I thought I heard him say. In a voice that was more of a breath. He was referring to the disc I gave him. That’s all I can remember about our first meeting. The shadow they call “OB.” The Original Bankster. A 10 year vet buck sniffer for the IRS. He got benched for calling the Tax Code “The White Man’s Burdon,” in a sting on “60 Minutes.”
I asked him how he took being chained to his desk after a decade traveling the world. “Like a rock.” he whispered slightly.
“Enjoy the show,” one of the others whispered mockingly. A signal my time with them had come to an end. But I had their story in the shiny black thumb drive one of them slipped into my palm. Some times you just have to let the moment go.
But 13 of them rising in “V” formation from the roof of your loft building. That’s not something you’re so quick to forget. I focused on the shinny black thumb drive. My hands were shaking something awful. I finally found the USB port and slipped it in. Whoa!
I don’t know how long I sat in my pitch black loft with the downtown LA skyline silhouetted in the old time over-sized window panes. But I was staring into the blue light of the iMac when the first light of dawn bounced off the glass tower three blocks West and blinded me out of my stupor.
Vampire agents for the IRS. Shades that fancy themselves the “Vampire Banksters.” An undead streetgang in suits, ties and wings. Really creepy wings. It was too much for a muggle like me to take in one night. And certainly too much to burden you with at a single sitting.
More tomorrow night.
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