Brian’s tall frame slunk into the partner’s office. The door closed behind him. This was odd because our tax partner, Elliot Jamison, had left for lunch ten minutes ago. Brian always seemed to carry the look of someone up to no good—large expressive eyes, dreadlocks, and a half-smile. Really more of a smirk than a smile. Less than five minutes later, Brian slipped into the small office we shared and shut the door.

“Grant, you want to score big? I mean, like over one hundred million big,” Brian said, dropping a thick manila folder on my desk.

Irritated, I said, “What the hell is this?” I pushed the folder back toward him. It was one of our many tax client files. Glancing at the tab, I didn’t recognize the name.

“You’re not going to believe this, asshole. Elliot’s client has a hundred-fifty million in Bitcoin. A hundred-fifty, and no one knows. It’s all here in the engagement notes.” Brian opened the file, exposing the carefully composed notes. “This client, Gene Eng, was given two thousand Bitcoin back in 2010 for delivering a presentation at a crypto seminar here in Seattle. It was all but worthless then. But now, my friend, it’s been as high as a hundred-fifty million.”

“Look, Brian, you’d better get that file back where you found it before we get caught. We could be fired over this,” I said, perspiration running down my back. “Hell, we could be fired for only talking about this.”

“You little bitch. Quit thinking like a freakin’ CPA. This is a copy of the file I found on Elliot’s desk. No one knows. And, no one knows about the client’s Bitcoin—only Eng and Elliot. It says right here in the notes.” Brian tapped his finger on the note. “The asshole didn’t even tell his girlfriend. The only reason he ended up in our firm is he exchanged Bitcoin for a Lambo, and that’s a taxable transaction.”

“I hope you’re not planning to do something stupid with this information, Brian.” There was something cagey about the look on his face. We’d worked together for two years, but outside of work, I didn’t know him well. Brian grew up poor in Tacoma and was a scrapper. There were even rumors of sealed juvenile court actions. I was raised in Redmond, a suburb of Seattle, where my dad worked as a senior vice president in finance for Microsoft. Our childhoods couldn’t have been more different.

I looked out our office window on the twentieth floor of the SeaFirst building toward Puget Sound. A group of small sailboats scurried across the harbor. The rain had stopped, and the sun made a welcome, if only brief, appearance. “Brian, you need to take a breath and think this through.”

“Enough thinkin’! I saw this file for the first time two weeks ago, and I’ve thought of nothing else since. It’s been burning me up inside. I’ve been watching his place after work. It looks as though he lives alone. I’m going to pay Eng a visit tonight. Are you in or not? We could net seventy-five million apiece—subject to market movements and not FDIC guaranteed,” Brian said and let out an evil, guttural chuckle.

“What are you planning to do to the guy?” I could feel myself slipping into Brian’s plan. Slaving ninety hours a week in the firm’s tax department had me desperate for something new. With seventy-five million, I could travel the world and never work again.

“Nothing serious, just scare the crap out of him until he turns over the crypto wallet and passcode. I’ll take my Glock. Do you still have that little Sig pocket pistol?”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure I’m comfortable pointing it at the guy.”

“Look, Grant, the gun is a last resort. This guy’s a software engineer; I bet he caves right away.”

“Shit, this is nuts. I just don’t know.” I wanted to walk away, but struggled to find the words. Brian’s eyes were impatient. “Hell, count me in.”

***

Brian’s Honda coasted to a stop in front of a white cottage-style home on 5^th Avenue in the Queen Anne neighborhood. Darkness had fallen, and the soft glow of interior lighting spilled from the living room windows of most houses. A steady, cold rain pelted the car and sidewalk.

I double-checked the house number against the client’s file. “Looks like this is the house, Brian.”

“Yeah, I already told you I know the house. I’ve been watching.”

“Well, I wanted to double-check. This is sort of a big deal, Brian.”

“You ready to rock-n-roll, bro.” Brian pulled the slide on his Glock, chambering a round. The street light glimmered off the silver pistol.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What, bro? Sorry, have I offended your privileged white-ass upbringing?” Brian’s eyes were on fire. He looked like he wanted a fight. The voice in my head pleaded with me to sit this one out.

“Let’s go,” I finally said, breaking eye contact and reluctantly stepping from the car.

Without hesitation, Brian marched up to the front door and kicked it open with his size fourteen boot. With all the homelessness in Seattle, people rarely answered their doorbells, especially after dark. Why bother?

Brian burst into the living room and jumped a guy sitting on the couch just as he reached for his cell. “Are you Gene Eng,” he demanded.

“Yeah, who the hell are you?”

Following Brian into the home, I read the terror in Eng’s almond eyes.

“Doesn’t matter, I need something from you. Give it to me, and we’ll be on our way.” Brian picked the slightly built Eng off the couch and dropped him into a straight-back chair, zip-tying his wrists and ankles to the wooden spindles and legs. “That should do it. Comfortable?” he said and pulled a zip tie tight.

