Bitcoin Bluz

Bitcoins are virtual money found only on the internet. They are not regulated by any governmental agency and are traded worldwide with their value going up and down wildly. Recently, a Bitchain server, Mt. Gox in Tokyo, was compromised and several hundred thousand Bitcoins simply disappeared. The chairman was found dead below her high rise apartment.

Bitcoin Bluz is fiction but the drama surrounding the world of Bitcoins is real.
        Louisiana Cajun Annette Dupart is head strong and self-confident, and has experienced many crazy things during her workplace travels throughout the Deep South. However, the theft of a Mercedes, the embezzlement of thousands of Bitcoins, people dressed as gaming avatars, gruesome murders, and Corsican gangsters were not on her docket as she flew into the Atlanta International Airport.
An auditor by trade, Annette had been hired by a car dealership owner to ensure that several exotic car sales transactions were above board. What she discovers is an entangled web of murders, a slew of video-game addicts living avatar lives, and a corrupt group of Bitcoin Investment Club members who are stealing the internet currency known as Bitcoins.
Annette’s investigation leads to her adventure with computer expert-cum-video game junkie Vijay Singh. The two join forces at a video gaming convention in an effort to keep one step ahead of a Corsican crime mob’s pursuit. Will Annette and Vijay survive the convention’s hijinks, evade the mob, and bring the criminals to justice? For Annette, it is an exciting and exhausting case of the Bitcoin Bluz!

Bitcoin Bluz is available through as a Kindle download or you may buy the hard or soft cover versons.
go to and search for Patrick W. Emmett  or search the book title to choose the book. 
Pricing is subject to change.
​Kindle download: $4.00
Signed book, contact Author: $25.95
Softcover: $16.99

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Bitcoin Bluz
Chapter 1
        Agile as a cat, using just his hands and feet, the figure dressed in black climbed hand over hand up the drain pipe to the roof of the building. Once on top, he made a quick survey of the area surrounding the building. Below, he could see the lot of expensive cars parked in neat rows. He checked the position of the cameras and felt confident that none could record his entry or exit on and off the lot, or his descent from the to of the building
        The man quickly scampered to the front of the building, where a large transom for a skylight resided. Using a pencil light and a power screw driver from a utility belt, he unscrewed the seal and lifted the skylight, creating an opening to the room below. He attached a climber’s rope and gear to the outside of the transom with a grappling hook. Double checking the sophisticated climber’s gear, he lowered himself into the interior of the showroom of the car dealership.
Once on the ground, he disconnected his climbing gear and casually walked over to the security alarm system, where he punched in a generic security code everyone in the dealership knew and deactivated the alarm. The dark figure walked over to the wide glass doors at the side of the building and unlocked and opened both of them, swinging them wide.
        A second man, also dressed in black, stepped through and walked up to the beautiful Mercedes Benz SLS GT Roadster. The car, bathed in soft lighting, sat on an elevated platform that slowly rotated during business hours. The hood was up and the gull wing doors were spread wide, like a graceful bird about to take flight. Using a gloved hand, he caressed the fender of the sports car, then carefully closed the hood to the exposed engine compartment. Slipping into the seat through the wide open gull wing doors, the man extended a gloved hand across the leather and wood interior. He grinned like a child at Christmas reaching over to push the start button. The powerful engine roared to life. Another button closed the gull wing doors. He sat there enjoying the sheer ecstasy of the moment, the rhythmic power of the engine, and the feeling that he could have anything in the world that he wanted. Smiling, he engaged the gears on the seven speed gearbox and drove the car off the display platform onto the showroom floor, then out the front door.
        The first man closed and locked the front doors, then walked back to a room where video cameras were recording the building’s interior and exterior on a CD. Using gloved hands, he removed the disk and replaced it with another one from his pocket. Then he walked back to the showroom and looked around to see if he had left anything behind before he rekeyed the alarm system to reactivate it.
        The man then hooked himself up to his climbing gear and pulled himself up through the shadows and out of the building through the transom, the same way he had entered. Once on top, he shut the skylight. He struggled trying to get the screws back in place, so he removed his gloves to complete the process. Finally, he gathered all of his climbing gear and climbed back down the side of the building where he had come up.
