As they sped away, the engine coughing and the police trailing behind, Tone looked at his crew. They were bruised, covered in flour, and arguably the least competent criminals in Portugal.
, staring out the window with his characteristic blankness, suddenly spoke up. "Tone? Is the beach in Porto? I don't like the sand that isn't from Porto."
But as the guards closed in and the sirens began to wail in the distance, a familiar spark lit up in Toneās eyes. He didn't need a perfect plan; he had three idiots and a van with a faulty transmission. He jumped into the fray, swinging a heavy ornamental vase, while Rato began throwing smoke bombs that were actually just expired kitchen flour. Balas e Bolinhos 3 [O Ultimo Capitulo] - ainda...
Tone looked at the briefcase, then back at the road. A small, devious smirk climbed up his face. "Well... maybe one more. But only if the next one involves less seafood."
"Tone! I'm the godfather!" Bino shouted happily as he was swept into the ballroom by a crowd of cheering relatives. As they sped away, the engine coughing and
Tone sighed, a long-suffering sound that echoed through the cramped vehicle. Their mission was simpleāat least on paper. They were to "recover" a legendary briefcase from a local kingpin who was currently distracted by a lavish wedding.
In the midst of the white cloud and the absolute absurdity of the brawl, they somehow ended up back in the van, briefcase in hand, with Bino still clutching a half-eaten shrimp cocktail. He didn't need a perfect plan; he had
Tone watched from the bushes, his face buried in his hands. "I work with amateurs. Literal children."