Flynt Coal
The precinct was abuzz with the sounds of phones ringing and being answered, keyboards typing away, and officers walking to and from their desks, barking orders at the rookies under their charge. Lieutenant Flynt Coal was desperately trying to block out the noise and fight off the encroaching migraine when someone called out his name.
"Coal! Coffee!"
Great, Coal thought to himself, just what I need right now. Not that he actually said that to the officer who handed him the plain white Styrofoam cup. He sipped gently at the coffee and grimaced at its bitterness. He set the drink down on his desk and looked back at the map he had been trying to study. He had tacked a map of Los Santos to the wall, and had placed push pins in all of the crime scenes that he had been investigating.
"If you are a King," he said to himself, "Where is your throne?" The push pins were scattered all over the map, and there was no pattern that he could see. He had been to every single crime scene, and every one was the same: no survivors, no evidence, and no clear motive. He rubbed the dark circles that hung under his eyes, and tried to flatten down his wiry black hair. He turned back to his desk and picked up the case file for the jury killings, absentmindedly flipping through the pages when another officer came up to him.
"Flynt," the short officer said quickly, "Commissioner wants to see you in his office yesterday."
"Alright," Flynt sighed heavily, "I'm going." He made the short walk through the scattered group of desks and knocked on the paneled wood door with the words 'Commissioner Burns.' "It's open!" a voice yelled form inside. Flynt opened the door and slipped inside.
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Actually, that was us." there were two men sitting in front of he commissioner's desk, both wearing identical white button down shirts, black suspenders, and black sunglasses. The one who spoke had a decent amount of beard on his chin and a toothpick in his mouth, and his hair was dark, thick, and curly. The other was thin and had wild, untamed hair.
"Can I help you gentlemen?" Flynt asked sleepily.
"As it just so happens," the man with the toothpick said, "We believe you can, lieutenant. We are here from the FBI, and we have been told that you are looking for the same man as us. The King."
"What do you need from me?"
"Your help," the man told him, "We have hit a bit of a dead end with our investigation, and since you know this city far better than us, we figured we could rely on your knowledge and help. We would be willing to grant you a temporary position in the FBI, though if things go well, certain arrangements could be made for a more permanent position."
"I would be happy to help you in any way I can, agents," Flynt began, "But I haven't made very much progress in the case either."
"I'm sure we can figure out a direction to take this investigation, agent Coal." the man with the toothpick said, standing up. His partner, not saying a word, followed suit. They silently walked out of the office, the thin man handing Coal a business card with just a number printed on it. "You'll be hearing from us soon." he said just before the door shut between them.