CHAPTER 9

The news had rocked the Syrnyk family to its core – Virgina Syrnyk was dying of cancer. The disease was ravaging her ovaries, and doctors feared they could only prolong the inevitable for so long. Virginia had begun making plans for her death, including updating her will. With her marriage already in shambles, it didn’t come as a major surprise that there was no reference to her husband in the legal documents.

His mother’s cancer was a wake-up call for Syrnyk, who had grown further apart from his parents in recent years as he embarked on his new career. Devastated by the news, Syrnyk began spending more time with his ailing mother, who had been living alone in their St. James home. Although there was some bitterness about a childhood that seemed lost, Syrnyk viewed his mother largely as a victim and felt they shared a deep, albeit unspoken, bond. He decided to move back in with his mother, to be there for her during her final days.

Syrnyk credited his mother for his sensitive side, one that included an unconditional love for animals. He could relate to all creatures big and small, from his childhood days of owning a hamster to the more recent years spent with Odin. Looking back, it was his mother’s affection for all things furry and four-legged which Syrnyk recalled often leading to conflict in his parent’s marriage. His father was an avid hunter, who would try to convince Syrnyk to come with him. He always balked, a position strongly supported by his mother. Syrnyk hated the idea of slaughtering an innocent animal, and could never understand or justify what his father did. It seemed cruel and unnecessary.

Brent Syrnyk and his fiancé, Sheri, thought of Syrnyk as the “champion of the underdog.

Sheri’s feelings were cemented by an incident at the Syrnyk summer cottage grounds in Bissett, in which Syrnyk saved the life of her old dog. Sandy’s best years were long behind her, the old mutt nearly 18 years old and struggling to see or hear. That explained why the lovable pooch had snagged a fishhook in her throat while trying to bite what she likely thought was a minnow. Syrnyk wasted no time, grabbing a gagging Sandy and prying open her jaw. He reached his hands into her throat, carefully jiggling the hook until it broke free of its grip and came loose. The old girl just went on with her life as if nothing had happened, but Sheri was forever grateful for what Syrnyk had done. “I just fell in love with her. She has such a good spirit. She just keeps getting back up and back up,” Syrnyk often told Sheri. From that day forward, Sandy always seemed to remember what Syrnyk did for her, wagging her tail and showing as much enthusiasm as she could at her age whenever he walked into the room.

Syrnyk also had a soft spot for single mothers, given his own parent’s difficulties and the position his mother of largely raising the two boys on her own. One recent winter, Brent was expecting Syrnyk over for a visit and grew concerned when he was late. He called his brother, who was actually waiting at an inner-city bus stop with a young single mother. Syrnyk had been driving to Brent’s when he saw the woman standing next to a baby carriage, trying to shelter herself and the child from the cold air and blowing snow. Not wanting to scare her by offering the woman a ride, Syrnyk elected to call the woman a cab and then pay for it when it arrived, rather than leave her waiting for a bus which was surely delayed by the bad weather. It was images such as this, burned in Syrnyk’s deeply troubled head, which had given him fits while robbing the banks and seeing the frightened faces of young mothers.

September 10, 1999

Syrnyk was doing something that came very naturally to him – running. Only today it was with a shotgun in his hands. Syrnyk decided it was time to upgrade his weapon collection, and chose the S.I.R. gun store as the place to do it. He was falling in love with guns, of all shapes and sizes, and felt his current supply was inadequate. That could easily be rectified. Shortly after 8:30 p.m., a masked Syrnyk stormed into the popular Winnipeg business, making a beeline for the gun counter. His goal today was to be in and out within a minute – just like the Stopwatch Gang. Syrnyk said nothing to the handful of staff and customers inside the store, figuring his weapon and brisk pace were sending a strong enough message. One hand was on the pistol grip, while the other was in a menacing position halfway up the forearm of the black stock. He held the shotgun tightly against his chest. Syrnyk reached the counter, pushing open the swinging gate to get in behind. A middle-aged man working the counter was actually holding a shotgun, which he had been in the process of showing to a customer. Wisely – and to Syrnyk’s relief – the man put the gun down on the counter and backed away several steps. Syrnyk went to the gun rack against the wall, grabbing all three mini-14 rifles he could see. He recognized the unique gun instantly, which was smaller than the normal long gun and capable of shooting a high velocity, military-style ammunition. As he turned to flee, one of the rifles fell from his hands to the ground. Syrnyk swore to himself, angry he had messed up. His anger intensified seconds later when, after scooping up the gun, he tripped over the swinging gate while trying to crawl over it. Those damn gates! How many times would this happen before he learned? Syrnyk regained his balance, hung on to the weapons and continued his run out the door. Total robbery time had been close to a minute, but Syrnyk felt more humiliated than heroic.