Eng winced in pain. “What do you want?” The terror in Eng’s eyes’ had been replaced by confusion and anger. “Take what you want and leave me.”

Brian leaned over the guy, waving the Glock in his right hand. “I need your crypto wallet and the passcode.” Brian pulled a small pair of garden pruning shears from his pocket and clicked them open. “Do that, and you can keep all your fingers,” he said, chuckling.

“What? No one knows about my Bitcoin except for my tax guy. Wait? Are you assholes from the tax firm?”

Brian slapped Eng in the face with his pistol. The hit didn’t seem that hard, but blood started running everywhere. “I’ll ask the questions here.”

Stunned by Brian’s outburst, I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a towel to stop the bleeding on Eng’s face. Applying pressure, I said, “Sorry about this.”

Eng looked me in the eye. “What is this, good cop, bad cop?”

“I wouldn’t be a smartass. You should give him what he wants. I really can’t control the guy.”

Eng focused on me and then shifted his gaze to Brian. “Alright, okay. I’ll give you the passcode and wallet. It’s not here, though. We’ll need to get it in the morning.”

“Where is it,” Brian demanded.

“It’s a multi-step process. Half the forty-character passcode is in a safe deposit box at Mellon Bank, and the other half is in JP Morgan. The cold crypto wallet is at a third bank,” Eng said. A sly smile crossed his mouth.

“Shit!” Brian yelled and stomped the floor. “That’s bullshit.”

“Perhaps, but it is the way I handle my Bitcoin.”

Brian looked at me, frustrated, and pointed to the door. “See if you can fix the door so it stays shut.”

The doorframe had been destroyed by our forced entry. I pushed the door shut as best I could and slid a large, heavy steamer trunk against it to keep it in place.

Brian paced the living room. “Okay, boys, we’re having a sleepover. I’ll take the first four-hour watch,” he said, looking at me. “Then it’s your turn.”

***

A voice entered my head just as the fog-shrouded morning half-light made it through the kitchen window, landing on my eyelids.

“I need to take a piss. Hey, asshole, isn’t this your watch? Wake the hell up and untie me.”

My eyes blinked open. I stood, and my gun slid off my lap onto the hardwood floor with a loud clunk.

“Watch it. You’re going to shoot somebody,” Eng said.

“I must have dozed off. What do you need?”

“I need to use the bathroom.”

“Fine.” I reached over and shook Brian with my hand.

“What?”

“He needs to use the bathroom. Did you bring something to cut the zip ties?” Eng’s face was battered, showing deep bruising. Surely, his appearance would raise suspicion at the bank.

“Yeah, I’ll take care of it.” Brian yawned and looked Eng over good. “You need to get cleaned up. We can’t take you to a bank looking like this.” Brian clipped the zip ties holding our hostage and led him to the bathroom.

***

While I waited for Eng to shower and get dressed, I texted the receptionist at our tax firm to let her know Brian and I wouldn’t be in today. I told her we got some bad sushi down on the waterfront last night. After a few minutes, Brian led Eng out of the bedroom. He had dressed in tan khaki trousers, a red polo shirt, and brown penny-loafers. Brian and I still wore our work clothes from yesterday, the fabric wrinkled, and the colors faded. Eng looked presentable, not great, but passable. Blaming his bruised face on a car accident would probably get us by. I crossed my fingers.

Brian shot me a serious look, one I had never seen cross his face before. It carried a mix of concern and fear. He’d come this far. What could have him spooked? I picked up the sensation that Brian was ready to bail on our Bitcoin caper. Was he looking to me for confirmation? Affirmation?

“We’re ready to roll. You drive. I’ll sit in the back with my gun on this guy.” Brian shoved Eng in the back with the palm of his hand and tossed me his car keys.

“Okay. Let’s go.” I pulled the steamer trunk from the broken front door and headed to the Honda. The fog had given way to a steady rain, darkening the morning light. “Where to first?” I said, looking at Eng.

“Mellon and JP Morgan are down the hill in the financial district. We should go there first.” Eng flashed an insincere smile. “The Wells Fargo branch with the wallet is in Bellevue, a bit more of a drive.”

I searched my map app for the Mellon location and hit start. “Okay, next stop, Mellon Bank.”

Traffic was light heading through town; it had already grown to ten in the morning, and most commuters were at their destinations. Pulling into the Mellon Bank parking garage, I listened while Brian gave our hostage instructions.

“Look, don’t draw attention to yourself, and don’t get cute with the tellers. We’ll know. And, if you try anything when she takes you in the vault, you need to know I’ll blast right through the flimsy glass door they use during the day and shoot your ass.”

It seemed to me Brian had lost his composure. He sounded like a desperate man. Anger colored his face. Pistol-whipping Eng last night was uncalled for and only served to complicate our mission today. I had seen a violent streak in Brian, that I had never noticed before. Violence for the sake of violence. Brian seemed to enjoy intimidating people with force.

