A Short Story: The Bit-Coin Players (Updated)

in fiction •  10 months ago

After all the dramatics of the past few days with the Bitcoin Hard-Fork.

Here is an original story about Bitcoin some Chinese and a Private Investigator called Griff Lingo.

I am in the process of writing a follow up. So keep checking your Steemit Feed.

Early morning Basingstoke, in winter, is no Miami Beach.

It’s wet, cold and getting the shit kicked out of you by heavies, is no small matter.
Harry H had a hold while Mickey P was beating the crap out of me.

And then they were gone.

I slumped to the ground.

Thought, yet another happy punter, not getting the good news they wanted.

Being a PI, a Private Investigator, is like that.

I was stuck in the UK trying to get back to Rehoboth, Delaware USA.

Land of my Dad. Land of the free.

Land where I could carry a gun. And cap the bad mother-fuckers if needed.

Then call it reasonable force.

In the UK, its frowned upon. They have unarmed police for that.

Bruised and battered I headed back to Jacobs Alley and the office.
Set in an office block marked for demolition. It suited me, just dandy.
I was last man standing.
All the merchants of tat had hightailed out of there.

It’ll be reinvented as another soulless, faceless, office building.

The only sort, they seem to know how to build, in the UK.

The elevator was out of order, or had been removed by the local Pikeys.

On its way, I suppose, to feed the great Chinese, export beast.

I was on the second floor.
So not a major problem.

My office door was wide open.

Now, I did run an open door policy. But normally I kept it locked.

To keep out the riff-raff and debt collectors.

I had no secretary.

She had left, as soon as I said, I had no intention of getting hitched.

Lack of pay, was also a major factor.

A Chinese woman was in the office, crying.

I introduced myself and sat down.

Her name was Li Zhang. And her husband was missing.

I advised her to go to the police.
She said she had.

But they didn’t care about a missing Chink. How long had he been missing.

48hrs was her answer.

Well, I explained, a company will generally wait four days, before calling a package as lost in transit.

My fee, I told her was £1024 a day, plus expenses.

The amount was a clever pun on the amount of Bytes in a Kilobyte.

I had a friend who was a Consultant Linux Guru.

And he had this amount on his website as his fee.

With the proviso he only handled Linux cases.

And if they wanted a Windows Guru.

They could jolly well fuck off and get someone else.

She agreed and took some money out of her bag and placed it on the desk.

50 Euros total. It was all she had.

A virtual fortune in Zimbabwe I suppose, but not in the UK, not in Baz.

But she said she could get more.

I picked it up.

Before she changed her mind.

“Yes,” I said, “you can pay the rest later. Now about your husband?”

She placed a stack of papers on the desk and started crying again.

His picture showed he was Chinese.

Name of Charlie Zhang. A programmer developer for Red-Storm. A Hong Kong Software Company.

He had gone to a meeting at the Green Fox Hotel, with a man called Stringer.

And had not come home. She feared the worst.

“Mrs. Zhang,” I said, trying to make myself very clear,

“If you believe your husband is in danger, or there’s any violence involved, you’ll need to go to the police.”

She said no and I kept the 50 Euros.

Oh! Happy days.

I had all her details. Promised to call, as soon as I had something.

She left still in tears.

I had made coffee. When Trouble with a Capital T just poured in my door.

Morg the Knife Taylor and his playmate Hard Ass Tim.

Behind them strolled Carlo, “Capone” Masseroni.


So called, because he went everywhere with a baseball bat.

And was known for spontaneously rearranging hair styles.

If the fashion did not fit in, with his current business plan.

Capone looked around the office and then turned to his shadows.

“Block the door, while I speak with this Dick.”

I knew he said it as an insult.

And as for blocking the door. I was not exactly awaiting a rush of clients.

Capone took a seat. I watched him and the bat at the same time.

He was waving it slowly from side to side as he studied me.

Then he smashed it on the desk. Presumably to get my attention.

