About Me
"The Subject" by Paul Marshall, 2006.........................................A guard is stepping forward in a cacaphony of impending anxiety for the one whose interview is a half hour late. Yet, still a moment too soon for an inmate with a proclivity to sleep till high noon. The entourage of a national reporter, a single camera man and the the assistant to the assistant (in case someone forgot the filled donuts and is busy with monitor work) are going to have their morning occupied with the prisons most enigmatic occupant.
Upon entry of the subjects dark depressed quarters, the entourage settled in. The space for this interview was ideal. But not for its comfort or lack of odor. The subjects cell was perfect for the reason that the very chasm between Hades and Paradise seemed to split here. The natural absence of color and the dankness added to the psychological aesthetics of what the documentarian was desperately trying to swoop up into his bucket of drama. This dive the crew was taking was not about cramped and creepy quarters but a dive into the inner world of a mind and soul that was devastatingly alien to them. They had been too compelled with a desire for a knowing, to merely scratch the surface of their subjects elusive influence on his admirers and also his enemies. Now his time had been bought at a price. And the entourage intended on milking this cash cow to the last drop.
"Is it recording? Good. Move it more over here..yea, ok we're set." After some moments of shuffling and quiet jesters of nerves, an official cue began the rolling. The reporter began with the usual manner of introduction and niceties. With a smooth transition, seemingly as if the subject knew where the reporter wanted to go with next question, the inmate delved into a territory of engaging rapport. "If these donuts represent the freedom out there, than the digestive problems they cause me represent the conflict that makes that brand of freedom an abuse on the bowels of humanity. Umm.....could you possibly make a run for me? To get a smoothie of some kind." "Uh..sure, my assistant will make a call for some right now," the camera man snaps his fingers forcefully. "Thats a great idea, we can all use some of that to counteract our coffee right about now." This being said by the reporter in attempt to hewn common ground with his subject.
The reporter naturally wanted to start from the beginning, as it were, of my so called career. "Where did your crime start?" he asked. "Well, stealing came naturally to me. Like sleep after a full meal. I simply thought it a natural course for gain." By now the camera crew settled naturally into their chairs as if at a wine tasting party in a friends flat. A feeling more reminiscent perhaps of cozying with your buddies on a hot Saturday night going over urban myths and conspiracy theories akin to summer camp ghost stories. And so, with the crew attentively gathered 'round, I continued in the account.
"I remember the day I was first struck by a certain spark of adrenaline at my soon to be endeavors while walking by the shops one day on Sunset Blvd. Beautiful day. The streets were full of energy and I decided to take a stroll during my lunch break. So I walked by this place and this glare struck me from the side of my vision. So I looked over and I caught the sight of this big beautiful diamond. Now I'm not one given to such vanities. But I was always given to the pleasures cash could buy. And a rock like that, my friend, that can buy me a lot of candy in this work a day life", sipping a little from a barely tapped mocha in desperation for hydration of any kind, he seems to be contemplative of a regret of some sort.
"See, when your as independant as long as I was, you don't concern yourself with the pretense of socail etiquette", referring to his distinctive idiosycrocies. "So when my attention was peaked, I stepped backwards haphazardly at what I walked by. Backing right into a disgruntled CalTrans worker. Making my apologies, he insisted on making a scene out of an obvious accident. This in turn infuriated me. The injustice of depriving me of the examination of this expensive gem roused my rage. Needless to say, I spent the rest of my shift in the county jail. But inconvenience of the situation could not get my mind off the prospect of possessing that diamond. Just inches away from my nose. Nothing but the superior composition of sand and air between us. Later in my apartment I found myself devising a plan. This was not out of character in contrast to my previous pettiness in crime. But I became obsessed with the idea. Something about the adrenaline, working in the night unbeknownst to authority, leaving real work to the suckers, all of this. Then before long it occurred to me that if I were to redirect my energies, this could be turned into a sort of lifestyle." At this point, a light began beaming from the faces of the film crew. The dawn of their curiosity was giving birth to infatuation of the childlike sense. They paid too much attention to the Wall Street Journal headline, "Not Merely A Story About A Thief, But The Most Controversial Figure Of The Modern Age". And the tape was rolling, indelibly and faithfully recording every nuance in the face and the words of their subject. And so, the story of the life went on.
"I was inexperienced at that point to the ways of strategic burglary so I was afraid. I couldn't exactly take a course in eluding alarms and I didn't want to blow my cover consulting with other crooks I didn't know well. So I had to begin training myself. Applying what I knew from the game of the hustle didn't quite work in this field. Burglary was more of a game of quiet patience, silent movement, silent listening, and if you reap the rewards, loud adulation. A thinking mans crime. Of course that was one side of my stolen coin. The other was the lifestyle I planned with the money to be made. Just to keep a legit fascade, I fashioned a business model to invest in with the first of my earnings. Without any loans, the return on my investment would be quicker and thereby easier for me to relax on the laurels of my true passion. The glitz and glamour of women, parties, schmoozing and stealing rocks so priceless Solomon would've needed a loan just to touch it. My business was to be something to brag about to girls but not so trendy that it wouldn't cater to most people the way the staples of milk and toilet paper would always make money. This was my bridge to a new life and if I say so myself, it skyrocketed rather rapidly. So I upstarted a small gallery lounge. Where all ages could satisfy their hunger and also display their best paintings, sculpture and photography".
This day starts with an example of one his burglaries. It was a night not void of its usual barrage of urban drama and not a typically good start for a work night in a careful thieves mind. For starters the "heat" congregated like flies around a fresh dropping of hound dog fudge. Cops next door in a domestic dispute, Investigators across the street ransacking the dirty little apartment of a kidnapper on the run... this kind of infestation can cramp a hardworking diamond thiefs style". There might be a zillion jewelry shops in mid town Manhattan but only one with a carefully worked out plan assigned to it. And this is unfamiliar territory. Our thief is renting temporarily in the Hells Kitchen district. Both to elude the authorities and to familiarize himself with the layout of different cities and mobilizing frequently. These were roughneck times but nonetheless, the skills were honed.
It was not to be an easy break; as things were getting sloppy when the plans were frazzled by a questionable transmission in the getaway car and a sore foot from attempting to kick a pushy begger in the gludious, missing, and instead kicking a fire hydrant. "Some days are more like Mondays than Mondays are", the subject remarks with animated frustration.
As the night escalated, more confidance began to compound in our subjects mind as to the mechanics of exactly where and how all back up plans would come into fruition while gathering street plans and schedules that would be more in line with a productive endeavor. Sometimes things just fall into place against all odds. Ultimately though, even good luck can't forgive a debt. The piper will get paid, even if he has to break your kneecaps, your spine and your spirit. He decided to have an impromptu meeting at a local brewery with someone he met at a party in the Bowery a couple of weekends prior. It was not risky in the sense that this guy had no idea that the subject was currently in operation at Manhattans local diamond dwellers. The acquaintance was simply assuming he found a wide eyed disciple to eat up all of his exaggerated stories. Our thief was happy to indulge the man in his empty boasts because he knew the man was also helpful with ideas and tricks only the experienced could acquire. It would save him alot of scratches in the evading process.
This day the mode of transportation was that of a classic Schwinn beach hopper that would atleast get people used to not seeing him in the automobile of choice. His partner in crime. He meets his friend to join in a rapport so spirited that only two men with such communion of the soul could engage in it on their level. They both took their place on the outside veranda, saturated in sun. Unusually sunny for a typical New York day relegated to the coasts' of California, the French Riveria; anywhere but the steel and glass forest of this timultuous urban island. ...." ...."
