"You the one 'bout to be up to yo' ass in bad news, frien'. Me, I just some oyster-shuckin' jive nigger don't know shit."
. . . Except, I found myself thinking, how to make a monkey out of the U.S. Coast Guard and DEA and God knows who else for ten years. Artie was the best.
Disconcertingly, I might also add, Artie Wilson had demanded cash in advance for our job, which didn't exactly reflect a high degree of confidence in the endeavor. However, there was no way we could test what we planned to do. This was it.
"You've got fifteen seconds."
"One hand on the switch, boss, other on my—"
"Artie, stay focused—"
"Thing is, jus' hope I remember which one to yank."
"The big one."
"That's what you think, white boy . . . zero. Blast off . . . yooeee, they gone." Pause, then: "Yep, we pumpin'."
"Got it?"