Must be more’n a hunnert degrees in the car. I got the pedal t’the floor. Th’ desert’s speedin’ past th’ open winders. Jimmie’s hoppin’ like he’s ‘bout t’ piss hisself, an then he goes an’ does it an’ it stinks in the heat. Whatcha get, I s’pose, fer partner’n’ with a retard.

“When we countin’t, Bill?”

I take a minnit to answer while I hit th’ master power lock on Jimmie’s door. Latch been broke on that piece’o’shit door an’ it won’t stay shut ‘less you lock’t. It starts rattlin’ but Jimmie don’t notice at first.

“Whatcha need t’ count it ‘fore, Jimbo?” I says.

“So we kin divvy’t up! Must be a hunnert thous’n’ dollars in there!”

“More’n that, but it ain’t nothin’ t’ divide by one, Jimmie.”

Jimmie’s retarded but he ain’t stupid – notices that door behind him rattlin’ at a hunnert-an’-somethin’ miles an hour an’ he starts lookin’ a little scairt. I pull my foot off th’ pedal long ‘nuff to drop him off in Nevada.

Leavin’ me all alone with a duffle bag fulla hunnerts an’ a long ways t’ go with a busted AC.