More guns in the hands of a potential maniac. Winnipeg police were stumped to solve the latest weapons haul in the city. Links to the unsolved bank and armoured car heists couldn’t be ruled out, and the description of the suspect in the S.I.R incident suggested the same man might be involved. Police also wondered if the culprit could be responsible for the August 1994 break-in and theft of guns at the same S.I.R. store, or the January 1998 Wal-Mart theft. The suspect description in this latest incident was also similar to the one provided by witnesses to the October 1998 Farmer’s Supply hold-up. Police shuddered at the kind of arsenal their mystery man must possess if behind all four robberies. And did the fact he appeared to be loading up again suggest another attack was imminent?

******

Kevlar is a criminal’s best friend. At least, that’s the motto Syrnyk was adopting as he prepared to gear up for another busy holiday season. Although he was the proud owner of one bullet proof vest, Syrnyk no longer felt like that was sufficient. Police, and especially armoured car guards, were likely preparing for another incident and would surely be better prepared. So Syrnyk would ensure he was also on top of his game. He had read in various books and publications about the concept of full body armour, and Syrnyk had a vision to turn himself into a sort of Robo-Robber. The concept was simple – get another vest or two and wrap his body in a Kevlar apron, protecting him from neck to toe. Syrnyk knew just the place to kick-start his plan.

December 17, 1999

“Ding Dong.” The familiar door enunciator signalled the arrival of a late evening customer inside The Spy Shop, a popular downtown Winnipeg business filled with the latest electronic gadgetry. Want to spy on your nanny? Figure your husband to be a cheating louse and need to bug the telephone? The Spy Shop was the place to come. Dan Hawkins and one of his employees were working together this night, tending to some paperwork in the back office. They got up from a desk and began walking towards the showroom to greet their customer. But instead of seeing a smiling face, Hawkins and the employee saw the back of a man who appeared to be carrying one of the store’s bullet proof vests. Only this customer was masked and appeared to be leaving the store. “Hey, what are you doing?” asked Hawkins. The man turned around. In his hands was a sawed-off, pump action shotgun.

Hawkins saw the gunman was carrying four other vests, which were fakes. He and his employee immediately dove for cover, hitting the ground behind the counter. They could hear footsteps as the man continued out the door and onto Edmonton Street. The door closed automatically behind him. A shaken Hawkins reached for the phone to dial 911.

Back home, Syrnyk felt more prepared than ever. A little manipulation here and there, and he had cleverly outfitted himself with full body-armour. His sense of confidence was extremely high as he prepared to make Christmas 1999 a memorable occasion.

Winnipeg Free Press - December 18, 1999

A thief armed with a shotgun and delusions of invincibility made off with five bullet-proof vests from the city’s premiere shop for security gadgets last night – too bad four of them were dummies. “I put the props out because I have to,” Dan Hawkins, owner of the Spy Shop on Edmonton Street, said not long after the 7:30 p.m. robbery, the second one targeting bullet-proof vests at his shop in six weeks. The Kevlar vests retail for $800 or more and Hawkins said he only sells to people working legitimate security jobs. “Hopefully he says ‘Try this one out,’” he said of the robber and his cache of fake vests. Hawkins has installed a “fog machine” that instantly fills the shop with smoke if a window is broken during a break-in. But this time he was hit while the store was still open.

