Blotting Paper: A story of a drug Kingpin

last SG · 2014-04-24T11:41:55+00:00

TS, I think this is the correct forum you should post your story : http://sgforums.com/forums/1503Here are some writing resources you can look up to and impr...

Lindblum SG

Continued

Chapter 3

Blueprints

To me, if there was any take home lesson from the previous drug busts that incarcerated and executed dealers, it would be the following:

1) Minimize all contact. Never meet a customer; he could be followed or he could be an agent of the law.

2) There was a need for an undetectable medium for package drop off and pick up for customer.

3) Leave no paper trail (credit cards, phone bills, bank statements)

4) Secure mode of payment

Being in the United States taught me a few things about old school drug dealers. First, nobody will approach you to sell and buy drugs unlike how movies portray it. That stereotype where there would be a Black dude with a beanie and a bling standing by a street corner who anyone could approach to buy drugs from simply does not exist. Second, it isn't difficult to work your way out from your inner circle of friends to their extended network to locate a dealer whom he also considers a "First Hand Contact."

The first time I bought my drugs from dealers, I did the exact same thing. I scanned my network, attended events and parties, profiled people who would most likely be involved or had contacts to Dealers. Was it difficult to profile people? No, the answer is No. In college, all you needed was to identify the dudes who walked into the lecture hall/event and had a few people from various cliques and social circles saying "Hi" or fist-bumped him. Take note who they were, find chances to sit next to them, and initiate conversation with a simple "Hi," play it cool, and back off. Every time you see the same person anywhere in school, go up with a "Hi" and end with a "Catch you later," until one day he wants to talk. That was how I got initially invited to various parties and exposed myself to their networks.

If I could do this, so could undercover agents.

"No meeting customers," I told myself.

I needed a platform like Silk Road under a secure network like TOR Onion to mask myself and my customers. TOR essentially bounces your IP and servers off almost every worldwide server at random making it a nightmare for security agencies to track you down. It would be ideal for every one. The thing is: I'm a science major, not an IT expert. I needed a partnership; a partner who could manage such a system and website under TOR Onion, and I needed to make his time worthwhile. Secondly, I needed that partner, whom I know and trust, to stay in the US for me to funnel money to and fro, and more importantly, away from Singapore where there was little room to hide.

"Coby's brother, Phillip Kyung." That was the first name that came to mind. IT major, and the only one I know who wasn't afraid of breaking the law, and most importantly, meticulous.

That was the thing about doing crime; it had no room for mistakes. The police have thousands of people cracking their heads trying to piece a case against you, while you were one man. People who got busted always made a mistake somehow. They were careless. Either they met an agent who followed the drug and money trail, or they were betrayed by someone who got caught. In Singapore, the Police and CNB always never declare in the papers how they busted the Dealer, but if you sit down and think about it, it will not take long to realize that all they needed was to catch one customer for drug possession, make him cry in the interrogation room, strike him a deal of co-operation, and make him reveal the contacts/networks, then trace the phone numbers and stake out patiently, while figuring out where the Dealer hides his stash and cash. "Be smarter than the police, and you will live one more day," a philosophy I held all the way.

"No meeting customers, no first hand contacts," I told myself repeatedly. The difference between me and the busted dealers? I'm smarter than the Police.

Things were getting serious. There was a plan; it was to utilize TOR Onion's deep web to set up a market place where I could receive orders, money, and list my products without detection from law enforcement agencies. My plan was to have my partner run the whole operation here from the United States, while I stationed myself in Singapore to ship the goods domestically to customers in covert ways through the mail. That way, even if CNB and CID wanted to trace any IP, it wouldn't be possible. My partner will be running it overseas, bouncing the IP from server to server. CNB and CID would then engage Interpol, after determining it came from an overseas address. Even so, it would take a long time to even figure out where it was coming from.

Failing to plan was planning to fail. To beat the cops, I would have to think like a cop.

My operation was based on a single assumption on where CNB, CID, and Interpol would start looking. The way I saw it, CNB, CID, and Interpol would access TOR Onion like any user. They would see our username, and track where was this IP and server coming from. I called this Channel 1, and this would be where I would be sending them on a wild goose chase. Based on this, it wouldn't take long for CNB and CID to realize that there had to be a local contact (me) doing the shipping.

CNB, and CID, has no lack of experience catching drug dealers. But their very pride would be their downfall. So far, all the drug busts that they pride themselves over in the newspapers involved a dumb dealer with the standard old school drop off, pick up, and money exchange tactics. "So crass.. so unrefined.." Shaking my head. Never have they encountered someone who was educated, who would blatantly ship drugs over SingPost domestically in the guise of gifts, vouchers, advertisements, books, pamphlets, and greeting cards. All I needed was to slot Blotting Paper into one of those, stick a stamp, and drop it off in the mail. There are thousands of Posting Boxes all over the country, I would love to see them stake every one of them out. Since LSD is odorless, and colorless, they would have to open every single mail just to find my LSD Blotted Paper, and face national outrage. The more I planned, the more the excitement I felt. I could beat the whole system and tear their pride down. I was the master criminal..

I drew three lines on a paper parallel to each other. One line represented the order channel from Singapore to my partner, the second represented my communications channel to him. The third represented the money trail. All three lines had to run separately, and simultaneously. At that point in time, I haven't gotten it figured out. I needed to talk to Phillip Kyung.

Insomnia

My table was a complete mess. There were notes, RedBull cans, and books everywhere. Even my trash bin was surrounded by pizza boxes and sandwich wraps. Since the Finals, I never got down to cleaning my apartment. That thursday night I was swarmed with emotions. My gut was constricted, my head was buzzing from the Headband strain I just smoked.

"Too heavy on the Indica," as I got up from the couch. Simply put, I was high. My plans were not complete; there were tons of loopholes that could be easily exploited by security departments.

I logged on to Silk Road again, BlueViolet99 had replied, and was currently online.

" US$6000 for 45ml. You get as much as I can fit into the bottle. I will come down to NYC. Cash only "

Huh, how did he.. Right.. He knew my address, and knew I was in NYC. As expected of a Dealer cum Chemist, he kept a record of his dealings; a tactic I found most useful much later on.

Wait a second, that would mean US$6.66 a hit for a total of 900 hits, working on a 20 drop per mL assumption. Supposing I sold at $40 SGD per hit, I could be making $36000 SGD. Hell yea, I was in.

"Deal is good, thanks a lot. Where and when do we meet?"

"Soon. I will instruct via mail after you send me a copy of your State ID as insurance. Email it to [email protected] com or deal is off"

Shit just got real; I drew back and sank into my chair. Should I, should I not? State ID? I only have a Singapore Passport. But it looks like he wouldn't meet to sell unless I sent him a copy of some kind of identification. Till this day, I wasn’t sure if I was thinking straight that night; I was pretty high on weed to begin with. I took a picture of my Passport, and uploaded it to him.

Then there was no further reply.

As I sobered up from the Weed, I realized the shit I was in. I just fucking gave a copy of my Passport to a drug dealer, how intelligent was that. "Master criminal my ass.." I covered my face and lost count of the number of times I said “Fuck.” Truly an amateur.. I couldn't sleep anymore.

For the first half of Friday, I was lost in my head. I kept asking myself "What could he possibly do?" He knew my address before, and now he knew everything about me down to my last name. There was no way I could stay anonymous anymore. If he got busted, the DEA will come looking for me, seeing from his records how much he sold me. Whatever it was, my life was in God's hands. I hope he doesn't get caught, and I freaking hope he's as smart as he thought he was. Lets just hope he keeps his word and uses it as insurance..

