There Ain't No Justice Number 005

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Skeptic Tank!

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* *-* *-* *-* *-* *-* TTTTTTTTTT AAAAAA NNNN N J *-* *-* T A A N N N J *-* *-* T AAAAAAAAAA N N N J *-* *-* T A A N N N J J *-* *-* T A A N NNNN JJJJJ *-* *-* *-* *-* There Ain't No Justice *-* *-* #05 *-* *-* *-* *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* *-* Phoenix Modernz Inc. 908/830-8265 *-* *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* -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... *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* *-* Phoenix Modernz Inc. TANSTAAFL BBS:908/830-TANJ *-* *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* *-* Modern Textfiles Inc. The Matrix BBS:908/905-6691 *-* *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* *-* The Lawless Society Inc. The Syndicate BBS:908/506-6651 *-* *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

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