The Call

A few days ago, The Don got a phone call from some guy named Knuth. He was a friend of a friend. Rather, more like somebody who knew somebody who knew The Don. He didn t give The Don a lot of background information, which was probably for the better.

As Knuth so bluntly put it, the telephone systems were a key part of some operation he was involved in. He needed The Don to gain access to a specific cellular phone switch in the Republic of Mauritius (a small tropical island on the southeast coast of Africa), trace the phone calls made to and from a particular phone, and then disconnect the line. If he did it, he d get paid a good chunk of change. If not, well, that wasn t really an option after Knuth described how The Don s anatomy would be creatively rearranged.

Now, The Don was used to threats on his life and limb by the bloated egos of underworld criminals, and Knuth was no exception. In this line of business, it came as no surprise. Since The Don had heard it all before, he brushed it off and got right to the point: payment.

The Don demanded a modest fee of $100,000 cash. Low by criminal standards, but The Don enjoyed his work so much that sometimes he had to remind himself not to just do it for free.

That phone call was like a spark that lit a fire under The Don s sleeping baby soul. He was reenergized, invigorated. And he celebrated by taking a walk to the one place he frequented.