        Looking around at the security cameras, he knew which way to exit the property without being seen. In less than twenty minutes, A Touch of Class Executive Cars had lost the most expensive vehicle in their inventory.
        I knew I should have driven my Camaro to Atlanta when I found myself sitting next to Mister VJ Flirtsville, or whatever his name was. This stranger managed to hit on me all the way from Memphis to Atlanta.  He was a chatty handful the entire flight.
        Soon after I took my seat on the plane, he asked me where I had been all of his life. No one in my generation used that line anymore. I was a five foot five brunette with long hair that some would describe as black. Twenty seven years ago I was born of Cajun parents near the Atchafalaya swamps of Louisiana.
        This VJ guy looked to be a short forty-six year old man of Asian Indian origin, with mountains of dandruff snow forming drifts on his dark suit jacket.  He was not what I would call fat; more on the portly side of good health. He was pleasant enough, but I had the feeling that for most of his life, I was either not born yet or I was a child. He was not bad looking, in a sort of rugged Asiatic, aging, chubby Alec Baldwin sort of way. Did I say rugged? Maybe geeky was a better description. I was sure that when he was twenty-something he’d had the kind of charm that might attract some women. But I was not currently in a relationship and was definitely not looking for one.
        I was trapped, sitting in the middle seat between VJ on the window and a very heavy set guy, who’d asked when he took his seat on the aisle if I minded because of his weight.  I did mind, but I relented for charitable reasons.  There I was, squeezed in between these two, hoping to read a magazine I had purchased at the airport bookstore.
        I did have a sense of humor, and on the right occasion, didn’t mind sharing an occasional ribald joke with my friends. VJ was not a friend, and his attempt at humor for an hour and a half of the flight left me feeling like I had been water boarded. He kept asking where I was staying, what I was I going to do in Atlanta, and whether I would like to get a drink when we arrived at the airport. I demurred on all counts.
        VJ told me he was going to Atlanta on business and would be happy to give me a ride to my hotel. By that time I was so worn out by his constant barrage that I put down my magazine, gave him a withering expression, and then said, “No thanks. My fiancé is meeting me.” That actually shut him up for five minutes or so.
        “Well then, how about I take you and your fiancé out to dinner when we arrive in Atlanta? There are many great restaurants downtown, you know.”
        “No thanks,” I said. “We have plans.”
         “That’s all right. You know, we could always hook-up later in the week for this fantastic LAN party, where everyone dresses up as their favorite avatar. Really, you both will have a lot of fun. 
        Thinking that I really didn’t want to go to some mysterious costume party, I said, “No thanks, we’re busy.” And on and on VJ’s invitations and inquiries went.
        When the tires of the aircraft made their final complaint from the bouncy landing, I was relieved and could not wait to get off the plane.  Thankfully I was wearing jeans, because I quickly unbuckled my seat belt, grabbed my purse, and literally jumped up out of my seat over the heavyset man on the end. I said “excuse me,” and he gave me a “What the…?” I flashed a smile and said, “Urgent connection.” VJ had a dour look on his face because he had to wait for the large man to recover his bag from two rows behind.
        Feeling pretty happy about my quick athletic move, I pulled my wheeled carry-on from the overhead and waited for the line to move in front of me. I even turned and waved at VJ to say goodbye. Eventually, I worked my way out of the plane and down the concourse, and wound up in a line at the car rental. I was feeling pretty cocky about my escape from VJ, which was smooth and effective. 
        The car rental line moved painfully slowly, and I was about to move up to the next agent when I heard, “Miss?” Then a little louder, I heard, “Miss?” I thought, Oh no, sounds like that VJ guy. When I felt a tug at my elbow I turned around, ready to give Mister VJ Whatshisname a piece of my mind. But instead of seeing my tormentor, I saw my computer backpack dangling in front of my nose. And yes, VJ was standing there. He had recovered my backpack from under the seat where I had been sitting and had found me at the car rental desk.
        What could I do? I heard “Next!” from the car rental agent, and I said, “Thank you so much. I uh….” I looked at the impatient desk clerk, then back to VJ and continued, “Let me just get my car here.”
