Opportunity: The Largest Cash Heist in American History

Foreword

I would like to encourage everyone to read this amazing novel. Author C.J.H. Moore did a masterful job in the Dunbar Heist story. I was able to read a soft-release-date copy in the LAX complex waiting to catch a plane to Dallas. I was so enthralled in the story that I missed my plane. I met the Author in Starbucks in Compton while he was writing one of his other Novels. I told him that I had Rights to the Biggest Cash Heist in American History. He said he was born to write the book. I gave him the opportunity and he delivered. Bravo. Thanks to Mr. McCrary for trusting me and granting me the Rights to tell his story. My next endeavor is to produce the movie. Any questions about joining me, I can be reached @ Vince D Productions.

[email protected]

Vincent T Devereaux

Acknowledgements

We would like to thank Adriane Hopper Williams for conducting the interview with Mark Mcrary in the form of question and answer sessions, and Allana Botley for listening and preserving the transcribed transcript of the interview. We would also like to thank producer Joey Wells for believing in the story of the Dunbar Heist, and presenting it enthusiastically to his colleagues. We would also like to thank in memory of John and Princella Moore and Joseph D. Devereaux Jr. and Bettye Jo Webb and Dennis Harris and Skip Mullen. We would also like to thank the Devereaux family and friends and everyone else who contributed to this book for your contributions, love, and support along the way in the twelve-year process in an effort to share the Dunbar Heist’s story, the largest cash heist in American history, with the world public.

Prologue

The true story of the September 12, 1997, Dunbar Heist in Los Angeles, CA, the largest cash heist in American history, as told from the Q&A interview of Freddie Lynn McCrary,

Jr. aka Mark, an integral member and childhood best friend of Allen Pace III, who conscripted and conspired with five friends to rob $18.9 million in cold, hard cash without a single shot being fired.

Some names have been changed to protect the contributors and the $10,000,000 unaccounted for. This material is based on the true story of the historical September 12, 1997 Dunbar Heist that shocked and snubbed the smartest criminal investigators in America for two years. Adriane Hopper Williams and Vince D. collaborated with Mark in an eighty-page interview to give a true account of the happenings leading up to the historical Dunbar Heist, the participant’s arrest, and the rest.

Chapter 1

Fate, friendships, and love make poor bedfellows in a world of wealth, laws, and justice.

In early December in 1978, the Los Angeles skyline melts like butter over hot cakes. The Palos Verdes Hills blink at the San Gabriel Mountains as a thousand eyes seemingly overlook the Inland Empire in the form of distant lights. A black Viet Nam vet stands outside of a Nix check cashing facility on the corner of Compton and Wilmington in the city of Compton wearing a filthy Santa Claus hat and livery and has a sign hanging from his neck that reads: VIET NAM VET – I GAVE MY ARM FOR YOUR FREEDOM – WHAT HAVE YOU GIVEN ME? His left hand is holding a decorated stainless-steel cruet; his right hand is shrouded by a dirty blanket while the horrors of war are hidden from view.

A woman and a small child walk by.

Merry Christmas, greets the vet holding out the container covered by Christmas wrapping paper.

Grandma, it’s Santa, said the child excitedly.

Don’t make eye contact, she tells the child pulling him hard.

Cheap ass motherfucka, the vet mumbles under his breath.

A Dunbar truck rolls up with two employees looking hard and tired.

Speaking into a small microphone attached to his collar, the vet says, The prize has arrived. Standing in line are three men dressed as The Three Wisemen seemingly waiting to cash their checks. Children stand with their mothers while a man dressed as Jesus is at the front of the line. Jesus turns his head and looks towards the door.

Outside, a Dunbar employee pops out the back of the truck carrying two bags in either hand, while the driver stays in the front driver’s seat of the Dunbar truck. The other Dunbar employee walks behind the counter and gathers the cash, stuffing it in the bags. The Three Wisemen and the white man dressed as Jesus patiently stand in line. The cashier with a bodacious booty sporting a wedding ring big enough to break her arm makes small talk with the Dunbar employee.

You get me anything for Christmas this year? asks the cashier.

Just because I’m surrounded by money doesn’t mean I actually make any of it, replies the Dunbar employee smiling nonchalantly.