But I was already, all ears.

“What’s your name Dick?”

“Lingo, name is Griff Lingo Mr. Masseroni. And what do I owe this pleasure.”

He looked at me as if I was taking the piss.

Which I was. But he seemed to think it was OK.

“You find people. That’s your job right.”

“Well, yes, among other things. I get employed on divorce cases and missing persons and such.

Anything that needs a delicate touch.”

“I heard you’re an idiot and a fool. Both of those traits in an individual, are not good for business.”

“I get the job done,” I said.

He was leaning on the baseball bat with two hands. Just staring at me.

As if a decision was being made behind those devious eyes.

His hair was cut, marine sniper short.

And looked out of odds with his expensive well-tailored grey business suit.

“I hear you got connections with the NCA.”

“Yes,” I said, “The National Crime Agency, the British FBI.”

Thought, the all new, all singing and dancing Federal Crime fighting agency.

Brought in, to take guys like Masseroni down.

“Yea, I’ve got connections.” Saying it, as a threat, that might save me from another beating.

“Look, there are better Dicks than you. But they aint got the pull, Capiche.”

I Capiched the problem, immediately.

My connections or connection was with an NCA cop still under investigation for murder.

But Masseroni seemed to be unaware of this development.

Which was nice.

“Listen Lingo, this has to be done, how shall we say, subtle like. You know what subtle means.”

Masseroni was stroking his baseball bat. The essence of subtlety.

“Yea, I know what it means. My fee is £1024 per day plus expenses.”

I said, concentrating all my mind power on the bat.

Capone just nodded at his guard dog.

"Morg, pay the man.”

Morg open a case and started stacking notes on the desk.

“That’s £5K, should be enough to get you going. And I’ll pay you a bonus when it’s finished."

Thought, Just let me live.

“So Mr. Masseroni what do I need to do to earn this money.”

“One of our business associates has gone AWOL. And we need you, to find out where.
Has he been pulled by the Feds or just taken a short vacation.”

I could gather, that taking an extended sunshine break, without the baseball bats permission, was frowned upon.

“Name is Stringer. And we need to talk to him, real urgently, Capiche.”

I once again Capiched. The name rang a large bell.

“Mr. Masseroni do you happen to know any Chinese companies or people.”

“Who wants to know?”

This was more of a vicious gangland threat, than a question.

“I don’t deal with Chinks period, Capiche.”

I nodded again. Getting the message clear and strong.

“Your job is to check with your NCA people. Then get back to me. If they have him.

I want this cleared up pronto, Capiche.”

I was now sick and tired of Capiching.

But I nodded, like a good pizza delivery serf and assured Capone, my best team would be set on the case.

And we would hunt down and find out, just what happened to his man Stringer.

He left me with Stringers address and photos.

Then just before he departed. He pointed the baseball bat and said the immortal movie words.

“You’ve got 48hrs.” Then he flowed out the door with his comancheros.

I studied the mound of notes on the desk.

Real cash, enough to get me back to the land where the buffalo roams.

Then I shivered a little, part fear and a part the lack of heat in the building.

Zhang went to meet Stringer and both were missing.

Find one and I will crack the case.

I mean, how hard it can be.

I called Jeff, my contact in the NCA. He was still suspended after a very bloody incident in Malaga.

I asked him for help with this guy Stringer.

Real name, Chris Ramon.

Running with the, Capone Masseroni crowd.

And while he was at it. Could he run a check on, Charlie Zhang, working with a company called Red-Storm.

He said he was getting bored at home. So he would do this last favor and get back to me.

I started reading the comprehensive notes on Mr. Zhang.

Easier to find if you know their background.

He was a senior developer with Red-Storm.

Made apps for smart phones. Lots of banking apps.

Charlie Zhang, was a money app making wizard.

He also was an expert on the virtual money sensation, Bitcoin.

I sat up when I read this last bit.

