C.G. Cooper's Blog, page 2
April 25, 2022
THE SECRET JOURNAL OF NEIL PATEL #18
WARNING: NEIL 🤓 TYPOS
Entry #18
It’s an understatement to say that I riled up a bunch of bikers. I’m pretty sure some of them were slathering at the mouth as we drove off in search of the target.
Of course, I knew where we were going, but I made a real show of it. Why? Because I was trying to come up with a plan!
It took a little over an hour of meandering before I put up my hand and motioned for the bikers to pull off on the side of the road.
“Did you find him?” big and burly asked, again, his mouth watering.
I tapped on my phone like I was really interested. To be honest, I was just trying to keep my hands from shaking.
There were so many what ifs. What if we were caught? What if there was a shoot up? What if Cal found out?
Mr. Beer Belly Over His Toes answered the question for me.
“Let’s go,” he said, not unkindly, just ready.
“Okay,” I said, trying to sound sure of myself. “It’s just around the corner. Three minutes tops.”
I had a plan of sorts. Stash the bikes a couple blocks away and then head in on foot. Luckily, the house sat on the back of ten acres. No neighbors. Fingers crossed the target wasn’t armed. Everything I knew about him said he preferred solitude to weapons.
As with any half-baked plan, ours went to crap almost immediately.
First, the spot I’d picked to stash the bikes was perfect for concealment but the treeline I’d planned on using as a route in was dense and full of vegetation that snagged on every piece of clothing we had.
Second, these bikers weren’t meant to be on foot. Sure there were a couple outliers, but the rest were huffing before we got halfway there.
Third, and probably most dispiriting, was the fact that when we finally got to within striking distance of the modest home, there were two black vans sitting in the driveway.
“What do we do now?” one of my companions asked.
“Go in, what else, stupid?” another answered.
“Ask the geek squad. What do you think?”
By geek squad they meant me, of course.
I didn’t get a chance to offer my honest take, that maybe they should try later, when four men came out of the house dragging a fifth man by the heels.
Not usually my problem except that the guy getting dragged was our target, and the bikers didn’t like that one bit.
So, much to my chagrin, they did what any red-blooded American might do with the smell of money in their noses: they charged.
I’ll let you in on the next part soon,
Neil
Entry #18
It’s an understatement to say that I riled up a bunch of bikers. I’m pretty sure some of them were slathering at the mouth as we drove off in search of the target.
Of course, I knew where we were going, but I made a real show of it. Why? Because I was trying to come up with a plan!
It took a little over an hour of meandering before I put up my hand and motioned for the bikers to pull off on the side of the road.
“Did you find him?” big and burly asked, again, his mouth watering.
I tapped on my phone like I was really interested. To be honest, I was just trying to keep my hands from shaking.
There were so many what ifs. What if we were caught? What if there was a shoot up? What if Cal found out?
Mr. Beer Belly Over His Toes answered the question for me.
“Let’s go,” he said, not unkindly, just ready.
“Okay,” I said, trying to sound sure of myself. “It’s just around the corner. Three minutes tops.”
I had a plan of sorts. Stash the bikes a couple blocks away and then head in on foot. Luckily, the house sat on the back of ten acres. No neighbors. Fingers crossed the target wasn’t armed. Everything I knew about him said he preferred solitude to weapons.
As with any half-baked plan, ours went to crap almost immediately.
First, the spot I’d picked to stash the bikes was perfect for concealment but the treeline I’d planned on using as a route in was dense and full of vegetation that snagged on every piece of clothing we had.
Second, these bikers weren’t meant to be on foot. Sure there were a couple outliers, but the rest were huffing before we got halfway there.
Third, and probably most dispiriting, was the fact that when we finally got to within striking distance of the modest home, there were two black vans sitting in the driveway.
“What do we do now?” one of my companions asked.
“Go in, what else, stupid?” another answered.
“Ask the geek squad. What do you think?”
By geek squad they meant me, of course.
I didn’t get a chance to offer my honest take, that maybe they should try later, when four men came out of the house dragging a fifth man by the heels.
Not usually my problem except that the guy getting dragged was our target, and the bikers didn’t like that one bit.
So, much to my chagrin, they did what any red-blooded American might do with the smell of money in their noses: they charged.
I’ll let you in on the next part soon,
Neil
THE SECRET JOURNAL OF NEIL PATEL #17
WARNING: MUST LOVE TYPOS...
Entry #17
Here we go again. Back to crypto + biker + mission.
“Who is this guy?” one of the bikers asked, meaning the bad guy who I imagined they were imagining having millions in coin.
“He’s Russian. Or at least part Russian.”
