Reynaldo Nazario Knew How to Do One Thing Really Well: Steal Cars

Illustrations by Tom Huck

Reynaldo Nazario had a twin sister, but she died when they were eight months old. His family soon realized that he was slower than most children. He didn't walk until he was five. He didn't know how to use his hands or feet. He couldn't speak, because he didn't know how to use his tongue. He took special-ed classes. The family lived in the Bronx, and didn't have much money, but spent what they could on doctors and speech therapists. One doctor told them that half of Reynaldo's brain worked fine but the other half worked at 40 percent of normal. He would never learn to read or write. "They say the other baby took away all the strength that he needed to have," his older sister, Mercedes, says.

As an adult, Reynaldo could spell only his name, which he wrote in big capital letters. He had the mind of an eight-year-old, one doctor explained to the family. He was trusting and gullible. "If you tell him the sky is going to be green tomorrow, he's gonna believe it'll be green," says his wife, Sylvia. He was eager to call someone a friend after two or three encounters. He was easily excited, even quicker to panic. He knew little about the world beyond what he saw and heard around him. And it seemed to him that life came easier to everybody else and there was nothing he could do about it.

But he could steal cars.

Reynaldo stole his first car when he was 14 and since then has stolen more than he can count. He was 24 the first time he was arrested for auto theft, in 2002. He spent a year and a half in state prison, then went back to stealing and getting caught. Over the next decade he did four more stints in prison for car theft. His longest stay was two years and 10 months. That time, the police caught him inside the stolen car. He was scared of going back to prison. All he could think about was how lonely and violent the place was. His heart was beating faster than he could ever remember it beating and his hands were shaking and sweaty. He turned the wheel and hit the gas pedal and the car hit a police officer and then another one and then crashed and pinned an officer against a parked car.

By May 2013, Reynaldo had spent nine of the previous 10 years locked up. He was 35 years old, with long ears, a long nose, a bald head, and arched eyebrows that gave him a look of perpetual curiosity. He was free on parole, and now things would be different. He married Sylvia, whom he had met eight years earlier while in prison, through a mutual friend. She wanted him to stop stealing cars and get a job. There weren't many jobs out there for a five-time convicted felon who had no high school diploma and couldn't read. But Reynaldo had grown up in the Highbridge neighborhood of the Bronx, and he knew some of the old-timers. He knew a man who owned a bodega, and the man hired Reynaldo to sweep and do other odd jobs. It paid $80 a week. That plus his $215 monthly public-assistance check wasn't enough to cover the rent.

Reynaldo and Sylvia had planned to move in with his mother in the projects, but the housing authority barred convicted felons from living in the building. They applied for a room in the local shelter, but there were no family rooms available; Reynaldo would have had to live in the men's shelter and Sylvia in the women's. "God knows, she might get robbed or killed," he explains. Reynaldo turned to a friend who knew the landlord of a building in Morrisania who had a small room to rent for $600. Sylvia was unemployed. The couple paid what they could and the landlord was understanding. But after three months he told them they'd have to leave if they couldn't make the rent.

It was early August and Reynaldo needed $600 by the end of the month. Realistically, he needed more than that. His mother had diabetes and was on dialysis. She was also scheduled for a cancer screening. She lived off Social Security; he wanted to help her out.

Sweeping the sidewalk in front of the bodega, he felt the panic rising up. It was a hot day. People were coming in to and out of the store. A tow truck pulled up to the curb. The rumble from its engine went quiet and a man got out and walked into the store. Reynaldo looked inside and watched the man buy a soda. When the man returned, Reynaldo stopped him.

I need somebody to buy cars from me, he told the man. I need the money to pay my rent or I'll be homeless.

The man nodded and said he had a friend who might be interested.

I got these cars from a friend of mine and I need to get rid of them, Reynaldo said.

I don't care where the cars come from, the man said. You can pay your rent. You don't have to live in the street.

The man said his name was José and that he'd call his friend and get back to Reynaldo. He called Reynaldo 30 minutes later. He said he would pick Reynaldo up the next day and they could take the car to his friend.

Now all Reynaldo needed was a car.

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