| Writing.... 2005-03-08 22:53:40 ET |
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Currently writing up 3 articles for PoR:
CPN/CID Spoofing Without Asterisk (I'll also explain the difference between CPN and CID)
Red Boxing Isn't Dead, You Motherfuckers!: A Guide to Redboxing For All of Those Who Claimed That Red Boxing Was Dead Back In '92, '96, '98, 2000, and 2005.
Marxist Phreaking: An Explanation of the Old Class Based Tandem and End Office Systems.
EDIT: I'll make the explanation of the difference between CPN and CID into a separate article thus giving PoR issue #4 four whole articles by me. Along with Sci's article that will make 5 articles in all, plus whatever everybody else can squeeze out.
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| OMG MATRIX SINUS HAX! 2005-02-28 08:32:11 ET |
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This is your last chance. After this, there is no turning back. You take the NyQuil - You get drowsy, the story ends, you wake up in your bed and your sinuses are gone. You take the DayQuil - you stay non-drowsy and I show you how deep the sinuses go.
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| CS: Source 2005-02-17 09:50:42 ET |
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Well, I'm going to play CounterStrike now.
If you want to play with me then find a server running the level cs_office.You know that you found the right one if you see "Pistols I-baLL" in the player listing.
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| A work in progress.... (Comment as you see fit, but please comment. I love getting feedback on my wo 2005-02-16 23:40:55 ET |
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The day started out like any other. Dick Private awoke in his chair, his head leaned back, his legs on his desk, his grey fedora over hs face. The day before today was a blur with only fragmentary flashes of recognition. He remembered something about getting bored form a lack of work, a few calls placed for a better job and something about a half gallon jug of whiskey. Ah, yes, the now half empty jug of whiskey. How long was he out for? The flip clock on his desk flicked to 12:00pm. Has it really been that long? Was he really asleep for 18 hours? In his office? In his clothes?
The phone rang. Dick Private quickly leaned forward and answered the phone. It was an old black Bakelite phone with a rotary dial. The numbers in the dial were a scratched black upon a white background. Dick Private studied them closely, in boredom, as he answered the phone. The voice on the other end was feminine. A woman! A client? On a Saturday noon?
"Mr. Private?" she said in a sultry Judy Garland-type tone.
"This is him here. What are you calling about?"
There was a relaxing sigh on the other end.
"I've tried to reach you for the past 4 hours. I have a job for you. You've been recommended to me by a former client of yours. Franky Mallone?"
Ah, yes. Frank Mallone. His wife, a socialite who had recently inherited money from her father, fled town in the midst of a divorce settlement. The couple didn't sign a pre-nup when they married and so when the relationship soured Franky decided to take from his wife what he felt was rightfully his. Half her inheritance. His wife, or ex-wife now, fled the town in the night, taking pretty much all of the couple's financial information with her. Dick Private tracked her down by following a list of phone calls that the wife had made from her cellular phone right before she fled. He and Franky, allong with Franky's lawyer, discovered her in some half-decrepid mansion in an older part of suburbia. The mansion was kept up by an aging butler who had once worked for her father. The documents were found in some brown bureau along with incriminating photos of her with the caretaker of the house. Franky's wife had a change of heart and signed the divorce papers in order to prevent the embarassing photos from coming out and destroying her social life, or, at least, what was left of it. Is it still blackmail if they owe you the money anyway?
"Ah, yes. Good old Franky. What'd he tell you about me?"
"All good things, I assure you. May I talk with you in a more private setting? Like in your office, for example, instead of over the phone?"
"I don't see why not. I don't accept many cases over the phone."
There was a small pause on the line. Then the woman spoke again.
"Does your building have an elevator leading to it?"
"Uhm, yes, yes it does. It was just repaired actually."
The woman breathed another sigh of relief.
"I'll be right over then" she said and hung up the phone. Dick Private stood up, hid the whiskey jug inside a file cabinet behind some files. He then wiped his desk, opened the shutters to let the sun in and did his morning stretches.
