REKT - Chapter 18

The Meet Up

We are thirteen hours apart. My morning, her night. She is on the city streets, I can hear the honking of horns, the chatter of passing crowds, and a waiter at their table. Her aunt, cousins, friends teasing her in the background. Switching into English when they want me to hear what they are saying about us. Niko is answering me in a low voice with clipped responses. I can picture her squirming in her seat.

“Let me speak to your Aunt. I want her to know I am suitable.”

“She doesn’t care about your prospects. This is Europe. People fuck on the back of mopeds because they are forty and still live with their parents.”

“That is savage. Niko, I need to speak with you alone, something important has come up.”

“I’ve just gotten back. This is the first-time people have seen me in weeks.”

“It is of the absolute utmost importance.”

There's silence on the other end of the line. The street noise is gone. I can no longer picture the outdoor café, her table with its bottle of red wine, lipstick-stained glasses, the cackles and teases.

There is just an emptiness on my end.

I drink coffee and look out at the morning mist. It’s starting to burn off. There’s an echo of a rainbow in the clouds. A stray cardinal takes flight. The bees are getting back to work. I’ll need to see Andy soon. I need Nikola to agree with me or else I am going to have to tell him what’s going on, then I’ll need to leave him alone with the news while I pay off Fritz. That’s not a good idea.

“I’ve gone to the car. We can speak now,” Nikola says.

“I’m going to call you on Signal.”

We switch over to the app, end to end encryption. If FinCEN is looking into us, then we need to start taking precautions. She answers on the first bong. There’s no background noise on her end.

“What is it, Ryan?” There’s a trace of fear in her voice. She should be afraid. I didn’t sleep last night, paced the cottage waiting for Fritz to give me an answer. No point in telling her until he did. Even after banging him down, it’s still a lot to swallow.

“Fritz figured out there’s no fund. He knows what we really do,” I say.

“That’s bad, but we can manage. Emergency liquidation. Send everyone their money. The bank will bury it. They don’t self-report stupidity.” She’s quick with an answer. She’s thought this through.

“It gets worse. FinCEN wants information on us. The customs guy in Rotterdam got busted. I spoke to a lawyer. Bank fraud would be a slam dunk if Frankfurt chooses to cooperate.”

There’s no answer from her side of the line. She has not thought this part through, or she has and she’s thinking of cutting bait on us. Her name is not on that account. Her name is on nothing. She’s holding almost two and a half million in coins. Fritz was not the only reason I didn’t sleep. Niko is back in Cyprus. She’s a long way from here. She could hide at home. Play dumb. She has no reputation to lose. She was raised to bank in the shadows. I’m sure there’s a playbook for this situation and it doesn’t involve cooperating with foreign law enforcement.

Would I even give her up? After all she’s done for us, after what we asked her to do? We aren’t rats. She knows that. She could hunker down in Cyprus. This entire affair could be just a bittersweet memory of something that almost was.

“Niko.” Please speak, the silence is deafening. The longer it grows, the more likely she goes. “Nikola…”

“How much does Fritz want?”

“Three hundred BTC.”

More silence. She knows the math. She knows that’s almost our entire stack. It was worth two million when he asked. It’s worth two point one now. We’d be left with three, four hundred thousand dollars. I’m asking her to give up her work, her trading wins, and start over again. We are such losers. Everyone in this market is making a killing and we cannot catch a break. She’s thinking we are Jonahs. Ryan and Andy need to go overboard to lift this curse on her.

She’s back, “We need him on tape. We need to incriminate him as well for insurance. He cannot come back on us for a second bite of the pie.”

Thank fucking Christ. Niko is still with us. She’s not going to hang us out to dry.

“Does Andy know?” she asks.

“No. I’m not supposed to talk shop with him.”

“He should know. It’s only fair.”

“And if it sets him off? If we lose him to depression. Our share of this is two thirds. We are a majority. If we both agree to pay off Fritz, then there’s nothing he can object to later.”

I’ve thought about this. I’m protecting Andy.