Bitcoin was recently in the news. It had plummeted, from a high of $2500 to only a few cents in a matter of weeks.

I still had to get my head around what it exactly was.

And how it all worked. And why was Zhang, meeting a lowlife like Stringer.

I headed down to the Green Fox Hotel to see if anybody remembered the meeting of East and West.

The barman was a busybody and remembered them having an argument and then leaving in a hurry.

He confirmed both pictures and took my order for a pint of Dandelion piss that passed for real ale in the UK.

I was blending in with the local yokel’s to see if anybody else knew anything.

If I could nail this. I would be back where I belong.

Drinking a bud and soaking up the Rehoboth Beach Delaware sea air.

Charlie Zhang was well known in the pub.
It seemed he was an instructor at the local Gung Fu club.

Stringer, they said, vaguely looked like that actor, from Luther, a favorite UK TV show.

I remembered the show and now knew why, Capone, called him Stringer.

So Jackie Chan and Stringer Bell had a meeting.

It ended in an argument and then, they both left.

I headed over to the last address of Stringer.

A rented apartment on Winterthur. Up the hill from the station.

A nice address with a view over rural Baz.

I walked up. As it was pointless, taking the repossessed car I did not have.

On the way up, I passed lots of Chinese families and business men.

Coming and going.

I checked Charlie Zhang’s address. Also Winterthur.

Neighbors! now wasn’t that just fine and dandy.

I had spotted my tail as I walked up the hill.

A slow driving Lexus driven by a couple of Chinese muscle men.

They drove past, parked and sat.

They’re missing their boy to. Let me do the work.

Clever bastards, these Chinky Pooh’s.

I went to visit who ever lived at Stringers address.

Mrs. Stringer?

A short haired, bored blond, answered.

I explained I was employed by Mr. Masseroni.

To look into the disappearance of Mr. Ramon.

“And?” Was her reply.

“Can I come in?”

“Yea take a seat. Knock yourself out.”

She lit up a cigarette and started puffing out a stream of smoke.

“Do you know where he is? Miz?”

“Ska, name is Ska. No, he went out about two days ago and never came back.”

I looked around the apartment. And it did indeed look like she was telling the truth. Just one cup on the sofa table.

One plate with a half-eaten hamburger, sitting very much alone. One drink in her hand.

“You wanna drink, maybe.”

“No thanks, any idea who he was meeting, or where he was going?”

I asked like a dumb PI. I knew I’d get the bums rush.

“Tell Mr. Masseroni I know nothing. Stringer just ran out on me.”

“OK, can you give me a call if he turns up?”

Not that it will happen in a month of Fridays. But you gotta cover the basics.

She wrote down my cell. As I had no card to give her.

I headed over to Mrs. Zhang. She was all excited to see me. Thought I had some news.

“Calm down,” I said, “I’m still making inquiries.”

“You found something?”

“This guy, Stringer. Any idea who he was.”

“Yes, an investor in Charlie’s new app.”


“Charlie had a new Bitcoin app. And Stringer wanted to invest.”

There it was again, that name.

“The company warned him to stay away from Stringer. I told Charlie to listen to his Company.”

“Did your husband have a safe house? He may have gone to?”


“He was trainer in a Gung Fu club.”

“Yes, in the town Centre. The basement of the Purple Dragon restaurant.”

I knew the address. And it looked like the best place to try.

I called my Linux Guru.

“Phil, it’s me Griff Lingo. Can you give me the dumbed down version of Bitcoin.”


“Wow! When the shoe polisher’s start giving tips, it’s time to get out of the fucking market.”

“Bitcoin,” I repeated. So he filled me in.

“Bitcoin is a decentralized digital currency that enables instant payments to anyone, anywhere in the world.
No Banks, no middle men. It will, if it gets going, be the greatest advance in civilization, since the fucking wheel.

It’s scarce. Only 21million can ever be made.
It can’t be forged.
It’s easily transferred to anyone anywhere in the world with an email, no regulations no currency fees.

