| Grease bandits strike as biofuel demand 
    rises  As the price of this waste product and 
    biodiesel ingredient has risen, so have thefts.By Ben Arnoldy | Staff writer of The Christian Science 
      Monitorfrom the May 6, 2008 edition San Jose, Calif. - Mark Rosenzweig watched with suspicion as a tanker 
    truck sidled up to a local Burger King's grease bin last month. The driver 
    plunged a hose into the 300-gallon tub of used French-fry grease and slurped 
    it into his tank.
 Mr. Rosenzweig called the police, patiently citing legal codes to convince 
    them that, yes, grease theft is a crime. He should know. As a legitimate 
    grease collector, he has his livelihood stolen four to five times a month 
    these days.
 
 In March, grease bandits in South Bend, Ind., broke bin locks to get to 
    their oozy booty. One collector, Griffin Industries Inc., has two detectives 
    working cases in Kentucky, Texas, Florida, Missouri, and against an entire 
    grease gang in northern Arkansas.
 
 Grease is a traded commodity like gold or pork bellies, and its price has 
    tripled in the past two years – leading to increased theft. The reason: 
    Grease can be used to make bio-diesel and has seen the same price spike as 
    corn and other biofuel inputs.
 
 "We monitor grease theft on a regular basis. Right now it's a big issue," 
    says Christopher Griffin, director of legal affairs for Griffin Industries 
    Inc. in Cold Spring, Ky. The company collects raw grease in 20 states and 
    boils and filters it into "yellow grease," which is what is used to make 
    biodiesel.
 
 Yellow grease is becoming liquid gold. It now trades on US commodities 
    markets for 32 cents per pound, up from a low of 12 cents in 2006, according 
    to data from The Jacobsen website.
 
 "People who were not in the industry in 2006 are seeing this is a 
    moneymaker," says Mr. Griffin. The trouble for these grease greenhorns, he 
    says, is that there's no free grease anymore – it's all under contract. "So 
    those people, if they can't get the volume of grease they want, then they 
    will just steal it."
 
 Rosenzweig's call brought five policemen, who arrested the alleged thief, 
    David Richardson. He did not have a California permit to collect or haul 
    grease. Reports say his 4,000-gallon tank was half full and he planned to 
    sell it for $1.35 a gallon, meaning he stood to make roughly several 
    thousand dollars.
 
 When grease was much cheaper, restaurants here and around the country would 
    often have to pay to have the grease removed from outdoor bins. Now that 
    yellow grease fetches a good price, Rosenzweig doesn't charge his clients – 
    some services even pay the restaurant. There's strong competition for 
    contracts.
 
 "Everybody gets a kick out of it, thinks it's funny – 'Oh, how weird that 
    somebody would steal it'. But it's a serious crime, and it hurts all of the 
    reputable guys," says Rosenzweig. He estimates he can lose a couple hundred 
    dollars for every full container. "You lose enough of those every week, or 
    every month, and it starts to hurt."
 
 Just who owns the grease can be a slippery legal question, according to 
    Houston attorney Jon Jaworski. He's defended clients in more than 150 grease 
    cases and refers to himself as "the grease lawyer."
 For years, grease was put out in barrels next to the trash and picked up 
    by verbal agreement. After a court ruling found that arrangement to be a 
    free-for-all, he says, collectors drew up written contracts and provided 
    branded bins. Collection companies say that once the grease hits the 
    container, it's theirs.
 "It's really a question mark to me," says Mr. Jaworski. "Do they own the 
    grease because it's put in the container, or do they own the grease at the 
    end of the month when they pay the restaurant?"
 
 He's defended several dozen cases in court and lost only one, he says. He 
    started making clients promise to clean up before coming to his office after 
    one visitor tracked dark footprints on his carpet and stained a chair. The 
    smell didn't leave until three weeks and a fumigation later.
 
 "Juries are amazed by the time and effort put in to try to convict people 
    for stealing stuff that is rancid," Jaworski says.
 
 Larry Findley, a former San Antonio policeman, has spent 17 years pursuing 
    poachers for Griffin. He says they run the gamut from poor immigrants who 
    are given a pickup, some barrels, and a bucket by a middleman, to organized 
    rings with their own tanker trucks.
 
 And now, there's also well-meaning people taking grease to make biodiesel at 
    home. Christopher Griffin of Griffin Industries notes that media love to 
    highlight the local environmentalist who makes bio-fuel. One such report 
    showed a professor getting grease from a Griffin-marked bin.
 
 "You've got people who never considered being a thief out there taking 
    grease thinking it's OK. So now it's really spiking," says Mr. Findley.
 
 Stopping hard-core grease grabbers is tricky, because they usually strike at 
    night. Findley and his colleague, a retired Texas Ranger, use police 
    surveillance techniques. They've even persuaded a thief to wear a hidden mic 
    to nail his buyer.
 
 The detective duo has put two thieves into the penitentiary. More common are 
    fines of $500 to $1000 and a few days in jail. A third conviction can draw 
    sentences of nine months to a year.
 
 Word spreads quickly as far as 500 miles away after any crackdown. But 
    rather than stop, the thieves often just take from different companies or go 
    to different states.
 
 "Once they get into it, it's really hard to turn them," says Findley, who 
    notes he sometimes deals with third-generation grease thieves. "It's almost 
    embarrassing as someone in law enforcement to say that the best you can 
    almost hope for is to move them."
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