Finally got around to finishing this chapter, it's quite short compared to the previous ones as I wasn't sure how to exactly describe my scenes, though I've established a nicer tone at the end so I don't drone on. In this chapter, the mystery of Michael's fate at the hands of Niko weighs on as Franklin feels as though something is not quite right, whilst the Venturas Trio come face to face with the leader of the Triads, and a few old faces crop up from the GTA IV era...
Location – Four Dragons Casino Managers Office – Las Venturas
1022 hrs, October 8
Franklin Clinton, Lamar Davis and Trevor Phillips are being interrogated by the Triads
Franklin's face smashed into the crimson carpet as the two Triad goons threw him mercilessly to the feet of their leader, whom stood patiently in front of him on a leathery armchair, a cigar in one hand, and a glass of Scotch in the other. He appeared to have been a man in his early thirties, a short shadowy soul patch growing just above his daunting long chin, and his hefty gut hanging over his belt buckle. After bringing himself back together, Franklin lifted his head up as he looked the mob boss in the eyes, and immediately began spluttering and rubbing his eyes as the man arrogantly blew the smoke of his cigar into his eyes. Trevor sat in an armchair across the room, his arms strapped down and five men aiming pistols at his face, disgusted by the lack of manners they were receiving.
"Gentlemen, I wish I could say that it is a pleasure to meet the three of you, however these circumstances have ruined any hopes of a hospitable relationship forming between us. My name is Wo-Kin-Pai – My friends call me 'Kingpin', though I'm sure you all know who I am already." Kingpin announced, as he began posing his threat to his new enemies, he clicked his fingers to signal one of his goons to take away the drink and cigar, as now was the time to discuss business. Trevor and Franklin looked to each other with empty expressions, wondering whether they were supposed to know who their foe was.
"Ye-yeah, course we've heard of you sir. So uh, we apologise for the way we've trashed your hotel suite, but we will be paying for the room to be refurbished-" Franklin began, he started dusting himself off as he tried to stand up and reach his hand out to the Triad lord to offer a handshake, however his two bodyguards stood in his way with wrath in their eyes, bringing Franklin down.
"You think I care about a room? Do you know how many Americans I have that come in everyday, causing ruckus and trying to forget their troubles?" Kingpin began, it seemed for a split second that he was letting his guard down as he moved across the room towards the cupboards, changing his long brown fur coat for a short black business suit, then returned back to Franklin after contemplating pouring himself a drink. "I do not enjoy bringing in wanted felons to my family's casino Mr. Clinton, and whilst I shall learn from this experience to ensure it never repeats itself, I hope to bring something else out of this; perhaps, a partnership…Of sorts?"
"Um…A'ight. What kind'a 'partnership' 'chu thinking about?" Franklin bewildered, he realised that he and his friends must have done something terribly worse than trashing a hotel suite to anger a Triad mobster, and was willing to offer himself in terms of work to solve his situation. Trevor however, was furious at the idea.
"Woah, woah woah! We – are not your fuckin' guinea pigs you little bastard! We're retired anyway! And even if we weren't," Trevor roared, he ripped his arms out of the straps and pushed the men with guns out of his way and he towered over the Triad boss, though he showed no signs of fear. "We wouldn't work for a snivelling pathetic little FUCK – Like you!" He began pointing at his captor and prodded him in his chest to push him back, however his impulsiveness was getting the better of him, and within minutes, more men rushed through the main doors and threw Trevor against one of the walls.
"I suppose I am grateful for your honesty – Very uncommon in a city such as this. But know this, Canadian," Kingpin warned, in his silence, he had already cunningly assessed Trevor's personality and identified his accent, and plotted to use it against him. "If you dare to raise your hand to me again, I will have all of your fingers – Burned." Kingpin picked up his used cigar from the coffee table, and began stinging it into Trevor's left cheek, causing him to growl in an animalistic cry. Trevor began headbutting his head against the wall to force him to stop, however upon noticing that Franklin and Lamar were also being pinned down to the chairs, he gave up his authority, as well as his pride.
