Caught On Camera.
I really do apologise to everyone who keeps getting annoyed with my updates of this story, but this is here solely for linkage purposes of those who don't have LJ's :) I didn't want to send it out 100 times.
Caught On Camera
There’s a certain level of paranoia felt when standing at an ATM, withdrawing a grand from someone else’s account. There’s a certain skill to appearing calm, like you’re not going to collapse from the feel of adrenaline actually pumping through your veins. This is what I was doing ten minutes ago. Before I stole the car. My senses were heightened, noticing every intricate detail around me. Someone had scratched into the braille on the buttons with a key. In an alleyway, a mouse was nibbling a sandwich out of an unconscious homeless man’s hand. Sucker. There was a small boy being swamped by an army of pigeons, all because he fed one.
A grand, isn’t much, really. Pity it’s the withdrawal limit. It will cover a cheap computer so I can start stealing real amounts of money. I pondered over this as I got into a car, whose owner thought it protected with ‘the club’. I felt the hair from my hairline drop and pool above my brows. If I was planning to drive safely between here and the nearest store I was going to have to calm down.
On the freeway I didn’t notice the sky or the way the birds sang, or the way a cop had been following me for a minute, flashing his lights. It took the siren to grab my attention. The cop didn’t know the car was stolen. I was going to keep it that way. ‘Afternoon, sir noticed you took a little while to slow down.’
‘Freeway, bright day, glare, you know how it is.’ I rushed out in one breath. He merely nodded.
‘Can I see your licence please?’
‘My licence? Oh yes of course,’ I jittered.
‘You seem jumpy sir, is everything aright?’ he asked with insincere concern.
‘Yes, yes never better. Had… too much coffee.’ I was pleased with my efforts, given the situation. He took my licence, and scrutinised it for what seemed like an hour; waiting for me to flinch.
‘Could you tell me your address please, Sir?’
I didn’t stutter. It was my licence, I knew my address.
‘Well, your car seems to be in working order.’
‘If you don’t mind my asking, why was I pulled over?’ I said with a new wave of confidence.
‘Oh, it’s just a random licence test. Stats show a rise in people driving without licences.’
‘Oh.’
‘I’m going to check your boot, is that alright?’
‘Yes.’ There was no reason it wouldn’t be alright. He came back wearing a malicious smirk. ‘Are you aware there are thousands of tablets in there of what appears to be ecstasy?’
I’d been hit over the head with a hammer. Why didn’t I check the boot? I could have sold it. I didn’t answer, merely stared. I was going to be charged with possession of drugs I didn’t even get the chance to sell.
‘…n, no.’ I stuttered. I just had to pick a car that belonged to a drug dealer.
‘Sir, I’m going to have to take you in.’
‘But… It’s not mine.’ This was genuine surprise.
‘Well then, I think you might be right,’ he said through a smile, ‘because you’ve just been duped by the latest new…’ I didn’t hear the rest. I wanted to strangle him. ‘And you’re going to be on TV,’ was the last thing I heard. That resonated in my skull, boomed from one ear to the other, again and again.
‘No. No. You can’t put this on TV,’ I panicked.
‘Oh, we’re going to, this is priceless.’ He couldn’t contain his laughter.
‘You can’t put this on TV!’ I screamed and yanked his collar so he was at my eye level. The ‘cop’ shrugged me off, laughing and chewing on a sugared tablet; probably to spite me. Bastard.
Maybe the person who owned this car didn’t watch TV. Maybe they were too busy knitting. Yes, knitting. The car seemed to belong to someone elderly, judging by the scattered doilies and knitted seat covers. When I look back on it, it seemed ludicrous that this car could have contained thousands of dollars of ecstasy. But that’s not considered when you’ve been pulled over in a stolen car, with stolen cash in your wallet. I decided I was going to have to change my look. But first, I needed a computer.