You’re too funny, said she, and as she turns all of her attention back to her customers as Jesus approaches the counter.

She takes the check—it’s blank.

Sir, I’m sorry, but this is not a valid check, said the cashier with perplexity.

Jesus grabs her hand, looks at her ring, and then says, I will seek opportunity; if not given opportunity, I shall create opportunity.

She is about to respond when he pulls her forward, slamming her into his forehead. She falls to the ground, knocked out cold. The Three Wisemen pull out guns and overpower the security guards and detains the Dunbar employee.

Jesus pulls out a sawed-off shot gun from underneath his robe and shouts in a horrific voice, Everyone freeze, everyone freeze!!!

Please don’t hurt anyone, squeals the Dunbar employee.

Wack! A wise man hits the Dunbar employee on the head and blood oozes out in a thick mass as women cry and men moan, and children look on in ignorance.

Shhh! Shhh! Shhh! Relax, I have come, so that you may have life more abundantly motherfucka—now shut the fuck up! Jesus roared addressing people in the lobby.

Outside, the Dunbar driver waits patiently. Knock! Knock! Knock! The Dunbar driver jumps, Fuck!

As he looks towards the window, the vet stands there with puppy dog eyes pointing towards his sign written in red: VIET NAM VET – I GAVE MY ARM FOR YOUR FREEDOM – WHAT HAVE YOU GIVEN ME?

The Dunbar driver exhales in relief, Man I can’t help you, as he motions for the vet to walk on.

Inwardly anxious, the vet thinks, Please, c’mon cocksucker, open up!

The Dunbar driver shakes his head from side to side, holds up his hands, and says, I can’t hear you, you dumb fuck!

The vet walks closer, and says, Please!

The Dunbar driver shakes his head NO.

The vet shrugs his shoulders in an oh-well manner. A sinister grin grows large across his lips and he throws off the blanket.

The Dunbar driver screams, Man, back up!

The vet motions towards his own ear in an I-can’t-hear-you manner and jumps back revealing a M2 rifle in his right hand and a fully intact left hand.

The Dunbar driver sees the rifle, but ducks too late. The vet pulls the trigger, an inaudible fu could be heard. The rifle shot obliterates the glass and the vet reaches inside the truck and hits a button on the dashboard and the back door of the truck flies open. Blood and gore is everywhere, the driver convulses trying to hold on to his last breath of life.

The vet screams at the Dunbar driver, Can you hear me now motherfucka!

The vet runs to the back door of the truck as two masked men pull up behind the Dunbar truck in an unmarked van. They keep the van idling and unload the money.

Concurrently, inside the Nix check cashing place, one of the wise men zip ties the other Dunbar employee while the other two wise men load the loot up on the other side of the counter.

Jesus enjoys the show as he looks at his wristwatch. The guys outside finish loading the van. They jump in and peel rubber as they leave with sirens blaring in the distance.

From outside, the vet speaks into his mini microphone, We’ve got heat.

Inside, Jesus touches his earpiece, vibrating with the message. He looks towards the sound of the approaching sirens and cautions the wise men, Let’s Go!

At that moment, the cashier comes to. She lifts her head up and sprints for the door when Jesus says, Where you going beautiful? She reaches for the door—BANG!!! Jesus shoots the cashier in the head. As brain fragments fly everywhere and splatter on some customers, she falls limp, thud, and dead right in front of eight-year-old Mark while blots of blood stain his glasses. Grandma Pearl, fifty, dark-skinned, salt and pepper short Afro hairdo, squeezes and hugs young Mark tighter. Sharp shrilling screams fill the Nix lobby. Jesus reaches down and takes the ring from the dead cashier’s finger and momentarily locks his flaming eyes with Mark’s eyes, and says, I will seek opportunity, if not given opportunity, I will create opportunity. The man’s eyes reveal something deep, mysterious, and alluring in them—dangerous. The menacing sirens get closer and louder, breaking the trance.

Let’s get the fuck out of here! shouted one of the wise men. They run hard. They jump in a van and speed off peeling and burning rubber so hard that Mark smelt the burnt rubber inside the Nix lobby. Minutes later, the blaring sirens pull up and cease right outside.