        “Look, my car is outside. I can give you a ride anywhere you need to go,” my tormentor said.
        “No thanks. I need the car for work, you see.”
        “What about your fiancé?”
        Oh shit! He had caught me in a lie. I had to think quickly. “Yeah, just let me get this car, okay, and then we can talk.” I smiled and turned to the agent before the guy behind me jumped the line.
        The rental agent asked, “Name?”
        “Annette Dupart,” I said, trying to keep my voice low. “And here is my driver’s license, credit card, and my reservation confirmation.” I looked around, and of course VJ was still standing there. I smiled and he waved. Oh God!
        After what seemed like an eternity, the agent said, “We have your reservation here, but I regret to inform you that we currently do not have any cars.”
        “Excuse me! What did you just say? Because if it’s what I think you just said, you are going to have a very angry customer on your hands. I’ve had this reservation for over two weeks.”
        “Yes ma’am, but we are all sold out.”
        “I am not a ma’am, and how can that be?”
        “The Interfaith Fundamental Evangelical Ecumenical Doctrine Convention is in town, and they took every car yesterday. Take a look. All of the rental agencies are in the same boat. No one has a car,” the agent said, waving his hand in the direction of the other rental kiosks.
        I looked around at the other car rental desks. I heard customers at every rental desk shouting and complaining. They all had the same mantra, “What about me? I need to be somewhere.”
        How dare them! I’d had this reservation for a long time. How could they just give my car away like that? I thought about the acronym for the group holding the convention, I FEED, and at that moment believed that I was being fed a load of crap, but I weakly said, “Look, I need a car for my work.”
        Pointing across the room, he said, “You can wait over there, miss, where all of those other people are sitting, and when the cars come in, I will give them out on a first come first served basis. It’s up to you.”
        “How long…?”
        Before I could finish my sentence he cut me off and said, “Unknown.” Then, his eyes drifted to the next customer in line.
        Angry now, I said, “Listen buddy, if it were up to me I would—”
        “It’s no use,” a woman customer standing next to me said. “Either wait or take ground transportation. My choice is MARTA, the train system. Good luck!” She said this as she tugged her oversized wheeled suitcase into motion and they both rolled in the direction of ground transportation.
        The desk clerk gave me a self-satisfied smile and said, “Next.”
        I turned around and VJ was standing right there, shifting his portly weight from one foot to the next. Jeez, I thought, I don’t even have any mace. What to do?
        “I couldn’t help overhearing…Annette. Is that your name?” VJ offered a generous smile.
        Nuts! He now knows my name.
        “Why don’t you call your fiancé to see if he can come and pick you up?” Vijay offered with a smile.
        “Gee, he couldn’t make it,” I mumbled in a flat voice.
        “Sorry to hear that. Look, I just have to get over to baggage claim to pick up my bags, and then I can take you anywhere you need to go.”
        “Seriously, I really wouldn’t want to put you out.”
        “Atlanta’s big, but not that big. Please, let me help.”
        I was thinking about an hour and a half ride on MARTA clear across town or a sixty dollar plus cab ride.  I was also thinking what I would do if this guy decided to get rough or try something during the car ride, and knew these were not good choices.
        I eyed the queue of irritable car rental customers from across the room. They were looking at each other with contempt. I could see that they had murder on their minds, hoping to improve their chances of grabbing the next available car when they returned. I bet they were afraid to even go to the restroom in fear that their place in line would be forfeited.
        “Where are you going?” VJ asked. I hesitated and he said, “Look, I know I got pushy on the plane. That’s one of my faults, but really, I’m harmless, honest.  Where are you going?”
        I said, “Buckhead.”
        “Oh, that’s easy. Seriously, it is on my way.”
        I rolled my eyes and asked, “Where are you going?”
        “Sandy Springs, just up the road from Buckhead.”
        “Uh, VJ…I’m sorry, what was your last name?”
        “Singh, Vijay Singh.”
            I must have screwed up my face because he said, “Here, let me prove it.” He quickly pulled out his billfold and produced his driver’s license, which read, “Vijay I. Singh,” and an address of 4327 N. Virginia Lane, St Louis, Missouri. He was actually thirty-five years old. Man. I thought he looked much older.
