They didn’t receive the friendliest greeting one could give as they crawled out of the pipe thirty-five minutes later, or one at all.  “Where’s our meat?”  Rapi asked, his voice deathly quiet.  The air shook with anger and anticipation of a fight.

“’ere.”  Juve thrust his package into Rapi’s hands.  Frank followed Juve’s motion. 

Rapi briefly scanned the packages.  “Two sausages.  Two thick, fat sausages for all that time wasted.”

Juve nodded.  “But yeh think we could let yeh all down?”

Rapi stared dangerously at Juve, his eyes glinting.  He then checked the bag, and pulled out the three packs of money.  “Check it,” he muttered to a large, muscular gang member.  “And if you steal any, may Jesus rest eternally as your comfort.”  Minutes passed as the money was counted, slowed even more by Rapi’s perpetual stare.

“Rapi, this-this is eighty-six dollars!”

“Hm.  Couldn’t let me down, could yeh?  Sorry I can’t return the favor.  Yeh don’t get a dime, or earned a dime of that money.”

Frank and Juve exploded at the same time, their emotions displayed well.  “Rapi,” began Jove, “we ‘arned every dollar o’ dat, and if it weren’t fer our heist”—

“You’re lucky to be bloody alive right now.”  Rapi snarled, quieting Jove and cutting off Frank before he could speak as he polished his small revolver on his jacket.  “Cops swept this area three times.  Three times, Juve…three effin’ times.  You expect a reward?  Your reward is not having yer feckin’ head blown off.  That’s your bollixed reward.  Now we ‘ave to stay back here fer the rest of the feckin’ day, just to lay low. ” Rapi turned his back on them, and sat on a trash can, fanning the money.  Juve and Frank moved as far away from Rapi and The Street gang as possible, settling next to the pipe entrance, their money packs pressing against their body, with their faces inscrutable with feigned anger and shame.