fuck you, mr. cobb, i have too much dignity to spend another moment with you. i hope you die before the sun comes up and may you rot in hell! the man whirls and is shocked to see stump standing there with his own suitcase.
who are you?
you mean he actually found somebody to take the job?
i can't believe you found me.
i told you that you'd only last one day with the bastard.
mr. cobb's in the car?
then i'm not getting in the car with that son of a bitch. i'd rather take my chances out here.
he hates me. he hates black people.
if dying out here gives him pleasure then i won't die out here. they get to the car -- stump opens the back door to help the nearly-frozen man into the car. cobb grumbles.
yessir.
willie mays, no doubt about it.
and i'd say the second greatest player of all time is jackie robinson.  or maybe josh gibson.
and of course, the greatest base runner of all time isn't riding in this car -- the fastest baseball player of all time was cool papa bell -- cool papa would've easily broke all your stolen base records --
cool papa was so fast that when he entered a hotel room and flipped the light switch off, he'd be asleep in bed before it got dark.
oh yeah, satchel paige could throw a porkchop past a wolf, mr. cobb, ol' satchel woulda had you eatin' outta his hand, he woulda had you hittin' .220 and kissin' his black ass to boot.
the man with the gun does the talking, you wretched, old prick.
well, mr. cobb, thank you for a lift into town.  willie hands the gun to stump and climbs out of the car, bidding farewell to stump as he does.
and you, sir, should leave this disgusting, wretched, sorry son of a bitch immediately. good evening.
he's crazy.
get down! cobb on the table with a gun as stump and police officers scramble to grab his gun hand. customers hit the deck.