Conversation in the back of a heavily guarded truck:
“Hey, it’s George! Welcome back. Me n’ the boyz heard you was livin’ large on da’ outside.”
“Greetings, Bucky. Yes, apparently too large to stay under the Fed’s radar. We should have remained under cover until it all blew over, but you know how the others love to be in circulation.”
“What happened? Some two-bit slug drop a dime on ya’?"
“I’m not sure how it all went down, but I can see most of the gang’s been rounded up. We must have been under more intense investigation than I realized. With all the new evidence, we may be locked up for a long time.”
Conversation in the front of the same truck:
“Sure glad for the extra security today. Usually it’s just me and Pistol Pete, here.”
The clean-cut uniformed guard pats his holster and smiles at his new partner.
“Hiya, Bud. Yep. They sent me over from Central to give a hand since this latest sting brought in so many. Man, they’re really stacked like sardines back there.”
"You’re right, Hank. Maybe you’d better ride with the big round up and keep an eye on ‘em. I can handle the driving. We’ve only got one more stop and then this hot bunch will be somebody else’s headache. I’ll be relieved to get rid of ‘em.”
Bud opens the little door leading to the rear of the armored vehicle and waits patiently as Hank climbs through to provide extra coverage. There’s a soft click as the seasoned driver pushes a hidden button that double locks for safety. He can see through the bullet proof window as the temporary guard settles down in his designated spot and lays down his weapon.
New conversation in the back (whispered):
“Hey George, that’s Big Boy O’Malley! What’s he doin’ dressed up like da’ fuzz?”
“No wonder you dummies always get caught! He’s here to bust us out. Don’t you ever get anything straight?”
“Yeah…but look at the goofy dope. He’s going ta sleep like a baby. He’s even snorin’. What’s goin’ on?”
Sure enough...BBO, aka Hank, is oblivious to the new set-up as he succumbs to a very light infusion of gas piped through the vent. Bud drives right to Bureau headquarters and into a secret warehouse filled with agents…plain clothed and uniformed. They open the back door for two paramedics to administer a little oxygen to poor Hank. He feels the cold metal bracelets snap around his wrists.
George, ever the smart one, has an announcement to his fellow inmates who are already bagged and tagged and being removed.
“Fellow illegal tenders…I don’t know what a jig is, but I am afraid it’s up now. Have a nice rest of your short lives.”
The jury finds money-making gang guilty; the evidence, all big bills except for the one, is duly noted and documented and to be destroyed.
Never touch homemade short-cuts to enlarge your bank account. New funny-money will always tell on you... and the cost is way too high.
Not only is honesty STILL the best policy, but fingerprints never lie.
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