I continue on, “There’s a risk if we tell him. There’s a risk he threatens Fritz and escalates this entire situation. We need to eat shit on this and keep quiet to Andy. I don’t like it, but it’s necessary.”

“When are you meeting him?”

“Saturday in New York City at a coffee shop.”

“That gives me two more days to work. Maybe I can squeeze a little more out before then.”

“Niko, please don’t take chances. I have twenty-five BTC I can give you to trade, but we need three hundred BTC for Fritz. No losses.”

“Understood. Some welcome home. I’ve got to get back now. I told them you missed me, if we linger longer, they’ll think I had something more serious to deal with than puppy love.”

“Puppy love sounds better than blackmail. Call later?”

“We’ll see. I’m still jet lagged, but maybe I won’t be able to sleep after this. Three hundred BTC.” “Sorry Niko.”

“I’m sorry too Ryan. We’ve got bad luck. Just bad luck.”

Fritz is walking across Washington Square Park. He’s wearing a fedora, camel hair coat, wire rimmed glasses. There are two orange cups of coffee in his leather gloved hand. MUD written in hippy script on the sides of them. We were supposed to meet over on 9th street in the East Village. We changed the location to a spot that appears on an NYC public camera feed. He didn’t like that, but in the end, greed got the better of him.

“Since you did not come to the coffee shop, I will bring the coffee to you.”

I take a cup, pop the lid off, look into the milky brown foam.

“Don’t worry Ryan. Just coffee and cream. No sugar, just how you like it if I remember.”

That is how I like it. Fritz is astute, a careful observer. I wonder how long ago he pegged us. I wonder if he asked into the fund because he wanted to get his hooks into us. Such arrogance on our part. Such ignorance too. Too many drugs, too many parties, too disconnected from the rest of the world. It’s easy to make assumptions, live in your own self-delusion when you travel through life in a bubble. Now, it’s popped and here we are.

“Thank you Fritz.”

I hold the cup up, give him a small salute. He’s beaten us, might as well be a gracious loser. “This place is from the films. Where the guys play chess. Searching for Bobby Fischer, some cop movies. Very public. You didn’t need to be worried Ryan. This is very simple. No danger to you. Afterwards, I will walk by the house from I Am Legend. It’s right over there.”

Fritz points to a row of townhouses. I recognize the one Will Smith barricaded himself in. That poor dog of his. When we are done with the Mission Impossible movies, Andy and I should start in on Will Smith’s better stuff. Enemy of the State feels appropriate, actually that’s not a good idea. We’ll see I Am Legend for sure, then maybe switch to Vin Diesel and the Fast and the Furious series. Brotherhood, family, fast cars. Getting one over on the man. That’s the vibe we need.

The German sits down next to me. We are on camera. Niko is capturing this on tape. This is the part where we do the deal, where I tell him that he’s one of us now. He’s a bloodsucker. A vampire. Welcome to the brotherhood of crooked con men and financial swindlers. Enjoy the stink.

“Fritz, I want you to look up and wave.”

“Ryan, this is unnecessary.”

“Take your hat off, look up and wave. We are on camera. We are doing this deal in front of the entire city of New York.”

“What deal?”

“The one where you are blackmailing us. Where you are accepting three hundred bitcoins worth approximately two point two million dollars in exchange for stalling out a FinCEN investigation into potential bank fraud and customs violations.”

“Ah, we are doing it this way.” His eyes light up at the realization, “Of course, Ryan. There will be no second bite. Fritz has filled his belly. I am going to have such a fine meal tonight. Are you staying in town? Care to come out for sushi with me? My treat. If you’ve never been to Yasuda, you cannot say no. It is sublime.”

“Sorry Fritz, I’ll be at Zum Schneider having sausage supper with friends.”

“Then next time. Now, please hand me the address.”

“Tell me you will stall any further investigation into our accounts.”

“Of course, that is the arrangement. Bitcoin for cooperation. New twist on an old scheme. Look, I take my hat off and smile. Hand me the address and this will be over.”

