Plan B

...and then what I'll do, right, is I'll have been hiding, covert-like, stealthy, y'know, for about six or seven hours. And then, when he least expects it, I'll leap out from the shadows, nab the loot and scram in top gear.

This whole time, Randy the Snake's been parked in his car on the corner, waiting for the deal to go down, right? Well, he sees me running in his direction, he'll open the door, I'll jump in the passenger seat, and we'll scream off into the cover of night.

It's foolproof, alright? But just in case, my man Muskrat Lloyd's gonna cut all the hardlines into the joint just as I'm making the getaway. That way, we won't have any boys in blue on our tail, right? He'll just be walking by, y'know, with a pair of hedgeclippers under his trenchcoat, so he can casually stroll back to his wheels and rendezvous back at HQ, no sweat.

After that, we pay off Malone, we spring Mick from the slammer, and my wife gets her rent paid on time. Ex-wife, whatever. And we may even have enough stash left to split a pie, who knows.

All's I know is, life is about to get pretty good around here.

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