Least Competent Criminals
"I told him that I wanted to keep the baby and that none of this mattered anymore," says the sobbing actress as she flings herself at the dark and handsome Rodrigo. Although Rodrigo is about to be married to the multi-million heiress, Carla, he doesn't hesitate to take the distraught, yet irresistible, Stacy into his strong embrace. Her wailing is quieted as he continues to hold her and stroke her long, flaxen hair. The camera angle changes to show Stacy's tearstained face and the audience is permitted to see what the gullible Rodrigo cannot: Stacy's red lips curl into a maniacal grin. With some melodramatic minor chords the day-time soap cuts to a commercial break.
Morgan Conatser is sprawled out on floor in front of his TV. A plaid bean bag props up his head. Although the windows are dusty, gray light filters through the blinds and covers the floor with barred shadows. Morgan sports cargo pants and a black t-shirt featuring the band Radiohead. His lanky figure, the acne scars on his face, and his lackadaisical position on the floor suggests an age around that of a college student. Morgan, however, is a month away from his 30th birthday.
When the soap comes back the scene is of Carla, Rodrigo's future bride, in bed with Keith, her pool boy. Morgan groans. The cable is free, courtesy of Bernie Stacks, the unaware neighbor across the hall. A few innocuous gadgets from Radio Shack are aiding Morgan's petty theft. Yet, Morgan is beginning to think even that small price wasn't worth it if this is the crap they're dishing out. The clicker is out of batteries and Morgan doesn't have the money to buy some new ones, so he lifts his right foot and pushes the power button on the TV with his big, hairy toe.
Lying in the dim light of his run down apartment, Morgan draws lines between himself and duped Rodrigo. "Poor Rodrigo," he thinks. "What a tool. Used and abused not just by Stacy and Carla, but by the audience, an audience that can only feel better by watching saps, like Rodrigo, screw themselves over with their own stupidity." Over a month ago Morgan quit his job at Radio Shack. He rationalized the decision. It would allow him to pursue his dreams and prevent him from being stuck in a dead end job. Now, unfortunately, he is unable to pay the rent.
Spurred to action by his frustration, Morgan gets up, puts on a leather jacket and worn-out sneakers with the laces removed. There are more two days until December; the grey dome of low hanging clouds and the crispness of the air make everything feel clean and sanitary, like a hospital clinic. He jumps into his rusty, red pickup truck and turns the radio to the local classic rock station. At 15miles over the speed limit it's a short drive to the Guitars and Cadillacs store.
A bell rings when Morgan opens the door. Behind the counter is an older man with wild, white hair and thick glasses blinks at him. His nametag i.d.'s him as "Clifton." There is only one other person in the store; a heavyset man with skin that is red and leathery leans over the counter. This other costumer glares suspiciously at Morgan's baggy clothing and then resumes talking to the older man. Morgan walks over to look at the sound systems in the back. There is a new Panasonic wireless system on display worth about $200. Not until he looks at the price does he realize what he's already decided to do. Morgan grabs the system and sticks it into one of the roomy side pockets on his cargo pants. Now all he needs is something to distract the old man and the shifty-eyed costumer.
Morgan looks over at the guitars lining the back wall. He walks over to them and sizes up a bright, red electric one. He lifts it off the hooks, sticks the neck down one leg of his pants and wraps his jacket around the body. Morgan saunters down the aisles toward the door not making eye contact with either man. He makes it halfway to his truck. Thinking that he might get away with both the guitar and the sound system, he smiles.
"Hey! Hey, what've you got there?" It's Clifton and he sounds more baffled than angry.
Morgan's guess is that Clifton probably saw right away that he was smuggling out the guitar, but paused only because he just couldn't believe the audacity and stupidity of it. But Morgan's plan really isn't half-baked. He's playing the distraction to his own heist. The smile didn't leave his face even as he turns to face the old man.
"Me? Nothing at all, sir."
"Well, I says you've got something there,"Clifton Clifton
Morgan Conatser is sprawled out on floor in front of his TV. A plaid bean bag props up his head. Although the windows are dusty, gray light filters through the blinds and covers the floor with barred shadows. Morgan sports cargo pants and a black t-shirt featuring the band Radiohead. His lanky figure, the acne scars on his face, and his lackadaisical position on the floor suggests an age around that of a college student. Morgan, however, is a month away from his 30th birthday.
When the soap comes back the scene is of Carla, Rodrigo's future bride, in bed with Keith, her pool boy. Morgan groans. The cable is free, courtesy of Bernie Stacks, the unaware neighbor across the hall. A few innocuous gadgets from Radio Shack are aiding Morgan's petty theft. Yet, Morgan is beginning to think even that small price wasn't worth it if this is the crap they're dishing out. The clicker is out of batteries and Morgan doesn't have the money to buy some new ones, so he lifts his right foot and pushes the power button on the TV with his big, hairy toe.
Lying in the dim light of his run down apartment, Morgan draws lines between himself and duped Rodrigo. "Poor Rodrigo," he thinks. "What a tool. Used and abused not just by Stacy and Carla, but by the audience, an audience that can only feel better by watching saps, like Rodrigo, screw themselves over with their own stupidity." Over a month ago Morgan quit his job at Radio Shack. He rationalized the decision. It would allow him to pursue his dreams and prevent him from being stuck in a dead end job. Now, unfortunately, he is unable to pay the rent.
Spurred to action by his frustration, Morgan gets up, puts on a leather jacket and worn-out sneakers with the laces removed. There are more two days until December; the grey dome of low hanging clouds and the crispness of the air make everything feel clean and sanitary, like a hospital clinic. He jumps into his rusty, red pickup truck and turns the radio to the local classic rock station. At 15miles over the speed limit it's a short drive to the Guitars and Cadillacs store.
A bell rings when Morgan opens the door. Behind the counter is an older man with wild, white hair and thick glasses blinks at him. His nametag i.d.'s him as "Clifton." There is only one other person in the store; a heavyset man with skin that is red and leathery leans over the counter. This other costumer glares suspiciously at Morgan's baggy clothing and then resumes talking to the older man. Morgan walks over to look at the sound systems in the back. There is a new Panasonic wireless system on display worth about $200. Not until he looks at the price does he realize what he's already decided to do. Morgan grabs the system and sticks it into one of the roomy side pockets on his cargo pants. Now all he needs is something to distract the old man and the shifty-eyed costumer.
Morgan looks over at the guitars lining the back wall. He walks over to them and sizes up a bright, red electric one. He lifts it off the hooks, sticks the neck down one leg of his pants and wraps his jacket around the body. Morgan saunters down the aisles toward the door not making eye contact with either man. He makes it halfway to his truck. Thinking that he might get away with both the guitar and the sound system, he smiles.
"Hey! Hey, what've you got there?" It's Clifton and he sounds more baffled than angry.
Morgan's guess is that Clifton probably saw right away that he was smuggling out the guitar, but paused only because he just couldn't believe the audacity and stupidity of it. But Morgan's plan really isn't half-baked. He's playing the distraction to his own heist. The smile didn't leave his face even as he turns to face the old man.
"Me? Nothing at all, sir."
"Well, I says you've got something there,"
posted by Kate S. at 6:14 AM
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