I pass him a sticky note. There’s a hex key written on it. He pulls his phone out, types the numbers and digits into an app. It fails the first time. It fails the second time. The address is some thirty digits long. While it’s possible that Nikola has screwed me over, it’s more likely that Fritz cannot read my handwriting. How endless this feels. What humiliation.

“Is this a zero or an O?” Fritz asks.

“Zero.”

He tries again. A smile crosses his face.

“Are we done?” I ask.

He waves at the camera.

“Ryan, did you know where I worked before Frankfurt Bank?”

“No.”

“BASF, in their chemical division. There is no such thing as vantium.”

“I know Fritz, I know.”

“Good day Ryan.”

He walks off over two million bucks richer and we are back at square one. I feel like such a loser. My body rises off the bench. One heavy foot follows another. I pull the recorder from my jacket pocket, put it to my ear and listen to the conversation. My phone vibrates. Niko has sent me a thumbs up emoji. I return the same to her. Thumb up my ass is more like it, but we’ve got Fritz on audio and video, so that chapter of this debacle is closed. I’m heading towards Houston Ave. back to Katy’s bar. That’s where we go when Manhattan banks fuck us. A tradition unlike any other. I’ll have one for Andy if Katy’s serving me. I’ll have a half dozen no matter who’s serving. It’s going to be hard to hang with Kelvin Cho and the bros tonight. Everyone else is crushing it, only we are getting crushed.

I’m drunk. I shouldn’t be out. I should be at the airport Hyatt sleeping this off. I’m flying thirteen hours tomorrow. No one is here yet. Everyone is busy killing it. I’m the only loser in crypto with nothing to do. I bet there’s fake billions being made at this very moment, and I’m alone at a wooden bar under a cement tree branch drinking something called Aventinus. It tastes of cloves and spice. It is a wheat beer.

“You should be careful with that. It’s strong.”

That’s the big lederhosen wearing mother fucker behind the bar.

“I can handle my liquor.”

“I’m sure that you can, but it seems you’ve been out a bit. Maybe try something else?” He pulls my beer away from me. I try to grab it back. It spills all over the bar. My wheat, clove, too strong beer running away from me, down the stained wood, splitting into channels as it meets coasters, women giving me dirty looks as the spill reaches their shirtsleeves.

“It’s time for you to go friend,” the bartender continues.

“I’m not your friend.”

“I’m just trying to be friendly, friend. There’s no need to be mean.” The bartender is calm, placid, this is one of those bartender tricks. Fuck this guy and his fake friendliness.

“Fuck you.”

“Okay, now we go.”

He yells into the kitchen. Three athletic guys in chef whites come out. Do I really want to get my ass kicked? A part of me does. A part of me wants to get beaten silly. It wants to wake up bruised and sore, bleeding inside my mouth. It wants to feel pain, to be punished. A part of me wants to hit the self-destruct button.

That part of me is an asshole. He’s a loser. He wants to get taken out of the game just because we lost the last round. Fuck that baby. We’ve got work to do. Andy needs to get better. Icarus needs to wind down. Niko needs to rebuild our stack. We need to strengthen our relationship, turn puppy love into something deeper, lasting. I need to find out what I want from life. What I don’t want is to get my jaw wired shut because someone took my beer away from me.

I step back wobbly. Put my hands up and smile.

“We don’t need any trouble. Do we Fritz?”

“My name is Andres.”

“Okay Hans. You tell that Anthony Erskine that he’s a fucking asshole. You tell him that he’s fucking everything up,” I say.

“It’s time to go friend.”

“I’m not your friend.”

“Do you want trouble or not?”

Turn around, walk outside and puke in a trash can. Walk into a bodega, buy a bottle of water and call a Lyft to your hotel. Stop being an asshole. Stop trying to hit the self-destruct button. Get the fuck out of here before any of the bros show up and see you like this.

“You do me a favor Andres. You tell Kelvin Cho that I’m sorry. Tell him I lost my edge tonight and I’ll see him next time. Can you do that for me?”

“Kelvin, jah. Now get out of here.”

