CHAPTER 109

Ten minutes later, the twenty or so thugs retreated, panting. They either slumped to the ground, braced their knees with their hands, or leaned against the railing of the bridge. They were so tired that they looked like old cattle that had plowed three acres of land in one go. They had no energy left to continue smacking.

"F***k, is this car made of steel? My hands are numb from smashing it, but I can't break it. What the hell!" shouted one of the thugs.

Seeing that the car could not be smashed, some of the thugs exclaimed in exasperation:

"You see this machete of mine? Imported, top-quality stuff, cost me hundreds, and now the blade's got nicks in it. It's ruined."

"This car's got bulletproof glass, right? I've hit it with an iron rod at least fifty times and still couldn't break it. This thing's solid."