Kareem gazed into the blankness of the sky, as he drove to the bank. There was not a cloud in sight. That day was an artists’ rendering of a picture-perfect day.
The car radio played 860 AM, Philadelphia’s business/ finance talk station. He tuned in just in time to hear Attorney General Alberto Gonzales inform citizens how identity thieves had savagely beaten the economy to the tune of 9.9 billion dollars. Gonzales went on, “Identity theft is so devastating in its effect because citizens failed to check their credit reports last year. This year, we are up to 500,000 reported cases of theft.”
Before Mr. Gonzales relayed the tips to protect the listeners from identity theft, Kareem changed the station, as he spearheaded the need for the tips. Never carry your social security card in your wallet, or give the number to anyone, especially not via telephone. Only throw away shredded credit card invoices, bank statements, or cancelled checks into the trash. Credit cards and checks that had been lost or stolen should be reported to creditors and banks immediately. Check your credit report every ninety days. Blah, blah, blah.
Kareem was tired of those irrelevant tips. He had methods to thwart all of the jazz. Had he possessed a stolen credit card, he called the creditor, before the victim and placed a password on the account. He also told the creditor to note that, he recently divorced and his wife threatened to have his cards cancelled, so they should be on the look-out for a male pretending to be him to call. He had harlots that worked in various places that had access to sensitive information. Alberto Gonzales would be amazed at what he traded his dick to women for.
For one reason or another, Kareem was pissed at Alberto Gonzales and someone had to pay for her ignorance. He absolutely could not tolerate her bullshit.
He grabbed his cell phone from the passenger seat and had Nextel connect him to the Hermes boutique in Honolulu, Hawaii. He informed the representative that he was Christopher Murdoch and...“I simply adored the Hermes sneakers advertised in the January 2003 GQ rag.”
“Ah, yes, they’re nice, right?” the salesman asked. “They come in brown, tan, and black for $525 each.”
“I’ll take all three colors in a size eight. I want to give them to my father as a gift. He’d jog in them and tear them up in a month.” Kareem chuckled at his embellishment. He loved to lie.
“Mr. Murdoch, that’s fine, but the address that you’re shipping to must be the address on the credit card, or we must ship the sneakers to you and you can then forward them to dad. Is that okay?”
“Absolutely!” Kareem then read Mr. Murdoch’s home address—315 Murrow Drive, Madison, Wisconsin—and Visa credit card number to the sales representative. The man placed him on hold to process the card, and Kareem hoped that the profile and credit card number was good. He had received it from his cousin Rhonda. She worked at the Nextel store in King of Prussia Mall, and her work was always good, but he was always careful. She privileged Kareem to mobile users that were approved for five lines or had an American Express on file for automatic monthly bill payment.
Mr. Murdoch’s $1,575 purchase was approved and shipped via Fed-Ex. Kareem thanked the salesman and hung up the phone. With that complete, he made a mental check that task number one was accomplished, as he pulled into the Cedar Crest Savings and Loan Bank parking lot.