"Shit man…What do you need? We'll do anything to help y'all asses." Franklin surrendered, he kept his place in the chair as he gestured an repentant look toward Kingpin, whom just returned it with an amused devilish grin as he signalled his men to release Trevor from his suffering. Lamar remained quiet as he sat perched in the corner of the room, two guards that were meant to watch over him instead ignored his presence and fixated their eyes on the threat Trevor posed, believing Lamar couldn't give them a formidable fight.
"Very good Mr. Clinton…Now, my organisation has been rooted into Las Venturas for almost a decade now, and we have faced considerable opposition in that time and have terminated any danger made towards us. However in recent months, gang warfare has grown rapidly here, and not even the force of this branch is enough to stop it. In a few months' time, more of my men from the homeland will arrive, however until then, I need to make ends meet another method. That, is where you and your friends come in Mr. Clinton." Kingpin revealed, as he paced across the room gesturing his hands to his guards to pour him another glass, Franklin quickly gathered that there was something strange about the Triad as he could never keep himself still or in one place for any less than a minute, however knew to keep his mouth shut about it. He gulped upon realising that Kingpin was bringing in more of his men to town, concluding that he was too far of a threat to fight, even with Trevor Phillips besides him.
"I want you to deal with one of the lesser gang threats in this city; the Uptown Riders, I'm sure you've heard of them." Kingpin continued to outpour, Franklin's eyes widened upon the mention of the Riders, having been a long-time admirer of their motor-culture. "Recently, they have created an illegal ring of street-races across the city, and have been attracting even more unnecessary police attention to my properties, and have openly refused to share a cut of all profits with us…We want you, to give them a…Message – from me. I want you to join one of their races, which will be starting in two hours at the Yellowbell Train Station. Beat them at the races, and then I want you to torch all of their motorcycles, with all of the riders, except for one. Let one man live so he can run off and tell the others in his gang – That the name 'Kingpin' still MEANS SOMETHING in this town!"
Franklin looked on uneasy as Kingpin slammed his fists upon his office-desk, and almost smashed his hairy knuckles into the glasses of alcohol, but calmly argued with himself mentally as, despite his likeness to the gang, he knew he had to take down the Uptown Riders to keep Kingpin happy. "Sure thing sir, but if you want me to do, I'mma need these dudes to help me out." He pleaded, Kingpin looked at him hesitantly, not wanting to give in to too much of his opponents demands, as appearing weak in an arrangement was not in his forte.
"Very well then, you may take Mr. Phillips with you, but Mr. Davis shall stay here…This is a business arrangement after all, and I still need some leverage to ensure you keep your end of the bargain. Now, good day Mr. Clinton, there is no rush to assist me." Kingpin chuckled devilishly, he looked at his guards whom stood placing knuckle-dusters across their fists, and glared down towards Lamar whom cowered in his chair. Trevor began pacing towards them as he swung for one of the glasses, however Franklin held him back, and hurried him out of the Casino.
"Don't worry T, we won't be working for these old flossin' fuckers too much – I'll make sure of it." Franklin promised, whilst he appeared unsteadied, he still held determination in his eyes as his pupils dilated at the decision to go off to work, and Trevor stood with an unidentifiable amazement at how Michael's and Franklin's glare were so similar.
Location – Liquor Ace, Sandy Shores – Los Santos
1342 hrs, October 8
Ron Jakowski and Wade Hebert are discussing the future of Trevor Phillips Enterprises
Ron strolled back and forth across the till of the abandoned liquor store-turned meth lab, inspecting the rotten spider eggs in the corner of the room and what smelt like rat droppings lingered across the workshop, whilst Wade sat on one of the stair's steps, drinking bottle after bottle of alcohol.
"Why is Trevor getting himself caught up with those assholes from Los Santos when he has businesses out here he needs to protect?" Ron questioned out-loud to himself, he repeatedly turned his phone on and off in order to keep checking whether Trevor or Michael were trying to contact him, however he only disappointed himself further upon realising that he was not wanted, nor needed.