All that stress had to come out somewhere. That night, I partied like there was no tomorrow; I couldn't even remember what I did other than playing games with this girl from Queens and banging her in the bathroom doggie style then passing out on the stairs. "Did I use condoms?" I wasn't sure, but I know I always make it a point to fuck with a condom when doing it with a stranger. Come to think of it, it was pretty funny that the bathroom had a little basket of condoms of all sorts sitting on top of the bowl; courtesy of the host.

One thing was certain; I had to leave the US as soon as possible in case he gets busted. Hopefully, just hopefully, the DEA wouldn't give a shit about me if they knew I had already left the country.

Lindblum SG

Friends

Once the hangover from the previous night wore off, I ran to the bathroom, and splashed my face with water. “Get your shit together!” The thing about drug dealers was that you can never ever trust them. Who was BlueViolet99, I did not know, but since he had insurance, I needed insurance too. That’s the way this game worked; you got to have something on each other. Having leverage over someone is ideal, but if you don’t have leverage, then you would need at least an identification of some kind just in case. Trust was almost non-existent. Perhaps fate wanted me to learn this lesson in the US where the penalties were milder before going back to Singapore. In Singapore, one mistake could cost me my life. I became more optimistic; I will learn from this.

“Phillip, it’s me L. Could we meet to talk at my place tonight at 7pm? I’ll get beers and pizzas; all you need is to show up,” My text read.

“ I’m down dude,” was his reply.

Phillip Kyung was second generation Korean American. One thing about Koreans was that they were really proud of their ethnicity, and they weren’t afraid to show it. He was about my height, 168cm, skinnier, had hair that extended beyond his ears, and never really had a sense of fashion. His jeans were baggy, and completely out of style. Who cares, he was a genius in his own right. Sometimes the Asian stereotype about being good at computers, math, and science was pretty accurate, but we just don’t like hearing it from non-Asians.

The bell rang at 7:15pm. We sat down and did small talk as always. I eased the topic on Silk Road, and my whole plan in. During this whole time, his face was expressionless, never saying more than the occasional “Ahh.” Somehow whenever he did that, I was reminded of an old joke about Koreans always saying “Ahhhhh,” Japanese always saying “Ehhhhhh,” and the Chinese always saying an incredibly sharp “Orh.”

“You’re fucking kidding me right?"

“I have already arranged a meeting with my dealer; I’m serious. I’m getting 900 hits"

“I.. I really don’t know if you’re fucking crazy or just plain stupid, L"

“$100,000 . That’s my target. We’ll split it 50-50. I’ll get 900 hits first, then I’ll return and get more from him. It’s so easy to come over with a Singapore passport. Clearing immigration is a breeze."

“You’re going to get caught, and we’re going to jail; I don’t like jail. I’m Asian, they’ll fuck my ass in there," rolling his eyes as Phillip chewed on his Pizza.

“That’s why I approached you. You were the one who explained TOR Onion to me. I NEED you, Phillip. To pull this off, I need someone who is paranoid, meticulous, and knows exactly what he’s doing. Look, I don’t care if you’ve been jobless for the past year; I need your skills, and you need my brains. Don't forget, I know the system"

Then the room fell silent.

I had said my bit, gave my business pitch, now it was in his hands. If he was against it, the whole Operation was off. Somehow I knew he liked the idea of using LSD. If there was one drug we could sell through the mail, walk through customs, and carry around without getting caught, it would be LSD. Odorless, colorless, and formless; these were the traits that would make it a success. While law enforcers spend their time and resources looking for pills and powders, we could just slip right past them, smile at their dogs, and walk out of the airport a free man.

That was the thing I learnt about being a Pick Up Artist; misdirection. When everyone was fixated on one thing, you do something else. Meth, Cocaine, Weed, ICE, Heroin etc - Those were the hard drugs the Police were looking for. Nobody would think about LSD, much less in Singapore where the dealers are dumb, their chemists are stupid, and the Police so acclimatized to that kind of stupidity. If dealers in Singapore had to mix glass pieces in the Powder to induce a better "high" by cutting small capillaries in your body for more absorption, their chemists must be pretty stupid. I could make LSD an epidemic, then when the Police start looking for LSD, I switch to something else. I wouldn't be a criminal, no, that would be an understatement; I would be The criminal.

“I’ll think about it L…"

“I gave my dealer a copy of my passport. There’s not much he can do with it, but whether you’re in or not, 900 hits of LSD will be coming"

“You’re fucking crazy, I swear to God."

Maybe I was. But my mind was fixated on beating the system instead of earning fast money. Everybody thought Einstein was crazy, but he turned out to be a genius. Make no mistakes, and I don’t think I will seeing God anytime soon.

Lindblum SG

NOTICE: I publicly apologize to the Admins for wrongly accusing them of deleting my Chapter 3. There was an editing problem and I fixed it. Also, for the SPF, and goverment Agencies reading this thread, nothing under OSA will be revealed. The plot and setting are fiction. My intention of this thread is to tell a story that blurrs fiction and reality, because a good story has to have a degree of realism. Thank you Readers

M the name SG

@lindblum, just wanna say that i liked your story so far... pls, do continue....

you are right that there are not many active readers, but don't worry about it.

BTW, do you know about the drug scene in Hong Kong? it will be great if your story could also talk about drugs here in HK...

all the best!

Your reply does remind me of "古惑仔" which is an realistic HK manga of underworld.

ILikeHippo SG

Oh Sheet. Seems that I share the same mindset with some drug lord.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6UHFHT1WhPc

Lindblum SG

-Continued

Chapter 3

Friends (II)

The following week, a letter arrived addressed to me in a pink envelope. In it was a pop out card wishing me a good day and signed off, Violet. Violet? Who's Violet? Something peculiar caught my eye; a small SIM card slotted into the corner. It was BlueViolet99.

Ahhh, so that's what BlueViolet meant. Clever motherfucker.

For an underground Chemist, he was sure going through a lot of precautions to protect himself. First my passport, then a SIM card to communicate. If you asked me, it was a truly an ingenious idea. In this fashion, there would only be one way to communicate with him. Paranoid? Maybe, but it was a brilliant plan. Anyone who received the SIM card could figure it out. It was way too dangerous to exchange numbers over Silk Road; The DEA or FBI may have already infiltrated the system with their tech department. Best to work on the assumption that they already have. Even the email address he gave me was from an anonymous email service. That way, even if the DEA was actively monitoring Silk Road reading all the Messages, they wouldn't have a fucking clue that we would be communicating through a secure phone line, on a SIM card dropped off through the mail. It was a foolproof double layered security. Truly brilliant.. I found myself saying as I looked at the SIM card between my finger tips. My guess back then was that the card was registered to someone else - it would be dumb of BlueViolet to take such precaution and register it under his name. Whatever it was, this BlueViolet99 was a professional; no doubt about that.

Luckily for me, I had an extra phone, and I waited for two days before I got a call from BlueViolet99 from that line. Needless to say, I was nervous.

"Hey there, liked the card?"

"H-HHey..... it was a little overdone don't you think"

"Hah maybe. Listen I'll be in NYC tomorrow. I will meet you at 545 W 110TH Street. Will 2pm be ok?"

"Perfect, see you there"

"You got it. Listen, come alone; we'll make it short and sweet"

He hung up.

Contrary to what I was expecting, he actually sounded pretty decent. Definitely White; 40s? I wasn't sure, but I had expected him to be a little more gangster-like. Been watching too many movies I suppose. Right after he hung up, I made a phone call to Phillip and told him the details and a little plan that I had.

"That's all? You just want me to snap a picture of his face?"

"I need a close up shot, Phillip. Its Insurance."

"Ok got it, but just so we are clear, I haven't agreed with you on your plan to take over the world"

"It's a plan for us to get rich and for you to finally put your talent into use instead of playing games"

"Fuck you L"

One thing I found amusing was that games and IT guys always go together. Phillip was so good at World of Warcraft that he used brag to us about being friends with the legendary FireMage called Hansol. Nerd..I shook my head.

