Modern Crucible Essay, Research Paper

?Shake Down?

The police station, like an enraged mob, became chaotic as news of the robbery blasted the offices of every lieutenant and captain in Metropolis. Details of the crime still shuffle from detective to detective as rumors separated from the facts. The known facts showed that a professional, a very skilled thief, managed to penetrate the Tractford Mint?s security system of lasers, motion detectors and cameras and steal 10 million dollars of unmarked currency. Assigned to the case was Detective Killcheck, a hardnosed officer that if not for his neglect of ethics would be a very young lieutenant. After finishing his coffee he decided he might as well take a drive down to the scene of the crime. As he drove down to the mint, he thought to himself that this was just another routine case where some idiot made an attempt at cracking the mint and only came out with his life. Still diluted with speculation, the truth was yet to be determined.

Detective Killcheck thought nothing unusual about this cold Thursday morning. The low hanging fog added eeriness to Metropolis city streets. Through the thinning fog, the handsome detective with wavy hair came within site of the mint. With a sigh of reluctance, Killcheck placed the white, 1985, Chevy in park and stepped out on the smoky pavement. After walking a few steps he heard a familiar voice stifled by the foggy morning, ?Hey David, over here.? Holding up a hand was Lieutenant John Mell, a round man with thinning hair and a receding hairline.

David slowly walked over to where Mell slouched, ?Fill me in, what do we have?? ?Nothing: No fingerprints, no camera footage, no forced entry.?

? John, are you serious? How much did they get away with??

?Ten Million in unmarked bills, David, and a currency loom.?

?No Shit? Ho-how did they do it? Are there any suspects??

Looking away briefly, Lieutenant Mell answered, ?No, not yet.?

With his arms crossed in his smoking jacket, Killcheck asked, ?So what do you want me to do, Lieutenant? Should I call in the usual suspects??

?Sure, Detective, round ?em up and see what you can get out of ?em.?

Three hours later, on the other side of town, the last suspect was apprehended. A knock came to Terrance Conner?s door at about ten. Before getting up from the rusted aluminum table and his breakfast of cold cereal, Terrance, annoyed by the knock yelled, ?whose there??

?MPD, open the door!? came a muffled voice from behind the thin wood door whose tan paint peeled in cracks and flakes.

?Shit. Alright, hold on,? Getting up from his creaking chair, Terrance slumped over to the door, from the hallway the click of locks was heard and finally the door creped open. ?Can I help you guys?? Conner?s, the previous day, was fired from his job and this was just the icing on the cake.

?Your under arrest?? said the officer with a stoic tone.

?For what?? asked Conner followed by a ridiculous laugh.

??You have the right to remain silent. If you refuse this right anything you say?? The long ride downtown frustrated him. Since his parole in ?97, Terrance worked hard to start over and apparently he couldn?t. In 1992, Conner was convicted on three counts of bank robbery and served seven years for his crimes. Terrance was no one?s fool; he struck banks not with a gun but by systems of underground tunnels stemming from sewage canals.

Of course he heard about the mint, by 10 o?clock who hadn?t, and Conner knew that some how he was a suspect in the heist. Pulling up to the bleak police station sent shivers through Terrance Conner?s body, this scene was all too familiar. As the police car softly stopped Terrance was overcome by a wave of depression. Thoughts of his years in solitary confinement turned his stomach nauseously. Caught up in his past, Terrance did not recognize the plump officer open the car vault. When he forgot his nightmarish memories of the cold, dripping cage that served as his home for fives years, Terrance noticed the stout policeman grip his arm and guide him from the vehicle.

Gloom draped over the dreary station as Conner was lead up the long uneven steps. Finally, he reached the holding cell where the x-convict anticipated encountering the general occupants of the county jail. For the most part, the city holding cell consisted of prostitutes, pimps, brawlers, drunks and other two-bit criminals. The bolt to the dismal crypt slid to a thundering echo as the sickly stench of stale air seeped from the tomb. The holding cell, instead of festering with mindless bacteria, revealed many household names. To the right, slouching forward on the splintered bench was Cade Pheallene, a cunning archeological thief who prided himself on stealing artifacts and paintings from museums and galleries. When his crime spree first dawned, he attempted to filch ?The American Gothic?, but instead he received eight years for grand larceny. Pheallene learned from his mistakes. Since his parole three years ago, he?s posed as key suspect in five major lifts, but without conviction.

