Chapter 1: Off The Beach
Vice City, 2:14 AM. The neon on Ocean Drive buzzed like a hungry wasp when a white Lambo slid to the curb. The door swung up. Out stepped one alligator-loafer'd leg. Then another. Then six more.
Pinche The Crab had arrived. Purple fur coat, feathered hat, and a gold chain so heavy it had its own gravity. Two years ago he was scuttling under a pier eating french fries. Tonight he owned the boulevard.
"They said a crab can't walk straight," he muttered, adjusting his mustache. "Good. Straight is boring."