently-banned anchovy and ganja pizzas.

Their target location - the headquarters of the Shifty Shylock Safe Deposit Centre Ltd, which own various supposedly impregnable security buildings throughout Europe, the US and around the Middle East.

With a cameraman hired for the day from Dodgy Don’s DVD Shop recording everything, detectives forced their way past startled security guards declaring “’Ello,’Ello, ‘Ello – wot ‘ave we ‘ere then?” – arrogantly brandishing a search warrant and demanding receptionists open the secure doors that led to the strong room which housed 6,000 safety deposit boxes.

Throughout the afternoon and the night the BFI 22 Unit beat the living crap out of the security boxes with sledge hammers, pick axes, Pukesbury’s scones, sticks of dessicated rhubarb, crowbars and eventually their own heads - until some bright spark with a modicum of enginering knowledge suggested they use angle grinders with diamong tipped cutting discs to open the stubborn amoured boxes.

Soon plods kitted out in B & Q dust masks, goggles and blue overhauls were using high speed power tools to chop away at the locked doors that protected the boxes themselves - effortlessly hacking off the hinges, and allowing them to slide out the individual strong boxes, some the size of a Ploughman’s lunch pack – others even thicker than Rabbi’s wallet.

As the first boxes were opened, detectives began probing the suspicious contents, discovering such illicit and contraband items as Edwardian post cards, a jar of vintage Marmite, an envelope containing a lock of hair, photos of Lloyd George riding a bike, expired dog licences, stale jammy dodgers, fishing flies, packs of mouldy dolly mixtures and a half-eaten Mars Bar bearing the autograph of 60’s pop singer Marianne Faithful.

Each was given a rough designation - for instance, ‘War Bonds 1939’ or ‘birth certificate’ or ‘News clipping w/photo of Baden Powell / Pall Mall Gazette / Relief of Mafeking – May 16 1900’ - and the words scribbled onto labels in pencil before they were placed in sealed evidence bags, loaded into vans and given an armed escort to their final and secret destination - a secure off-duty plod doss house next door to the Albanian pikey-owned Bargain Booze outlet on South Islington’s Twatsford Street.

It wasn’t until the following day that officers opening the security boxes and bagging the contents were asked by their superiors if they might possibly also mark the bags with the actual number of the box the evidence had been retrieved from so any resulting prosecution summons for illegal items therein might be addressed to the actual owner of the box – the identities of whom were revealed in the vault registers turned over to the police during the raid by the Shifty Shylock’s appointed auditor – Ms. Candida Snitch of Grassers & Co., Chartered Accountants.

The raids had been made possible under a controversial law, the ‘Proceeds Of Crime Act’ which came into being in 2002 and introduced an array of wide-ranging new powers to seek out and confiscate dirty money - the houses, sex toys, transplanted organs and X-Box games purchased by naughty criminal types.

No one objects when criminals are caught and their assets seized – apart from the criminals themselves - however shaking down honest citizens to get to them was not precisely what the architects of the POCA had in mind.

In one security box bags of white powder - when tested - turned out to be 140 grams of pure Epsom Salts – and lying next to it was six quidsworth of Grotty Grocer discount dogfood vouchers – expiry date October 1987.

Another box, crammed with old Christmas cards, was identified as belonging to a Russian woman Olga Mobsroubles, whose boyfriend was the son of a man whose cousin was wanted in Kiev for the non-payment of a 2007-issue parking ticket.

Olga, who has now filed a case of theft against the Met’ officers involved with the IPCC, told Fux News “My frequent flyer travel vouchers for our trip to Hawaii this December went missing while the CCTV cameras were supposedly down – along with several bundles of £50 notes and three 10 kilo billets of gold bullion.”

Conversely the Met maintains Operation Rize Krispies was an absolute success, with Officer-in-Charge, DCI Ghengis McTwatt, stating for the public record during a phone interview from his new holiday home in Honolulu with Des Snot of the Daily Shitraker “All these security boxes belonged to scallies – apart from the ones that didn’t – so they got what they deserved – now let ‘em prove any different.”