Stretched out on the cold, cracked cement floor was the blonde, skinny computer geek Johnny Mnumonic. Mnumonic was common name in the computer industry, credited for infiltrating the Bank Of America?s transaction files. Johnny boasted power to override virtually every password and security system.

Cainan Dursk, knees drawn up to his chest, the black haired businessman lay huddled in the murky corner of the cell. He was famous for overseeing the nations fourth largest counterfeit and money laundering scheme ever. Like the other criminals in the holding cell he was good at what he did, but better. Dursk took no risks. He predicated the operation on the belief that if the ship went down the captain lives and the crew drowns. On at least two recorded occasions the ?employs? of Mr. Dursk were arrested for counterfeiting. Unfortunately, a knife scratched across their necks before their confessions could accuse him of the crime. Cainan always considered himself a smooth businessman.

As Terrance took his first step into the hardened cell a chilling breeze swept through the room. Behind him the metal door sealed shut. Judging by the suspects in the holding chamber, this situation was known as a shake down. The cops held no evidence that linked any of the suspects to the crime. Conner, Pheallene, Mnumonic, and Dursk were apprehended and soon would be questioned to see if they slip-up or cross stories.

?Hey, Conner are you thinking what I?m?what we?re all thinking??

?Shake down? Yeah that?s what it looks like Pheallene. Bastards. How am I going to get out of this one?

?Dig your way out, Conner. You know how to do that!? remarked Johnny Mnumonic.

?What?!? You little Bitch!!! Do you wanna get the *censored* kick out of you or what?

Dursk had to stop this before the situation became ugly for Mnumonic, ?Hey, cool it Conner! This situation is bad enough without–? Cainan was cutoff by the sliding of the steel door.

Stepping through the door, Detective Killcheck addressed the suspects. ?Ok you pieces of *censored* you know the drill. First up Cainan Dursk.? Cainan liked to play it cool. He was lead out of the cell and in the questioning chamber. Everyone, including the Killcheck, knew that Dursk wouldn?t budge. After all, he was a businessman. Detective Killcheck tried to push Cainan, to juice some info from him. But no matter what he shot at him, Dursk kept his composer.

After Dursk came Pheallene and then Mnumonic. Unlike the others, Johnny had slipped up recently. Bored one evening, Mnumonic decide to have soon fun and causally access classified files. What little Johnny didn?t know was that he was monitored while he performing computer piracy. The MPD found leverage on him and Killcheck was going to crank that wrench until it broke. Mnumonic couldn?t handle the fact that he was going to serve prison time. He couldn?t listen to Killcheck tell him that for the next five years he was going to live in a six by nine cell and eat mush everyday for dinner. David Killcheck crushed Johnny?s spirit in about an hour and a half. Mnumonic, fearing prison, knew nothing about who committed the crime. All he understood was that some how, some way he needed to escape from his web of crimes. ?I know that Conner did it. He, uh? asked me if I wanted to go in on a big deal with him but I said ?no. I?m through with the dirty work.??

?Right, and what proof do you have of this confrontation, Johnny Boy??

?I have many emails sent to me by Conner connecting him to the crime.? Mnumonic was already planning on how he would access Terrance Conner?s email server and place the evidence. After a number of other questions, Mnumonic was released and charges against Terrance were press.

With in ten minutes of returning home, Mnumonic set the trap and sent the evidence to the station. He smiled to himself with satisfaction and at a job well done.

At Conner?s hearing he was formally charge with the robbery of the mint and his court date was set. He was an innocent man. Terrance?s attorney suggested that he plea guilty. ?They have you cornered this time Conner.? But he couldn?t go back, not like this. Contradicting the advise of his attorney, Conner pleaded not guilty.

The trial was long and tortured him mentally. The witness, Mnumonic, and the series of emails that were supposedly sent by Conner, with the fact that Terrance for some time been seeking employment, and along with his past, was all the jury need to convict him of Grand Larceny and sentence him to twelve years with no chance for parole.

To Terrance, his life was over. From that day on, he might as well be dead. Conner appealed his conviction several times but with no change in the outcome. His case was too publicized for his sentence to be reduced. Everyday in confinement was a day in hell. Terrance was draw into so much depression that he wouldn?t eat. On April 20th, 1999, his body was found swinging by his sheets from the ceiling of his jail cell.