It began long ago, two young boys in an American town riding their bikes to school and little league practice.

Over the years, the boys became fast friends, united in their love for stories where things would go horribly wrong.

Pour yourself a strong beverage and buckle up. You're in the shallow end with

Schnebley and Toff. I got a story. Would you like me to jump right in? I was praying you were

going to jump right in and hit us all with a story. In the bustling streets of Chicago,

there's a particular story that's become a bit of an urban legend, although it only happened a few years ago.

Hot dog vendors, that's a big thing. It's a big thing in New York. It's a big thing in the

windy city. You always see hot dog vendors, a little hot dog carts. I've always been

dubious about those if they're safe to eat, so I've never actually had one. I shy away from it, too. I don't know how long that hot dog water's been there.

If it's even water. And where did that water come from, if it is water?

What was it before? Before it was in the pot covering that thing you want to sell me for $5?

The problem with being a hot dog vendor is you're a prime target for robbery. Makes sense. It's a known fact

that these streetside vendors almost always deal in cash, and it makes it a tempting mark

for those of course. With nefarious intentions. Sure. Let me introduce you to Tarian Pouncey.

Terrian Pouncey, a name that would soon become synonymous with hot dog vendor heists.

Hello, Tarian.

Among the many frequent robbers, Pouncey stood out as a repeat offender.

He had a knack for sizing up his victims and choosing just the right moment to strike.

It's almost like he had, I don't know, some sort of premonition or he was able to size up his

targets pretty well.

Yeah, I get it.

Now, this story takes place on the morning of Halloween in 2017.

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