I lurch towards the bar wanting to take one of the empty mugs. They’ve got these cool mugs, big fucking things. It would be nice to have one as a souvenir. I feel a hand pulling on the back of my collar. It’s a big hand, strong as an ox, my shirt is tight against my neck. It stops me dead in my tracks, starts pulling me towards the door. I need to start walking backwards. If I don’t start walking backwards, I’m going to fall. If I fall, I’m going to puke. I’m going to puke on the floor of Zum Schneider. I’m going to puke on myself. They’ll never let me back in here. I’ll be wandering the streets of Manhattan covered in puke. Back the fuck up. Spinning, spinning, spinning.

“Ryan, where are you staying?”

“Airport Hilton. No Hyatt.”

“I’m calling you a car. First, let’s get our shit together. It’s not even eight yet. Are you okay buddy?”

“I’m not your buddy, pal.”

“Ryan, it’s Kelvin. Get your shit together.”

“Kelvin, Kelvin, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m such an asshole.”

“No, you’re not. You’ve just had too much. Let’s get you back to the airport.”

The second leg of the flight is endless. My edible wore off somewhere mid-Pacific and the idea of drinking turns my stomach. I’m hungry, but the sandwich they gave me is disgusting. We are almost to Maui. I can see the Big Island to the south of us. Boats look like little dots in the water, the clouds are low, big cotton balls kicked off by the moisture of the islands, the elevation of the volcanos. My phone vibrates. It has caught a signal. Dr. Wendy is texting me.

“Call me as soon as you land.”

That’s not good. Andy must have had a bad reaction to his meds. Maybe he had lashed out at an orderly. A number of things could have happened. I can feel adrenaline shooting through me, waking me out of my hangover pity party, priming the decision-making center of my brain. Our signal is spotty, the plane is on descent. The Big Island is fading from view. Out the windows on the opposite side of the plane, I can see my temporary volcano home, Haleakala.

“What is it?” The signal cycles in and out. I watch the little wheel twirl next to the word ‘Sending’. The message shoots off, a little check box showing Dr. Wendy has received it.

“Cannot tell you via text. HIPPA.”

HIPPA. Right, you cannot text patient information. Something has happened to Andy. It would be nice to catch a break for a change. To not come out of a dead zone into another crisis. I hope he’s okay. The plane is banking. We are on descent now. I can see the middle section of Maui, the flat crossroads between the two volcanoes that form a figure eight on this island. The airport is in the north, we are descending over cane fields. One day I’ll come back to this island, the cane will all be gone and replaced by condos. They’ll ruin this place just like they ruin everywhere else. I am counting backwards from a hundred. My ears pop as I chew gum. There are butterflies in my acid turned stomach. Ears ringing when they are not popping. Tinnitus. I slept like shit last night. My hangover. My pounding head. My body is coming back to life in the aftermath of the edible I took to get through this trip to Hawaii.

We touch down hard. Crosswinds. The plane bouncing up, bouncing down, flaps open. We decelerate fast as the pilot is heavy on the brakes. I feel my stomach pulling out of my body. It’s going to hit the seat in front of me, go splat. It’s so hot in the cabin. Look out the window. Count to ten. We are slowing down, slowing down, slowing down. That jet looks familiar. I’ve been on that jet before. Is that Deacon Joe’s jet? It is. What is he doing here? He’s leaving. Number three for departure. Is that why Wendy called? Did Joe come by for a visit, start talking about Erskine and crypto and get Andy all worked up? Did she ask him to leave? Who is that in the window? Oh shit, that’s Andy. Our eyes meet as my plane passes his on the runway. He’s smiling at me, waving goodbye. Jesus fucking Christ. Who let Andy out? I’m going to kill Joe. That fucking asshole.

“Did I just see Andy leaving Maui on Deacon Joe’s jet?”

Dr. Wendy is on the other end of the line. I don’t say hello to her, just go right into where the fuck is Andy talk.

“We don’t know where he is,” she answers.

“Did he have a visitor? Weird smelly guy named Deacon Joe.”

“Yes.”

“Did he disappear right after?”

“No, Joe came yesterday. Andy was there in the evening, then gone when we did our rounds this morning. He’s been missing all day. I had hoped he would reach out to you.”

