The Chevy Impala moved through the neighborhood like a wraith. In the vehicle were two men. One was slightly more calm than the other, but both were pretty calm. "Where is this place man?", said the driver, who was a white guy about 6 feet tall and 200 hundred pounds.
The passenger was a black guy. He was about 5'10" and a buck seventy. He was working on a slush puppy he procured at the gas station they just got gas from. He was mid bite when his partner Reggie asked where the place was. After letting the slush puppy settle in his stomach he answered, "Right up here on the right. See that motor home?" Reggie nodded. "It's two houses after that. Drive past a piece. Then turn around and park about four or five houses down." The passenger, Fred, was already bringing another bite to his mouth.
With the lights off in both the car and neighborhood, the men waited. Reggie asked, "you believe Ron? About this guy having money in a safe in there?" Fred shrugged. He answered with the cold drink in his mouth, "He bever", in the way people do when their mouths are full, using the 'v' sound rather than the 't'.
"Hey man, I didn't know you knew how to get into a safe." Reggie.
"Getting into the safe is the easy part". Fred.
"Do you crack it? Or take it with you?"
"You take it with you. Then you crack it."
Reggie asked, "what if it's bolted down man?"
Fred was mid bite, so he waited to reply. After smacking his lips a few times, he did. "Well, then you gotta wait for 'em to come home."
Reggie laughed hysterically and Fred smirked as he stirred his slush puppy some more. They looked at each other. Gesturing to the house with his chin, Reggie asked, "Did Ron say if this one was bolted down?"
"We waitin', aren't we?"
Reggie began feeling out of his depth. He considered what brought him here and equally what would get him out. Fred interrupted his reverie, "How come you got a blacker name than me?"