Shhh! Shhh! said Grandma Pearl as she soothes him, and wipes clean his blood-stained glasses. But Mark is not crying, upset, or scared.

Mark is more caught up in a daze than scared when Grandma Pearl begins to pray, and people start screaming louder. Cops and EMT’s flood the scene. EMT’s carry the dead cashier away in a body bag.

Chapter 2

Five years earlier, Mark knocks on Allen’s door. Allen answers the door, I can’t come out and play right now, I’m watching Inspector Gadget, Tom & Jerry, Schoolhouse Rock, and Conjunction Junction. I’ll come out when they’re off in two hours. Allen slams the door.

Who was that? asked Allen’s mother, Queenie, who was pretty, light-skinned, soft-spoken, and marvelous cook. Mark thoroughly enjoyed eating the different snacks and pastries she offered him from time to time.

My friend, Mark, answered Allen, He wants to play Cowboys and Indians outside.

Invite him in, Allen. It’s okay, said his mother.

That’s okay, mom. I’d rather watch TV by myself, said Allen with good diction for a four-year-old.

When the cartoons were over, Allen grabs his shiny cap gun and black holster with a whole roll of caps and heads across the street to Mark’s house.

Marks’s mother answers after Allen knocks on the door, Can Mark come out to play?

Maaaarrk, Allen is here! screams his mother from the front door towards the inside of the house.

Mark comes running with his cap gun bouncing inside his holster. He fired three caps, I gotcha Allen. Allen played like he was shot, held his stomach and fell to the ground prostrate and motionless for a few seconds, then got up and ran across some neighbors’ front yards with Mark running after him. They hid behind bushes, tree trunks, parked cars in driveways, and the sides of neighbors’ houses. Each head appeared and disappeared, popped up, and ducked behind the obstacles they chose for protection. They shot popping caps as if they were firing real bullets and making ricochet sounds like they heard in cartoons and movies. Deep into play, Mark loses sight of Allen and races for better position in the play battle. Allen pops up outta nowhere and fires his cap gun several times. Mark is caught in the open and plays dead, acting the scene out like he saw on television. Allen runs over and shakes Mark back to normal; they smile at each other.

You wanna play concentration? asked Allen.

Yeah, let’s go, said Mark happily.

They ran side by side over to Allen’s house where he found a deck of cards in the kitchen drawer. They pulled out chairs from the kitchen table and placed the entire deck face-down with both of them spreading the deck evenly around the round tabletop. The small boys walked around the table finding matches until Allen won with the most matches.

Let’s go play some baseball, said Allen full of excitement after winning concentration.

Okay, agreed Mark.

Allen ran into the garage and grabbed two gloves, a baseball bat, and a little league-sized softball. The boys started playing catch from a few feet apart then widened their distance to several feet in the street. Other kids came over to play, until they had enough to play a game. They made bases out of squashed soda and beer cans, chose teams, and Allen and Mark were on the same team with two other boys. Allen was the best hitter and catcher out of them all and their team won.

Let’s play some football, said Allen. Everybody agreed, so Allen ran over to his garage and found a Voit football. Again, Allen was the best athlete in catching and throwing with Mark on his team, they won. Each time they won, Allen and Mark shook hands.

You wanna go play some battleship? asked Allen.

Yeah!

Allen had a computerized version and a plastic board game version of the battleship game. Both boys preferred playing with the plastic board and pegs.

These small plastic ships are cool, said Mark placing it in position on the board.

This one of the coolest games in the world, said Allen in agreement.

You sunk my battleship, said Mark several times as they played.

Allen’s tracking grid was replete with red pegs before Mark’s, and the game was over.

Since Allen was older, Mark always accepted defeat because of the age difference and not personally. He always longed for the day when he announced himself the winner. He enjoyed being on teams with Allen because they won most of the time. For some reason, thought Mark, since a very early age, Allen was always in the right place at the right time.

Let’s go in the backyard and play some marbles, said Allen.

Okay, I’ve got to run across the street and get my marbles.