I unlocked my luggage and took out the US$2500 my dad brought over when he came to visit in August. Perhaps its a thing with their generation; they preferred to carry a lot of cash. I kept procrastinating and never got down to actually depositing the money. Later that day, I made a trip down to the bank to withdraw the remaining US$3500. A part of me wanted to do this, and another part of me was reminded how hard my father had worked for this money, and I was about to spend it on LSD. I shouldn't be doing this; this wasn't right.

Investment, this was an investment..

If I pulled this whole Operation off, I could pay my dad 5, no 10 times the amount I took from him, plus interest. Agreeing to the deal with spending US$6000 on LSD was the easy part. It's only when you go to the bank to do the actual withdrawal that you have second thoughts. Seeing the actual money in your hands was more than enough to sense the gravity of things. How was I going to tell my dad that I'm now US$6000 short?

Course deposit for school.. Yea that's right... Just say it's a deposit for reserving my place in my school if I go back to Singapore.

My dad would be too busy, I don't even think he would even realize that there was no such thing. I was going to Hell for sure.

Twenty minutes until 2:00pm.. I kept looking at my watch, and time was just crawling. I didn't have any appetite for lunch; my gut was too constricted and I was taking short and light breaths. The bus stopped a few blocks away from 545 W 110TH Street, and I decided to take a slow walk on foot. If there was anything I learnt about being a Police Officer, it was to mind your surroundings. Every step I walked, I counted the possible locations BlueViolet or the DEA could be coming from. But I didn't expect the DEA that day; there was no way the DEA could have known from the secure phone line we used to communicate. If anything could go wrong today, it wouldn't be getting arrested. My worst fear, albeit unlikely, was that I was going to mugged of US$6000 by BlueViolet.

"I'm in the car. I will be able to see you once you turn the corner. Coby is at the other end smoking. Do not look at him once you're past him"

I took a quick glance at Phillip's text and put my personal phone back into my coat. The sky was clear, but there was a strong breeze today; typical of an early winter. For clearer recognition, I wore a red beanie on purpose in case.. just in case, something goes horribly wrong with the deal. However amateurish this was, it was our only shot at getting a picture of BlueViolet. Phillip with the high zoom camera, Coby with a simple portable camera.

20 minutes past 2pm; still no sign of BlueViolet. My secure line with BlueViolet still hasn't rung. Why was he making me wait? I'm pretty sure he would show up, but being late was completely rude. Then I thought about what I would have done if I were him; I would have surveyed the surroundings first.

Shit.. Did he spot Coby and Phillip?

Though possible, but its an unknown. The longer I stood at the street corner, the more suspicious I was going to look, that was just common sense, was BlueViolet an idiot?

Finally, the call came in through the secure line. His voice was a little distorted by the breeze blowing across his receiver.

"Hey, I see you now. Take a turn, walk towards Central Park. Find the first bench you see, and sit down. I will be there; just wait for me."

"Ok, Got it."

He was watching? From where?

I hung up on him. I looked around; I couldn't see anyone who suited his profile, White, 40s, or at least that was what he sounded like to me. As I walked towards, my personal phone started ringing continuously. It had to be either Phillip or Coby wondering why I left my position. If BlueViolet was watching me, it would be unwise to pick it up now. That was why I wore the red beanie in the first place, so that they could spot me moving and make appropriate changes to the plan.

Almost there.. As I walked a couple of more blocks.

After sitting down as instructed, the waiting began again. Then he finally came, a Super Big Gulp of soda in his hand, grinning at me at the same time. He was White, had short white hair with a side parting, a little on the plump side, and a really gentle face with droopy cheeks. Absolutely not someone you'd expect to be a drug dealer. He looked more like my science professor than anything. The things people do for money..

Geez.. So much soda, no wonder you're so fat...

He wasn't 40. Definitely much older; I'd put it at 50, 60 or somewhere in between. BlueViolet had this smile about him that could brighten up even the gloomiest person on the Earth. To be honest, I felt secure, and I felt like I was in school. So much to the extent that if I had asked him an organic chemistry reaction, he would probably take a pen and paper out and start drawing line structures. It was that funny.

"Want some soda?" He gestured his Super Big Gulp to me as he sat down.

"Nah, I'm good," politely refusing.

For a moment, we both didn't know what to say to each other. We just sat and looked at the park in awkwardness while he continued to drink and swirl his soda in the cold weather. Violet broke the silence.

"What's your major?"

He knew I was a student? ... While I didn't actually think he was sure, it was probably a wild guess based on the way I was dressed, and my address. I lived near the university after all, naturally anyone in his shoes would guess that I was a student. Enough was enough, whether it was a wild guess, or an accurate profiling, there was no way in hell I was going to let him know about my life. The danger was real and clear. Beneath those smiles, fat droopy cheeks, and friendly facade, was a pit viper that would strike anyone and everyone; friend or foe. Anybody who needed "insurance" will have no hesitation using it as leverage against you. This was the way of the underworld world. Brotherhood, honor, and trust were just buzz words to get the less intelligent to fall in place on the chess board.

"Ehh.. Come on you know so much about me, and now you want to know my major too"

Again that little funny grin came on his face.

"It's just insurance. There's never such a thing as being too careful in this line, you would be wise to remember that."

"Do you always ask your customers for their State IDs?"

"Only the ones who Deal - Come on, don't give me that look. From that amount you wanted, you're either the Feds, or a Dealer."

With one hand, he peeled open his coat, and gestured to me to pass him the money with the other hand. Naturally, I was reluctant. Was he trying to be funny? He wanted me to hand him $6000 of cash without a single indication that he brought the goods. Come on, I was no fool. He probably sensed I was reluctant to hand him the money like that.

"You're not really good at doing business are you."

Hearing this, he closed his coat and once again drank his soda while grinning at the same time. Then he turned to look at me again.

"You sure you don't want some soda - you paid for it"

Huh.. I paid for his soda? .. Ahh, I get it now

I can't help but smile at the realization of what was going on. I paused for a while, looked up at the sky with both hands in my pockets, and turned back to face him.

"How good is the soda?"

"Good enough for a very long time."

The mood lightened up, now both of us were happy with the pleasantries and comfortable doing the exchange. I took out the envelope from my coat, gave him, and in return, he gave me his whole cup of soda. Swirling the cup; I could feel the ice, and a large object within the cup as it hit the cup walls. Just to be sure, I opened it, and saw a bottle floating with the ice. As much as I wanted to sample it to prove its authenticity like how the movies portray, it was an extremely bad idea to Trip right now with so much LSD on my hands.

"Thanks. Want your SIM card back?"

"No, keep it. The number I used to call you with will be the number you will text or call if you want to contact me, but send me an Email first when you're gonna call - I have a ton of those cards and only a few phones."

"Wait, how do I address you?" I wanted a name, and I wanted it bad.

"Violet" grinning again once more. This time, I wanted to punch his fat obnoxious face and wipe that grin off his face. Obviously, any idiot who believed that his name was Violet would be an even bigger idiot.

There was no handshake. There was no need to. A dealer had just met his super-dealer in what was basically a trust-less relationship. We parted ways as casually as we met. In total, the exchange didn't take very long; probably 10minutes tops. My personal phone rang after a few minutes; it was Coby.

"Dude, I got a picture of him; it isn't very clear but it'll do for now. Lets meet up with Phillip first and we'll see whether he managed to get good shots"

Finally, I had something on Violet.