“I hate Russians,” someone said.
“Hey! My grandmother was Russian,” another said.
I snapped my fingers to get their attention. A couple gave me dirty looks for that but at least they were staring at me again.
“Like I was saying, this guy, he funnels a lot of money to the Russian mafia bosses.”
There was murmuring now.
“You mean like here, in the good ‘ol U. S. of A?” someone said in a bellow.
Good to know that they’re at least patriots. Ride that, Neil.
“Yeah. They’re into everything. Slave trade. Drug trade. Organ trade.”
More than a couple of the bikers made disgusted faces.
One biker, who’s belly stuck out so far it nudged me when he got close said, “So you’re telling me that if we pay this guy a visit, we not only stick it to the Russians, sorry Carl,” he said to his pal with the Russian grandma, “but we could make some coin too?”
I nodded.
More murmurs.
“Okay smart guy,” Mr. Belly said. “Since it’s your idea, you can come with us, to show us how.”
Great. Just great.
More next time, Dear Diary,
Neil
Entry #17
Here we go again. Back to crypto + biker + mission.
“Who is this guy?” one of the bikers asked, meaning the bad guy who I imagined they were imagining having millions in coin.
“He’s Russian. Or at least part Russian.”
“I hate Russians,” someone said.
“Hey! My grandmother was Russian,” another said.
I snapped my fingers to get their attention. A couple gave me dirty looks for that but at least they were staring at me again.
“Like I was saying, this guy, he funnels a lot of money to the Russian mafia bosses.”
There was murmuring now.
“You mean like here, in the good ‘ol U. S. of A?” someone said in a bellow.
Good to know that they’re at least patriots. Ride that, Neil.
“Yeah. They’re into everything. Slave trade. Drug trade. Organ trade.”
More than a couple of the bikers made disgusted faces.
One biker, who’s belly stuck out so far it nudged me when he got close said, “So you’re telling me that if we pay this guy a visit, we not only stick it to the Russians, sorry Carl,” he said to his pal with the Russian grandma, “but we could make some coin too?”
I nodded.
More murmurs.
“Okay smart guy,” Mr. Belly said. “Since it’s your idea, you can come with us, to show us how.”
Great. Just great.
More next time, Dear Diary,
Neil
THE SECRET JOURNAL OF NEIL PATEL #16
WARNING: TYPOS AHEAD...
Entry #16
I’m back and maybe I’ll get the rest of the biker-crypto story out in this entry.
Reminder: me + bikers + crypto chat = ???
The gauntlet was thrown. They wanted to know how I used cryptocurrency.
But how to answer that? I couldn’t tell them what I do for a living, that I funnel money all over the world to support not just SSI and Jefferson Group operations, but anything we deem necessary to help the president, our allies, the Council of Patriots, you name it!
So I threw them a bone. I could see these bikers were their own brand of entrepreneur. They could smell the money and wanted to know how to get it.
My wheels were spinning. Spin, spin, spin.
“What if I told you that security is going to a HUGE issue?” I asked the gathered.
“What do you mean?” one of them asked.
“This stuff,” I tapped on the phone screen. “It’s all digital. It’s secure, sure. But it’s not in some bank vault. If you know the password—“
“You mean the seed phrase?” someone offered, correctly me thanks to my schooling.
“Right. If you know the seed phrase, have access to the wallet address, there’s a lot you can do.” I saw them trading looks, their wheels spinning. “But it’s not always that easy.” They looked momentarily deflated.
Then someone asked, “You say not ALWAYS.”
Smart cookies.
A plan had formed in my head. Something that would not only help my own cause, but give these guys some easy, and lucrative, sport.
“What if I told you that there’s a bad guy, like a bad guy’s money guy, who lives not twenty miles from here, who could be ‘convinced’ to let you have his most recent crypto payments?”
I had their attention now.
More next time, Dear Diary,
Neil
Entry #16
I’m back and maybe I’ll get the rest of the biker-crypto story out in this entry.
Reminder: me + bikers + crypto chat = ???
The gauntlet was thrown. They wanted to know how I used cryptocurrency.
But how to answer that? I couldn’t tell them what I do for a living, that I funnel money all over the world to support not just SSI and Jefferson Group operations, but anything we deem necessary to help the president, our allies, the Council of Patriots, you name it!
So I threw them a bone. I could see these bikers were their own brand of entrepreneur. They could smell the money and wanted to know how to get it.
My wheels were spinning. Spin, spin, spin.
“What if I told you that security is going to a HUGE issue?” I asked the gathered.
“What do you mean?” one of them asked.
