Notorious - John Jones (read after .TXT) 📗

looked normal. Soon they would recognise me, he thought. They would stop me in the street and want autographs and a chat about anything. No-one gave him a second glance, though, but they would, he guessed. Soon they would know his name.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

5

 

 

‘Guess wt I bought?’

‘Wt?’

‘Go on, guess’

‘A sex change operation. Ha ha ha ha ha’

‘Hilarious. No. I tk ur advice, remember, bout tht place, now I’ve bought an Alfa Romeo

156 1.8TS Brand new. 9K’

‘Ace. C? I told you it ws ripe 4 th taking’

‘Damn right it ws, anyway got 2 go. C U L8r’. Thomas Parker nodded, and ended the email conversation. He sat back in his chair and shook his head. Alfa Romeo, eh. Maybe I’ll change my car, he thought. Get myself a Porsche Boxster. That’ll show him. He grinned. Let’s see what he thinks when I pull up in that. Not yet though, let him have his fun, driving round in his new car, showing off.

Tom lived with his mother at their elaborate detached home in Halton view, east of Widnes. He had bought it himself from his ‘gathered funds’. He basically didn’t need to work. His income was regular and more than sufficient. All he had to do was preserve it, keep it balanced, and adapt with any changes it made.

 

He and his email friend, Anthony Kendrick, both lived lavish lifestyles, and could afford most luxurious items. His mother was not wise to what Tom did. She just thought that he had earned it somehow over ‘those computer thingies’.

 

Yet, she was right. He was studying Networks and telecommunications engineering. His bank balance was healthy due to his knowledge of computer systems and modern technology. He had hacked into the mainframe of a bank by creating a virus, which he had sent via anonymous email. The only unstable and unknown factor with regards to it was whether or not it would be opened by the recipient.

 

He had written as the subject: ‘IMPORTANT INFORMATION’. The workers had been told to be suspicious of email, because they may cause viruses, but Tom had altered the address of the sender so it looked as if it had come from another branch, from a person superior to them, so without thinking, they opened it, only to find an advert:

 

‘Protect your computer from viruses. Updated software shield ‘Viralguard’. You can purchase for just $49.99’.

 

There followed a list of benefits for this package. It basically looked like a normal advert, and was therefore ignored. However, the very opening of the email had sent the virus into the bank’s mainframe computer where it had been programmed to hide. It was not a virus that had been made to simply cause damage. It was to dismantle part of the bank’s security firewall.

He only needed one puncture. The engineers would need to look microscopically to see any anomalies. To them, the shield was still active, and security was still strong. Once it had been breached, the virus had to self-destruct. Basically, it deleted itself, leaving no trace whatsoever. Tom then had a direct link to the bank mainframe, and had sent another virus, again, not to be destructive, but to gather data about people’s accounts and send them to him via the firewall gap. He obtained pin and account numbers, and the amount of money each account holder had. He also had the ability to alter those numbers.

 

Therefore he could give people money, or take it away. Tom had two bank accounts, one with this bank, under the name Floyd Bracewell, who was a sales manager for a health food company, and one with another branch, under his normal name. This one had his funds from income support, and was basically his front. When he had to undertake financial dealings, then this was the account he referred to, as everything about it was above board, but the Floyd account was where his riches had built up.

 

He discovered that many of the accounts people held were consistently in the four figure bracket. The person took out money, it went in, and this was normal. People spent their earnings, and then they were paid their wages until their jobs ended. Tom had found this with many of the accounts. The amount they had was never stable. It meant that he could siphon off a few pounds from each into Floyd’s account. The person would not notice a few pounds missing. They would trust the bank to be reliable. If that’s how much they had left, then that was that.

 

Maybe there was a slight extra charge for something. A charge for sending out a letter. A direct debit bill payment with slightly added expense for something the account holder failed to do. It didn’t matter, because Tom knew that should they even notice anything missing, they should cease their questioning after reading his ready made message that would be relayed to the inquirer upon investigation:

 

‘System error. Information unavailable. There may be technical difficulties for this setting, PCT.3.0.’

 

It looked important, but had absolutely no meaning. Its job was to simply put off any further probing. He had not needed it yet. Of 1097 bank accounts that Tom had picked, because of the four figure reason, two pounds per week from each transferred into Floyd’s account, and with the statements not declaring where the money had actually gone to, he was basically an anonymous cyber-thief.

 

However, as with most people who had considerable funds, they always wanted more. There was no cap they would put on the attainment of wealth. As there was no highest number, there was therefore no limit to greed. They would be unlikely to find out where two pounds had gone, even if they bothered to check.

 

Only Malcolm, Anthony, and his girlfriend knew how he acquired his money. The seed of his skills was planted in night school the previous year. The computer course he had taken, ‘Digital applications’, gave him the realisation and the knowledge to build upon.

 

His first success came when he hacked into the university finances and diverted some of the student grants into his account. He got away with it, but knew it was dangerous putting the money into the account in his name. It wasn’t long before Floyd came along.