Did I say No Banks?

You can even memorize the codes needed to access your money and destroy the digital wallet.

It’s decentralized.

Did I say No Banks?”

“OK I get it. No Banks involved. But their worth, around 22cents now. So what’s the big deal?”

“The forward looking price for one Bitcoin, is around $500K.”

“Pull the other fucking one. It’s crashed and burned. Down from $3500 to 22cents.”

“OK, it’s a volatile market. It goes up. It goes up. It goes up.
It goes way way down. Then it goes up again. To the fucking moon.
But hey, it’s not just about the virtual money. It can be used for contracts, book deals.
Everything’s encrypted. And no fucking middlemen.

It’s the internet of value, It’s the digital future baby. And it will blowtorch hot, hot, hot again.”

“OK, I still haven’t got a fucking clue. But thanks anyway.”

The Purple Dragon was having a slow day. So the waiter raced up to me, when I entered the premises.

“I’m looking for Charlie Zhang.” The waiter went very Oriental.

“No know. No know know, Charlie Zhang.”

“Yes, know know,” I said, “Where’s the Dojo?”

“Studio down stairs.”

I headed down the stairs and into a training session.

Lots of students throwing crouching dragon tiger shapes.

I sat and watched the session until they stopped. Some headed to the locker room.

I headed in and started again with the, where can I find, “Charlie Z.”

No one was talking. Got the usual.

“No know know, no know nothing.”

I’m a PI and what I do for a living is observe.

So I observed.

I came out of the restaurant and crossed over to the other side of the street.

There was a three story building next door to the restaurant, all dark and gloomy.
There was a door in that downstairs studio and it could only be going into this building.
I was still pondering this, when I was snatched by two oriental gentlemen and bundled into a car.
I was driven out of town.

To a car park.

Where I was dumped out. To meet Emperor Ming.

“Mr. Lingo we are interested in finding Charlie Zhang. As soon as possible. Who we are is not your concern.”

He handed me an envelope stuffed with dollars.

“Considered yourself hired.”

Thought, this was getting better and better.

Then he handed me a card, “Call this number as soon as you locate Mr. Zhang.”

I was driven back to town and let loose.

My smart phone started buzzing. It was Jeff.

“How the fuck did you get involved with Zhang. As soon as I started asking questions about him, the walls caved in.

MI6 have him, on their most serious wall chart.
He’s a Hong Kong reverse engineer. A serial software stealer.

Not that there is much to steal, in this fucking country.

As the Yanks have it all as soon as it comes out of the fucking printer.”

“What about Stringer?”

“Stringer is a bit player. Keeps the money for Capone. Pays the bills.

Zhang is a spy.

Which makes him more dangerous than a boat load, of angry, unpaid, Hong Kong hookers.

Keep out of that game. They play for keeps.”

“And what! Capone doesn’t?”

“Capone is a Mother Theresa compared to these guys.”

“Thanks for the heads up Jeff. And I hope your Malaga hassle sorts itself out.”

So I had a sort of connection.

Stringer with the money. Looking more and more like Capone’s money.

And a Red Spy with Bitcoin aptitude.

Now I just needed to find them. Then I remembered the money envelope I had from Emperor Ming.

Shit, I am in the game.

I headed back to the Purple Dragon.

I liked Baz. It’s very compact. Unless you wanted to go to a big supermarket.

Then you where fucked. But hey, I was light eater. Except for, when I needed a good steak.

Business at the Purple Dragon had picked up. They were running, one of those, all you can eat for £10.

Not a bad deal. If you could take, nearly all the food, covered in some sort of exotic red, ractopamine, irradiated, Chinese sauce. That will possibly glow in the dark.

This time I didn’t enter. But headed around the back. I climbed over the wall of the neighbor house.

Hoping, there was no dog.

I hate fucking dogs.

It was dark and cold. And I was getting wet, again.

This was exactly how I earned my living.