Allen and Mark played a lot of games together, but this was Mark’s favorite because, one-on-one, Mark was successfully competitive. He played .500 marbles against Allen, which compelled him to practice a lot in his own backyard. Most of the time, they’d carve out a corner in Allen’s backyard and play hot-box and circles. Mark’s favorite marble was a yellow cat’s eye, his shooter; the boulders, solids, clears, pearls, snakes, butterflies, and creams he would keep for patsies. He had a collection of one hundred marbles that he carried in a blue Crown Royal liquor bag with a yellow drawstring that his Uncle Phillip gave him after watching him practice in the backyard one day.

Mark showed up in minutes trying to catch his breath, Let’s play circles first.

Okay, said Allen.

Whenever the boys played marbles, they wallowed in the dirt like puppies with dusty-looking shirts and dirt-dotted knees. Since the match was taking place in Allen’s backyard, he drew the circle a little larger than usual and the boys dumped ten marbles a piece of their choice into the circle. They lagged the line for first shooter; Mark won. Mark took his yellow cat’s eye shooter and started firing away focusing on Allen’s marbles first. Whenever a shooter’s marble stayed in the circle knocking out the subject marble, the shooter himself would get another turn. Mark practiced on sticksies—knocking the subject marble out of the circle while the shooter marble would stop in its place sometimes spinning in inertia. Mark had knocked eleven marbles from the circle when his yellow cat’s eye trickled just across the threshold of the circle. Allen flushed the remaining marbles. Mark happily added one more marble to his collection.

Let’s play hot box now, you wanna? asked Allen.

Okay, replied Mark stuffing his winnings into the blue Crown Royal bag just before he drew the yellow string.

Hot-box was a square-configurated marble game that featured peaksies. The two boys agreed on putting five marbles of the opponent’s choice in the box. Sticksies was always good because if the shooter’s marble stayed within the drawn parameters, the shooter himself could shoot again. Both players could remove any marbles they chose from their bag. Mark never put his cat’s eye in jeopardy.

Allen’s favorite marble was a blue pearl and he never put that one in the hot-box either. Allen kept his marbles in a Kerr preservative jar with a gold twist cap. Allen’s mom, Queenie, maintained several fruit trees in their backyard—apricot, peach, lemon, and plum. She preserved the fruits in Mason, Ball, and Kerr jars, eating the preserves daily with meals. The boys made their selections. Since Mark won circles, he was first to shoot.

Mark called peaksies and formed a small mound of dirt for an easier shot. He executed sticksies until six marbles were shot out of the box. On his sixth shot, two marbles were kissing so he had to fire a combination shot, and his cat’s eye flew out of the hot-box. Allen easily shot the rest of the marbles out of the hot-box.

Allen and Mark, come inside and have some lunch, said Queenie from the back door.

Good, said Allen, I’m hungry. When lunch is over, we can watch Conjunction Junction together.

Mark’s eyes lit up because he knew Allen liked watching cartoons alone. Besides Conjunction Junction, Schoolhouse Rock was one of Mark’s favorite kid shows. Even at his age, he knew the lyrics and each time he would sing along:

Conjunction Junction, what’s your function? (CHORUS)

Hooking up words and phrases and clauses.

Conjunction junction, how’s that function? (CHORUS)

I got three favorite cars that get most of my job done.

Conjunction junction, what’s their function? (CHORUS)

I got and, but, or, they’ll get you pretty far.

And that’s an additive, like this and that.

But: That’s sort of the opposite, Not this but that.

And then there’s or. O-R, when you have a choice like

This or that. And, but, and or, get you pretty far.

Conjunction junction, what’s your function? (CHORUS)

Hooking up two boxcars and makin’em run right.

Milk and honey, bread and butter, peas and rice.

Hey that’s nice! (CHORUS)

Dirty but happy, digging and scratching,

Losing your shoe and a button or two.

He’s poor but honest, sad but true, Boo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!

Conjunction junction, what’s your function? (CHORUS)

Hooking up two cars to one

When you say something like this choice:

Either now or later or no choice:

Neither now nor ever

Hey that’s clever! (CHORUS)

Eat this or that, grow thin or fat, never mind,

I wouldn’t do that, I’m fat enough now!

Conjunction junction, what’s your function? (CHORUS)

Hooking up phrases and clauses that balance, like:

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

He cut loose the sandbags,

But the balloon wouldn’t go any higher.

Let’s go up to the mountains,

Or down to the seas. You should always say, Thank You

Or at least say, please.

