It was nearing midnight on a cool Arizona night in February when I pulled my old drop-top Chrysler over to the side of the quiet Gilbert street. Jared and Alex stayed in the car while I shifted into park and popped open the door, screwdriver in hand. I moved to the back of the car, looking around the area to make sure we weren’t being watched, then dropped down to my haunches and detached the license plate, throwing it into the trunk.

    I hopped over the door and back into the driver’s seat,...