Working out of the eternal dustbins of life.

Chasing down businessmen, shagging younger versions of their trophy wives.

Divorce was the word that paid the bills. When the bastards did pay.

Sometimes I got the shite kicked out of me.

But I was a self-employed PI, a Private Investigator.

And by Grabthar's Hammer, I loved my job.

I felt the heat almost immediately. Big funnels coming from the back of the restaurant taking away the hot air.

Then I spotted some funnels running from the blackened house along the ground and mixed with the restaurant exhaust.

Something fishy going on in the basement. I opened the back door.

Using some tools I had acquired from a thief. In lieu of payment for a case.

The house was pitch black. But there was a loud humming sound coming from the basement. I headed down. Trying to make as little sound as possible.

A door at the bottom opened and the stairwell flooded with light.

I headed back and hid in the garden. A guy came out and light a cigarette.

Chinese, and he was sweating.

He threw the cigarette away and headed down the stairs. I headed after him.

The room we entered was packed with computers. All working away, at whatever computers do, when they are turned on.

Stringer was talking to Zhang. The noise was deafening so they were shouting into each other’s ears.

I stood stunned. Easiest money I have ever earned went through my head.

Then I was spotted and grabbed by two burly Chinks.

Stringer came over and said, “Who the fuck are you.”

I explained I had been hired to find them. As they were gone missing.

They looked puzzled at this revelation. I was dragged into an office to explain.

I’m no hero.

So I broke and told them, it all.

Capone, Emperor Ming, Zhangs wife.

The cash payments. I was just doing my job.

Close up he didn’t look a bit like Luther or Stringer Bell. Or even Mandela.

Then again, maybe the eyes. As he squinted a sideways confused look at me.

“Capone is looking for me. Shit.”

“My wife went to a gweilo,” was all the shocked Zhang would say.

“Yea, paid the big bucks to find you,” I could not resist in adding.

“So what are we doing here,” I asked. Looking around.

“Deep sea Salmon fishing. What the fuck, is it to you,”

Stringer said, in a very unfriendly tone.

“Mining Bitcoins,” said Zhang.

“And no fucking middleman,” I added.

“So, we are clearly not missing. Are we,” said Stringer.

“Well, that may be so. But I do need to report back to a swinging baseball bat and a wannbe Emperor.”

“Look,” said Stringer in his most friendly voice, “I invested the million quid, I had for a deal, in Bitcoin.

And, it’s gone a bit arse shaped.”

“As we expected,” added Zhang quickly.

“Of course,” I said smiling,
“everything under control, “An investment of one million sterling, of Capone’s stash, by my math, is now worth Zilch.”

“Technically, correct,” answered Zhang.

Stringer gave me the squint eyed, sideways look again.

He obviously has been practicing in the mirror.

“We just need more time. Until the market picks up.”

“It’s volatile,” said Zhang.

“I’ll tell you what’s fucking volatile. Capone’s baseball bat.”

“Give me your cash,” Zhang said, grabbing my Emperor Ming payment.

“Where can I send your Bitcoins?”

I gave him my Gmail address.

"Now claim the payment and create a new wallet"

I punched the buttons on my Smart Phone.

“Now, you’re a Bitcoin player.”

Stringer looked at me with his smart ass squint.

“Keep them of our backs for another 24hrs and everything will get sorted.”

Thought, was the 24hrs part of the 48rs Capone deadline. Or extra on top?

I was, I had to concede, way-out of my league on this case. I nodded agreement.

Zhang gave me the, “Jackie Chan,” inscrutable Asian look.

“Let’s be very clear about this. We will snuff you, if you fuck up.”

Thought, get in fucking line pal.

Said, “OK, Capiche.”

Then I was turfed out of the house and ended back in the dark garden.

I headed back to the office. I needed help. So I contacted Jeff, my NCA man.

“Jeff, I’m up shits creek, without a boat or a paddle. And need another favor.”

I filled him in on all the latest updates.