Conjunction Junction, what’s your function? (CHORUS)

Hooking up words and phrases and clauses

In complex sentences like:

In the mornings, when I’m usually wide awake,

I love to take a walk through the gardens and down by the lake,

Where I often see a duck and drake, and

I wonder, as I walk by, just what they’d say

If I could speak, although I know that’s an absurd thought.

Conjunction function, what’s your function? (CHORUS)

Hooking up cars and makin’em function.

Conjunction function, how’s that function? (CHORUS)

I like tying up words and phrases and clauses.

Conjunction function, watch that function? (CHORUS)

I’m going to get you there if you’re careful.

Conjunction function, what’s your function? (CHORUS)

I’m going to get you there if you’re careful.

Conjunction function, what’s that function? (CHORUS)

I’m going to get you there if you’re very careful.

As little Mark sang along reciting every word in the song, he clapped and patted his feet on the brown linoleum floor. Queenie was impressed and spellbound watching the three year old perform. When the song was over, she hugged Mark and said, Good job Mark. You want some more cookies and milk?

Yes, can I! he said bouncing up and down sitting on the couch.

Through the whole program Mark had his eyes glued to the television set as did Allen.

Then Allen’s father walked into the room, Go pick some apricots and peaches for your mom, Allen. Mark froze inside whenever Allen senior came around. He looked mean to Mark, hardly ever smiled, and had a deep menacing voice. He never made Mark feel comfortable, so Mark wanted to go home every time he saw him.

Come and help me, Mark.

Allen’s father eyed both boys, You can have one fruit a piece. Pick about a dozen a piece and put them in this bag. He handed Allen an Alpha Beta brown grocery bag, Your mother wants to make an apricot/peach cobbler for desert tonight.

Picking fruit was always Allen’s passion. Sometimes he’d eat peaches and apricots until he got sick and his teeth would hurt. Of Course, his father knew it, and whupped Allen on occasion for overeating the fruit until Allen learned his lesson. Allen loved to see the fruit trees blossom in the spring with the pink, yellow, white, and green ragout mixture of colors. Often, he would examine the tiny fruit buds that grew into voluptuous, juicy balls of eating pleasure. And his mom’s pies were so good, he thought, that no cook in the world could bake pies better. Picking fruit with Mark was one of the funnest things he’d ever done. For Mark’s size he had a better-than-average vertical leap, higher than his own, studied Allen, but it was still fun challenging each other in the jumps. Mark was also a good climber. Like a crab, Mark could cling to a tree trunk and crawl upwards and hang like a monkey from a low-hanging branch, then catch the branch with his legs, pull himself up and balance himself aplomb on a supportive branch.

Allen wasn’t athletic, wiry, and strong as Mark, but Allen noticed talent when he saw it. In fact, he noticed a lot of things that others took for granted at an early age. Whenever he wanted something, he would use these skills often without the participant’s knowledge to gain his objective as if they wanted it anyway for themselves. So, he would coordinate and manipulate people and situations like a fine manager on an unprecedented level to supervise a team of individuals to win.

That day, Allen and Mark carried a lightweight aluminum step ladder and placed it under the trees and picked apricots, peaches, plums, and lemons as his father ordered. We’re almost finished, Mark. We got lots of stuff. Which one do you wanna eat? Allen asked.

I wanna a peach and two apricots, said Mark. Can I have two apricots?

No, you can only have one. My father is watching. If you want two, put one in your pocket for later, go ahead.

Already afraid of Allen’s father, Mark didn’t argue. Okay, he replied.

The boys brought the Alpha Beta shopping bag back in the house after replacing the ladder. Oueenie was in the kitchen applying pie crusts in three large pans.

Allen, go see if your sister’s awake and if she is, warm up her bottle in the bottle warmer. She smiled at Mark, You ever had apricot/peach cobbler, Mark? asked Queenie.

No, but it sounds good, answered Mark smiling.

Allen returned, Velvet is still sleep. Allen ran out again.

It’ll be ready in a few hours, said Queenie, Would you like a piece before dinner.

A broad smile grew on Mark’s face, Boy would I! Then Mark curiously looked at the large shopping bag pointing at it, What does A-L-P-H-A B-E-T-A mean?

Allen returns running cautiously, "Velvet is still