"These bottles tasty mighty like vinegar, why're they so yella?" Wade bewildered, he was oblivious to Ron's nervousness and jealousy, and grew confused over trying to make the distinction between a bottle of ancient alcohol, and a bottle of Trevor's urine. He threw himself up into the air and tried to rush pass Ron to get some air, however he forced himself upon Wade as he tried to talk some sense into him.
"Don't you get it Wade!? We're not wanted! Trevor is prepared to let himself die for a couple of nobodies from Los Santos, and we're not even entrusted to manage the Industries! Aren't you mad?" Ron yelled in desperation, Wade stood unfazed by his cries though began to doubt himself again as he looked down to the ground, hoping that an answer would magically appear in front of his eyes.
"I suppos' Trevor was right though – I mean, I'm no good with 'em numbers for business records, and I don't like Los Santos that much. 'Specially not the strip club anymore, the music drove me crazy…" Wade began, his self-esteem began to match the level of his late cousin, however he grew lost in his thoughts as he remembered the strip club, and Ron gave up in his attempt to educate the hillbilly.
"Wake up Wade – Trevor's hiding stuff from us again, just like with the business in North Yankton, the business with your Cousin and the strip club, aaa-and even the private army he's supposedly bought!" Ron screeched, as usual, his paranoia was getting the better of him, however his self-doubts for his boss got the better of him, and Wade grew panicked upon the mention of Floyd. "I still can't believe he spent all of his billions on financing his own private army; tanks, jets, mounted turrets across Mount Chiliad…The power's gone to his head."
"Wa-wait a minute…Where is Floyd, he was suppos'd ta meet me and Trevor at the strip club weeks ago! I hope he ai-" Wade tried to question in an equal frantic state to Ron as he finally placed the clues together, but before he could finish the puzzle, the two men stopped in their conversation as they heard vehicles parking outside.
The two hillbillies peeked outside of the grimy glass windows and inspected the black Landstalker that was carelessly parked in the front, and noticed a burly man in a suit emerging from the driver's seat, accompanied by an intimidating woman in a suit, and what looked as if an Eastern European wearing a scruffy black leather zipped jacket following behind the other two. The immigrant loaded up a pump-action shotgun whilst the woman began aiming her combat pistol, and the beefy agent watched on, wondering if he needed to bother equipping himself.
"Shit it's the feds – I knew the government were going to come back for Trevor, and now we've gotta deal with the shit!" Ron bemoaned, he treaded past Wade as he raced up the stairs to hide, whilst checking his pockets for his pistol to defend himself, however in the carelessness and cowardice he would never admit to retain, he had forgotten to equip himself with a weapon. "Damnit, Wade, do you got anything on you?"
"Uh-Um…You never asked me if I wanted to join you in that types of thing, but no I ain't got no condoms." Wade faithfully replied following him up the stairs, misinterpreting the question as Ron almost stuttered upon listening to him, and gritted his teeth as it once again had befallen upon him to think of a solution to their problem.
"Ssh, ssh…Can you hear them? They're planning an ambush…" Ron noted in a worried whimper, crouching behind one of the broken refrigerators whilst arming himself with the wooden leg of a chair, and Wade stood behind one of the doorframes, sniffing the puddle of vomit on the ground that oddly reminded him of Trevor.
Karen ruthlessly kicked the front glass-doors down with little precaution, and holstered her pistol towards both sides of the liquor store, ensuring the area was safe seemingly for the whole team's protection, however her swift movements across the store and leaving her two agents behind her suggested otherwise. Niko stood with his shotgun swinging from left to right, shutting his eyes and trying to smell any traces of humanity in the atmosphere whilst Agent Swiane began lighting a cigarette, and contemplated trying to drink some of the alcohol. Karen dependently looked towards Niko, hoping that he would be able to use his animalistic instincts to trace their prey.
