Law/Justice

Confessions of a bank robber: Ex-con reflects on heists and life

By New York Post

Sean takes a quick hit of crack and a snort of heroin, a mixture that will make him feel invincible, like he’s got all the power in the world, but it won’t last long. He’s about to rob a bank on Jamaica Avenue in Woodhaven and he estimates he has about two minutes to get in and out before the cops arrive. Outside a taxi is waiting for him, but since he has no money to pay for it, he’s hoping that it won’t leave before he gets back outside.

He goes in, straight to the teller. “Give me the f–king money!”

He points his 12-gauge shotgun to the bulletproof glass and shoves his .38 in the tray, his bloodshot eyes bulging out of his head. The teller looks scared but says nothing and starts to pack up the cash quickly. Sean grabs it and rushes to the door, looking for police. It’s all quiet.

It’s 1997, he’s 31 years old and he’s just made $6,000.

Juvenile delinquent

Sean Martin Dalton was born in 1966 into an Irish-Catholic working-class family in Woodhaven, Queens. The second of five children, his father, Maurice, was an FDNY firefighter and his mother, Noreen, a stay-at-home mom from Belfast, Ireland. He says he was always intrigued by money and from a young age he realized that “money brought happiness. At first, it’s candy from the corner store. Then it’s movies, clothes, girls.”

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