 

Following him was further riches. A nice house in an expensive area, a Mitshbishi Colt, a £500 watch, gold bracelet, and many high quality brand name clothes. He knew that his girlfriend was a gold-digger, that if his money ever stopped, then she would find some other man whom she would pretend to love, when her real love existed in the bank. He didn’t care. She wasn’t very attractive, and had an attitude problem. He would leave her soon, he had told himself, let her find some other mug. She would be more upset at the stopping of the money he spent on her. She’d get over it, he thought. She would have to. He had other things on his mind, as well as further boosting his bank balance, his interest had been piqued by the proposal of a new building being erected fifteen miles from where he lived.

 

It was set to become a research facility for medicine and vaccinations. Tom wasn’t a malicious person. In a physical fight he would be the first to run away, but he had every intention of bringing the company to its knees.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

6

 

 

“That was Bob Funk with: ‘My Baby’s left me for a custard pie’” The psychedelic jangles faded away across the airwaves.

“I’m joined by my guest, a Mr Curio Enchantment. That’s a ‘curious’ name” said DJ Space Hoppa, bursting into laughter. Curio just smiled out of sympathy, wearing his headphones, across the desk from Hoppa, a microphone before his mouth.

 

Hoppa was ten years younger than Curio, but he acted even ten years younger. His radio persona was of a ‘wacky guy’, who was down with the street kids, rather like some of the children’s TV programme presenters whose ego swells to massive proportions and think they’re the funniest thing on the planet, who talk down to the viewers, and are subconsciously saying: ‘Look at me, I’m on TV, and you’re not. I’m just so crazy’. That was Hoppa. He thought he was a big personality because he was on the radio. Yet Hoppa had settled for now on one of the steps to fame, and Curio had not reached that height yet, but he was close.

“Later on we’ll be having a phone-in, so you can put your questions to him, but he might know already what you’re gonna ask.” said Hoppa. He looked across at his guest. “So, Curio. Mr Enchantingment. You’re a psychic detective, you hunt down dead people with your mind”. He said it as a statement.

“You could put it like that. I’m out to prove the existence of paranormal phenomena. No longer is it speculative and unprovable. I focus not just on finding missing persons, but on all things that science cannot prove”.

“Phernominaaaa! Maybe you are a ghost, Curio. How am I to know?” There was a pause. Curio didn’t answer.

“I saw a ghost once” Hoppa continued. “At the time I was eating an ice screeeeeeem!” Hoppa yelled the last word, and suddenly Curio got the urge to punch Hoppa hard in the face. He’s not taking this seriously, he finally realised.

“So can you speak with ghosts, like?”

“I do believe I can commune with the spirits of the deceased. I can feel their concerns and emotions”.

“What do they say? I ain’t got nobody?”. Hoppa laughed again, and waved up to the webcam.

“Smile, you’re live worldwide”.

“What? I didn’t know that”, Ah, a bigger audience, thought Curio.

“I also believe there’s...”

“I’ll stop you there Curio lad. Time for a choon”. A hard-house track came on, and all Curio heard was the warblings of a woman, who, he found, actually had a nice voice. The music she sang to however, was undoubtedly made on a cheap keyboard in some wannabe DJ’s bedroom.

 

Hoppa never looked at Curio during the track. Instead, he busied himself by staring at a monitor and clicking a mouse. Curio guessed he was rifling through tracks to play later.

When the song finished, Hoppa became more animated and went back to the microphone. “That was DJ Stevie with Heartbreakin’ lover. My guest this morning is a Mr Curio Enchantment. Psychic detective and ghost hunter extraordinaire. He can read minds and tell you your future. He’s an all round mystic”. Curio smiled without humour.

“Tell me Curio, what’s my future hold?”

“What’s your date of birth?”

“I ain’t tellin’ ‘cos you should tell me. What’s my date of birth?”

“Well…”

“OK, I’ll help you out. My star sign is Sagaquarius. Ha ha ha. Fooled ya”.

“Astrology is fast becoming more and more recognised as a genuine phenomenon.

What’s the point of the stars being there, if they’re not for our benefit?”

“Phernominaaaa! Tell me Enchantingment, you claim to read minds, what am I thinking now?” He closed his eyes and put his hands over his headphones.

 

Curio then had an idea. It would raise his profile, create some controversy, and embarrass Hoppa.

“OK,” said Curio. “You’re thinking these exact words: I’m a pathetic, talentless little cunt”. It felt good to say that, Curio found. Hoppa’s eyes opened and he looked shocked.

 

Curio stood up and took his headphones off. He pointed at the buttons beside Hoppa, who was speechless.

“Is that what you’re looking for? The delay switch. Uh oh! too late. It’s gone out. Ha, it’s into the bosses office for you. You’re sacked”. Hoppa’s face reddened and he stood up angrily.

“Get out!” he shouted, pointing to the door. Curio duly obliged.

 

The sun was threatening to come out from behind the clouds, and the wind had lessened to a slight breeze. Curio had decided to walk