"Anything Niko?" Karen asked in a soft tone, once again trying to seem vulnerable whilst at the same time trying to act like the headstrong leader of an IAA secret squad. Niko reopened his eyes as he took point, and began moving up the stairs, pointing his shotgun upwards and holding two fingers up to signal the amount of targets in the building.
"Two guys – possibly three, I can't make the distinction. I smell a lot of people, but can only hear two." Niko whispered, Agent Swiane finally armed himself with a weapon after Karen gave him a warning frown, whilst Niko continued up the stairs, the boards of the flooring creaking upon every thud from Niko's presence.
Finally, Niko reached the top and immediately drew in an abysmal sigh as he prepared himself for another close gunfight, an oily fluid dripping from the ceiling onto his sturdy shoulders, and Agent Swiane stumbling up the stairs whilst Karen gave Niko cover by placing her pistol firmly inches away from his hairs on his bearded chin. Ron listened to the three move closer towards the room and finally caved in to his panic, racing away from the refrigerator and pushed Wade out of his way and onto the ground, slyly saving himself by running out onto the balcony and hopping over the fence, disappearing into the countryside. Niko had emerged into the main room and tried to keep up with the conspiracy theorist, however could only watched as he galloped away into the distance, and Niko swore under his breath in Serbian upon recognising his failure.
"We've got another man in here Niko – We need you!" Karen shouted from inside the meth lab as she could be heard grappling with another target, and Niko hurried inside after her. To his astonishment, their hostage was in no ways intimidating nor displayed the true characteristics of an apparent drug-dealing incest hillbilly, but was just a young filthy juggler.
"Where did Ron go, I thought we was gonna smoke meth?" Wade asked as Agent Swiane threw him into one of the chairs by his shoulders and punched him in the teeth with his inhumanly enlarged fist, and Karen perched herself upon the end of a table after scrubbing off the dust for her own leisure.
"You're on your own for the next couple of hours pal, so I suggest you be a gracious host to your new guests, so let's start with a little…Truth, or dare." Karen deceitfully decided with a frightening edge to her tone as Niko looked on with both confusion and a small trace of fear, and Agent Swiane paced across the room, inspecting the lab instruments that the Enterprises had used.
"Um…I vote dare on ma' part if that be alright…" Wade pleaded, he began to feel uneasy as Karen and Niko glared down at him and crowded around him, Niko snapping his fingers whilst Karen flipping her pistol around so she was wielding the bottom side for more personal brutality. Karen smirked upon Wade's mistake in choice, and gave a delighted sigh of relief.
"Well then, if that's how you want to play…" Karen replied in a low whisper, readying the pistol whilst Niko held him down by his shoulders as the young man shook back and forth in anguished pain, and began calling out for his best friend to return to Los Santos, and save his life, all the while still telling himself that his cousin hadn't been killed after all.
Location – The Strip – Las Venturas
1503 hrs, October 8
Franklin Clinton is finishing a race against the Uptown Riders
"Eh T! We coming up past the Camel Toe Casino! Where you at man?" Franklin asked over the headset, his Pegassi Bati-Custom rapidly diverted through the oncoming vehicles in front of him with his mind firmly focused on the job, hoping to resolve it finally.
"I'm here – I'm at this giant dick monument thing…Guess it puts a lot of things in respective huh?" Trevor began, never did he mind the usual philosophical chatter when his life was endangered, but as he gave an aggressive growl to a tourist couple who tried to photograph Trevor by the statue, believing him to be a celebrity, Franklin sighed down the phone, signalling he wasn't in the mood to talk. "Drive off the road and towards the palm trees before you're caught up in this shitter!"
"Why? What'chu got planned T? We don't need no fuckin' drama!" Franklin snapped, as he drew closer to what was originally the finishing line to the race, he caught a glimpse of Trevor in his Love Fist tank-top waving towards him, and instantly knew that there was no time to debate the forms of murder, and irresponsibly drove over the pavement and past the palm trees, parking by the pool.
