Calvin Cadwell: The Life of A Famous ConvictMature

Hey, my name's Calvin, Calvin Cadwell. I don't have a lot of time so I'm gonna keep this short and simple--I'm know as one of the most famous criminals in NYC.
And I'm about to go on one hell of an adventure.

Chapter One:

Calvin Cadwell: The Life of A Famous Convict 


            I rocketed down the street, my black trench-coat flapping wildly behind me. I had just committed one of my greatest robberies yet. I stole this solid gold artifact from the Museum of Natural History. This big mobster named Richie said he would pay me a bunch of money if I got it for him. Rain was splattering on my glasses--fake glasses, I should say, and I had to repeatedly wipe the annoying droplets away with my coat. My fluffy brown wig wasn't the best either. It was pretty much constricting around my head like a snake. God, disguises are so complicated when your the most famous criminal in New York City.

            My name's Calvin, Calvin Cadwell to be exact. I pretty much grew up on the streets as a kid. When I was five my parents were killed. I don’t know by who, but I was a kid. What could I do about it? When you’re five years old you can’t really take a gun and shoot someone, or beat anyone up—I mean, you’re this small fragile thing when you’re a kid. I spent the rest of my childhood fending for myself in New York City. I slept wherever I could, ate wherever I could, and just tried to make it through the day without dying.

            When I reached my teenage years I robbed my first bank. It was fun, you know, the rush of it all. I loved running down the alleys with a stack of money in my hand. Did the police ever catch me? No. Like I said, I just kept running.

            I made a name for myself as a criminal when I was sixteen. I stole from some bank—can’t remember the name. I just remember the insane security they had, but I was smart. I had devised a plan weeks in advance, something criminals don’t do very often. I had gone into the bank twice, just for a few moments—kept track of all the security measures and everything. My plan was to steal from their vault—where they keep the green.

            Long story short—I did it. The news about the robbery spread like wildfire. All the magazines, TV channels, and newspapers in NYC had the story on the front page in big, bold letters. I was so proud. Too bad no one else could be proud of me, since they didn’t know who I was yet. The bank never caught me on camera—disabled all of em, easiest trick in the book.

            When I turned seventeen I had already completed twenty successful robberies. It was getting really boring. No police ever caught me, nobody got me on film—jeeze, you’d think they’d have better technology in such fancy shmancy places. Anyway, I decided to actually reveal who I was. I know, I know, sounds crazy right? Well I did it anyway—sorry. Want to know how I did it? Yeah you do.

            It was a freezing cold night and I climbed to the top of this super tall building. Everyone seemed like ants from where I was. The wind bit at my face, turning my pale skin a bright, cherry red. I reached the top of the skyscraper where a large, electronic billboard stood that flashed all these different advertisements. It was simple really: I found the control panel, made a few modifications involving a bunch of crazy colored wires and…BAM! A picture of me was up on this huge screen! Oh, did I mention the building was in Time Square? Whoops must’ve missed that part. Hahaha! I amuse myself sometimes. Anyway, the sign read “Hey, my names Calvin Cadwell. I’m the con-artist who’s been robbing all these banks. I’m tired of hiding and I want some recognition. So here I am.”

            It seemed like all traffic stopped right then and there. People were getting out of their cars, staring in amazement and fear at what was in front of them. I myself stood at the edge of the building, waving to my adoring fans, and for once in my life, for that moment, I felt appreciated.

            I became infamous after that. Yeah I had to disguise myself when I went out in public, but I was getting a lot more recognition. Mobsters were lined up at my feet, telling me they’d give me butt loads of money if I committed robberies for them. You think I’d refuse an offer involving money? If by this point you do, I’d consider putting this book down forever.  So I performed all these robberies, and…that’s pretty much where I am right now, making money, people worshiping  me—what more could a guy ask for?


That’s my life—the life of a criminal.

 Well part of it anyway.

The End

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