Lindblum SG

Chapter 4

Newton's Laws

We went back to my apartment and sat by the dining table while I looked at the pictures they took. The clearest shot came from Coby, because he was the only one who got closest to Violet. The mood wasn't exactly uplifting, but all of us were filled with an inconsistent mix of fear, and excitement. No, it wasn't because I had just bought 900 hits of LSD in a 45mL bottle floating in a soda cup. We bought LSD and marijuana all the time, a couple of hundred more made no difference. What gripped us today was that we had just gotten a glimpse into the workings of another world. Leverage, concealment, surveillance, counter-surveillance, and anonymity - those were espionage stuff we watched on TV and read in books all the time. The exchange with Violet today taught us everything we grew up on, and the stuff we thought we understood, was fake.

"Look, this Violet guy, was good. Coby told me how he looked like and to go on foot from the other direction, so I parked my car, took my camera with me, and pretended to be a tourist. You know what, I managed to follow him for a while across a few blocks and streets. I don't know if he thought he was being followed, but he walked all the way straight to the Metro at 103th. Anyone would think he would have taken the Metro to blend in, but no. Right outside the subway entrance, he crossed the road to the other side, and got into a cab."

Right... my first reaction to that was an expression of awe, but deep inside I said "amateurs.." Phillip and Coby went on and on with each other about how close they were to getting the shots, and how they pretended to do something else when Violet passed by. They were so engrossed sharing their version of it with each other, that I didn't want to hurt their feelings. This was probably the most exciting event that happened to them in their whole life; I didn't want to ruin it. Best to let them think they were the Asian version of James Bond. Violet probably knew Phillip was following him, that was why he made the sudden change in course. They were no operatives. Among the three of us, I was the only one with Police training, and real patrol duty experience. Computer geniuses yes, but definitely not suited for the field.

From their excitement, I could tell Phillip enjoyed such a thrill. I didn't want to push it that night, and avoided raising the question about his involvement in our Partnership. I still needed him to do the computer work for me. He may be untrained, clueless in surveillance, and had no idea how to deal with criminals. But in the world of computers, he was God. He used to tell me, the reason why he was jobless wasn't because he lacked the skills. It was because he didn't want to spend his life writing codes, and probing the company's system loopholes. Like me, we both wanted to be someone; we had dreams. We wanted to be people that mattered, and we didn't want to die in obscurity. Working a 9 to 5 job, coming home for dinner, only to do another 9 to 5 job the next day wasn't what we wanted in life. He had to be my partner, I just needed that extra push to motivate him.

Later that night while I was in my shower, I got a voice mail from David, my dealer for high quality weed strains.

"L, David here. Heard you're close to Steven. Wanted to let you know he got arrested at his place for smoking weed. I don't think it's anything serious. A cop was probably nearby and followed the smell all the way to his place. Couldn't be his neighbors; they're nice people, and I just talked to them."

"What.. Just like that? Some cop came at random, and started sniffing shit and he got caught?"

Steven's sentence was the last thing on my mind. Steven will probably just get a fine of a few hundred dollars and be let out the next day, given New York's marijuana laws. But what got to me was how simple a mistake could be to get you arrested. He was smoking in the comforts of his house, and all it needed was a cop at the wrong place, and at the wrong time, to do what he was trained to do, and you're busted.

I needed to be smarter and better than who I was now if I were to pull a successful operation off in Singapore. I had to predict every possible outcome, anticipate every single move, and take the necessary precautions to avoid making the simplest mistake. I needed to be more than just a Dealer; I had to be beyond and above everyone else. To beat the Police, I must be above them. As I looked back on the day's events with Violet in Central Park, and Steven's arrest, it dawned on me that it would require a whole different skill set just to stay alive and anonymous in Singapore. I needed to be a seller, an operative, a liar, and a genius. It was more than just setting up an anonymous website and shipping LSD off through the mail. I would need all my street smarts, and I still haven't figured a way for money to be transferred since I couldn't afford meeting anyone. Now the weight of 900 hits of LSD, and being a Dealer was beginning to set in - my head was spinning.

The whole room lit up once again as I relaxed on my couch. Once again I felt I connected with the synergies of the universe, the System, and myself. My breathing got lighter, my head stopped spinning, and I started to see things differently. Everything made sense once more; I had all the answers to what went on earlier. As I closed my eyes, my mind began to wonder and float in a mix of fantasy and reality, seeing things from Phillip's perspective, seeing things from Coby's perspective, and from Violet's perspective. I could literally see, smell, and hear the things they saw; from the sounds of cars along the road, to the scent of the woodiness and dirt of Central Park.

One thing was certain, Violet was used to being followed. Real surveillance teams never follow a person across a more than a few blocks, much less streets. An operative would follow a suspect around a corner, then back off, and let another operative stationed at a designated point take over the surveillance for a few more blocks, and then hand the surveillance to a third operative, while the first and second operative move quickly to another position with new outfits which could be a new cap, or a new jacket, and wait for the suspect to pass by them again. What Phillip did was completely amateurish. Did I learn this from the Police? No. I was trained to project police presence, not to avoid being seen. During my time in the Police, I went out of my way, driven by passion, to read decommissioned Soviet field manuals I found online, so I may detect people like that. Sadly, I never got to use it. Maybe the criminals in Singapore were really that dumb.

"But why a cab..? He could have blended in by taking the Metro.."

The more I thought about it, the more I began to see the light. Indeed, this guy was a professional. In this age of technology, and the high rate of crime in New York, naturally there would be police and security cameras stationed throughout the Metro and in the trains. Where you go, where you get off, and which entrance you came in from can be captured through the cameras. If I were the DEA or FBI tracking Violet, I could narrow down the areas where he came from if he took the public transportation. Knowing cab drivers in New York, all you have to do is tell them you don't need a receipt, pay a pre-determined sum greater than the estimated meter fare, and they'll be more than willing to drive you anywhere you want. There'll be no record of your travel; FBI and DEA won't be able to track the cab driver, because there's no record. Even if they somehow managed to find the driver through road cameras, the cab driver won't even remember it. Violet could get off anywhere, change a cab, go on foot, then take another cab in the same manner, and he could basically disappear into New York with no trace of him. And then I thought, the same idea can be used in Singapore.

My couch and I felt like we were at the very center of existence. The great revelation of understanding how the whole system worked made me feel like the entire world existed for me to conquer. What was the world but a myriad of systems, rules, and laws. For each move the police, government, and criminals made and thought would make them ahead of the game, they'd always end up right where I wanted them to be. I could play the strings while I made everyone hum to my tune. Was I moving as a part of this world, or was I watching the world from a cloud. Whatever it was, there was one thing uniquely different this time round: I wasn't on LSD.

Lindblum SG

UPDATE: Introduction has been edited for coherence and flow. Thanks all for your support, it was really encouraging.

M the name SG

Oh Sheet. Seems that I share the same mindset with some drug lord.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6UHFHT1WhPc

Oh Mad, I have also heard that there is a 'drug lord' drama called 'Breaking Bad' and the producer even use periodic table format to 'circle' the first 2 letters of the drama title to showcase the show. Talking about creative design : http://www.meineihan.com/neihantupian/13380.html

Lindblum SG

- Continued

Chapter 4

Newton's Laws (II)

One fascinating thing about winter was that there would never be a lack of surprises at the brutal, and unpredictable sudden plunges in temperature. The temperature would plunge below freezing for a day or two, accompanied with spine chilling winds, and end with the occasional flurries keeping almost everyone holed up at home. It wasn’t uncommon to open your door today and see a puddle of water in a pothole, only to find it becoming a frozen slip hazard the next morning.