The door buzzer rang and Dick Private unlocked the door.The woman with whom he had just talked on the phone rolled into the room on a mechanical wheelchair. She was a blonde with light eyes, flat lips, fair skin, wearing a blouse, a sweater and a skirt that covered the part of her body where her legs should've been. She rolled forward to Dick Private's desk and spoke up:
"Come on, Mr. Private. I'm a busy woman and don't have all day to wait."
Dick Private walked back to his chair and sat down.
"Well, Mis - "
"Connely."
"Well, Miss Connely. What can I do for you?"
The Bakelite phone rang again.
Dick Private excused himself and answered it. The voice on the line came through sounding tired and weak. It was Franky Mallone.
"Is she in your office?" he asked in a strange coughing manner.
"Who?"
"That bitch who", a series of coughs, sounds of something wet hitting the reciever, "The bitch who shot me. Fucking Connely." A few gasps for oxygen. Another series of coughs.
"Yeah. Are you okay?"
"I won't be able to talk for long" some shuffling noises. Then a sound of a fall. "She's there to kill you. She fucking killed me." The voice grew weaker. "The butler. Her old man....He sent her."
Then the handset on the other end fropped down. Dick Private could hear a soft moaning groan slowly die out into silence. He noticed himself beginning to sweat. Felt his face get warm. Redden.
"Miss Connely, can I offer you a drink?"
Connely thought it over. "What do you have?"
"Just whiskey."
"Yes, I think I'l take it then."
Dick Private got up and walked over to the file drawer. As he was opening it he decided to bide for time.
"So, how do you know Franky Mallone?"
"We were lovers."
"But...your condition..."
"Back then I had both of my legs. I was the reason he had decided to leave his wife."
"Oh?" This was a new angle on the Franky Mallone affair. Dick Private knew that the Mallone relationship had gone bad but he never got to the bottom of the cause. That was not a question that came up during the Mallone case. He didn't need to know to do the job and frankly he didn't care. But now, since the phone call from the dying man, he realized that he might've been playing a part in a bigger picture and he decided to try and see what that big picture was.
"We fell in love during a vacation cruise 2 smmers ago. Frankyt was there with his wife but she became sick. She wasn;t a creature of the sea, you see, and stayed most of the time in their cabin. Franky, on the other hand, decided to enjoy the trip and I became the target of his affections. He spent quite a few nights in my room on the ship. We became quite close and that's when he had decided to leave his wife. That poor Mary."
Dick Private kept a close eye on Miss Connely. As she spoke she started looking around the room and, when her eyes were off him, he slipped a handgun into his waistband and covered it up wth his jacket. The gun was an old H&K .32 s&w long. A standard police issue and a gift from an old friend. When Miss Connely's eyes were back on him he took out the whiskey jug along with a glass, walked over to the table, and poured her a drink.
"And coincidentally this happened right after it was revelaed that Mary Mallone's father had left her his entire estate. By getting Franky Mallone to divorce his wife, thus getting half of the inheritance, and marry you you'd be in a position to recieve, what was it, 5 million dollars? Half of his share of the divorce settlement?"
Miss Connely smirked. "You speak quite rudely of me. But, yes, that would've been true if Franky had married me."
"And why didn't he?"
"We did have a fling but once that bastard got his money he had decided not to come back to me. 'I'm a poor husband but a rich bachelor' he joked. I came to hate his guts."
"Oh?"
"Yes, but I forgave him for it. It wasn't love. Franky isn't a man who falls in love. He's a man who treats women as a hobby. As playthings. And when he gets bored of one he drops her and finds himself another."
As she spoke, Dick Private sat back down in his chair, slowly and carefully taking out the gun from his waistband and pointing it, under the table, at Miss Connely.
"And that's why you shot him?"
