Frank stood on the sidewalk, leaning against a red brick building. He had cornrows running down his head, and a pair of black sunglasses over his eyes. Why he had them on was a mystery, as it was mid-December, and snow was pouring down over Los Santos in blankets of pure white beauty. He was wearing a black hoodie, with a white tank-top underneath, and tight blue-jeans covering his legs. A cigarette was in his mouth, dangling downward with his hands in his pockets. Soon, he brought one of his hands up to take it out, crush it against the side of the wall, and then flick it into the street.
A red low-rider, with a top up, drove slowly down the street. So slowly infact, that the snow around the edges of the windows and the ridges in the car stayed in place neatly, and only what had clearly been scraped off before the driver got in was not there. After a few moments, it ground to a halt right infront of the man wearing a black hoodie. The window rolled down, and loud music bellowed out. Some kind of cross beetween rap and disco, since one was in it's prime and the other was just beginning. A young man, wearing no shirt, and faded blue-jeans stuck his head out the window, and Frank leaned off the wall, walking over to the man and bending down slightly to look him in the face.
"Tenpenny," said the man,"you got the shit?" Frank nodded. "Yeah, I do. And you got my shit?" The man nodded, knocking his afro against the the top of the window. He turned back into the car, and the driver gave him a gym-bag, clearly filled with money, due to a few dollar bills peeking out of the uncarefully zipped bag. "Show me the shit, first." Tenpenny nodded, and walked back to the wall. He kicked some seemingly-gathering snow around to reveal a cheap wooden suitcase, the contents of which could easily be guessed as some form of narcotics. "Open it up." Tenpenny sighed. "Don't you trust me, man?"
The man with the afro shook his head. "Hell no." Frank chuckled. "Smart man, smart man .. " But, he opened the suitcase, to reveal packet, upon packet, upon packet of a white powdery substance. He soon closed it, and the man nodded at it. He opened the door, looked around slightly, and layed the gym bag on the ground. Tenpenny handed him the case through the window, and he closed the door. Frank bent down and picked up the bag. "Nice doing business with you, gentlemen." He turned to go, took a few steps, and turned back around to the car. "One more thing.." He said.
The man stuck his head out the window again. "What?" Tenpenny reached over, and pulled the afro-pick out of his hair, and tossed it down the street. He backed up and laughed, the car driving off. The man swore a few times at Tenpenny, but the window rolled up and quickly fogged over, and the car turned and sped off. Frank watched it until it was out of site, and then began to move on. He walked a few blocks, and stopped at the entrance to an alleyway.
In the alleyway was a parked four-door, red, though the paint chipping off slowly with several rust spots here and there. Frank walked over to it, and pulled out a key-chain with two keys on it; one for his home, and one to get into, and to start his car. He pushed the key into the back-door's lock, turned it, and heard a faint click sound. He pulled it out, reached for the handle of the door, and pulled it open. Then he tossed the bag in his right hand into the back, and slammed the door shut. Chuckling, he slid into the back seat and closed the door.
"That the money?" A deep voice from the front seat asked. Frank nodded. Two men, wearing black shirts and blue jeans, were sitting there. They were drug dealers, of course, and Frank had acquired drugs through them on the pretense that they would get a cut of the money. False pretense, actually. "Thank you for the help, gentlemen." The one in the passenger seat spoke,"Whatever, where's our cut?" Frank laughed.
"Oh, you won't be getting any cut."
"Wha --" The man tried to say, but a bullet to the forehead cut him off. Frank had, in less than an instance, pulled out a nine millimeter, and shot the man in the head. Then he pressed the gun to the back of the driver's seat, and fired twice. The driver slumped over onto the steering wheel, his head barely missing the horn. Good luck for Tenpenny. Frank shook his head. "Never should trust your fellow man, boys." He reached into the floorboard of the passenger-side rear seat, and retrieved two suitcases, that were supposed to be for the shares. One man would keep the original case the money came in with his share, and the other shares would be divided among the other two.
But instead, Frank decided to keep the money for himself. After all, he'd made the drug run. Why did they deserve a cut? He unzipped the duffle bag, and began to take money into wads of different amounts. After about an hour, he'd taken all the money, and spread it rather evenly among the two suitcases, with only pocket-change left in the duffle bag. That he pocketed.
The deed done, Frank pulled on the metal handle of the door and kicked it open, standing out into the freezing Winter air. He closed the door, and walked across the street with two suitcases in hand, to his getaway car: a blue and white Greenwood, that looked much nicer than the other one he'd just been in. He, like last time, hurled the money into the back seat, and got into the driver's seat, then sped off.
"That's thirty-thousand for me." Frank said, laughing to himself in the car.