The weather took a turn for the worse. For the past few days, SEAMLESS became my best friend. SEAMLESS was an online food ordering and delivery one-stop portal, which a customer could access, choose it’s participating restaurants, and have food delivered to your doorstep. Its convenience was simply impeccable. What more could a hungry man ask for from an app or a website, to have food delivered right to your doorstep in a matter of 45 to 60 minutes. I could take a dump, watch my favorite sitcom on TV, and do some reading while waiting for the knock on the door. Before I came over to the United States, I had never heard of such a one-stop portal. The online food ordering and delivery one-stop portal never really gained traction in Singapore. Maybe the people didn’t trust technology enough to make online payments, or maybe Singapore lacked entrepreneurship, I do not know. If there were a way to describe Singapore, it would be an incredibly polarized society. On one hand, you have the people familiar with technology, and on the other hand, you have the folks who scoff at technology as nothing more than entertainment.

But SEAMLESS wasn’t the only thing I ordered from the Internet. I did my groceries through an assortment of websites like AMAZON, PEAPOD, and SOAPBAR. Everything was digital and done through my MacBook Pro. I wasn’t the only one doing that; almost everyone in my social circle used online shopping for food, groceries, or both. As the weather got colder, and the schoolwork got harder, I completely lost the drive to make a trip down to the grocer. To me, the Internet couldn’t just be defined in terms of convenience; it was a matter of endless possibilities. I had to use it for my LSD endeavor.

It was a Tuesday and close to a week away from Christmas. The time was about 5pm and I just came back from the university fitness center feeling proud after doing a full set of strength training and aerobic exercises. After I came out from my shower, there was a knock on the door.

“Mr L., your 18-inch chicken pesto pizza, garlic knots, and 20 wings, seasoned and garlic pepper. Please sign here,” as the deliveryman handed me the invoice. He was short, had Hispanic looking features, and didn’t look like he wanted anything more than for me to sign the invoice and leave. Apparently, it had already been paid for, and it was clearly addressed to me.

I know I wasn’t thinking straight, but that episode with Violet clearly left me looking at things from a different light. Let me remind you, I wasn’t shaken, but I had a completely new perspective on how something innocent could turn out to be something else. Was this some kind of scam, a trick, or was I supposed to find something hidden inside like a note or another SIM card? I kept a straight face, but my mind was just swirling in a soup of questions, and possibilities.

“Is there some kind of mistake? I didn’t make such an order.”

“I don’t know man, I just deliver. Call the restaurant if you want; I gotta rush to another place now.” And with that he just shut the door behind him. I didn’t even have a chance to tip him.

“New Yorker..”

That was my way of describing the typical New Yorker: Blunt, and simply no time for bullshit. In many ways, New York was just like Singapore; people were always in a hurry, scuttling like ants, and going about their business. If you weren’t in a hurry, you were jobless, homeless, or fabulously rich. Everyone had something to do, and nobody would notice you unless you made your point in an assertive, and attention grabbing manner.

Not long after I placed the pizza, garlic knots, and wings on the table, there was another knock on the door. It was the Kyung brothers; Coby, and Phillip.

“Surprise! Phillip said it was our treat this time round, and there was a 10% discount on SEAMLESS, so fuck yea, we’re having pizzas tonight. Is it here yet?” Phillip was behind him with two 6-packs of beer; ASAHI, and PERONI, both our favorite lagers, except one’s Japanese and the other’s Italian.

“Dude, you should have called. What if I was going out?”

“You told Phillip you were hitting the gym, so I said we gotta catch you with the delivery before you left your place.”

Once they got settled in and placed their coats on my couch, we each raised a bottle of beer and chugged it within a minute. It was customary of us to chug the first bottle of beer to kick-start the night before doing anything; it gets the juices flowing. For the next 20 minutes, we made small talk about the weather, Coby’s National Guard enlistment, and things we found interesting recently. Yes, Coby was enlisting in the National Guard; he probably figured he’d make a better soldier than a chemist.

Coby was somebody who could fit in any social circle because of the way he talked and came across. When I first met Coby in General Chemistry lab, his first words to me were “Yo, Wassup.” It made me completely uncomfortable with him as a lab partner, but at that instant, I knew he was a laid back, easygoing person, and that we could be friends. He wasn’t too assertive, and he had that level of meticulousness about him that I found similar to mine, even though he always came to lab unprepared.

Phillip on the other hand was different from Coby. Phillip was 3 years older than Coby, but still a little younger than me. I was 25, and in undergraduate terms, I was pretty much an old fuck. They may share the same genes, but clearly, Phillip was a lot more paranoid than Coby, and lacked the street smarts that Coby had. Phillip had to be introduced by Coby before anyone would even talk to him at parties, and events. He was the kind of guy who could come and go in your life, and you wouldn’t even remember he existed. Maybe that was why he chose computer science as his undergraduate major and graduate studies, where he could completely immerse himself in another world.

What Phillip lacked in street smarts, and social skills, he made it up with intelligence and paranoia, to the extent it got pure irritating. The first time Phillip bought Weed, he was so paranoid about it going bad, that he bought a box of mason jars, a food saver vacuum pump, oxygen absorbers, and moisture absorbers; all these just to preserve a couple of buds and prevent it from further degradation. Honestly, if my Weed had gone bad, I would have just made another phone call to buy more instead. Whatever it was, Phillip’s paranoia made him incredibly detailed, and sequential, a trait I needed in a partner.

“We’re in. We need to know more about your little plan.”

“We? You mean both you and Coby?”

“What. You didn’t think I’ll do this without my brother, did you. It’s always better to have two brains and someone you can trust,“ chugging down what was left in his bottle of ASAHI.

Everything that I had thought out, and played out in my head over and over again for the past few weeks till that day, I told it to Coby and Phillip. It was incredibly detailed, from how I would smuggle the LSD back, to the actual operations assuming Phillip was helping me, to how we would communicate, down to the most rudimentary examples of counter surveillance. Everything I thought of was based on the assumption that the DEA, CNB, CID, and Interpol were tracking us. It pays to be careful. Channel 1 from the deep web on TOR Onion will be used to take orders and sent directly to Phillip. Phillip will then communicate to me the orders and our normal exchanges on Channel 2; either an Email or a phone app service, which had to be encrypted. Channel 3 will be our money and paper trial to each other.

The look on both the Kyung brothers’ eyes was that of a man deep in thought. There was a moment of silence, during which I got up to get another beer from the refrigerator.

Lindblum SG

“That’s not good enough. We have to close our Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and MySpace accounts. Using Gmail to send emails to each other? Bad bad bad idea. Never use services of big companies, L. The government pays them to reveal stuff. We're gonna be so screwed.”

Phillip was right; I should have realized this. Governments have power, and the police had access to resources that we didn't. The more he explained, I was convinced I found the right guy. Any government who allowed social media into their country can request for your information, right up to your friends, photos, and profile. I have heard of the police using Facebook and blogs to solve cases. Our entire network of friends, family, and places we frequently visit could be tracked if the police had us on their radar. All those places we check-in with our friends, and families on Yelp, or Facebook, can be used by the police as places to look for you, view their cameras, and identify all the people you were with. Social media had to go. And it totally made sense; big companies like Microsoft, Google, Yahoo etc have huge databases of people. Any government in the right frame of mind will look to them and ask for details. To remain in the shadows, we must adopt a life of anonymity.

“Then how do we communicate?”

“Channel 2 will have to be Anonymous Email Services from people who are paranoid about being tracked. There are such people and services around; courtesy of the free world. Only access it at one time of the day. I will give you a window period of when to look at your Email to take shipping orders from me, and in that window period, you must get down all that information.”

“I’m down with your plan. But why only a window period, at a specific time?”

Phillip smiled, sat back with a pizza slice in hand. It was the smug of confidence and the look of self-admiration at the epiphany of his own genius. Whether it was a deliberate pause, both Coby and I were waiting with eagerness at the genius he had in store.

“So I know it’s you. I will set it up in such a way that I can track people accessing it, and if accessed at any other time, I know you are being tracked by the police.”

