Got any bleach?
— Mr. I.D.K.
I ran another valet scheme in November 2022 near the Pacific Bitcoin Conference, in Los Angeles.
I paired up with a group called SHE. I found them online. I figured it was some sort of feminist thing.
How the hell was I supposed to know the Sovereign Hell's Enforcers were a motorcycle gang? I thought it'd be a bunch of bitchy chicks.
The internet is stupid. Never believe anything you read online.
I'm not a feminist anyway. I'm a Shayist. Shay first. Shady always.
My valet guys were parking the cars at a church parking lot, and it would have been fine, but one of the bikers started mouthing off to a priest, and... OK, he was beating the holy hell out of a monsignor.
I had a police scanner. I bailed when I heard a swarm of officers were being sent my way.
Actually, I may have called them. Hey, I don't believe in God, but bad karma's bad karma.
Toodeloo, crew.
I still managed to get twenty sets of keys.
My next task was to find some lifters to search the marks' homes. Two would be plenty.
I found a street rat named Otto who didn't have a clue about Bitcoin, but it didn't matter.
"12 or 24 words? Like a password? Bitch, I don't care. Pay me cash. I'll find it."
I almost fired him for calling me a bitch, but then I remembered, I am a bitch. He got the job done, even without understanding what he was looking for, though he did come back with pictures of... other things.
He said, "When blackmail knocks, opportunity answers."
"Whoa. Otto. Is that a...?"
"Is it somebody's dick? In a freezer? Yeah."
"Is it... real?"
"You want me to go back and thaw it?"
I did not.
When I needed a mark to talk, I had the muscle go in hard. OK, poor word choice there. But I gotta admit, blackmail could offer a softer... y'know what? let's just say, I hung on to the pics. "Cuz yoo nevah know," right?
My other lifter was a black guy named Ty. Tall, stringy. Oddly shy. He didn't talk much, but he had talent. I'm not easily impressed, but my jaw dropped when he found Bitcoin seed words stamped into the base of a table.
"How the fuck did you figure that out?"
He said, "Screws were stripped. Who takes apart a dining room table?"
Smart.
For muscle, I hooked up with a crew out of east L.A., including Nono's brother, Jojo.
Jojo left Gary under less than optimal circumstances back when I was working at The Boxtan Inn. Basically, Nono said 'No,' which meant Jojo couldn't be part of Foke's crew. I assumed Nono didn't want his brother in the business, so Jojo left, looking for greener pastures.
Jojo said to look him up if I was ever in L.A.
And there I was. And so I did.
I shouldn't have.
Jojo was nothing like his older brother, Nono. He was maybe five inches shorter and a hundred pounds lighter, which still made him larger than the average guy, but he was no beast. I thought that might make him more covert. Bro was clumsy as fuck.
Still, it should have been fine.
I had twenty sets of keys. My guys hit eighteen homes. Everything was going great until number nineteen. Otto got caught flipping window locks so he could go back later to rob the place. Foke's muscle had to put him down. Rules are rules. Ty got wind of it and split.
I only had one more house to hit, so I did it myself. Jojo was supposed to keep watch from outside while I did my thing. He showed up dressed in black from head to toe, carrying a baseball bat, because that doesn't look suspicious at all.
And he followed me into the house.
I said, "Jojo! What are you doing?"
"Yo, I'm branchin' out. Time for me to learn from a pro. Foke says you the best!"
"You told him you're working with me?"
"Figured I should get his OK. He said he won't tell Nono. We good. Let's do this!"
"You're my lookout. I need you outside!"
"Don't you worry. They ain't comin' back anytime soon."
I should have bailed. Instead, I stood there like an idiot, arguing with an idiot, which made me the bigger idiot. Then an old clock chimed and I realized I was wasting time.
Everything in the house was sparse. It should have been easy to search.
I told Jojo to at least keep watch by the front door, but he followed me from room to room, like an overgrown puppy, furry ears, wagging tail and all.
I couldn't find the mark's Bitcoin seed words. I was about to give up when a vehicle pulled into the driveway. Doors opened, then slammed shut.