A strange questioning look came over Connely's face. "You know about that?....." Then her face resolved into a look of recognition." Oh, ofcourse. The phonecall was from him, wasn't it? The bastard can't die quickly enough. What'd he tell you?"
"THat you came here to kill me. I should probably tell you that I have a gun ponited at you right now so no sudden moves."
"To kill you? This crippled hag? Ha! What a fool! I came to you for an entirely different reason."
She paused and looked up at the phone on the desk. "Are you going to call the police?"
Dick Private smiled a sly smile. "Maybe. What do you want me for? What's your angle?"
"I want you to track down the bastard who took my legs." She grabbed the hems of her skirt with both hands and shook them violently, in anger. "I didn''t used to be like this. I was tall. I was beautiful. And then he came and took my life away."
"He?" Dick Private was becoming intrigued. The Mallone case apparently had its roots in a deeper cause.
"Mary Mallone's father's, Gregory Basher, had one fucking bastard of a lawyer. Liam Stephenson. He was sleeping with Mary, you know. Right before the old man died. Had him change the dying man's will to give that lying bitch all of the family wealth."
"Who was due to inherit the estate according to the original will?"
"My father. Norman B. Johnson. You see, the B. in his name stands for Basher. He was Gregory Basher's half-brother. Born to Gregory Basher's father's old mistress. He was the family's dark secret."
"You're telling me that Mary Mallone...Mary Basher..whatever her name is nowadays, recieved money that your father was due to inherit?!"
"Yes. She and that shyster Liam Stephenson changed the will after Gregory's death. My father wasn't aware of this until after you tracked Mary Mallone to the old mansion. He had loved Mary and in anger toppled over an old bookcase. That's quite out of character for him. Anyways, from the top of the bookcase fell an old file which contained an early copy of the will."
"How did Mary convince Liam to alter the will? I mean, that's not a pretty harsh thing to do."
"She was sleeping with him at the time. Actually she was sleeping with everybody. Once she left him he couldn't say anything because he would've been destroyed by the revelation that he altered the will. He wasn't a jealous man or otherwise he might've exposed Mary's crime in anger of her leaving him."
"So he remained quiet about all of this for th all this time?"
"In a way. After my father discovered Mary's betrayal of him he killed her."
Dick Private was taken aback for a second. Mary Mallone had been thought to have fled the town in anger and shame at her husand. Dick Private had never made an attempt to follow up on her current whereabouts. He didn't care. He played his part in the divorce which had ruined her public image and then forgot all about her. And now this crippled woman in front of him had accused her own father of murdering Mary Mallone.
"Your father killed Mary Mallone?!"
"Yes, he had called her under the pretense of comforting her in her divorce. When she had arrived back at the mansion he confronted her with the copy of the original will and she grew violent. She was never the softie that people took her for. That bitch had claws and she tried to take them out on my father. My father shot her out of anger. In self-defense. It doesn't really matter. The bitch is dead."
"How does this fit in with the man who took yor legs?"
"Liam Stephenson, he's the bastard. He realized that my father killed Mary Mallone. You see, that bitch went back to him after the divorce.When my father called her back to the mansion she told Liam where she was going. After she didn't come back Liam put 2 and2 together and..."
She downed her drink in one gulp. Her hands started shaking visibly.
"He rammed our car as we were leaving the mansion's driveway one day. We spun out of control and hit a lampost. My legs became pinned beneath the steering wheel. It was a while before somebody saw the wreck and called for help. All I remember is seeing the fucker crash into us and then I woke up in the hospital without my legs."
She began to weep. Dick Private kept his gun pointed straihgt at her.
"I want you to find the fucker. I want you to find him and get him to admit to altering the original will. I want him to pay dearly for what he did to me."
"But you killed Franky. Your father killed Mary. Don't you think you deserve your fate?"
"Franky owed me money. He owed me half of his divorce settlement whose half I would've recieved as my settlement after I divorced him."
"Ah, but he didn't marry you now, did he?"