I strolled in casually to the former warehouse where the computer swat meet was. I couldn’t see anything. I took my sunglasses off and realised there were no lights. These people looked as if they had never seen real sunlight; like they were born here. The first thing I noticed was the smell. It smelt like nerd. Nerd seemed to be an interesting mix of sweat, washing detergent and corn chips. I walked to the first person and bought the first computer I saw. He barely noticed our transaction; he was too involved in his discussion about Star Wars. This nerd was wearing eau de cabbage. If I had known it was this easy I would have stolen the computer. At least I hid mostly tens under the fifties. As I made my way to the door I was stopped by a group of people who looked like they belonged on the Lord Of The Rings set. They wanted to know if I would buy their junk or join them. I didn’t linger long enough to discover what that would involve.
Out of the door, I was still alive and relatively unscathed. While setting up the computer I rang around to find a company which would give me internet access the quickest, without requiring payment for the first month. I settled on one that claimed same day service. This obviously meant 9 o’clock the next morning. I groped around my floor for something decent to answer the door in; I didn’t wear a smile. ‘Hi, are you John Davidson?’ he asked cheerily. Haven’t used that alias in a while.
‘Mhmm.’ I replied flatly.
‘Well I’m here to install your brand new, $19.95 a month home internet pack-‘
‘Yea I know.’ He seemed young, still enthusiastic. I showed him he computer, not caring what he was going to do.
‘I’m going to have a shower; you don’t need me, do you?’
‘Not at all.’ Said with less cheerfulness this time. Good.
He was gone when I got back; I was pleased I didn’t have to deal with him again. He left his cap here. As I threw it out of the window of my fourth floor apartment I wondered if he’d be back for it. He can go search for it amongst the bottles of the recycling deposit next door. I opened all the major banks’ websites and ran my hacker program. Turned out their security was too tight for the basic program I’d whipped up last night. I tried some of smaller independent banks. Found open accounts on all of them; seemed the extra computer classes I endured during school were of some use. Once in, I had to manually create an account and transfer the money across. John Davidson had done alright for himself today. Lots of donations from friends he never knew he had. Considering I ran out of food yesterday, I thought it was time to eat. Obviously, not having a legitimate account, I was reliant on online shopping. I used John Davidson for all my groceries.
After my first delivery, I didn’t order ice cream again. While eating soggy pistachio ice cream, I thought I’d investigate products from internet schemes; with my aliases, I had nothing to lose. I ended up with a university degree, Viagra and an American citizenship certificate. I left the Russian Bride at the airport.
Soon, the building was swarming with deliveries and my apartment had boxes making the acquaintance of the roof. Residents were starting to get suspicious. It was time for me to change my image. I asked for a conservative haircut; more commonly seen on men ten years my senior. I bought conservative suits, to appear as if I’d made an honest living. I made sure I was cleanly shaven, despite the fact I rarely left the house. I wanted my hair to bear no resemblance to the layered mess it had once been. I wanted my clothes to look professional. I wanted to appear the stark opposite of the image that could potentially haunt me on TV.
I’d made half a million. I didn’t want to stop. I never stopped to think about the people I was affecting. Obviously none of the banks seemed to mind. I could have stopped, but I didn’t want to. The banks weren’t stopping me, there was no problem. I could have moved to another country with no questions asked as to how I’d attained my wealth. No aliases and no pretending to be decent. I could have retired a happy man.
Then it happened. I was opening boxes when four police came in. ‘Michael Hovers, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.’ I didn’t know they actually said that. If I hadn’t been going through my boxes of illegal purchases had I might have had the option to play dumb. Or pretended to be a visitor. Or jumped out the window.
They had worked out that someone was shifting money from various accounts. It was only a matter of time before they found out who. They traced everything I’d bought to my IP. They tracked that to this address. I was stupid. I never prepared for being caught. At the very least I should have used an internet café for purchases.