“Look Griff. Capone needs to make that payment of £1million to his supplier in Spain or else he is toast.

As you may know, the Colombians are partial to some UK burned blowtorch toast.

And Zhang is wanted by MI6 as a player in the game.

You need to keep them happy for about 24hrs. So I can set this up.

Thought, is this 24hrs part of the other 24hrs. And what about the original 48hrs.

“Please Jeff, just get me out of this mess.”

“OK, I may have an out. Stay in your office. OK”

As I was not going anywhere. I checked my Bitcoin purchase.

$1K of Bitcoins at 20 US cents a coin. So I was now the proud owner of around 5000 Bitcoins.

Fantastic, just like owning, a fucking herd of magical rainbow colored Unicorns.

You know, there is a thriving magical market, for them, somewhere.

But the only way to get there, was to catch the Harry Potter Parallel Universe Express.

Now leaving Kings Cross station at platform 2.5 for Never Never land.

Another email said Bitcoin was down again, to 10cents. “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.”

Harry H and Mickey P came bursting through the door.

Still looking for the photos, I didn’t have.

I moved to meet them. But Mickey P just punched me in the gut and I folded.

Harry H was tearing my office apart as I lay on the floor waiting to die.

“Gentlemen if you are not out of here in 10 seconds, start booking your deep six appointments.”

The cold, icy voice, came from the door.

Mickey P and Harry H just looked dumbfounded.

Standing at the door was a whip ass, short haired blonde, with outstretched arms.

Ending in the business end of two Glock 19s.

I took in the boots and the long legs and the rest. I just knew she had a shiv hidden in one of the boots.

Thought, Hey! The 7th Calvary has arrived.

I could see they were shit scared as the scurried past me, on the floor.

“Get the fuck up. And get a grip.”

Was the next thing I heard. As I was pulled up and thrown on the desk.

Stringers blonde, was in my face waving a Glock 19 around.

“I’ve come to save your arse.”

“Jeff,” I said hopefully.

“Yea, said he blow my deep cover. Bastard.”

“Thanks,” was all I could manage.

“Who, were they?”

“Nobodies. Different case.”


“Yea born to lose,” I said as I checked my drawers and found my Capone money was gone.

“Mother fuckers. Stole my money. Fuckheads.”

“Nobodies, remember,” she said. “Name is Ska.”

“Griff Lingo.”

“I know, remember. Jeff calls you the Rehoboth Beached, PI Plonker.”

“Yea, Just about sums up my life, so far. So, where does two gun, Ska, come into this.”

“NCA, we’ve been waiting to pounce on Capone for a long time.”

“Wait a minute! You’re fucking Stringer as part of a NCA deep cover operation. Is that even legal.”

“Look, Lingo, nobody gives a fuck, how many bimbos Jimmy Bond shags, on Her Majesty’s Secret Service.

It gets the job done.”

“So,” I said, “type of, Her Majesty's Secret Service equal opportunity thingy.”

She sat and I filled her in on the proceeding hours play.

She explained that Capone had purchased a large consignment of drugs using the Dark Market. Paying in Bitcoins.

The Chinese Government where manipulating the Bitcoin price for their own ends.

Which was causing the huge swings in value.


“Zhang is Hong Kong Chinese.

Developing software to make it easier to mine or even create new types of Virtual currency.”

“Emperor Ming?”

“No idea, Taiwan Secret Service perhaps?”

“So how do I get out of this mess?”

“You don’t.”

“What the fuck?”

“You tell them all what they want to hear.”

“What, get them all to go, to the Bit miner’s 49ers house. That’s a plan?”

“Do it, say you will give them the exact location in an hour.”

She was hard to ignore or disobey. Sparkling blue eyes and a ripped body, to die for.

Said, “All I have, beside grief and some magical Unicorn droppings, is the 50 Euro I got from Mrs. Zhang.”

Ska just grinned at this.

“Can I see the Euros?”