******

The $100,000 September robbery had gone to Syrnyk’s head, prompting him to make plans for a return engagement. Only this time, he was going to have a little help. A man he’d met while in Vancouver, a drifter with a chequered past, had breezed into town and looked Syrnyk up. Syrnyk had told Jim very little about his own life, not wanting to spill his secrets to a stranger. But the thought of having someone tag alone was becoming increasingly appealing to Syrnyk, who often daydreamed about forming his own Stopwatch Gang. He would be leader, of course. But the biggest obstacle was finding someone who he was not only comfortable being around, but could also trust with his life. Perhaps Jim could be that man? With the West Coast visitor in town, Syrnyk suggested they visit Unicity Mall.

December 23, 1999

The sight of two masked men running through the parking lot – one carrying a sawed-off shotgun – stopped several would-be customers in their tracks. It was 11:15 a.m., prompting some people to wonder if what they were witnessing could even be real. Yet it was real, and thankfully a few concerned witnesses promptly picked up their cellular phones and dialled 911. The call was becoming frighteningly familiar to Winnipeg police – an apparent robbery in progress. Once again, the combustible combination of guns and crowded shopping mall parking lots was a major worry as police sped towards the scene.

Syrnyk ran to the rear door of the Loomis truck while Jim tried grabbing a side door. The driver sat inside, staring straight ahead. His partner was inside the mall. Syrnyk decided not to confront the guard this time, figuring he’d make an easy snatch and grab from the back of the truck. He hadn’t counted on the doors being locked. But they were. Syrnyk admitted defeat on the spot. “Let’s go,” he screamed to Jim. The pair ran to a waiting van, which they’d left running for their getaway. Syrnyk drove away empty-handed.

The Loomis guard returned to the vehicle, joining his partner who was waiting inside. The employees slowly pulled away from the mall. To their surprise, Winnipeg police flooded the parking lot, waving them down. Witnesses were describing the aborted robbery attempt of their truck. The Loomis employees were shocked, having been completely oblivious to the entire debacle.

Syrnyk was furious with himself on so many levels. How could he have been so foolish? Any momentum he was carrying from the September robbery had been dashed in a heartbeat, the decision to bring in a partner and to try and pounce on the unsuspecting armoured car driver had failed miserably. Syrnyk decided to go back to his original game plan of working alone and being patient and prepared. He drowned his sorrows in a sea of alcohol and marijuana, and then planned his next move. He wasn’t going to wait very long.

******

Christmas Eve, 1999

Dale Lagimodiere had a nervous feeling as he came to work. Like everyone in his profession, the Loomis guard heard about the previous day’s attempted hold-up, and there were fears the frustrated bandit or bandits would try and strike again. Instead of a festive, holiday spirit, Lagimodiere and his two partners were on edge and just wanted to safely make it through their shift.

Just after noon, the men pulled into the parking lot of the Wal-Mart store on Kenaston Boulevard and McGillivray Road. The big box retailer had been raking in the cash during a lucrative Christmas shopping season, and Lagimodiere and a fellow guard were about to make a major cash pickup. Yet another cause for concern. Lagimodiere and his partner took an extra few seconds to check their surroundings before leaving the vehicle. Nothing unusual. After parking near the store, Lagimodiere got out alone for a closer look. It was his job to ensure the scene was safe for his partner. Lagimodiere gave the other the green light and the man joined him outside the vehicle. The third Loomis guard stayed behind the wheel. Lagimodiere and his partner walked inside, carrying an empty bag, and loaded several thousand dollars while standing in a protected “cash cage” in Wal-Mart. Once filled, the men prepared to leave. Their eyes nervously darted back and forth, searching the store for any sign of trouble. Nothing. Lagimodiere walked out the front doors first, with his partner close behind carrying the money bag. Lagimodiere was confident the scene was secure, telling his partner to continue walking. He stopped near a bicycle rack, guarding his partner while he got inside the truck with the cash. His partner shut the door and locked it. Lagimodiere began moving towards the passenger door. He was a few metres away when the Yuletide Bandit darted out from the corner of the store, heading straight for him and the truck.

Syrnyk knew he’d waited too long to pounce. He was trying to make up the lost time with a spirited run, but already had a sense of dread. Syrnyk went straight for the side door of the truck, the one he’d just watched get closed, and began pounding on it with his left hand. The other hand was holding a Glock pistol, pointing directly at the Loomis guard. “Open the fucking door!” Syrnyk shouted.