I’d never been in court before. I had no previous record, this was the first dealing with the police I’d had. The whole thing seemed surreal. Everyone around me seemed distant and distorted; an altered reality. The judge looked down at me with a sombre scowl. My lawyer didn’t help much, he knew I was guilty. He just tried to lighten my sentence. I pleaded guilty. The judge was only shocked at my lack of remorse. In retrospect, I should have put on an act for the court. I’ll never forget the sound of the gavel hitting the desk when I was charged with identity theft and fraud.
It took five years in jail for me to reflect on my actions. Leisure time in jail gives one the choice of keeping to yourself or picking a fight. I’m not a big guy, I don’t like violence; I took reflection and contemplation. I hated my time there, I’m no criminal, I’ve never been in a fight before. I was surrounded by murderers, people with no conscience. We weren’t permitted to watch much TV, but when we were it was generally something like Funniest Home Videos. Men in jail seem to have a particular sick liking for shows that make fun of people or show people getting hurt. By some horrible twist of fate I saw myself up there one night, when the ‘cop’ had caught me. I looked at the naivety on my face then, no inkling as to what would become of me. This was the funniest thing anyone had seen in years and I was never allowed to forget it.
Now, out of jail I’m on the dole. I’ve been told I should remain in jail because it’s less strain on the government. With my record I’m unemployable everywhere except canning factories. Having no hopes for the future crushed my spirit and the dole isn’t significantly less anyway.
Despite the lack of bigger picture in my life, I believe I can make a small difference. On Saturdays I make balloon animals for children. It will never compensate for what I did, but with my income it’s the best I can do. I have regulars who come to see me every week. I make the children happy and bring relieved smile to the parents’ faces. The parents can escape the trauma of shopping with their children by distracting them with a balloon. It puts a smile on my face to see a child run around with their new sword or giraffe. Some parents pity me and have offered money. I’ve never taken any. They have earned that, they shouldn’t pay me; they are unaware it brings me more happiness then it does the children. My record would never permit me to become a real clown, slowly I’m saving up enough to create a costume. The children don’t know my past; all they see is a smiling face with a balloon.
Caught On Camera
There’s a certain level of paranoia felt when standing at an ATM, withdrawing a grand from someone else’s account. There’s a certain skill to appearing calm, like you’re not going to collapse from the feel of adrenaline actually pumping through your veins. This is what I was doing ten minutes ago. Before I stole the car. My senses were heightened, noticing every intricate detail around me. Someone had scratched into the braille on the buttons with a key. In an alleyway, a mouse was nibbling a sandwich out of an unconscious homeless man’s hand. Sucker. There was a small boy being swamped by an army of pigeons, all because he fed one.
A grand, isn’t much, really. Pity it’s the withdrawal limit. It will cover a cheap computer so I can start stealing real amounts of money. I pondered over this as I got into a car, whose owner thought it protected with ‘the club’. I felt the hair from my hairline drop and pool above my brows. If I was planning to drive safely between here and the nearest store I was going to have to calm down.
On the freeway I didn’t notice the sky or the way the birds sang, or the way a cop had been following me for a minute, flashing his lights. It took the siren to grab my attention. The cop didn’t know the car was stolen. I was going to keep it that way. ‘Afternoon, sir noticed you took a little while to slow down.’
‘Freeway, bright day, glare, you know how it is.’ I rushed out in one breath. He merely nodded.
‘Can I see your licence please?’
‘My licence? Oh yes of course,’ I jittered.
‘You seem jumpy sir, is everything aright?’ he asked with insincere concern.
‘Yes, yes never better. Had… too much coffee.’ I was pleased with my efforts, given the situation. He took my licence, and scrutinised it for what seemed like an hour; waiting for me to flinch.
‘Could you tell me your address please, Sir?’
I didn’t stutter. It was my licence, I knew my address.
‘Well, your car seems to be in working order.’
‘If you don’t mind my asking, why was I pulled over?’ I said with a new wave of confidence.
