"Pipino Gentleman Thief: Magicians, Mafiosos, a Missing Painting, and the Heist of a Lifetime"
From Epic Magazine:
Venice was built to confuse. The
floating Italian city has few straight lines: Each cobblestoned
footpath veers and twists, the buildings lean, and small bridges vault
sideways. For tourists, it’s like entering a labyrinth. Locals have
tried to help, scrawling arrows on the walls. They are supposed to point
to San Marco Square, the city’s most prominent attraction, but
sometimes the arrows point in opposite directions.
The
beauty is that it doesn’t really matter. Somehow, everybody ends up in
San Marco anyway, as if by magic. Befuddled tourists emerge from narrow
alleys and abruptly find themselves standing on the edge of a grand
square with a towering 323-foot-tall bell tower. To get some perspective
on the mystery, many visitors ride the elevator to the top of the
tower. On the observation platform, they can use coin-operated
telescopes to scan the vast medieval tangle of waterways, churches, and
tiny, hidden piazzas.
But
on an afternoon in the spring of 1991, a well-dressed Italian man was
monopolizing the single west-facing telescope, preventing anyone else
from getting a good look at Dorsoduro, Santa Croce, and San Polo, the
wealthy neighborhoods on the far side of the Grand Canal. Vincenzo
Pipino was attractive in a classic Italian way, which is to say he
wasn’t good looking at all. He had prominent moles, a high forehead, and
slicked back hair, but he radiated a sense of confidence, as if he
owned the entire city. In a way, he did. He had robbed many of the
buildings he was looking at, and had cased most of the others.
To
the southwest, there was the Palazzo Barozzi, a charming, five-story
Baroque building at the entrance to the Grand Canal. Count Barozzi had
hired Pipino to steal art from his fellow aristocrats and, as a result,
had an attractive collection of masterworks. Further up the canal stood
the Ca’ Dario, a fifteenth-century marble-fronted palazzo leaning
slightly to one side. Periodically, a new owner bought the place and
filled it with fine art, apparently unaware that the building was
cursed. Many of its owners over the centuries have been murdered, driven
insane, or gone bankrupt after buying the place.
Finally,
Pipino’s view through the telescope came to rest on a centuries-old
palazzo on the far side of the Grand Canal. It had an enclosed garden, a
sign of extraordinary wealth in a city where every inch of dry land is
worth a fortune. He scrutinized a skylight. It looked to be about forty
feet above a secluded alley. The brick façade was crumbling, and the
roof tiles would be brittle. A dangerous climb, but worth it: The
building was owned by Raul Gardini, one of the richest men in Italy.
A few
days later, Pipino wended his way through an increasingly narrow series
of alleys. He had a bold sense of style, often pairing a red velvet suit
with white shoes or a white-checkered jacket with a thin black tie. He
aimed to look like an eccentric gentleman, not a thief.
He
turned down an alley that was barely wider than his shoulders, passing
tall lacquered doors. Minutely detailed bronze figurines of African
women served as door handles. The lane dead-ended in a black door: the
back entrance to the Gardini Palazzo. He rang the doorbell. Nobody
answered. He rang again — still nothing.
Pipino
glanced over his shoulder. Claudio*, a longtime friend, trailed behind
him and now stood guard at the alley entrance. Claudio was sharp-eyed
and reliable, but, as a lookout, he had a shortcoming: He was hard of
hearing. At times (like now), it seemed silly to rely on a nearly deaf
watchman, but it was hard to find trustworthy accomplices. Pipino waved a
few times before catching Claudio’s attention. Claudio gave the thumbs
up....MUCH MORE
