The Worst Criminal

Barnacle Bob was a math teacher.  Most people with the first name Barnacle, to say little of the last name Bob, would go out and become a sailor or mariner or Fisherman, and many may well have, but the Barnacle Bob you're reading about this instant taught math and fractions and carrying one's ones to the proper row.  This was his life's ambition.  Unfortunately, the children made horrible fun of Barnacle Bob, and he could no longer teach math.  He had to become a criminal.

"Hands up," Bob bellowed as he entered a booze joint, brandishing his pistols sideways like a proper gangster.  "Listen up and no one gets shot!  If I leave Beesley's Point for Newark at noon going forty miles and hour, and my friend JoJo in Point Pleasant catches the express train to said destination at eleven forty five, supposing that the train was going fifty miles an hour and had to make two stops of five minutes each, and I had to stop twice to go to the bathroom at approximately two minutes each, who would get to Newark first?!"

"Do we have to account for acceleration?"  The old man at the counter asked, his sweaty fingers desperately flicking the panic button.

"No," Bob replied.  "Simply assume what I told you and give me an answer."

 "What if there's traffic at a turnpike?" A young man with a fake ID asked. "And who uses a train in 2012?"

"For the hypothetical purposes of this assignment, we will assume there is no traffic, that we have valid options for mass transit, and that I maintain a constant 40 miles per hour to my destination."

"Yes, he's asking them math questions," Said the fat manager to the phone, eating chips and watching the security cams in the dingy break room. "Old Joe out front dropped out of community college, so it's only a matter of time before he gets shot and dies."

"Just stall him," Officer Jim said.  "We're on our way."

"I've got a question."  The fat manager said, hitching up his dockers as he weezed his way out into the store.  "Who the fuck uses a train -- ??"

"HANDS IN THE AIR!"  Shouted Officer Jimbob, crashing through the window on the trampoline he had cleverly placed in the alley outside a week beforehand.  It was the only booze joint in town, so he was pretty sure shit would go down eventually.  Officer Jimbob rolled twice, landing in a crouch with his tazer drawn.  "FREEZE, SCUMBAG!"

Barnacle Bob was arrested and the fat manager got a medal of honor.