"This is Las Vegas Frankie -" Trevor began, he shouted towards Franklin but kept his eyes firmly on the intersection as he fired a pistol bullet towards the gravelly road, confusing the young sought gangster, until he saw a small cerulean flare ignite. "-These people live off drama!"
A trail of an azure flame paved its way across the gritty highway, and as the Uptown Riders drew closer towards the finishing line, the leading Rider saw the rising fire and shrieked in terror, and tried to pull back on his brakes, however not even his imported custom-made bike could save him from the gruesome end that Trevor had planned for him as he began to slide off his bike whilst pulling back the breaks, and found his face planting into the ground with force. Trevor began to grow jaded as he waited for the fire to continue rising, firing bullet after bullet at the gasoline until the man's face finally began to melt, and without moments, a sluggish cloud filled with the smell of burning rubber and flesh filled the area. More of the Riders began to pull up at the finishing line, until they began to splutter at the smell of the explosion, and Trevor began firing his shotgun at the front wheels of each bike, watching all of the Riders struggle to retain control, until they all joined their fallen buddies in the fiery dirt.
"Don't get ahead of yourself bro, we need one of these cats alive!" Franklin shouted, he sat perched against the leather seat of his Pegassi Bati-Custom with his arms firmly crossed as he showed no delight or insistence in trying to make his job enjoyable, however Trevor thrived on it, and was determined to bend the rules his new boss had given him.
"If I'll ever be remembered for anything in death 'bro', it'll be moderaaaation. But hey, don't mean we can't have some fun…" Trevor asserted as he forced Franklin out of his way and began scampering through the pile of crispy corpses and began prodding each Rider with his bloody-stained hiker boots that extraordinarily had fluffs of Johnny's brain stuck, like unwanted chewing gum that could never be shook off. "A-Ha! Found some in the livestock, can I keep him?"
"He-He-Hey man, yo, if you're gonna finish me, make it quick and get it over with son." The Rider sorely commanded, even upon the brink of death, he still had the nerve to temper with Trevor Phillips of all people who hovered over him with his shotgun pointed at his skull, and was disgusted with the lack of manners given.
"Hmm, I guess every breed of bikers needs to be schooled on the code of conducts…How about I stamp your head into the ground and smash your brain into the pavement and lick it all off as pudding?" Trevor interrogatingly intimidated, the Rider was still covering the bullet-wound in his stomach and trying to gather his breath as he bled out onto his Double-T custom, and remained unfazed by the crank dealer. "C'mon don't test me boyo, I've been hankering for a good bite and I reckon some nice Ameriii-cano will do the trick!"
"You definitely one hillbilly fruitcake a'ight, if you planning on putting me down then just get it over with, but I am sick of hearing your stupid ass." The Rider protested, he rolled himself over and mockingly drew his face away as he tried to bring himself up to his knees, however Trevor's temper flared as he butted the shotgun into the Rider's face, and began panting with impatience as he looked to Franklin for input. "Mmm, correction; one hillbilly incest fruitcake-"
"Whoa whoa whoa – Listen dude, this is your lucky day, we've been given orders not to kill your sorry ass!" Franklin interrupted, Trevor began attempting to wring the Rider's neck with the weapon whilst what seemed to have been an attempt to nibble at his earlobes, and managed to pull the animal away from his meal. "C'mon then bro, what's your name?"
"It's Malc…The fuck is this anyway, you setting us all up for a date or a three-way or some shit? Just fuckin' pop me already!" Malc revealed, Franklin helped him up on his feet whilst Trevor continued to show distrust as he began sniffing deafeningly towards the biker, anxious to finish him off once and for all, however orders were orders, and Lamar was more important than a meal, however tasty.
"A'ight then Malc, you're gonna go and meet the rest of your friends and tell 'em all that this was all down to Kingpin, and him and his Triads are pissed at'chu for not giving him his cut! Cough up some dough soon or we'll be back to finish you all off." Franklin warned with hesitation as he despised being the stoolie of egotistic men whom lacked the backbone to commit their own crimes, and even worse he had admired the Uptown Riders greatly in his youth.
