From the start I knew Chester A. Cobblefield was either just a weird old coot or a criminal mastermind. There really was no middle ground with that guy.
So Lenny brings me’n Jerry in on a gig with this guy Cobblefield—who’s got this crazy scheme to end all crazy schemes. Some of the details were lost on me—like I must’a told the guy a half-dozen times, “Look, you don’t haffta over-compliment things, they get plenty complimated on their own”— but it had something to do with making the Brinks truck run early, making the train run late, and somewhere in there would be this great window of opportunity for us.
It took a lot of legwork, but we scrambled all over, fiddlin’ with the clocks—and Cobblefield rewired ‘em to work on his own peculiar schedule.
So everything ran like, well, clockwork. The truck showed up early, the people they was expecting were late, and we hit ‘em like there was no tomorrow. It prob’ly would’a worked, too, if we hadn’t missed our ride. Who knew this would be the day the buses ran on time?