"Yes, and that's why I killed him."
"So why shouldn't I turn you in to the police right now?" Dick Justice started reaching for the phone with his free hand.
"You should bu hear out my proposal."
"I'm all ears."
"You turn me in to the police. Then you take on the task of finding Liam Stephenson. Make the fucker admit to faking the will. Ruin his life by ruining his career. The inheritance then becomes the property of my father. Since both recipients of the inheritance from the forged will are dead getting the money back won't be so hard. I will split the inheritance with my father. You can have my half. I don't care any more. I can't enjoy myself anymore. I can't be free."
Miss Connely leaned back and shut her eyes as Dick Private put down the handset and, with the same hand, began dialing the police. As he and Miss Connely were waiting for them to arrive Dick Private took down notes on the physical features of the butler and Liam Stephenson. When the police arrived Dick Private stood up from his chair and walked over to the door whose buzzer was ringing. He opened it up and let the police through. At the station Miss Connely admitted to the murder of Franky Mallone but she didn't mention anything about Nary Mallone's murder. The police weren't aware of Mary Mallone's murder so they didn't ask her about it. Neitherr did they seem to know about Franky Mallone's murder until Miss Connely's confession it. Dick Private was also questioned and left the station at around 6pm.
It had stasrted to rain slightly and the sky took on an orange tint. A colour of expectation. Of impending action. He got into his old car and drove on to the older part of suburbia to a decepid old mansion where he had completed the divorce between the now dead ex-couple of Franky and Mary Mallone.
He parked on the corner of the street, regretted drinking so much the day before, took out a thermos, took a sip of some cold but strong coffee and began his long wait.If the butler had sent Miss Connely out to kill Franky Mallone only hours before then Liam Stephenson had not been succesful in silencing the only person who, he thought, knew about the forged will.
Days had passed and so did many shifts. Dick Private had called in numerous favours from various friends in thew bussiness who took on the surveillance job while Dick Private took his breaks for eating and sleeping. Finally on Thursday, at around 7pm, a car with a battered hood pulled into the driveway of the mansion, lightly lit up by the setting sun.
A man got out of the car. Blonde. Mid-30s to early 40s. Wering street clothes. The man, as Dick Private recognized from the slight limp on the right foot, was Lian Stephenson. The man who meant to silence the true heir to the Gregory Basher's eastate. The forger of the will and late lover of Mary Mallone. Liam Stephenson stood in the driveway, meaning to commit murder.
As Liam Stephenson walked towards the mansion Dick Private discreetly shined a flashlight into the window of one of the neighboring houses. A light shined back. The policemen inside were now warned.
The last pieces in the chaotic chess game of Gregory Basher's fortune were now making their finalmoves on thechessboard.
Liam Stephenson approached the front door of the mansion, creeping slowly on the topsoil of the front yard. Across the street policemen were quitly creeping out of a neighboring house,waiting for that glint of gunmetal thatwould signal a chance for an arrest.
Liam Stephenson rang the doorbell on the front door.
3 dozen seconds passed before the door was answered.
The policemen were already running towards him with their guns drawn.
The butler stood inside the doorway with a shocked look on his face.
Liam Stephenson, hearing the police behind him, grabbed the butler and put a gun to the butler's head.
The police froze. Liam made his way past them towards his car. As he got to the driver's side door a look of defeat came upon his face. And he pulled the trigger. The butler fell. A bullet in his right temple. Then, in one sweeping motiion, Liam put the barrel of his gun into his mouth and pulled the trigger.
Within seconds the last proof of the forged will had died.
Hours afte hearing news of the death of her father and of the failure to reveal the forged will Miss Connely was found dead in her holding cell. She had fashioned a noose out of her skirt and hung herself in the night.
Dick Private attended the funerals of Mary Mallone, Franky Mallone, Liam Stephenson, and the butler. This case left him with no client and no payment. It was just another dead end lead in a world of dead ends.
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