“This stuff,” I tapped on the phone screen. “It’s all digital. It’s secure, sure. But it’s not in some bank vault. If you know the password—“
“You mean the seed phrase?” someone offered, correctly me thanks to my schooling.
“Right. If you know the seed phrase, have access to the wallet address, there’s a lot you can do.” I saw them trading looks, their wheels spinning. “But it’s not always that easy.” They looked momentarily deflated.
Then someone asked, “You say not ALWAYS.”
Smart cookies.
A plan had formed in my head. Something that would not only help my own cause, but give these guys some easy, and lucrative, sport.
“What if I told you that there’s a bad guy, like a bad guy’s money guy, who lives not twenty miles from here, who could be ‘convinced’ to let you have his most recent crypto payments?”
I had their attention now.
More next time, Dear Diary,
Neil
THE SECRET JOURNAL OF NEIL PATEL #15
WARNING: NEIL ❤️ TYPOS
Entry #15
I’m back. Where was I?
Right! Crypto and the bikers.
Well, so there we were, outside a gas station, them full of beer and sandwiches and me full of excitement that I had a captive audience and that I might not be their captive. Phew.
I spent the first half hour showing them the different website where cryptocurrency could be obtained. The next half hour was spent answering questions, of which there were many. Questions like:
- “Can the government see what I’m buying?”
- “Is there a limit to how much I can buy?”
- “Can I leave to my kids if I die?”
Really just normal run-of-the-mill stuff. At least that’s what I was hoping.
Some of the bikers had to leave and those remaining said goodbye with back slaps and rumbling belches. Classy but all in the name of brotherly love, Dear Diary.
So we’re into the second our of crypto instruction and they’re getting it. Like really getting it. Their questions keep getting deeper, more nuanced. So I dive deeper into an explanation of how the whole system works, how blockchain and protocols keep things locked down tight. And they get it.
I’m ashamed to say that I’d judged them by their appearance. I’ll try not to beat myself up too bad. They were acting more than a touch intimidating and they did filch me for food and booze.
But the way their minds worked, taking a subject that was Mars foreign to most people on the planet and applying it to their everyday lives. Let’s just say I was a convert and made a mental note not to judge a book by its cover.
Then the knife came out, plucked from a sheath and thrown, blade first, into the dirt in the middle of my feet.
“Okay, smart guy,” the biggest of them said. “Now show us how YOU use this stuff.”
I gulped and tried to gather my thoughts. This would take some quick thinking.
But that’s the next story.
Stay tuned, Dear Diary.
Your buddy,
Neil
Entry #15
I’m back. Where was I?
Right! Crypto and the bikers.
Well, so there we were, outside a gas station, them full of beer and sandwiches and me full of excitement that I had a captive audience and that I might not be their captive. Phew.
I spent the first half hour showing them the different website where cryptocurrency could be obtained. The next half hour was spent answering questions, of which there were many. Questions like:
- “Can the government see what I’m buying?”
- “Is there a limit to how much I can buy?”
- “Can I leave to my kids if I die?”
Really just normal run-of-the-mill stuff. At least that’s what I was hoping.
Some of the bikers had to leave and those remaining said goodbye with back slaps and rumbling belches. Classy but all in the name of brotherly love, Dear Diary.
So we’re into the second our of crypto instruction and they’re getting it. Like really getting it. Their questions keep getting deeper, more nuanced. So I dive deeper into an explanation of how the whole system works, how blockchain and protocols keep things locked down tight. And they get it.
I’m ashamed to say that I’d judged them by their appearance. I’ll try not to beat myself up too bad. They were acting more than a touch intimidating and they did filch me for food and booze.
But the way their minds worked, taking a subject that was Mars foreign to most people on the planet and applying it to their everyday lives. Let’s just say I was a convert and made a mental note not to judge a book by its cover.
Then the knife came out, plucked from a sheath and thrown, blade first, into the dirt in the middle of my feet.
“Okay, smart guy,” the biggest of them said. “Now show us how YOU use this stuff.”
I gulped and tried to gather my thoughts. This would take some quick thinking.
But that’s the next story.
Stay tuned, Dear Diary.
Your buddy,
Neil
August 18, 2020
Reviews Rolling In For "The Man From Belarus"
I am so happy to see happy readers leaving reviews for
The Man From Belarus
. The book was a long time coming (sorry), but it was so worth it. I had such a blast writing the novel that I plowed right into writing the follow up,
Matters of State
, right after finishing. If you've left a review, THANKS! If you're in the middle of reading it and love it, please consider leaving a review. Even the short one help. Here's the link if you need it: https://getbook.at/TheManFromBelarus
- cgc