Working on the assumption the Police was tracking us was the right move. But we needed more layers of security. I had thought of the idea of encrypting our messages. Since I had to receive the shipping orders from Phillip through Channel 2, it would be wise to work on encrypting our texts and Emails, so the Police won’t have evidence of us taking orders for drug smuggling. Even if the Police were to find Channel 2 through their sophisticated IT departments, they would need evidence to incriminate us as drug dealers. Yes, we needed an extra layer of security, and the only person who knew how to encrypt messages would be Phillip. I trusted his computer and IT skills.

“It’s possible. But it’s a lot more work than our original plan, not to mention it’s not worth it.”

"We need encryption, Phillip. It's logical, not to mention, a rudimentary requirement for intelligent people like us."

"Oh, we'll get it, but why not listen to my plan first?"

Phillip put both his hands on the table, crossing his left palm over his right, tilted his head and in a very serious tone, he looked at us and said, "We buy encryption software online," ending his sentence with a tap on the table with his index finger.

Then he stopped there.

It felt like a cold wind just blew across the room and the whole world just died. Everything fell silent, with Coby and I left in animated suspense; eyes wide open, and a gapping mouth. The man who we had thought was a genius 10 minutes ago, suddenly made us feel he was from Mars, or the weirdo from Ancient Aliens.

Coby turned to face Phillip in total disbelief.

"That.. is like the dumbest freaking shit I've ever heard in my entire life. I can't believe we live together."

"What the fuck…"

As Coby and Phillip quarreled about who said the dumbest thing in their 20 over years of living together, I was just speechless, reeling in from the shock and outrageous suggestion Phillip just gave. I certainly hope he was just joking. Was he kidding us? The Police IT departments were going to bust the code in less than a day, and read all our texts, emails, effectively hammering the last nail in our coffin. We were going to get busted, Coby and Phillip were going to jail, and I was going to be hanged.

"Wait! I'm not done yet, geez. This is my plan ok, I know what I'm saying. Listen first! Fuck both of you; have more faith in me ok, you fucktards."

"We're waiting; go on. And I'm just waiting to dick slap your face if you say something stupid again brother."

"L, you wanted a double layered security in Channel 2. Well good news for you; I have a triple layered security. We use medieval communication techniques, encrypted in technology. That will send their tech departments crazy, I tell you. If I wrote the damn encryption, I would have to change it all the time, test, probe, then change it again. They have hundreds of tech experts cracking the codes, and I'm just one man; its just plain stupid to use my encryption."

Phillip paused, took a deep breath then continued.

"We get the same book, something rare, a book that not many people read. Use cartesian coordinates x,y,z in numbers that identify which page, row, and numbering for the word we refer to, then encrypt it using different online softwares. It will send the police tech departments crazy! They will have no freaking clue what we are talking about even if they crack the encryption code because all they see are numbers like 10,25,4 - 200,23,6 - 98,20,13. They need to find our book first; there are billions of books in this world, if they don't find our book, they can't crack our code. That, fucktards, is real intelligence!"

-to be continued

Lindblum SG

-Edited for content-

Lindblum SG

Update: Previous post was edited for content. I call it improvement to content.

Lindblum SG

New Year’s Eve

Kyung

Was it drool accumulating on the left side of his face, Phillip couldn’t tell. What he did know was that all familiar cold press of wet slimy saliva on the fabric of his pillowcase against his cheek, and it was anything but comfortable. He had pulled another all-nighter for the past few nights working on his computer, frequently sleeping at 5 in the morning because in the days preceding Christmas he was busy with everything relating to December 25th.

First, pre-Christmas shopping needed to be done that included everything from groceries to presents, then everyone had to meet Aunt Choi and family over at New Jersey for a Christmas reunion on Christmas Eve, followed by an actual celebration on Christmas day itself at his place in Queens, New York. For the longest time, Christmas was the one season he looked forward to since he was a kid because it represented more than just warmth and family; it was magical. Daylight was nothing more than the gradual symphonic built up of the Christmas spirit, in anticipation of the grandeur of the finale when the day gave way to dusk. Because when night fell, the town would glow with an inspirational mix of green Christmas trees decked in brilliant displays of ribbons, red, silver, and gold, coupled with bright Christmas lights, against the backdrop of the majestic vastness of the night sky sprinkled with silver stars. Whenever a cold breeze swept across town and Phillip was walking down the streets huddled in his coat on a night like this, it felt like with a little bit more of Christmas cheer, his coat would fluff out at the bottom, and with a slight leap, he could take off and fly into the night.

He got up looking dazed with blood shot eyes staring into oblivion. The percolating light through the wooden blinds hinted at the time of the day; it was close to noon, and still he felt like he hadn’t gotten enough sleep. It was like college all over again, frequently working until dawn and crashing on the bed till his first class at noon.

Phillip was still very much a child and a even though he was already 25. He slept with his baby pillow his grandmother from Seoul had sewn him since he was born. There was a poster of a Night Elf on the wall, and World of Warcraft action figures of almost all classes lined up along the windowsill. That wasn’t even the end of it. He had a dedicated shelf just to keep his Japanese comic books, and video games. His favorite comic book series: One Piece. It was a story about a boy with big dreams of becoming a Pirate King, rather befitting of Phillip’s life so far. To think about how he was able to get any studying done in a room like this has always been one of the greatest mysteries of the Kyung family. He was a great dreamer, frequently self-absorbed in his own world, and had great aspirations of embarking on an adventure filled with thrill and excitement like in the movies. The irony was, he wasn’t able to step out of his comfort zone. New Jersey was probably the furthest he had ever ventured out to on his own.

There was still an hour before meeting a Robert Arrigo on Manhattan for lunch, but he had to leave early. He couldn’t drive; the roads were a testament of the snowstorm the night before that blanketed the entire East Coast in at least 4-inches of snow. Phillip pulled the blinds up and saw his car buried in an uneven heap of freshly plowed snow swept by the snowplows. His mother downstairs could distinctly hear him shouting, “fuck!” after he had pulled the blinds up. With hardly any time to lose, he washed up, packed his laptop into his bag, grabbed his coat, and made his way down to the train station. Thankfully the trains were operational.

Phillip walked into the café wrapped from top to toe like a burrito, huddled in two layers of clothing and an outer black coat that had obvious white lint speckled all over it; a testament to its age. He had used since his freshman year at college and somehow, Phillip never got down to changing it. Coby on the other hand changed his coat every year out of pure vanity. Coby pursued style and fashion, while Phillip simply prioritized functionality. “If it keeps you warm, it does its job,” was his favorite retort to Coby.

“He’s late…” Shaking his head in disapproval as he grabbed a seat, removed his gloves, and unpeeled his coat at the same time. He chose a seat close to the window; somehow the natural sunlight and a view of the streets gave him a better appetite. Phillip just couldn’t fathom how anyone, in good conscience, could make someone else wait and it was already 15 minutes past the arranged time.

The door opened, and through it stepped a figure calmly brushing the frost off his black leather shoes against the doormat, betraying no emotion, indicating no sign of remorse for being late. It had to be him; that smug of confidence on his face, and the perpetually unapologetic straight posture that gave anyone the impression that someone of his stature was worth waiting for. It was an unmistakable mark of the stereotypical Wall Street types. He was clad in a black overcoat, complete with an inner suit and white shirt, its collars fastened with a striped tie of baby blue and black. Furthermore, Phillip had seen his picture on Linked-In when he searched him up.

Phillip was nervous; he had rehearsed his lines multiple times in his head before this meeting, from basic introductions to the main topic. What Phillip wasn’t sure, was how to keep this Robert Arrigo from walking out on him after he had said his piece. He wasn’t used to meeting strangers, much less engage them on a personal level, but it was urgent, and he had to make this arrangement on his own without Coby and L. knowing. Whatever butterflies he had before had to be put aside now. Besides, Phillip convinced himself he was meeting a banker from a reputable bank, how dangerous could it possibly be.