Then, “A Forgery.”

“No! It can’t be.”

“Yes, Mrs. Zhang is a player. Was she crying all the time?”


“Distraction technique.”

“Fuck and Fuck again.”

“The money from Capone was more than likely also false.
You would have been arrested as soon as you started to spend it.”

“Are you telling me, the only real fucking money, I have, out of this entire venture. Is Rainbow Unicorn Bitcoin droppings.

That are, Volatile and seem to fucking fluctuate, forever downwards.”

“Yep,” she said, “has anyone told you there’s no middleman and no safety net.”

I could have cried. I could have committed suicide.

I didn’t.

I made the calls.

An hour later found us in the back garden of the, Unicorn 49 Mining Company.

Still dark. Still cold as fuck.

Will this 24 hour day, never end.

Two gun honey was ready to make her move. As soon as the party started.

She still looked smoldering hot, even in this sub-zero temperature.

We heard the screams and roars as Capone and his heavies blasted their way into the building.

Emperor Ming, will not be far behind.

“Now,” she said, “let’s clear up this mess.”

Then she rushed the door. Kicking it in, with one swing of her fantastic legs.

I followed right behind.

We entered the Computer Klondike area.

Capone had Stringer and Zhang covered by the sawed-off shotguns his shadows where carrying.

“Where’s my fucking money.”

Was all I heard before Two-gun-honey start punching out their lights.

Capone and his two shadows where dead meat in seconds.

Zhang took off into the darkness.

We could hear the arrival of the NCA armed response team upstairs.

Stringer just looked at her in amazement.

“Ska is that you.”

Then she blew his brains out.

I knew, I was next on the list.

“Zhang,” I said, pointing.

She smiled and said. “No loose ends Lingo.”

I knew where Zhang was going and took the lead.

I saw Zhang going through the door to the Purple Dragon basement.

I went after him and was blocked by Mrs. Zhang now armed and dangerous.

Ska came out behind me and stopped.

Her two guns trained on Mrs. Zhang.

Then they nodded to each other and Mrs. Zhang just left.

“Fuck,” I said, “she in on it as well.”

Ska ignored me.

She went back and closed the door to the mining house.

Then we left by the Purple Dragon front door.

Outside, half the street was cordoned off by police.

We went back to her place and drank whiskey and made a type of love.

I'd never been in the sack with a cold blooded killer before.

"Mrs. Zhang?” I said, as I lay exhausted, in bed with my Two-Gun-Honey.

“She’s a player.”

“She warned Emperor Ming?”

“Of course, and was there to pull Zhang out of the fire.”


“Capone needed to go. Changing of the guard.

Stringer had paid for the Drug Deal with worthless Bitcoins so they were going down anyway.”


“Collateral damage. Never liked the prick.”

“And Moi?”

“Means to an end. You’re safe now, Lingo. I mean, who ya gonna call.”

I had been conned shagged and then kicked out. But I was still alive.

I headed back to my office.

It was early morning in Baz and the trains where loading and unloading the usual load of office workers for the City.

A homeless guy was sleeping in front of the Malls.


I dropped the fifty Euros into his hat.

Back in the office, I sat and stared at the peeling paper on the wall in of my office.

Before making a management decision, to go get a pint of Dandelion piss and some breakfast freedom fries.

As I headed out I passed the local Money Exchange.

Some cops where bundling some poor bastard into the back of their Van.

A early morning hanging crowd had gathered.

Caught trying to pass some dodgy currency was the whisper, in the lynch mob.

“I’m innocent, I’m innocent, I’m a patsy.” He kept screaming.

As the boys in blue battered him into the Police Van.

I recognized the homeless guy.

Someone added, “It’s amazing how prisons are all full of innocent guys.”

“Yes so true.” Was the general consensus.

The crowd broke up as Mr. International Fraudster was driven away.

It was just the start of another cold rainy 24 hour day in Baz.

To Be Continued...................

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