Scott Lang, who was already a chatterbox himself, couldn't stand Timmons's rambling anymore. Rolling his eyes, he ran onto the Paxtons' lawn...
Carefully making his way beneath Cassie's window, Scott Lang picked up a small stone and tossed it at the window, then called softly, "Cassie~
Cassie, my Little Pumpkin..."
One of Timmons's Black associates sidled up beside him...
Watching Scott Lang behave so suspiciously, the Black man asked curiously, "Why doesn't he just knock?"
Timmons gazed appreciatively at the sight of Scott Lang's back and said earnestly, "You don't understand. It's a professional habit!
With him, our company is sure to take off..."
The Black man replied in a thoroughly unimpressed tone, "You're counting on a habitual thief to save our company...
Are we really going to have to rely on this guy for next month's rent and groceries?
I'm already starting to feel sick whenever I smell peas and Spam. When are we going to get steak—or even hamburgers..."
Timmons glared angrily at his associate and said, "Scott can crack a bank vault in just 15 minutes...
He can develop the best security systems!
With him around, we're going to make a fortune...
A few startup troubles are nothing at all...
I spent six whole months across from Principal Alvin's restaurant..."
Rolling his eyes, the Black man cut Timmons off before he could continue his tale of hardship. Shaking his head, he said, "I met a few Chechen guys at a bar...
If Scott Lang really is as good as you say, I suggest we team up with them and hit a bank.
Those Chechens are reliable. They've got guns, and we've got the technical skills...
We'd have a dry office in less than six months!"
Timmons stared at his associate in disbelief. His associate had just suggested