"Sh-Shit…I don't know whether to fuck with your ass or kiss it…I'mma get my boy De-Sean and make y'all regret this shit; those triad motherfuckers don't own my ass!" Malc reluctantly complied, he propped his Double-T custom back up and began to scoot it along the pavement, trampling over his rotting friends with haste for his own skin rather than the burning meaty skin of his fallen comrades, and hurried away into the distance.
Trevor began pacing back and forth with a soundless irritation building up inside of him, but a short glance from Franklin was enough to put the matter to rest. "So…What do you want to do now? Go for lunch?" Trevor asked with a questionable wander in his voice, confused without the leadership of Michael or the fact that he was still trying not to let himself get too cocky to blow Franklin's cover.
"We gotta go and get our boy Lamar, who knows what the fuck those Triad fuckers are doing to him…Damn, he better be a'ight." Franklin decisively whimpered, he positioned himself back onto the seat of the Pegassi Bati-Custom as he began to rev up the engine, whilst Trevor threw himself behind Franklin, ruffling his arms against the young gangster's hoodie and stealing a quick feel of his abs. "Woah – You can knock that shit off before I drop yo' ass!"
"Alright alright, you go and get him…I think I've got some…er ah….Business, to attend to." Trevor mysteriously decided as he jumped off Franklin's bike, whilst the hoodlum looked on in confusion, realising that Trevor's eerie earlier misperception was in fact intended, and once again failed to remember Michael's warning to be able to fully read through Trevor. Trevor began jogging into the distance as sirens could be heard, and the former began hurling his hands in the air to signal Franlin to leave. "Go on! I won't be long – Meet up at the Pirate's In Men's Pants Casino, I'll book us a suuuu-iite ta'night!"
Location – Whitewood Estates – Las Venturas
1724 hrs – October 8
Trevor Phillips is attending a meeting
Trevor stood expressionless as he let the doormen of the safehouse frisk him down to his feet, a slight twitch across his upper left kneecap suggested a sign of comforted desire, however he hushed it out of his mind as the stout double chin of the man in front of him was enough to discourage any twisted fantasy. He was escorted through the main hallway and entered the lounge, looking back and forth at the many ominous faces that shadowed over him, until stopping himself dead in his tracks upon noticing a familiar face sitting in the main armchair, positioned in front of the windows so that all light or signs of life were blocked out.
"Ah….It's good to see you again Gio…I didn't expect to find you here though; you're a man of oldschool tactics, of cliché hit and runs in the big town of Liberty City…Not in the flashy lights of Las Venturas when even drug dealing tourists can come and set people on fire!" Trevor screeched, he reached out his hand to shake Giovanni's, however another two men stood firmly in his way as they unshuffled their arms and pretended to crack their necks into place, which Trevor found simply too childishly pathetic.
"Trevor Phillips…You've got some nerve calling my number after all this time – After that bank job that went wrong – and after you ran out of North Yankton without even telling me! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now!" Giovanni relentlessly fired back, his voice had failed him as it broke quickly upon shouting to the top of his voice, and the ancient mobster was relegated back into his chair as he gasped for breath. Trevor held back his sadistic laughter at his age for manners.
"Well for starters, I've got a business proposal for you that might kickstart you operations – And your hip…" Trevor sneered, he looked over to Giovanni's bottle of wine and glasses and grinned with his buttery teeth glimmering onto Giovanni's eyes, and out of defeat, signalled his men to begin pouring drinks. "Seems like every wannabe gangster these days are running into trouble with our ol' Triad buddies from up past Europe – I've got ma'self a plan that can snatch away a big fat piece of cocaine under their noses without them knowing – I steal the motherload, and you pay me bigtime…"
Giovanni raised to his feet as he reached for his cane and began pacing back and forth, a stubborn pout forming within his beard. "How much coke are we talking here – I'm not too keen on making business arrangements with local nutjobs after previous experiences…" Trevor raised a brow in agitated disbelief as one of the guards drew a shotgun from the dining table next to the bookshelf, whilst Giovanni turned his back to the entrepreneur and allowed himself a sinful smirk.