I turned and stared down at Brian. “You need to back off. There’s no need for violence. If everyone does their part this morning, we will all go our separate ways soon enough.”

Brian scowled at me.

After parking the car, the three of us walked to the elevator, and I punched the lobby button. When the door slid open, we stepped into a whirlwind of humanity. Dozens of nattily dressed bank employees and finely attired customers chatted at cherrywood desks or waited in line to meet with a teller or private banker.

As we slipped into the queue, I noticed Brian pressing the barrel of his pistol into Eng’s back from inside his coat. Nudging him on the shoulder, I whispered, “Put that away, someone will notice.” Brian shrugged and discreetly stuffed the weapon into his waistband.

After a couple of minutes waiting, it was our turn. The three of us pressed up to the teller window.

“I need to get in my safe deposit box, please,” Eng said.

“May I see your ID, please?”

“Certainly,” Eng said and handed her his driver license.

“Mr. Eng, I’ll meet you over by the vault door,” the teller said, pointing to the vault. “Gentlemen, the two of you must wait in the lobby. Our policy allows only the safe deposit box customer to enter the vault.

I sensed the strings in Brian being wound tight. Before he could say anything damaging, I smiled at the teller and said, “That’s fine. We’ll wait over there.” I pointed to an alcove near the vault. Placing my hand on Brian’s shoulder, I guided him away from Eng and the teller.

In fewer than five minutes, we were back in the elevator, heading to the Honda.

“That was easy,” Brian said.

“Don’t get cocky, we still have two more stops,” I said. Although the Mellon Bank mission seemed to go smoothly, there was something about the teller that stuck in my mind like an unsolved puzzle. When she followed Eng out of the vault, she took a cautious, almost secretive glance at Brian and me. She appeared terrified.

***

It was a short half-mile drive to the JP Morgan branch. The street was deserted. No traffic on the roadway, only a handful of vehicles parked in the metered spots, and no pedestrians. Odd. I checked my watch: 11:45. Where are all the people?

“Just park in front of the bank and drop a quarter in the meter,” Brian said. “We’ll make a dash through the rain and into the bank?”

No one had thought to bring umbrellas or raincoats.

“This doesn’t feel right. Where are all the people?” I said again.

“Who knows? Just park the damn car,” Brian said.

I pulled into a spot directly in front of the bank, hopped out, and fed the meter. Brian climbed from the car and pulled Eng onto the sidewalk from the front seat into the pouring rain.

“Okay, asshole, stop number two. Remember, no funny business.” Brian had his gun out again and pushed against Eng’s back.

“No need to be so rough, I’m cooperating,” Eng said.

The three of us started up the half-dozen steps to the customer entrance when a blast of sirens erupted, and flashing police lights reflected off the bank windows.

“Get down on your knees, with your hands on your head. Now, do it now!” the bullhorn shouted.

As I started to comply, I caught a glimpse of Brian in my peripheral vision. His face colored red, contorted in anger. His Glock was pointed toward the back of Eng’s head.

“Put the gun down now!” the bullhorn insisted. “Down on your knees and lay the gun on the sidewalk, now!” The bullhorn was losing patience.

I dropped to my knees just as an explosive volley of gunfire echoed in the canyon of tall buildings. Several rounds hit Brian in the chest. Blood and bone splattered on my shirt and face. I locked my fingers behind my head and lay face down on the wet concrete, shaking violently. Not two feet from me, Brian lay on the sidewalk facing me in a pool of his own blood. His eyes were open, staring at me blankly, his half-smile gone.

The cops rushed to the scene and checked Brian for a pulse. Nothing. They frisked me for weapons and recovered the Sig, which had never been fired. A cop wrenched my arms and cuffed my wrists. His knee leaned into my back, and his hand pressed my face against the concrete. I could barely breathe.

A few feet away, two detectives in cheap suits interviewed Eng. I listened as best I could.

“Mr. Eng, we received word from the branch manager of Mellon Bank that you were being held under duress and were headed here next,” one detective said.

“I’m just glad you came. The only person I ever told about my safe deposit box was the partner at the tax firm I use. I think these two assholes work there and somehow got my file.

“What were they after?” the detective asked.

“I’d rather not say. I will say it’s an item of considerable value. That’s why I had this plan in place. It gave me a chance to be saved.”

Eng stopped and looked at me.

“For those two, it was a wild goose chase, leading to nothing. They were never going to get the contents of my box.”

I was fading in and out of consciousness. Would the cop ever pull his knee off my back? ‘You’ll be known by those you associate with; choose wisely,’ Dad had often told me. My associate lay next to me, dead. What a disappointment I am. Not only to Dad but to everyone who believed in me and held me above the crowd. I let all my people down.

I tried to cry, but there was only a vast emptiness inside me. I escaped Brian with my life, but not much more. The cop eased up. I opened my eyes and spat the pungent taste of Brian’s blood on the sidewalk.

Terence Robinson

Author of  Priest Lake Lovers and The Mafia’s Telephone Company

Available in bookstores everywhere.