Behold the Plain Old Telephone
@dailyshoot
2011/02/10: Change your point of view. Make a photograph from an unusual point of view today. #ds452
The sound of the ringing telephone down below was not the sound Conrad wanted to, or even imagined he would hear.
Here he was set up for the good life, living on a boat moored at Grove Harbour marinia, the life of Sonny Crocket without the guns and chases.
The sound of the old phone was a reminder of its place in the grand sceme that got Conrad here, the biggest game he had ever run, and which, ironically, came down to the physical wire (or what it represented) at the end of the phone line. He needed to keep it alive as part of the front of the ficticious Oak Tree Partnership, the "owner" of five other sham corporations each in turn which owned more enterprises that had filtered out the funds he had siphoned fmr Wall Street.
Ahh, nothing like the classic Wire scam.
And it had set up Conrad into the life he had dreamed of, where he could stop running, stop living under false names (well he would hang on to this one), stop having to think nine steps ahead to the other contignecies.
Ring.. Ring....
Damnit, that meant only one thing.
Mikey.
This was the emergency number he gave his little brother for exactly that. So Conrad was not exactly excited to find out what jam his kid brother had gotten himself into.
Lifting the hatch down into the cabin, Conrad waved at Ricardo, his neighbor out for his daily poodle walk.
With the phone on its fifth ring, Conrad had no time for the usually bullshit chat with the supposed ex Mayor of Santiago de Cuba.
Nestling deeply into the leather chair next to the compact offiice area, Conrad picked up the phone, marveling a moment at the wonder of a traditional telephone, tethered to the world by a line, a huge anacronism in the day of mobile phones. But there was a puremess of POTS (Plain Old Telephone Service) in that it worked when the power went out, when the winds blew like howling hyenas, and without even needing electricity.
"Hello, Mikey," he said.
Pause.
"Because you are the only one who should be calling me. What's going on? Where are you?"
....
Conrad waited, Mikey was not the quickest with unrolling the facts.
"Arizona? What is the name of that town again?"
....
"That's a real town name? Geezus. It's on your delivery route, right?" What kind of trouble did you get into."
....
And so slowly, Mikey stammered out his situation. Conrad could not be surprised, with all the ways the world had taken care of his innocent brother.
"So she sent you the photos? They definitely show your face?"
....
"Oh Mikey, you got nailed. She has your home address, and the last thing you need is Doreen getting a surprise envelope in the mail."
On his iPhone, Conrad was quickly looking up an address in Flagstaff.
"Okay, Mikey. Go to this address in San Francisco Street in Flagstaff- its an offive where I will wire you the cash. Pay her off and get home."
....
"What's going to happen? You don;t need to know, Mikey. Just tell me about this woman..."
...
"Uh huh, got it, White Toyota.... red hair.... plays card at Spotsman's Lodge"
....
"Don't worry, kid, that's what I am here for. Now get your ass to Flagstaff, pay off the bitch, and head home. Call me when you get there.... yes, I love you too."
Sigh. There goes the nice stretch of retirement in paradise. Conrad would be packing the gear, and heading to west Buttfart Arizona, and see about a little game of Get Back with some floozy who fleeced his brother woth the oldest trick in the game.
But.... Conrad wanted to play this differently. An inkling of a plan set in his brain like a fertile seed, one that would grow and blossom during the long drive west.
In this game, the expected revenge would never happen, but the bitch who messed with his brother would not know it. It would be the ultimate set up that was never delivered.
The idea of playing a new game that was not the old game that was not even the real game was intriguing Conrad.
He was most alive when he was curious with a plan inside of a plan inside of plan.
And so, he hung up the old phone, pulled out the old worn travel bag, and looked up where the hell "Burns, Arizona" really was.
He was back from retirement.
Again.
Behold the Plain Old Telephone
@dailyshoot
2011/02/10: Change your point of view. Make a photograph from an unusual point of view today. #ds452
The sound of the ringing telephone down below was not the sound Conrad wanted to, or even imagined he would hear.
Here he was set up for the good life, living on a boat moored at Grove Harbour marinia, the life of Sonny Crocket without the guns and chases.
The sound of the old phone was a reminder of its place in the grand sceme that got Conrad here, the biggest game he had ever run, and which, ironically, came down to the physical wire (or what it represented) at the end of the phone line. He needed to keep it alive as part of the front of the ficticious Oak Tree Partnership, the "owner" of five other sham corporations each in turn which owned more enterprises that had filtered out the funds he had siphoned fmr Wall Street.
Ahh, nothing like the classic Wire scam.
And it had set up Conrad into the life he had dreamed of, where he could stop running, stop living under false names (well he would hang on to this one), stop having to think nine steps ahead to the other contignecies.
Ring.. Ring....
Damnit, that meant only one thing.
Mikey.
This was the emergency number he gave his little brother for exactly that. So Conrad was not exactly excited to find out what jam his kid brother had gotten himself into.
Lifting the hatch down into the cabin, Conrad waved at Ricardo, his neighbor out for his daily poodle walk.
With the phone on its fifth ring, Conrad had no time for the usually bullshit chat with the supposed ex Mayor of Santiago de Cuba.
Nestling deeply into the leather chair next to the compact offiice area, Conrad picked up the phone, marveling a moment at the wonder of a traditional telephone, tethered to the world by a line, a huge anacronism in the day of mobile phones. But there was a puremess of POTS (Plain Old Telephone Service) in that it worked when the power went out, when the winds blew like howling hyenas, and without even needing electricity.
"Hello, Mikey," he said.
Pause.
"Because you are the only one who should be calling me. What's going on? Where are you?"
....
Conrad waited, Mikey was not the quickest with unrolling the facts.
"Arizona? What is the name of that town again?"
....
"That's a real town name? Geezus. It's on your delivery route, right?" What kind of trouble did you get into."
....
And so slowly, Mikey stammered out his situation. Conrad could not be surprised, with all the ways the world had taken care of his innocent brother.
"So she sent you the photos? They definitely show your face?"
....
"Oh Mikey, you got nailed. She has your home address, and the last thing you need is Doreen getting a surprise envelope in the mail."
On his iPhone, Conrad was quickly looking up an address in Flagstaff.
"Okay, Mikey. Go to this address in San Francisco Street in Flagstaff- its an offive where I will wire you the cash. Pay her off and get home."
....
"What's going to happen? You don;t need to know, Mikey. Just tell me about this woman..."
...
"Uh huh, got it, White Toyota.... red hair.... plays card at Spotsman's Lodge"
....
"Don't worry, kid, that's what I am here for. Now get your ass to Flagstaff, pay off the bitch, and head home. Call me when you get there.... yes, I love you too."
Sigh. There goes the nice stretch of retirement in paradise. Conrad would be packing the gear, and heading to west Buttfart Arizona, and see about a little game of Get Back with some floozy who fleeced his brother woth the oldest trick in the game.
But.... Conrad wanted to play this differently. An inkling of a plan set in his brain like a fertile seed, one that would grow and blossom during the long drive west.
In this game, the expected revenge would never happen, but the bitch who messed with his brother would not know it. It would be the ultimate set up that was never delivered.
The idea of playing a new game that was not the old game that was not even the real game was intriguing Conrad.
He was most alive when he was curious with a plan inside of a plan inside of plan.
And so, he hung up the old phone, pulled out the old worn travel bag, and looked up where the hell "Burns, Arizona" really was.
He was back from retirement.
Again.