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There Aint No Justice 005
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*-* There Ain't No Justice *-*
*-* #05 *-*
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*-* Phoenix Modernz Inc. 908/830-8265 *-*
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-A Night in the Life-
- A Work of Fiction by Tal Meta-
Phreaking isn't what it used to be.
His name was Mike Lewis. His profession...well,lets say he lived off the public
trust. In both his private,and his public life. Once upon a time,he had been
a computer programmer. Not the worlds best,but a decent hack. And its that last
that was his doom. When hard times came, the first to go was the short, wiry
guy they'd just hired. Times were hard...weeks went by and still no job.
Finally, he stopped looking.
He thought to himself,as he shimmied up the drainpipe of the El Esplannade,
how much phreaking had changed since he had gotten started in this hobby.
When he was young, a good knowlege of electronics,(or a friend who had some)
could build a blue box,and you could call Brazil and nobody got charged.
Then the fone cops got smart,and they installed ESS, and the days of boxing
slowly choked and died. Then came the codes...millions of codes. 800's, 950's,
PBX's, you name it. He'd done them all. But the fone cops kept getting smarter,
and the hacks and the phreaks kept getting scarcer.
Not him,though. 15 years of phelonious fone calls. It was an art...his own
personal edge. The only box that ESS hadn't killed was the beige,and he had the
best beige box in town. As he heaved himself up over the third story ledge and
into the hotel's stairwell,he heaved a sigh. He checked his knapsack...it was
jumble of coiled wires, phone jacks, various bits and pieces of things he hoped
he'd never have to use, and a collection of floppy disks.
And his notebook...notebook computer,that is.
It was an Ultra...386DX with an internal 80 meg HD. He'd picked up a 9600 baud
modem for before his last job crapped out. Tonight was a simple run...he needed
a CBI account,and the best way to get one of those (in a hurry,anyway) was from
Ghola....and right about now,Ghola would be on QSD.
Once in the stairwell,the trip up to the roof was easy. While they locked the
door to the street, and had a camera watching the first floor landing, climbing
in the third floor left him completely safe from undesired observation. Once
on the roof,he quickly located the NJB phone box and set to work locating
an unused line.
He'd been online a half hour or so,waiting for his contact to show,when
flashing lights from below caught his attention. Quickly, quietly, he gathered
his kit together and ran to the edge of the roof. Two cars. that meant 4 cops,
all somewhere in the building. The stairs were definitely out. Never one to be
caught unprepared, he pulled a collapsable grapple out of his knapsack. He
hooked it to the edge of the roof,let out about 8 feet of line, and jumped off
the edge.
His heart skipped a beat as the line snapped taut and swug him in to the
walkway on the south side of the hotel. Safe for the moment,he listened at
the stairwell doors to check the progress of his pursuers. He heard the crackle
of a radio on the floor above him,so he took a shot and ducked down the stairs
to the second floor.
Once on the second,he decided that there was probably a cop in the foyer of the
hotel, guessing that they'd leave one there just in case he somehow got behind
them. At least,thats what he'd have done if it were his team. So he listened at
the stairwell again. A sharp crash was shortly followed by curses,as they
realized that he had left the roof. Ducking into a closet, he pulled off his
knapsack and pulled out his notebook. Getting out from here would require a bit
of finesse.
Fishing a large ziplock bag out of his knapsack,he gently slipped the notebook
inside,and let himself off the second story ledge. He then slipped silently
into the pool,hugging the wall to escape detection. After 20 minutes or so,
they grew tired of searching the grounds for him,and went back to the local
Dunkin Donuts.He waited a few minutes more,then proceeded to make his way to
the beach,where he walked along the surf on his way back to his car.
Upon reaching home,he decided that after using Mayor Nestle's private phone
to prankdial the president's line, Oceanside Hts was no longer a safe place
from which to practice his trade. He'd just have to try that new development
they were building over in Williamsbrook.He thought for a moment about calling
his friend Conrad,but it was late,and the feds were probably tapping Conrad's
line again...
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