You had to hustle a lot to get this job. Just finding someone who would trust you with something this big had taken years of talking up smarmy pimps and wiseguy junkies only to be left dead in the water every fucking time with a "What are you talking about?" or a limp-dicked "Yeah, I'll call you if I need you". Now you've finally pulled a big one. The fat fuck at the jewelry store never knew what hit him and the cops were still two blocks over when you drove off with the loot.

Now your fresh-faced ass is standing in a parking lot at nine-thirty on a Saturday night, alone, wearing your best underwear and waiting for the fence to drive up to take these rocks off your hands. Why the clean undies? You may not be a big shot but you weren't born yesterday! You know as well as the next crook that things can go wrong -- what if the clerk woke up during the heist and tried to be a hero? What if the cops got there faster than you thought they would? You might get seriously injured, that's what!

So then what happens? Why you go to a hospital of course; where they take off your clothes and put you in one of those paper robes! Do you want them to see the holey, skid-marked, held-together-with-duct-tape underwear you normally have on? Of course not!

This has been a nodeshell rescue.