There's no messing with this fella - you either pay the mandatory revolutionary tax of 6 slices of bread or your car might 'have a little accident', there could be 'accidents' all over the bonnet and windscreen. It'll be a nightmare to get off in this weather.
'Where's the bread, pal?'
'Think you're a funny guy, eh? We'll see who's laughing now!'
'Take that! You see this?! You see it?! This is what I'll do to that bloke Derek's head when I catch up with him, he owes me 3000 slices. I'll have his legs off.'
Yet another 'You looking at me, punk!' photo opportunity. Watch out Derek, word on the street is you've a price on your head.