Phillip got out of his chair. He didn’t realize this but he was slumped; his left hand was in his pocket clenching the inner fabric, and with the other, he stretched out to initiate pleasantries.

“Phillip Kyung; glad you could make it.”

“Robert Arrigo, my pleasure.”

For some funny reason, Phillip felt dwarfed in his presence. It wasn’t Robert’s height, he was just slightly taller than Phillip. He felt like a fish out of water. A part of Phillip wished he had the confidence of L., the social awareness of Coby, and the serenity of his father. There was definitely something dominating about Robert’s body language that communicated a subtle passive aggressiveness. His smile was professional, his tone was assertive, and his handshake was firm to the bone. Clearly, Robert was used to meeting strangers all the time, and getting his way. He had brown hair, was clean shaven, had thick bushy eyebrows, and deep inset eyes that betrayed his ancestry apart from his last name.

‘Definitely Italian..Come on, I can do this’

After both of them were done ordering, they were filling themselves on the table bread and butter spreads, making small talk about the snowstorm the night before, and a little bit on good lunch places in NYC. Everything was perfect in the first ten minutes. Every conversation topic and line Phillip had rehearsed before, came out perfectly and he was proud of it. One thing Phillip and Robert shared, was their belief in having light lunches that wasn’t too expensive.

“You know, I really appreciate how we can talk like this oh - I’m sorry,” Giving way to the server to place the quiche and scrambled eggs on the table. “So.. what did you want to talk about today?”

Finally it was time. Phillip had been waiting for him to say this. He put down his fork, took a napkin, wiped his mouth clean of any leftover butter grease and bread crumbs, and put both hands on his lap. Robert noticed the change in atmosphere but maintained a poker face and a look of normalcy while working on his spinach quiche with his fork.

“Swim.”

There was an immediate silence. Robert’s fork stopped in mid air, his mouth stopped chewing, his face was straight and expressionless, but he still didn’t look up. Phillip had thought of a million ways to ease the topic in, but there was no better way than to do it this way. With one word, he could tell whether Robert understood where this conversation was headed, and he was not disappointed with Robert’s response. Phillip’s heart was racing; it was a fragile moment, and he had to give Robert time to take it in before saying another word. Then, miraculously, Robert continued eating again, maintained that composure, and hinted at a willingness to listen.

“How can I help Swim?”

It was nothing but relief for Phillip, but the task was far from over. Robert was willing to talk, but he had to find ways to keep Robert at the table.

“Swim wants to know about Bitcoins; specifically how to sell it.” His palms were sweating up, and he was slowly starting to grip his jeans in nervousness.

“That, requires a computer programmer to explain it.” Saying it very nonchalantly while stuffing his mouth with scrambled eggs. “But if Swim likes, I could send a request to my bank’s trading desk to open an account.”

“Anonymously; without detection, if you know what it means.” Phillip was tired of using the acronym that meant, ‘Someone Who Isn’t Me.’ It was a known internet colloquial for people wanting to engage in illicit activities that wouldn’t be unfamiliar to lawyers and bankers. The banking world was never as clean as it portrayed itself to be, and Phillip knew it because he was used to his father talking about his experiences. The very fact that Robert was still at the table despite knowing what it meant, suggested he was open to ‘ideas.’

“If you’re asking for my professional help, I -”

“I’m asking for your unaffiliated personal opinion, Mister Arrigo, and here’s the promised price for this one-hour meeting that took up your precious time. I sincerely thank you for it. ” Sliding an envelope across the table containing three hundred dollars.

Phillip was about to cry; he had never said and done something so outrageous before in his entire life. He felt like he was sweating an ocean inside his clothes, and he wished he had some alcohol or a joint of marijuana to ease his anxiety. For a brief moment, he wished it was the usual drinking session with the boys. Robert Arrigo hadn’t accepted the envelope; it was still sitting in the middle of the table, and time slowed to a crawl. Phillip was just anxiously waiting for a response, intently staring at Robert with his hands firmly clasping on his jeans.

“That depends. How much are we talking about,” maintaining his usual tone.

“Close to fifty thousand USD.”

“Then you’ll never get it off an exchange without an ID. The Blockchain-”

“I know about the Blockchain. It’s a public ledger anyone can view showing all transactions, past and present, for a given Bitcoin, that’s why I’m asking for your opinion.”

Once again, there was another pause. Robert was just focused on eating his quiche and scrambled eggs, appearing to completely ignore Phillip’s straight question. Then, to Phillip’s surprise, Robert took the envelope, and stuffed it in his coat pocket.

“There are only three ways. Either you package the Bitcoins and sell it for USD through various accounts like a financial security, mix it with other Bitcoins and do it the same way, or meet a buyer in person to exchange the escrow codes in cash, signifying a proper transfer. Look, the Blockchain only shows the transfers, not the person, just remember that. Once you mix it up, or use different accounts, nothing can track Mr Swim down.”

He needed to hear that. Apparently, Phillip knew about these ideas a long time ago, having done adequate research into Silk Road and Bitcoin laundering the moment L. told him about the partnership. He had hoped a rogue banker could provide a different insight he hadn’t thought of, but Robert was nothing short of a disappointment. Since Phillip dealt with the laundering and orders, it was his responsibility to deal with the Bitcoins. It was easy to buy Bitcoins anonymously, but selling it presented a huge problem because of the Blockchain, and ID requirements of the Bitcoin exchanges around the world. Mt Gox in Japan may be the preferred exchange to buy Bitcoins, but selling it in bulk would be an obvious problem since the United States could issue a Subpoena anytime, requiring Mt Gox to reveal everything about an account holder that required a certified ID.

“Thanks for the lunch, Phillip. I’ll see you soon, depending on your disposition.” Speaking with a smug and wiping his mouth with his napkin, buttoning his overcoat at the same time. Although the arranged hour wasn’t up, and his quiche wasn’t finished, Robert chose to leave. It didn’t matter to Phillip; he had heard what he needed to hear, and he was satisfied.

“Would you like me box your quiche up, Mr Kyung?” Said the server.

“No, it’s ok, just bring me the check.” Eyeing Robert as he left the cafe.

Lindblum SG

UPDATE: Major edit for Phillip's resolve at the end of the KYUNG segment

Lindblum SG

UPDATE: The ending of the Kyung segment has been edited for a more powerful resolve.

Lindblum SG

Previously, on Blotting Paper

“Would you like me box your quiche up, Mr Kyung?”

“No, just bring me the check.” Eyeing Robert Arrigo as he left the cafe. He hadn’t touched his quiche throughout the entire meeting.

==========================================

Phillip rested his chin on his palms, watching Robert Arrigo flag a cab across the street. The scope of whatever everyone involved was trying to achieve, clearly exceeded the planned individual purview of responsibility. He should have known this; L. had hinted to him before that when he goes back to Singapore, each will have to deal with problems on their side. The number of felonies committed other than selling drugs could put him in prison for at least 20 years. Maybe Coby was right when he joked they’d be far better off selling drugs on some shady alley as a street pusher; at least the penalties were much lesser. Simply put, a smart criminal sending Federal agencies and international police departments on a wild goose chase will be prosecuted to the fullest extent the law permits, with no possibility of parole unless you had something they needed in exchange.

However, there was something about the allure of this operation that breathed some meaning into his life. Phillip remembered Sam Stein, the tough sadist from High School who used to bump into him along the hallway, taking pleasure in watching him fall to the ground, because he was a scrawny little kid with no friends. He recalled the mean old jokes the girls used to make about him, ‘that dirty kid who spends more time wanking.’ Those bullies were frequently called to the Principal’s office, but the bullying would repeat itself after a few days. Then, Coby gathered his group of friends from the Football Club and tied Sam Stein to a tree in his underpants, and Sam Stein never touched Phillip ever since.

