WHERE'S COUSIN IT?

I delivered several boxes of wings to what may have been "The Thing" from the Adams Family. At approximately midnight, I approached what, for all intents and purposes, could have been a windowless concrete bunker. I knocked on the steel door with my police style flash light. After a few moments, the door opened and a very large hand attached to a larger forearm emerged from the crack in the door. Crumpled up in the huge fist was a bunch of bills, the door opened just wide enough to let the box of wings in, then slammed shut with a clang. Exact change, no conversation and no tip.