. . . he looked an awful lot like Rory Calhoun.

[image credit: Spokeo]
Seriously.
Eight or nine years ago, the under-the-radar gang met in Orange County to visit a watch dealer at the suggestion of one of our members, Mitch K. He'd never actually been inside, but knew of it as he lived fairly close by.
I'm pretty sure we met up for lunch first, then set off
en masse to Balboa Island, a district within Newport Beach in the harbor. The store was on a street dominated by retailers delving in luxury goods and services, and had an awning with their name (now forgotten).
We walked inside. There was no one to greet us.
And, even stranger, there were no watches in the display cases. None.
Odd isn't the word for it. We were all looking at each other, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
Eventually (and Mitch, if you're reading this, please fill in the gaps of my memory) the Rory Calhoun look-alike walked in. He seemed taken aback by the number (about eight or so) of customers in his establishment.
"What can I do for you gentlemen?"
There was a pause, and then one of us said something like, "Do you have any watches for sale?"
Another pause, and then a reply. "Yes, I do. What would you like to see?"
So I said, "Do you have any Speedmasters?"
"Hold on, I'll be back in a minute."
He went into the back of the store, and came out with a '94 white gold Apollo 11. On its white gold bracelet, no less. #10 of 500.
In a sealed zip-loc bag.

Well, now we knew he was an honest-to-gosh dealer in
something. So, we started asking.
"Patek?"
"Hold on, I'll see what I have."
He came back with four or five 5100s, all in plastic zip-loc bags.

As you can imagine, the pattern was repeated several times. We'd ask, and he'd go into the back of the store, returning with armloads of watches, all stored in plastic bags. (There was a fake Panerai in the mix, per one of our gang who was well versed in OP, but that was the exception to the rule.)
Then, the other shoe dropped. A pair of young girls entered the store, and "Rory" asked them to go into the back until he'd finished dealing with his customers. Obviously, there was something else going on; what, I'm not sure, but it might not have been strictly legal.

We left the store shaking our collective heads - it was that surreal.
Well, anyways, you asked . . . now you know. It was Rory's look-alike that started the practice.