Chapter 811 The story of Mu Susu is about to begin
Slack's plan was simple: the fake Smith could pass off the real Smith, and the real Smith could pass himself off as well.
The first step is to find the fake Smith, the second step is to replace the real Smith, and the third step is to make the fake Smith disappear.
The steps are similar to loading an elephant into a refrigerator.
The reason why even the plans in the drawer are gathering thick dust is that they lack a person to implement the plan. Smith is tall enough but so skinny that he can fall over if bumped. Slack? He falls down without being bumped.
Rohard is different. He is ruthless enough and can handle the police with an expressionless face. He is a perfect candidate to implement the plan.
Although Rohard did not have the same skin color as Smith, he was a little unhappy, but on the bright side, it was also a natural protective color - the police did not believe that black people wandered the streets at night, so there would be no problem if he was white.
"Smith, where's your laptop?" Slack yelled.
Smith walked over and pulled out the laptop from the pile of toilet paper under the bed and threw it on Slack.
"Damn nigger...what did you do with it!"
"What a man should do."
Slack had to hold his orchid fingers to turn on the computer and turn it on. Then, as if God was giving him compensation for his lameness, his hands turned into afterimages and he quickly typed on the keyboard on the computer.
I don’t know who stipulated that computer experts must not use a mouse when using a computer.
Windows pop up one after another, covering each other.
I don’t know who specified it, but at this time, a stream of data that no one can understand will flow quickly on the screen.
Click, click, click, click, click, click—
The garage was filled with the sound of typing on the keyboard. Smith crossed his arms and silently mouthed to Rohard with a proud look on his face: Did you see, this is my brother!
I don’t know who stipulated that the last bit must be ended with a crisp space bar.
"Get it, that guy is recording a single in his recording studio, and in fifty-one minutes he will go to a commercial bank to negotiate a contract, then go play golf, and return to his Beverly Manor mansion at seven in the evening." Slack changed.
The screen, the light of confidence shining in the eyes.
"Excuse me, it's my mansion."
Rohard lowered his head, his glasses reflecting the fluorescent light on the screen.
Inside is another Smith, a more elegant Smith with an approachable smile standing on the red carpet.
"Did you see, these flashlights are supposed to be mine..." Smith gradually clenched his fists and murmured in a low voice with loneliness.
A palm patted him, and Slack whispered, "We're getting what's ours from that ugly nigger."
Smith nodded slightly: "Yes, brother, we have to defeat that bastard and return to our former glory - wait...what?"
A client, a cripple, a taciturn, cold-blooded chrysanthemum maniac...a very strange lineup. However, even the plot of the movie, such as swapping identities, appears, and the teaming up of three strange guys does not seem so strange.
Obviously, the taciturn character prevented players from doing too many multiple-choice questions.
After chatting for a few more words, they prepared to head to the recording studio to capture the fake Smith.
Smith drove out of his old car, but it only had two seats and there were three of them.
Smith said it didn't matter and let Rohard drive, while the two of them squeezed into the passenger seat.
"Drive directly to the music room, and you stop when I say stop." Smith's words were mixed with Slack's complaints.
After driving two blocks through the crowd, Slack suddenly pointed to a parked car on the side of the road: "Stop, that's the car."
【Stop】
【Continue forward】
【Crash into it!】
The option box appeared, and Musu and his friends lost easily.
Mu Su muttered something like "I won't take you on the nightmare difficulty level next time." Looking at the muscle car parked next to the car in the picture, Smith got out of the car, looked around, and sneakily took out a bunch of wire.
Push the lock, open the door naturally and get in.
Bang.
Smith closed the door, and soon the car started.
"Follow me."
Smith lowered the window and stepped on the accelerator with pride.
"A capable person is still capable even if he is down and out." Finally no longer having to endure the crowds, Slack sat down and turned on the radio as a compliment or a sarcastic comment.
【Ocean man, take me by the hand Lead me to the land, that you understand~】(Ocean man, take me by the hand Lead me to the land, that you understand~)
A brisk rhythm flowed from the radio, and Slack leaned back in his seat.
【Ocean man, the voyage to the corner of the globe~】(Ocean man, the voyage to every corner of the world is the real journey~)
The camera floats up to the roof of the car and follows two cars, one behind the other, driving on the Los Angeles Boulevard on the West Coast.
【Ocean man, the crust of a tan man Imbibed by the sand, Soaking up the thirst of the land~】(Ocean man, the crust of a tan man Imbibed by the sand, Soaking up the thirst of the land~]
There is also cheerful and beautiful music.
The scene changed, the music faded away, and in the dusk of the evening, two cars pulled into the roadside and parked on a street.
Click——
Smith opened the door, looked up at the three-story recording studio, pushed the sunglasses he found in the cart, and walked to the muscle car.
Rohard turned to look at him.
"The recording studio is up there. Have you seen those bodyguards?" Smith gestured to Rohard to look at the entrance of the recording studio.
Two muscular black men in suits were guarding the door.
"There are more inside, we'd better wait here for that guy to come out on his own." Smith reached out and bumped fists with Slack, the co-pilot, and threw him a walkie-talkie.
“Play it by ear.”
Smith slipped back into the car ahead. Soon, his inflected voice came over the intercom.
Black talkativeness is a stereotype. Just like black people have white teeth, good physical fitness, and black people look the same——
But Smith was really talkative, and while waiting for the fake Smith to come out, he and Slack started to quarrel with each other, and there were endless jokes about black people, and of course, there was the joke about black people not having fathers.
This reminded Mu Su of a black friend of his. Before the plot unfolded, he cut out the game and opened the chat window.
"All eyes are on me!"
"Everyone, I have something to announce!"
"I want to tell a story!"
"Ahem... I have a black friend. He comes from a lower-class background, but unlike his compatriots who ended up in gangs or receiving welfare benefits, he is studious and hard-working."
"You can never imagine how rare it was for a black man to become a white-collar worker in the 1980s."
"He was able to achieve these achievements thanks to the nuns in the church in the neighborhood. Every time he encountered a problem, he would go to the nuns and ask. The nuns knew everything like God and gave him the answers."
"One time he went to a bar to drink with his colleagues after get off work. His friend said that yesterday he went to the amusement park to ride the Dynamic Express with family members, including his father, mother, sister and brother."
"Of course he had been to the amusement park, but he had never heard the word, so after parting that night he went to the church to find the nun, and with the same solemnity as every question, he asked the nun about the word he could not understand."
