Tone sighed, a long-suffering sound that echoed through the cramped vehicle. Their mission was simple—at least on paper. They were to "recover" a legendary briefcase from a local kingpin who was currently distracted by a lavish wedding.
"Shut it, Rato!" Tone barked, not looking back. "This is the big one. The 'Ultimo Capitulo.' We finish this, and we retire to a beach where the beer is cold and the tax man is a myth." Balas e Bolinhos 3 [O Ultimo Capitulo] - ainda...
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. Tone sighed, a long-suffering sound that echoed through
, 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." "Shut it, Rato
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.
"We go in, we grab the case, we leave," Tone explained for the fourteenth time. "No shooting, no shouting, and for the love of everything holy, no 'bolinhos' until we are across the border." Naturally, things went south within three minutes.
Tone watched from the bushes, his face buried in his hands. "I work with amateurs. Literal children."