‘Oh, it’s just a random licence test. Stats show a rise in people driving without licences.’
‘Oh.’
‘I’m going to check your boot, is that alright?’
‘Yes.’ There was no reason it wouldn’t be alright. He came back wearing a malicious smirk. ‘Are you aware there are thousands of tablets in there of what appears to be ecstasy?’
I’d been hit over the head with a hammer. Why didn’t I check the boot? I could have sold it. I didn’t answer, merely stared. I was going to be charged with possession of drugs I didn’t even get the chance to sell.
‘…n, no.’ I stuttered. I just had to pick a car that belonged to a drug dealer.
‘Sir, I’m going to have to take you in.’
‘But… It’s not mine.’ This was genuine surprise.
‘Well then, I think you might be right,’ he said through a smile, ‘because you’ve just been duped by the latest new…’ I didn’t hear the rest. I wanted to strangle him. ‘And you’re going to be on TV,’ was the last thing I heard. That resonated in my skull, boomed from one ear to the other, again and again.
‘No. No. You can’t put this on TV,’ I panicked.
‘Oh, we’re going to, this is priceless.’ He couldn’t contain his laughter.
‘You can’t put this on TV!’ I screamed and yanked his collar so he was at my eye level. The ‘cop’ shrugged me off, laughing and chewing on a sugared tablet; probably to spite me. Bastard.
Maybe the person who owned this car didn’t watch TV. Maybe they were too busy knitting. Yes, knitting. The car seemed to belong to someone elderly, judging by the scattered doilies and knitted seat covers. When I look back on it, it seemed ludicrous that this car could have contained thousands of dollars of ecstasy. But that’s not considered when you’ve been pulled over in a stolen car, with stolen cash in your wallet. I decided I was going to have to change my look. But first, I needed a computer.
I strolled in casually to the former warehouse where the computer swat meet was. I couldn’t see anything. I took my sunglasses off and realised there were no lights. These people looked as if they had never seen real sunlight; like they were born here. The first thing I noticed was the smell. It smelt like nerd. Nerd seemed to be an interesting mix of sweat, washing detergent and corn chips. I walked to the first person and bought the first computer I saw. He barely noticed our transaction; he was too involved in his discussion about Star Wars. This nerd was wearing eau de cabbage. If I had known it was this easy I would have stolen the computer. At least I hid mostly tens under the fifties. As I made my way to the door I was stopped by a group of people who looked like they belonged on the Lord Of The Rings set. They wanted to know if I would buy their junk or join them. I didn’t linger long enough to discover what that would involve.
Out of the door, I was still alive and relatively unscathed. While setting up the computer I rang around to find a company which would give me internet access the quickest, without requiring payment for the first month. I settled on one that claimed same day service. This obviously meant 9 o’clock the next morning. I groped around my floor for something decent to answer the door in; I didn’t wear a smile. ‘Hi, are you John Davidson?’ he asked cheerily. Haven’t used that alias in a while.
‘Mhmm.’ I replied flatly.
‘Well I’m here to install your brand new, $19.95 a month home internet pack-‘
‘Yea I know.’ He seemed young, still enthusiastic. I showed him he computer, not caring what he was going to do.
‘I’m going to have a shower; you don’t need me, do you?’
‘Not at all.’ Said with less cheerfulness this time. Good.
He was gone when I got back; I was pleased I didn’t have to deal with him again. He left his cap here. As I threw it out of the window of my fourth floor apartment I wondered if he’d be back for it. He can go search for it amongst the bottles of the recycling deposit next door. I opened all the major banks’ websites and ran my hacker program. Turned out their security was too tight for the basic program I’d whipped up last night. I tried some of smaller independent banks. Found open accounts on all of them; seemed the extra computer classes I endured during school were of some use. Once in, I had to manually create an account and transfer the money across. John Davidson had done alright for himself today. Lots of donations from friends he never knew he had. Considering I ran out of food yesterday, I thought it was time to eat. Obviously, not having a legitimate account, I was reliant on online shopping. I used John Davidson for all my groceries.
