In the shady underworld of the mafia-ridden city, Gaetano found himself in a tight spot. His boss, a no-nonsense figure known as Godfather Cork, had sent word that Gaetano needed to pay up his taxes, or there would be more than just metaphorical horses' heads in his future.

Now, Gaetano was about as broke as a comedian's promise. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and in this case, the desperate measure was picking pockets. But there was a minor hiccup. Gaetano's pockets-picking prowess was about as impressive as a soggy noodle.

Fearing the wrath of Godfather Cork, Gaetano sought out the help of the one person in the crew with a reputation for being light-fingered and quick-witted: Meliodass.

"Mel, I'm in deep trouble here. Boss wants his money, and I've got nothing. Help a guy out?" Gaetano pleaded, beads of sweat forming on his forehead like a guilty conscience.

Mel, being the pragmatic mobster she was, saw an opportunity for a mutually beneficial arrangement. "Sure thing, Gaetano. I'll teach you the art of picking pockets, and in return, you'll owe me a favor. Cool?"

With a reluctant nod, Gaetano agreed to the shady deal, envisioning a future where his pockets were full and his kneecaps remained intact.

The duo set out on the streets to find their unfortunate target. "First things first, Gaetano. You gotta blend in like a chameleon at a kaleidoscope convention," Mel instructed.

As they prowled the bustling streets, Gaetano attempted to mimic a ninja in tap shoes. "Now, find a mark. Pick someone so clueless they won't realize their wallet's missing until they're halfway home from grocery shopping.," Mel whispered as her eyes scanned the crowd.

Suddenly, Gaetano started getting hiccups. Mel gave him a side-eye and, in the midst of this crucial moment, asked, "What's wrong with you now, Gaetano? You turning into a hiccuping ninja?"