Does Stringer Bell ring a bell?
— The Wired
I hired Abbie to create two Bitcoin events per month. By the time I got back from Miami, she'd run five of them. I'd like to say I gave her creative freedom, but the truth is, I did not care. I just needed her to round up marks without knowing she was part of a scam.
Holy hell, she took the ball and ran with it.
In early May, when I flew back to Gary to do valet parking for her next event, the ridiculous smile on her face was even bigger than usual.
"What's up, Abbie?"
"This!!! Squee!!!"
Honest to God, she squealed as she handed me a flier. It said:
BLOCK PARTY!
A decentralized dating network, by Bitcoiners, for Bitcoiners. Connect with women who respect your worldview. Meetups & minglers. No pressure. Just fun!
She was bouncing up and down as she explained her idea. "I've been pitching it two ways. For guys, it's a way to meet women who like Bitcoin. For women, it's a way to meet husband material. Y'know. Guys with money, but I don't say it like that."
I was stunned.
"Abbie, I love this!"
"I knew you would!" she said. "I'm an influencer! Influencing is, like, my whole thing!"
Her previous Bitcoin meetups were averaging 10 to 15 guys, but she doubled the number of marks when she turned her events into a meat market. She was reeling in quality marks too. Most of them owned at least half a coin, and they gladly took selfies with Abbie and her bouncy boobs.
After each event, I went through the pictures with her, "For a recap," I said. She'd tell me which ones had been into Bitcoin the longest. I made sure their homes got hit first.
The day Abbie told me about her Block Party idea, she already had an event scheduled at a bar I found called The Sly. I chose it because parking around there was horrendous. The valet scheme only worked if marks used it.
Beanie vouched for Owen and Yaz, so I hired them to run the valet. Whenever they parked a car, they wrote down the mark's license plate and gave me his keys. I was parked in a van, making copies.
The operation was seamless, though I did almost have a meltdown the first time I saw Owen logging marks in a notepad.
"Owen!!! Is you taking notes on a criminal fucking conspiracy?"
"What?!?"
"You never saw The Wire? The TV show on HBO? Does Stringer Bell ring a bell? You can't be documenting this shit!"
"Shay, you're running valet parking without a parking lot. The cars have to go somewhere, and we need to find 'em when the owners come back. I already got cars shuffled across four lots. We have to keep track."
"Shuffled? What the fuck? Are you scattering them?"
As the words came out of my mouth, I felt like a fool. Of course he was scattering them.
"Can't have a pattern, Shay. Somebody might notice. I'd keep track of everything in my head, but Yaz needs to know where the cars are too. Don't worry. I shred the notes when we're done."
"From now on, you'll burn them!"
"I'll eat them if that makes you happy. No, really. Bring sauce."