the smuggler’s bible

Salvatore

Salvatore front flips off the balcony and tucks into a neat little roll on the next rooftop. He springs up into a cartwheel to bleed off the last of his momentum.

“OK, now you,” he calls back.

“That looked awfully … technical.”

“Please, you’re overcomplicating things. It’s called parkour, not hard-kour.”

“I think—”

“Shit, wait. That sucked. Uhm, steal smarter, parkour harder. How’s that sound? A little better?”

“Still not very galvanizing.”

“Right, well, I wish we had all day for this,” Salvatore says. “But really you have like three minutes to find your guts before the cops get here.”