I yelled at Jojo. "Dammit! Somebody's here! This is why you were supposed to be outside! Keeping watch!"
We were standing in a long hallway with an arched opening on either side. One way led to a stairway heading to the basement. The other led to an office. Further down the hall was a kitchen with a back door.
Jojo just stood there, like he was waiting for me to tell him what to do.
"Fuckin' A, Jojo! RUN!!!"
I could hear somebody fumbling with keys in the front door.
As it opened, a voice said, "What the... Did you leave the place unlocked?"
Another voice said, "No way."
I always lock the door when I enter somebody's home. I must have forgot when Jojo followed me in.
As I watched him go lumbering down the stairs, I turned to run, but I went the wrong way. I meant to head for the back door, but I ended up in the office instead. It had a desk and a bookshelf, but nothing big enough to hide behind. There was an open window with curtains, but it was blocked by a screen that wouldn't budge. I dove into the closet and pulled the door closed as quietly as I could. It was a small space, but I'd be fine as long as nobody searched. I'd be fucked if they did.
I could hear voices inside the house.
"Is somebody here?"
Another voice said, "Did you hear that?"
I heard it too. It was Jojo, in the basement, probably looking for a place to hide.
I'd never been stuck in a home when the owners knew somebody was there, and I was running out of options. Hiding in a closet didn't seem like it'd be enough, so I did what I had to do.
Sorry, Jojo.
There was a coffee mug on the desk being used as a pencil holder. I opened the closet door and grabbed everything in it. I flung it all as far as I could, out of the office, across the hall. Pencils and pens went pinging and bouncing down the stairs. A man came running from the living room, following the noise, down to the basement. TROMP! Tromp! TROMP!
Another voice, presumably from the other man still in the living room, shouted, "What's going on down there?" Then he went thundering down the stairs too. Tromp! TROMP! Tromp!
I couldn't risk leaving the office until I knew I had a clear shot to the back door. I gently closed the closet again, hiding myself inside, as the voices downstairs started to scream.
"Look out! He's got a bat!"
"Get him! Get him!"
...then I heard a gunshot, followed by more screaming.
...there was another gunshot.
...then silence.
...then a guttural sound, and a deep oafish shriek.
...then a thud.
...then more silence.
It could only mean one thing. Jojo was down.
Another pair of tromping feet came from somewhere and headed down the stairs.
"Jesus Christ! Are you guys OK?"
Then I heard mumbling.
I pulled down some coats and covered myself as I cowered into as little space as possible, at the bottom of the closet. I had no choice but to wait it out.
I heard men dragging what had to be Jojo's dead body up the stairs.
"Who the fuck is he?" a man said.
"I don't know."
"What do we do with him?"
"I don't know. Throw him in the truck. We'll dump him. Got anything to cover him up?"
"Yeah."
A third voice said, "Was he alone?"
"I don't know. Get him in the truck, but wait for me. Got it?"
"Yeah."
As footsteps approached where I was hiding, I realized Mr. I Don't Know was searching the house.
All I could do was wait.
Eventually, the closet door opened, but nothing happened. The moment of nothingness felt like a year that lasted a lifetime.
I could hear a man breathing.
I wondered, "Why is he just standing there?"
My heart was pounding.
I heard him sniff. And sniff again.
I was hiding under a pile of coats. Coats, in Los Angeles? All I could do was wonder, "Who the hell are these guys?"
I held my breath.
The closet door closed. The footsteps walked away, and I exhaled.
A voice said, "So, he was alone?"
"I don't know. I didn't find anybody. Got any bleach?"
"You wanna do that first?"
"Fuck it. Let's get rid of him. We'll clean it up when we get back."
Moments later, I heard the sound of a truck peeling out.
I waited until I could convince myself everyone was gone. Then, I crept out of the closet to find a trail of blood leading from the stairs to the front door.
I couldn't face that. Not even to pass through. And I didn't trust that the coast was clear on the other side.
I slipped out the back door and vanished.
I'm a ghost.