You got you this big-ass computer that was designed by big-brained dweebs to make money out of, I shit you not, thin-fucking-air.
Now, this ain’t folding money, this is the kind of money bankers and shit put down in ledgers, only there ain’t no more ledgers, that shit’s all computers on the internet now. So instead of hiring Sean and Vinnie to take a paper bag of the folding stuff to the bosses, it’s got to go over the internet, one computer to another.
Now, computers generally don’t talk to each other direct – they hand off like runners and bag-men. So, the big-ass computer pulls money almost literally out of it’s ass, and then hands it off to a bag-man, who stuffs it in a bag and puts the Boss’ name and organization on it. He hands it off to a runner, who runs up to the corner, and goes, “Hey, any of you guys know this dude?”
Bad-ass at the corner goes, “Nah, man, but I heard of the dude and his crew. Hard core motherfuckers. Head on over five blocks east, and ask there.”
This works, up until the runner comes across someone who got duped. He heard from someone important that the Boss works out of “The Cafe” out on the docks, but someone who seemed legit, but was a fucking weasel, just now told him that The Boss at the Organization was now running out of some garage just outside town.
“Who you running for, kid?”
“Big-Ass Computer’s bag-man, by way of the dude at that corner! This is for The Boss, at The Organization!”
“Hey, hey, you’re in luck! I know where that’s going! Just heard about it! Hand it over, guy, and you’re done for the night! My runner will take it from here! Good job!”
So, the next day, the Boss rolls on up to an abandoned garage, all the money the computer pulled out of its ass is gone. The weasel got snuffed, but even he didn’t know where the money was headed.
These modern times, I tell ya.