After my first delivery, I didn’t order ice cream again. While eating soggy pistachio ice cream, I thought I’d investigate products from internet schemes; with my aliases, I had nothing to lose. I ended up with a university degree, Viagra and an American citizenship certificate. I left the Russian Bride at the airport.
Soon, the building was swarming with deliveries and my apartment had boxes making the acquaintance of the roof. Residents were starting to get suspicious. It was time for me to change my image. I asked for a conservative haircut; more commonly seen on men ten years my senior. I bought conservative suits, to appear as if I’d made an honest living. I made sure I was cleanly shaven, despite the fact I rarely left the house. I wanted my hair to bear no resemblance to the layered mess it had once been. I wanted my clothes to look professional. I wanted to appear the stark opposite of the image that could potentially haunt me on TV.
I’d made half a million. I didn’t want to stop. I never stopped to think about the people I was affecting. Obviously none of the banks seemed to mind. I could have stopped, but I didn’t want to. The banks weren’t stopping me, there was no problem. I could have moved to another country with no questions asked as to how I’d attained my wealth. No aliases and no pretending to be decent. I could have retired a happy man.
Then it happened. I was opening boxes when four police came in. ‘Michael Hovers, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.’ I didn’t know they actually said that. If I hadn’t been going through my boxes of illegal purchases had I might have had the option to play dumb. Or pretended to be a visitor. Or jumped out the window.
They had worked out that someone was shifting money from various accounts. It was only a matter of time before they found out who. They traced everything I’d bought to my IP. They tracked that to this address. I was stupid. I never prepared for being caught. At the very least I should have used an internet café for purchases.
I’d never been in court before. I had no previous record, this was the first dealing with the police I’d had. The whole thing seemed surreal. Everyone around me seemed distant and distorted; an altered reality. The judge looked down at me with a sombre scowl. My lawyer didn’t help much, he knew I was guilty. He just tried to lighten my sentence. I pleaded guilty. The judge was only shocked at my lack of remorse. In retrospect, I should have put on an act for the court. I’ll never forget the sound of the gavel hitting the desk when I was charged with identity theft and fraud.
It took five years in jail for me to reflect on my actions. Leisure time in jail gives one the choice of keeping to yourself or picking a fight. I’m not a big guy, I don’t like violence; I took reflection and contemplation. I hated my time there, I’m no criminal, I’ve never been in a fight before. I was surrounded by murderers, people with no conscience. We weren’t permitted to watch much TV, but when we were it was generally something like Funniest Home Videos. Men in jail seem to have a particular sick liking for shows that make fun of people or show people getting hurt. By some horrible twist of fate I saw myself up there one night, when the ‘cop’ had caught me. I looked at the naivety on my face then, no inkling as to what would become of me. This was the funniest thing anyone had seen in years and I was never allowed to forget it.
Now, out of jail I’m on the dole. I’ve been told I should remain in jail because it’s less strain on the government. With my record I’m unemployable everywhere except canning factories. Having no hopes for the future crushed my spirit and the dole isn’t significantly less anyway.
Despite the lack of bigger picture in my life, I believe I can make a small difference. On Saturdays I make balloon animals for children. It will never compensate for what I did, but with my income it’s the best I can do. I have regulars who come to see me every week. I make the children happy and bring relieved smile to the parents’ faces. The parents can escape the trauma of shopping with their children by distracting them with a balloon. It puts a smile on my face to see a child run around with their new sword or giraffe. Some parents pity me and have offered money. I’ve never taken any. They have earned that, they shouldn’t pay me; they are unaware it brings me more happiness then it does the children. My record would never permit me to become a real clown, slowly I’m saving up enough to create a costume. The children don’t know my past; all they see is a smiling face with a balloon.