The Long Arm of the Law Shutdown Toy Theft

On a sleepy Monday in mid-August, the quiet hum of Northeast Salem was shattered by the sound of a half-million-dollar racket unraveling. Salvador “Sal” Barraza, a 48-year-old man with a penchant for the fast buck, found himself at the epicenter of a retail theft operation that would make even the most jaded petty criminal blush. When the Marion County Sheriff’s Office descended on his Salem home, what they uncovered was not just a stash of stolen goods, but a meticulously crafted empire of pilfered CDs, games, and toys.

Barraza, it turns out, wasn’t just your run-of-the-mill thief. He was a purveyor of other people’s hard-earned goods, a maestro of the five-finger discount. His operation, which spanned months, finally crumbled when authorities, armed with a search warrant, unearthed over 10,000 items neatly stashed away in his home and shop on Northeast Evergreen Avenue. The items, lifted from big-box retailers like Target and Walmart, were stacked with the precision of a museum exhibit, albeit one curated by kleptomaniacs.

The Sheriff’s Office, with Sgt. Jeremy Schwab as its mouthpiece, called this the largest organized retail theft case in the office’s history. And while the public was left gasping at the audacity of it all, the investigation, which began quietly in February, had been quietly stewing for months. A senior detective—who preferred to remain in the shadows—patiently pieced together the details that would lead to Barraza’s downfall.

Retail theft, Schwab noted, isn’t just a nuisance; it’s a drain on the wallets of everyday citizens who end up footing the bill. Meanwhile, Barraza, who had recently formed a seemingly innocent company called Toyologist LLC, was living a double life. On paper, he was an entrepreneur engaged in the “ecommerce of reusable items.” In reality, he was the go-to guy for thieves looking to unload hot merchandise at bargain prices.

An affidavit unsealed the intricate dance between Barraza and his network of shoplifters, revealing how he paid them a fraction of the retail value before reselling the goods online. The thieves, who affectionately dubbed him “Sal Money,” knew they could count on him to turn their stolen goods into quick cash. Barraza’s markup was modest but lucrative enough—selling a Taylor Swift album for $31.73 while it retailed for $39.99 at Target. He even had a blacklist: no Adele, no Disney, and definitely no small records.

The operation was as polished as any legitimate business, with Barraza communicating with his suppliers via text, specifying exactly what he wanted—“All vinyl, metal, hip hop, pop, reggae, and movie soundtracks. No Adele or Disney wish vinyl.” Meanwhile, his eBay account, Toyologist, hummed along with 814 listings in just 100 days, showcasing Legos, DVDs, and more, all marked as “new” or “sealed.”

The jig was up when eBay handed over records showing Toyologist’s sales topping $211,000 in less than a year. The stolen goods ranged from DVDs to cake decorating tips, with a good number still proudly displaying their “Target Exclusive” and “Walmart Exclusive” stickers. When thieves would deliver their loot, Barraza would promptly send them payments via an online system. It was all going so smoothly—until it wasn’t.

In one brazen instance, a thief absconded with $862 worth of vinyl from Target. Less than an hour later, the same thief was seen leaving Barraza’s house, and within minutes, Barraza sent $145 to the thief’s account. The affidavit paints Barraza as an equal-opportunity buyer, willing to take anything shiny and new off a thief’s hands. From July 2023 to August, he shelled out nearly $100,000 to more than a dozen people, reaping over $323,000 in profits.

When the law finally caught up with him, Barraza confessed to giving in to greed. What followed was a dismantling of his empire, two large trailers filled to the brim with stolen goods, now evidence in the case against him. The Sheriff’s Office, in conjunction with the state Justice Department, will eventually try to return the items to their rightful owners, assuming they can be identified.

Retail theft has become an escalating problem, and Barraza’s case is just one in a growing list. Just last month, Springfield police rounded up two men trafficking in stolen Lego sets, with a stash worth $200,000. It’s a grim reminder that in the world of retail theft, one man’s treasure is another man’s ticket to a quick buck.

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