“I’ve been up in the sky over an ocean all day. How did you let this happen?”

Other passengers are turning and looking at me. My voice is hard, urgent, accusatory. Rising above socially acceptable levels. I am losing my cool and making people uncomfortable. I can feel my stomach turning. Slow down, cool out. Don’t blame Wendy. Don’t burn your support system.

“I’m sorry Dr. Wendy. Do you know how he got out?”

“It looks like he hasn’t taken the last two days of pills. You know what weekend staffing is like. No one was keeping a close eye on him because he’s been a model patient this entire time. He just slipped out when no one was looking. You said he’s on a private jet?”

“He just flipped me the bird. The guy he’s run off with is not a good influence on him. He’s the reason Andy was here in the first place.”

“Oh dear, this is bad.”

No shit. It’s very bad. Downright horrible. I wipe the sweat off my brow. I’m hunched over in my seat, speaking low and slow. People have stopped looking at me, the excitement of being in Hawaii stronger than their urge to rubber neck. That first blast of air when you walk off the plane, such a different atmosphere here. It’s magical. I wish I could experience it for the first time again. It was better than losing my virginity. Anyway, back to Andy.

“What’s his condition like?” I ask.

“He’s been doing well. We’ve stabilized him, but he’s not ready to be unsupervised. He doesn’t have his meds. He needs to come back here.”

“That’s going to be difficult.”

How am I going to keep up with the two of them? How can I track them down? They’ve got the advantage over me. For starters, they just took off. I just landed. They have a private jet. I’m stuck flying commercial. They have money for days. We just got shook down. Finally, I have no idea where they are going. Fuck, I’ve got all Andy’s electronics too. I can’t even call to ask him where he is. “Can you write him prescriptions? I can give you Joe’s contact information, maybe you can talk him into hiring a nurse to keep Andy on schedule.”

This is so naïve of me. The last time these two were together they were trying to catch a predator who happens to be a connected hedge fund billionaire. Before that, Andy was nose down in a mountain of cocaine. Their jet is flying right into the heart of cryptomania. The next time I see Andy, he’ll probably be on CNBC raving next to Joe about changing the face of money forever. That poor nurse. Can you imagine having that gig? Again Ryan, you did have that gig and look how it turned out. Yet another fuckup. How many times have you left Andy alone while you attended to other parts of the business? How many times has that turned all into shit? Maybe the problem here is you, not Andy. Where is your head man?

“Ryan, are you there?”

Oh god, I’ve been ignoring Dr. Wendy and listening to myself. Pay attention idiot.

“Sir. Sir? Sir!”

Huh? Oh, the flight attendant. Am I the only one still on this airplane? Is that the sound of vacuuming? They are trying to turn this plane over. Grab your bag and get off.

“Sorry.”

I start packing all the little shit from my flight into a bag. Dr. Wendy starts speaking again. I cannot handle both of these things at once. Please stop, please stop. Need to focus on getting out of here. Okay Ryan, you are losing your shit. Just start walking and ask Dr. Wendy to repeat.

“I’m sorry. I missed that. Can you say it again? Just airport noise is all,” I say.

“I was saying we don’t usually do those things. I can coordinate with Andy’s doctor, but I can’t just hand Andy a batch of psych meds without supervision. That’s not going to work.”

“Okay. Let me get back to my cottage, call Joe’s jet and see what I can do here. Thanks Doctor.”

“Sorry about this Ryan,” Dr. Wendy says.

“My fault as much as anyone else. I’ll be in touch.”

“Ryan, before you go. Have you spoken to the doctor I referred you to?”

“Mayasaki? No. Sorry, I’ve been a little busy.”

“Make the time for it. This is when you need it most.”

“Will do Doc.”

The smell of the island hits me as I step off the plane and into the open-air terminal. That mix of sea and air. The fragrance of humidity, abundance, vegetation. The thin minerals in the atmosphere that flick out from the volcanoes. This is what I want. I want to stay out here. Make this my home. Live a peaceful, easy life. Stop running so much and start listening to the world. I could find myself out here for sure.  

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