        “Vijay, like the golfer?” I inquired.
        Vijay’s face turned red and he confessed, “No relation to the golfer. It’s a common name. Okay?”
        “Okay, but before I go anywhere with you I want to know all about you. Get your bag and let’s get some coffee, then we’ll see.”
        He hesitated, and then said with a high pitched note of excitement in his voice, “You mean it? I mean…that’s great! Okay, let me get my bag.” He ran off like an excited little boy who had just found a new toy.
        We lined up at a busy airport fast food chain and ordered from the confusing array of choices.  I just bought a coffee, and Vijay purchased a chicken filet and fry special with a large beverage. We took our food to a table and chairs for two and dumped our bags.
        Vijay told me that he still lived in north St. Louis at his mother’s house and that he was a computer specialist. He said he worked as a freelance computer programmer, and that he was in Atlanta to work on a project that promised to bring him some pretty big bucks.  We sipped our beverages and talked while he ate. I listened while Vijay told me all of his vital information. While doing so, I texted this information to Chick Ferrell, a friend and security firm owner who my boss/cousin Wolf LeDuc often used. 
        Vijay got up to get a refill of his soft drink and I got a message back from Chick that said simply, I’ll run it.
        Vijay walked back to our table, balancing his Coke refill and another sandwich. I put my phone in my purse and asked him, “If you live in St. Louis, how come you have a car here at the Atlanta airport?”
        He anxiously looked from side to side, then at me, and said, “I’ve been down here several times. My associates have provided a car for me to drive when I come to town.” He produced keys that had a small metal tag reading, BMW 525i and dangled them in front of me as proof.
        “So why are you spending so much time on me? I mean, if you have business to do?” I let the question dangle along with his keys.
        He looked embarrassed before he began. “Honestly, when I saw you…I mean, you are the most beautiful girl I have ever met. And when you listened to me and didn’t just shut me off, I thought, wow! You really are amazing.”
        “Yah. I mean you even laughed at my jokes. I just had to get to know you.”
        “You have to admit that this is a little creepy.” I felt my phone buzz in my purse and I said, “I have to get this.” Chick was calling me back. “Yes, Uncle Chick, how are you?” He was not really my uncle, but I felt that if I was talking to family about someone I had just met, this might, in some way, be a deterrent to danger.
        “You in a situation?” Chick asked.
        “Well, kind of. The airport is out of rental cars and I need to get to Buckhead tonight. This gentleman, Vijay Singh, has offered to help me out by giving me a ride.”
        “Well, he does check out. Everything you sent to me is correct. He is not married and he has no record, except a few parking tickets.  My advice; if you don’t feel safe, don’t take the ride. Either way, keep in touch. I have a few contacts in Atlanta, but no one who can come right over to the airport on a moment’s notice to pick you up. Apparently, there’s this convention in town that has everyone tied up.”
        “I know, me too. All right, I’m taking the ride but I will stay in touch. Oh, before I do….” I turned to Vijay and asked, “What’s the tag number and color of your BMW?”
        He looked surprised, but said, “Red, and the number is…just a minute.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his billfold and said, “Georgia plate, Apple, X-ray, Tango, 58789.”
        “Are you military?” I asked him.
        Again, he looked embarrassed and said, “Call of Duty. You know, the video game?”
        We grabbed our bags and found his car in the long term parking lot, then Vijay gave me a safe and chatty ride to the Hyatt Hotel in Buckhead.  When we arrived, he took my business card and I had his cell phone number and e-mail address on a dog-eared card that he handed to me.  He reminded me that there was a costume party of some kind in a couple of days. He suggested that my fiancé and I would have a lot of fun if we went.
        I told him, “Wow! My work will probably keep me pretty busy while I’m here in Atlanta. Thanks anyway. I’ll let you know if I change my mind.” We promised to keep in touch. Buddies forever!
        Tomorrow I would have to get up early and take a cab to the car dealership where I was doing my accounting audit work. If everything worked out right, I would be able to rent a car from them. I was prepared to settle down to a boring and routine business trip then head back home to Memphis in a few days. Boy, was I wrong!