"Mmm, well I'm no depressed accountant, but how does, oh let's say…35 bricks sound to you?" Trevor scoffed as he jumped to his feet, now two shotguns were trained on him as he restlessly twitched back and forth, like an animal being watched by its. Giovanni returned his attention to him and almost allowed a sign of anticipation to unfold upon his face, however he held all of his nerves intact and returned to Trevor.
"And this…'plan' of yours…You've got yourself a crew? You know what you're doing right – Everything is fully planned out?" Giovanni wistfully interrogated, he finally offered Trevor a glass of wine as he was about to drink one himself, until Trevor mockingly withdrew both glasses for himself, and began downing them all sharply.
"Oh of course amigo – I've scoped the place, got my boys all set on the job, just gotta make a few preparations; in order to steal some type of gear, you need to use some type of gear…And ya also gotta be on a type of gear – You still into speed by the way Gio?" Trevor rambled, his unsteadiness grew as he began sniffing at the holes of the shotguns, then began trying to stand on the tips of his toes to match the height of the guards whilst Giovanni looked on with falling patience, and eventually decided he had grown tired of the meeting.
"Very well then Mr Phillips, we have an arrangement…35 bricks of cocaine, for five million…A reasonable deal, wouldn't you agree?" Giovanni offered, he drew out his hand as a welcoming gesture whilst Trevor stood and almost shivered at the thought, knowing he was about to be robbed of what was going to be a very life-endearing crime.
"Make it six and ya got a deal – Take it or leave it, I can always sell it to other people Gio, and you don't want to start getting any ideas, you know what I'm like old pal…" Trevor warned in a slow fiendish yet juvenile tone, lowering his voice as if he were talking down to Wade or Ron again, and even with the two shotguns pointed at his back, both men knew it wouldn't be enough, and Giovanni dejectedly gave defeat.
"Fine, six million it is – No more – No less. Bring the cocaine here within a week, and if it is not brought, then you will not receive your money. If things work out, then we may discuss later business arrangments…" Giovanni interjected, he nodded his head as he looked to his bottle and tried to pour out another glass, however found that whilst he had his back turned, Trevor had chugged the entire bottle, yet was still able to stand elevated in a composed state, and as Trevor reached out his hand to Giovanni, Giovanni began shaking it, then pulled Trevor closer to him as he attempted to intimidate him once more. "But if things do not work out…Then you are a dead man."
"Now why is it people keep saying that to me on first dates? Jeee-sus, I told you years ago to give up the cigarettes, that stuff'll kill ya. And you gotta deal – When have I ever let you down huh? Mikey might have screwed up here or there or the rest of the crew too, but me…I'm reliable." Trevor hilariously protested, he quaked himself out of Giovanni's grip and began heading out to the door, satisfied with the turnout. Giovanni stood pulling his guards back from firing a shotgun pellet at his back, then brought himself down into the lounge.
"Wait a minute…Where's Gracie? This is the last time I let her out on her own for one night!" Giovanni stridently demanded, he attempted to jump back up onto his feet until he remembered his hip, and instead decided to just draw out his phone to make a call.
As Trevor left the house and began walking on his way, he chuckled unobtrusively at the elder's uproar, and began to remember even more of the dreaded first night of life in Las Venturas, then returned to planning his next job, and more specifically, who else he was going to have to assist him. "Well, guess you gotta make some new friends huh Trev? Damn I'm constipated…" Trevor thought outloud to himself as he walked further down the street, a pensioner passing him by as she strode along with her cane, slightly terrified as she hobbled along faster, and Trevor began assessing the back of his pants to determine whether he had followed through or not.
And just like that, the preparation for the first heist in the story has begun, but how will Trevor steal the cocaine from the Triads without them knowing, who will be more involved, and more importantly, how does Trevor even know about the cocaine? Only time will tell what he is hiding...
R&R Please! Chapter 4 will be up asap!