The First Part of a Serialized Adventure, Entitled Jim the hand and the 50 million dollar man

Jim the hand and Marty de Groot watched as the 50 million dollar man left it running, got out, and slammed the door. Marty had never noticed before, but now that Jim and the man were both in front of him reflecting the light of a dying star at his rods and cones, there appeared some striking similarities. Mostly in the grin, thought Marty. The movement of thought to speech being a somewhat ponderous affair for the muscle half of their one - two, the man was inside the market by the time he said anything.

Ya know, he lowed, ya kinda look like dat...rich guy. Jim the hand snorted back a loogie and arced it out onto the street.

Hah, let's take 'is fawncee caw. Here Jim affected an upper class drawl, not entirely accurately. The two felons made for the shiny black surface reflecting the drabness of their lives in full colour. Jim hopped behind the wheel and waited for Marty de Groot to wedge himself into the passenger seat.

Now we'll show 'em. Marty reached towards the stereo, hoping to find some prize in wait. Instead he got the slap on the wrist from the hand.

Here, stop fucking wi' dat. I like this song. This from Jim, an aficionado of the more slutty of the new breed of pop star. Dija know she's talkin' about? Marty was forced to admit that he did not, in fact, know what she was talking about.

Well, ya ignaraymus, she's talkin' about da goods. Marty nodded sagely while wondering if that meant sex, or drugs, or what. Let's go. The car flowed away into a full out turn. They hit the corner of the market and were all set to make a speedy away when Jim pulled the car to a halt.

Looka them bastids. Waiting there for the man. Don' tey 'ave a code, or what? Jim threw the question at the windshield where it changed into a hunting call for waiting paparazzi. He got out of the car, and Marty followed suit.