Lagimodiere was terrified, but knew any misstep could cost him his life. He raised his hands slowly in the air, away from his gun that was still in the holster around his waist. There had been no chance to pull it out. Lagimodiere’s eyes were trained on the masked gunman, who briefly turned away to concentrate on the locked door. Lagimodiere took these precious seconds to back away along the bicycle rack, hoping to take cover somewhere. With a more comfortable distance between them, Lagimodiere did the unthinkable. He pulled out his gun.

“Go fuck yourself,” Syrnyk screamed, the sight of the guard drawing his weapon sending a jolt through his body. “Put it down,” the man shouted back. The move triggered an instant reaction in Syrnyk. He squeezed the trigger. Syrnyk backed up, trying to take cover behind the truck. He fired another shot. The guard ducked down, behind the bike rack. Syrnyk heard another crack of gunfire, knowing this one hadn’t come from his gun. He was under siege. Syrnyk quickly fired two more shots in return.

Sixteen-year-old Jason, his young sister and their father had gone to the mall today to do some last-minute Christmas shopping for Mom. The family was just about to enter Wal-Mart when the robbery went down. The scene was surreal. The father tried to get his children out of harms way as they were standing in front of a vending machine directly behind where the Loomis guard had taken cover. “Turn around and run,” the man told his kids. Jason and his sister did as told, heading around the corner of the store. But the bullets started flying as they fled. Jason felt something hit his elbow, followed immediately by a tiny black object falling to the ground beside him. He assumed it was dirt or mud he’d kicked up while running.

Lagimodiere had a seemingly perfect view of the bandit, aiming his gun directly through one of the tires he was kneeling behind. He was aiming right for the man’s chest. He was shooting to kill. The robber seemed to stumble, and Lagimodiere at first thought he’d hit him. “Shots fired, shots fired!” the Loomis driver bellowed into his two-way radio. With his gun in one hand, he had called in to their dispatcher at the first sight of the bandit, telling them to call police immediately. The driver had remained inside the vehicle, per company policy, praying the police would arrive quickly.

Syrnyk felt the breeze as the bullet whizzed by his head, which was about the only part of his body not covered in armour. He hit the ground, rolling around and doing a crab crawl on the snow-packed pavement. Syrnyk didn’t hear any more shots, so he jumped up and began running, partially covered by the truck. He made an angled line towards the rear parking lot, where his getaway car was parked. He was empty-handed, again, but this was no longer about money. It was about survival.

With the bandit quickly moving out of sight, Lagimodiere’s partner got out of the truck and joined him. The driver stayed behind the wheel, providing important details to the dispatcher. The driver could see a crowd was quickly forming in the parking lot, which only increased the potential for more violence. He activated the public address system inside the Loomis truck. “Please, everyone, get back inside the store,” the driver announced in a commanding voice. Most people quickly complied, while a handful of gawkers stayed outside for a closer look at the chaos.

Lagimodiere’s partner wanted to pursue the robber, but Lagimodiere told him to stop and use his brain. They didn’t know what they might be getting into, and clearly the bandit wasn’t afraid to use his weapon. The guards saw a white car peel out of the parking lot moments later. As they walked back to their truck, Lagimodiere felt his right leg go numb. He looked down and saw a bullet hole in his pants. Then he saw the blood. He had been shot.

Police swarmed the scene, with some officers searching the parking lot and surrounding area and others heading directly to the guards and other witnesses. An ambulance was called for Lagimodiere, who showed officers the tear in his pants and the wound on his right calf. It didn’t look too serious, fortunately, but police wanted Lagimodiere to go to the hospital. Meanwhile, other officers tracked down the man and children who were caught in the crossfire. The family was still standing beside the store. Police noticed the teenaged boy, Jason, was shaking like a leaf. The young boy described the shooting, and the strange sensation of something hitting his elbow and a mysterious black object falling to the ground. Police immediately went for Jason’s jacket, removing it for a closer look. It didn’t take long for them to find the bullet hole in his sleeve.