The Criminal Knowledge Players

# The Criminal Knowledge Players

James Whitby just wanted to see the world. A modest inheritance from his eccentric aunt had finally given him the means to leave his small hometown and embark on the grand adventure he'd always dreamed of. But three days into his journey, something strange happened.

He was sitting in a café in Boston when four people in matching blue polo shirts surrounded his table. Without warning, they launched into an elaborate pantomime of a bank robbery, complete with hushed narration of the security systems they were bypassing and the legal statutes they were violating.

"Section 18 U.S. Code 2113," whispered one, while pantomiming the disabling of alarm systems. "Bank robbery, punishable by up to twenty years imprisonment."

When they finished, they bowed silently and dispersed into the crowd. Two police officers sat at the counter, deliberately stirring their coffee with intense focus, refusing to look up.

"Did you see that?" James asked one officer as he passed their table.

"See what?" the officer replied, staring into his coffee cup as if it contained the secrets of the universe. "I was just enjoying my legally obtained beverage in this establishment where nothing unusual is happening."

The next day in New York, it was a group in red berets demonstrating the intricacies of art forgery on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum. A patrol car drove slowly past, the officers inside suddenly becoming fascinated with adjusting their radio dials.

In Philadelphia, a troupe in striped shirts educated him on tax evasion schemes while he tried to view the Liberty Bell. A tour guide frantically redirected a school group while three police officers stood behind a nearby tree, all pretending to tie their shoelaces simultaneously.

"Why won't anyone acknowledge what's happening?" James asked a park ranger.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the ranger replied, eyes darting nervously to the performers. "Those are just... animated historical reenactors demonstrating... traditional Philadelphia... shoe-tying customs."

As weeks passed, the performances grew more elaborate. What started as small groups of four or five grew into productions involving dozens of performers with props, makeshift sets, and increasingly technical demonstrations of criminal enterprises.

In Chicago, an entire flash mob converged on Millennium Park to demonstrate a sophisticated stock manipulation scheme, complete with a full-sized replica trading floor. Six police officers nearby suddenly developed an intense interest in a nearby hot dog stand, all ordering and methodically consuming hot dogs for the entire 45-minute performance.

"This is getting ridiculous," James told a detective who was hiding behind his newspaper. "They're literally explaining securities fraud to everyone in the park!"

"Securities what?" the detective replied, newspaper upside down. "I'm just a regular citizen enjoying some upside-down current events."

By the time James reached San Francisco, the criminal theater had grown to require transport trucks for their elaborate sets. A fleet of fifteen vehicles commandeered a section of Golden Gate Park to stage what they called "The Grand Symphony of International Drug Trafficking."

The logistical demands had become so enormous that the city's parking enforcement officers had been enlisted to help manage the vehicles. Dressed in their standard uniforms but now wearing conspicuous dark sunglasses and speaking into their walkie-talkies with affected British accents, they directed traffic around the spectacle.

"Charlie Tango, we have eyes on the perimeter," one parking officer said loudly into his radio while placing a ticket on a fire hydrant-adjacent car that wasn't part of the theater troupe. "The cultural demonstration is proceeding according to plan."

"Roger that, Eagle Eye," his colleague replied, making no effort to lower her voice. "Operation Blind Justice is maintaining its status of seeing absolutely nothing illegal or concerning."

A police sergeant stood nearby, staring intensely at a tree while whistling nonchalantly.

The absurdity reached its peak in Washington D.C., where the troupe staged their most ambitious production yet: "The Comprehensive Encyclopedia of Government Corruption," performed directly in front of the FBI headquarters. The performance involved over two hundred actors, six replica government offices, and a full brass band performing what they called "The Anthem of Plausible Deniability."

Every law enforcement officer in a five-block radius suddenly became engrossed in their phones, newspapers, or the fascinating architectural details of nearby buildings. Traffic cops directed cars around the enormous set while pretending to be deep-cover international agents.

"Panther to Base, the cultural exhibition continues," a parking attendant said dramatically into his ticket machine, which wasn't even a communication device. "Our cover as ordinary municipal employees remains intact."

A small boy tugged at his mother's sleeve, pointing at the spectacle. "Mommy, are those people teaching everyone how to do crimes?"

"Shh, honey," his mother replied. "We don't see that."

The boy then walked up to one of the parking attendants. "Are you a police officer?" he asked innocently. "Why aren't you stopping those people?"

"Me? Police? No, no, young citizen!" the attendant replied nervously, adjusting his sunglasses. "I am merely a humble guardian of vehicular stationing regulations. Also, I am definitely not reporting to any higher authorities about this situation which is not occurring."

The real police officer standing just ten feet away began to sweat profusely.

"But you have a badge," the boy persisted. "And you," he said, turning to the actual police officer, "why are you pretending not to see all this?"

A hush fell over both the performance and the gathered crowd. The officer's face turned bright red as tourists began to film the interaction.

"That's it!" the officer finally erupted. "I can't take it anymore!"

He marched over to the parking attendant. "You are under arrest for impersonating a secret agent who is impersonating a parking attendant who is pretending not to see crimes being explained in exhaustive educational detail!"

The parking attendant looked confused. "But you told us to pretend—"

"And YOU!" the officer shouted, turning to the nearest performer, who was in the middle of demonstrating how to create offshore shell companies. "You are under arrest for the worst portrayal of a money launderer I've ever seen! That's not how you establish a shell corporation at all! The Cayman Islands paperwork requires BLUE ink, not black! It's just embarrassing!"

More officers emerged from their hiding spots, as if a spell had been broken.

"That's right," shouted another officer. "I've had it with your terrible blocking and pedestrian dialogue! Five years on the force and three community theater productions of 'Guys and Dolls' qualifies me to say your performance lacks both technical accuracy AND artistic merit!"

A stern-looking woman in a pantsuit pushed through the crowd, holding up a badge. "Department of Parks and Recreation, Public Performance Division," she announced. "I'm also placing all of you under arrest for violation of Municipal Code 7.3.9: Performing Bad Theater Without a Permit."

"There's a permit for bad theater?" James asked incredulously.

"Of course," the woman replied, pulling out a thick binder. "We have permits for Good Theater, Mediocre Theater, Experimental Theater, and Bad Theater. Each with its own fee schedule and quality control requirements."

She flipped through several pages. "According to our records, this troupe only has a permit for 'Mediocre Educational Demonstrations with Questionable Content.' Their performance today clearly falls into the 'Atrociously Bad Theater That Makes Critics Want To Gouge Their Eyes Out,' which requires a Class 4 permit, proof of theatrical training, and a signed waiver from at least three audience members acknowledging potential artistic trauma."

"But we're not bad!" protested the lead performer.

"Your second act featured a monologue about tax havens that used the phrase 'monetary obfuscation mechanisms' seventeen times," she replied dryly. "And your blocking had performers consistently upstaging each other while explaining wire fraud. That's textbook bad theater."

As the performers were led away in handcuffs, many protesting the critical reviews more than the actual arrests, James slipped away quietly. He bought a ticket for the first bus back to his hometown, where the most dramatic performance was the annual recreation of the town's founding, featuring the mayor dressed as a pioneer and strictly adhering to historical accuracy.

Six months later, he received a package containing a black turtleneck, a beret, and a note that read: "The Criminal Knowledge Players are under new management. Opening night: next Friday. Your ticket will be waiting. P.S. We've secured all necessary permits, including 'Deliberately Provocative Theater That Makes Authorities Uncomfortable But Is Technically Legal.'"

James moved to a different town the next day.