The slightly longer version:
I get to the 2nd motorway service station and park in the busiest part I can find. No sign of the lorry. This time I’m on my own as my mate has gone home.
I have a walk around the back as that’s where the lorry park is and I can see a truck with the right company name, so over I go.
By this time it’s semi-dark and the lorry park is pretty isolated. The driver is in his cabin and opens the door and beckons me in. At this point I seriously consider cutting my losses and getting the hell out of dodge. I think ‘fuck it, I’ve come this far’ and climb up into the lorry cabin. This will sound like I’m making it up, but I swear the driver has got a 70’s handlebar mustache.
I leave the lorry door open and I’ve got one leg hanging out the door just in case I need to make a quick exit. He asks to see some ID. I tell him I haven’t got any. Instead I show him my phone and some emails from the Lithuanian lawyer. He seems satisfied.
He pulls out a wad of cash and I start counting it. All the while I’ve got one eye on him and I’m ready to spring out the open door if there are any sudden movements. The cash seems all there so I shake his hand, jump out pretty sharpish and hot-foot it to my car.
I have learnt from this experience that I’m not suited to a life of crime. Walter White I am not.