102 lines
6.4 KiB
Plaintext
102 lines
6.4 KiB
Plaintext
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*-* *-*
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*-* *-*
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*-* TTTTTTTTTT AAAAAA NNNN N J *-*
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*-* T A A N N N J *-*
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*-* T AAAAAAAAAA N N N J *-*
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*-* T A A N N N J J *-*
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*-* T A A N NNNN JJJJJ *-*
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*-* *-*
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*-* There Ain't No Justice *-*
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*-* #05 *-*
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*-* *-*
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*-* Phoenix Modernz Inc. 908/830-8265 *-*
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-A Night in the Life-
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- A Work of Fiction by Tal Meta-
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Phreaking isn't what it used to be.
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His name was Mike Lewis. His profession...well,lets say he lived off the public
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trust. In both his private,and his public life. Once upon a time,he had been
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a computer programmer. Not the worlds best,but a decent hack. And its that last
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that was his doom. When hard times came, the first to go was the short, wiry
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guy they'd just hired. Times were hard...weeks went by and still no job.
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Finally, he stopped looking.
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He thought to himself,as he shimmied up the drainpipe of the El Esplannade,
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how much phreaking had changed since he had gotten started in this hobby.
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When he was young, a good knowlege of electronics,(or a friend who had some)
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could build a blue box,and you could call Brazil and nobody got charged.
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Then the fone cops got smart,and they installed ESS, and the days of boxing
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slowly choked and died. Then came the codes...millions of codes. 800's, 950's,
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PBX's, you name it. He'd done them all. But the fone cops kept getting smarter,
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and the hacks and the phreaks kept getting scarcer.
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Not him,though. 15 years of phelonious fone calls. It was an art...his own
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personal edge. The only box that ESS hadn't killed was the beige,and he had the
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best beige box in town. As he heaved himself up over the third story ledge and
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into the hotel's stairwell,he heaved a sigh. He checked his knapsack...it was
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jumble of coiled wires, phone jacks, various bits and pieces of things he hoped
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he'd never have to use, and a collection of floppy disks.
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And his notebook...notebook computer,that is.
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It was an Ultra...386DX with an internal 80 meg HD. He'd picked up a 9600 baud
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modem for before his last job crapped out. Tonight was a simple run...he needed
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a CBI account,and the best way to get one of those (in a hurry,anyway) was from
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Ghola....and right about now,Ghola would be on QSD.
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Once in the stairwell,the trip up to the roof was easy. While they locked the
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door to the street, and had a camera watching the first floor landing, climbing
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in the third floor left him completely safe from undesired observation. Once
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on the roof,he quickly located the NJB phone box and set to work locating
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an unused line.
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He'd been online a half hour or so,waiting for his contact to show,when
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flashing lights from below caught his attention. Quickly, quietly, he gathered
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his kit together and ran to the edge of the roof. Two cars. that meant 4 cops,
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all somewhere in the building. The stairs were definitely out. Never one to be
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caught unprepared, he pulled a collapsable grapple out of his knapsack. He
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hooked it to the edge of the roof,let out about 8 feet of line, and jumped off
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the edge.
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His heart skipped a beat as the line snapped taut and swug him in to the
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walkway on the south side of the hotel. Safe for the moment,he listened at
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the stairwell doors to check the progress of his pursuers. He heard the crackle
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of a radio on the floor above him,so he took a shot and ducked down the stairs
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to the second floor.
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Once on the second,he decided that there was probably a cop in the foyer of the
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hotel, guessing that they'd leave one there just in case he somehow got behind
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them. At least,thats what he'd have done if it were his team. So he listened at
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the stairwell again. A sharp crash was shortly followed by curses,as they
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realized that he had left the roof. Ducking into a closet, he pulled off his
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knapsack and pulled out his notebook. Getting out from here would require a bit
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of finesse.
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Fishing a large ziplock bag out of his knapsack,he gently slipped the notebook
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inside,and let himself off the second story ledge. He then slipped silently
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into the pool,hugging the wall to escape detection. After 20 minutes or so,
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they grew tired of searching the grounds for him,and went back to the local
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Dunkin Donuts.He waited a few minutes more,then proceeded to make his way to
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the beach,where he walked along the surf on his way back to his car.
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Upon reaching home,he decided that after using Mayor Nestle's private phone
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to prankdial the president's line, Oceanside Hts was no longer a safe place
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from which to practice his trade. He'd just have to try that new development
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they were building over in Williamsbrook.He thought for a moment about calling
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his friend Conrad,but it was late,and the feds were probably tapping Conrad's
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line again...
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*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
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*-* Phoenix Modernz Inc. TANSTAAFL BBS:908/830-TANJ *-*
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*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
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*-* Modern Textfiles Inc. The Matrix BBS:908/905-6691 *-*
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*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
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*-* The Lawless Society Inc. The Syndicate BBS:908/506-6651 *-*
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