Still he recalled Principal Cinzia’s words, “What is your resolve?” She was sick and tired of it being a weekly affair, and there wasn’t any improvement. Phillip’s social anxiety made it awkward to interact, and everyone found him weird. Deep down inside, he somehow knew she was insinuating him to overcome it on his own, but by some misguided sense, he chose to see himself as being victimized by everyone. All his life, he had relied on someone else to stand up for him.

For once, he had a chance to be on a global stage, where everyone would finally pay attention to him, where a global police force of thousands upon thousands of people would acknowledge his existence, and his talent. They will look for him; nobody would ignore him anymore. He had always been the top student in all his schools, even graduating with Honors at college, but nobody seemed to recognize that. L. was right about him all along; he possessed skills that the universe would be proud of. It would seem that among all his friends and family, only L. truly recognized his intellect and skills.

“What is my resolve? I will not die in obscurity like you, Principal Cinzia. Fuck you, all of you.” Signing the check, putting on his coat, and walking out of the cafe. The contrast of the dim-lighted cafe against the full glory of the afternoon glared him to a squint. He drew out his phone, dialed, and held his phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“L, it’s me. I’ll see you at your place tomorrow before your flight, 1pm. Everything is ready.”

A strong breeze swept across the city, ruffling his long coat to sporadic snaps. He had never met a more compelling, and inspiring person such as L. It was a liberating light at the end of the tunnel, giving him a new purpose in life. That old forgotten dam in the mountains the town ignored was long brimming with turbulent water. Finally it broke. Every shackle and bound that held him back, was cleaved. He was free..

“World.”

“My name, is Phillip Kyung. And you will god damn remember that.”

Chapter 5

Genesis

The Terminal was bustling with travellers, big and small. Families lugging suitcases and baggages of all shapes, sizes, and colors, formed the majority of the serpent line stretching all the way to the entrance in the class of ordinary folk, while the rich with their snobbish stature exclusively zipped right through theirs in their privileged class designation. Clearly, it pays to be rich at this time of the year. It was the very first day of 2013, a public holiday, and everyone was in high spirits for the long journey ahead, both metaphorical and literal.

I could accept the long line at the check-in counters. Facebook, Twitter, and chat applications on my smartphone were the best present-day time machines. However, the mandatory security check in the wake of 911 that came close to a strip search was a pain in the butt. The Transportation Security Administration, TSA, methodical search for explosives and drugs was nothing short of expected. I was prepared down to the last detail for the TSA. I had replaced Violet’s 250ug LSD bottle with one of Vivian’s expensive facial care products, properly washed out, placed in my main luggage with utmost precaution that was nothing short of a typical chemistry quantitative transfer. That meant every drop went straight into the transfer bottle with no spillage, or traces on the side. How was the TSA going to detect anything?

What I hadn’t expected, was something I called the ‘Swipe Machine,’ a new weapon of the TSA. Apparently, this new machine was not in the news, and was something I couldn’t have prepared for in my extensive research. They would typically swipe your palms and major body parts with a special stripe, feed it to the machine, and every slight trace of a cataloged chemical compound in the database they were looking for, would show up. If it does show up, that person would be pulled in for further questioning, and investigation.

When it came to my turn for the the Swipe Machine, my heart was racing with dread. I could recognize this machine because there was something similar in my University’s chemistry lab, where we would use to analyze substances. What made matters worse, was that I had done the LSD transfer earlier in the day, and there was a possibility of getting some vapor trace stuck on my skin.

“Sir, step forward please. Palms out.” Gesturing with an index finger.

It was a Black female officer with an expression that betrayed her long experience to anyone with a trained eye. Fortunately, her tactics were all too familiar. An expressionless face, an imposing posture, a constant straight eye contact in hopes of unnerving me into giving away my act, while her partner stood behind me to watch for twitching, shuffling, or anything out of the ordinary. He was there to tell her that I was a possible Red Flag, and to bring me in for further search.

I contained my emotions, and resisted every inch of body language that could potentially signal a Red Flag. The TSA were trained to look for that, and similarly, my police experience gave me the acquired skills to look out for that in criminals. Now, was the time to apply those skills to save myself. Everything that I would have looked out for as a police officer, I assumed she was doing the same. I was the perfect man for this job, recognizing in silent acknowledgement of my own abilities. I could play this poker game with her all day long only to emerge victorious, but what I couldn’t beat was the Swipe Machine.

Then the results came out: I was clean. It was just pure luck that I decided to take a shower before leaving for the airport that washed clean all traces of LSD on my skin, although I thought there would still be some traces left behind. A 21 hour flight through Frankfurt, Germany, was too long for me not to shower, and I had paid for the utilities bill until the end of January 2013. She thanked me for my cooperation, and directed me to the exit. I was relieved.

When I wasn’t stopped at the boarding gate into the airplane, I knew I had cleared every security aspect the TSA could conjure. I was a free man. It made me think about how flawed the entire security system was, and how it could be easily beaten by intelligent people. If I could get through with 900 hits of LSD, someone else with my intelligence could have cleared with much more.

It was already five hours into the flight, close to midnight by New York’s time. The cabin attendants dressed in elegant coke-bottled Kebayas of blue, green, and red, the cultural icon of the national airline, were constantly walking up and down the aisles, pacifying passengers who had trouble sleeping. I was one of those who couldn’t sleep, and was just staring out of the window from my seat into the darkness of the night, trying to the best of my abilities to admire, appreciate my proximity to the starlit sky that lay overhead, while deep in thought about my next move in Singapore. However, I was constantly interrupted by this middle-aged European lady sitting next to me who wouldn’t stop talking to me in rhetorical sentences like, “I just wish the attendants could arrive faster,” or “Well, what did you know, they just dimmed the lights.”

I couldn’t take it anymore, and blurted without much hesitation.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude but I have a lot of things on my mind, and I’m just trying to figure it out on my own.”

“Fine.” Rolling her eyes at me at the same time, with a tone expressing her sarcastic displeasure.

Thankfully, she disembarked during our transit in Frankfurt, Germany, and I was seated next to a fat European dude who spent most of his time sleeping. At first, I thought of what I had to do to remain anonymous, then I caught a glimpse of my deceased mother who succumed to colon cancer outside the window, and I vaguely recalled a conversation with her about my school performance, then Phillip showed up out of the blue, culminating in a gradual drift into the unconscious. The fatigue had finally taken a toll on my body.

“The server codes and templates are all done. This is gonna be the layout. Operates to allow Bitcoin exchange like Silk Road does, and we take 10% for each transaction.” Phillip’s voice echoed in the background.

“L. here are the books, ‘Bridging the Gaps in Asia and the World.’ Printed in 1995; I bought this in New Jersey while visiting my Aunt. Every possible word we can reference to, like ‘Police,’ ‘United States,’ ‘banks’ and ‘Singapore’ is in there. I attached a cipher and instructions at the back to reference any numbers and dates we need to use. Once you’re over there, you have to develop your own codes for your local contacts.”

“Wait.. what the hell?” I was screaming to the best of my ability, but it came out as a murmur. Then I woke up, finding the fat European dude finally awake, and staring at me.

“Are you ok?”

“Excuse me, I need to check something,” getting out of my seat, shuffling my way through, and opening the overhead compartment for my backpack.

I heaved a sigh of relief; the code book and thumb drive were in my backpack. It wasn’t a dream, but a brief memory of a prior conversation. The code book Phillip gave me before I left for the airport, and the thumb drive for a duplicate set of server codes, templates, and encryptions, were in there.

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