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started to wonder if he might not have a choice but to put his libertarian theories to their ultimate test.
Curtis Green had, after all, stolen DPR’s “personal property.” All $350,000 of it.
As Ross weighed the decision, his chief adviser offered an alternate argument. “At what point in
time do we decide we’ve had enough of someone’s shit, and terminate them,” Variety Jones asked
rhetorically upon hearing about the theft. He no longer referred to Green by his name but simply as the
“Organ Donor.” To VJ, heroin was harmful and he wanted no part of it, but murder, well, that was a
completely different story.
Given that Green had been arrested, Variety Jones (who knew a bit about actually being arrested)
pointed out that the Organ Donor might strike a deal with the “Feebs” to divulge everything he knew
about the Silk Road. Or he might skip the country, VJ cautioned, and disappear with DPR’s 350
grand.
Soon other advisers jumped into the fray. “There are certain rules to the underworld,” one wrote
to DPR. “And problems can sometimes only be handled one way.”
All these devils on DPR’s shoulder, and the only angel was Ross Ulbricht. (It wasn’t like Ross
could call up his best friend René in the real world and ask his opinion. Hey, buddy, got a minute?
I’m thinking about having this guy killed for stealing hundreds of thousands of dollars in drug
money from me. You think I should do it?)
Given what everyone was saying to DPR, these arguments had started to make sense. This was
not a playground; it was a fucking drug empire, and there had to be consequences to people’s actions.
“If this was the Wild West, and it kinda is,” Ross replied to Variety Jones, “you’d get hung just for
stealing a horse.”
Exactly! Now you’re talking. VJ stoked the fire further, questioning what it would take before the
sheriff of this Wild West did just that. “At what point in time is that the response,” Jones asked.
“It’s a good question I’ve been thinking about the last 24 hours.”
Finally, Variety Jones rang the final death knell. “So, you’ve had your time to think,” he said.
“You’re sitting in the big chair, and you need to make a decision.”
Ross, jump off a cliff.
“I would have no problem wasting this guy,” DPR replied.
And in eight words the hit was put out on Curtis Green. With a few strokes on his keyboard, the
creator of the Silk Road had just sanctioned his first murder. Now he just had to find the right person
to kill him.