Frank twisted the rusted silver keys in the lock of his second-floor room in the hotel, in East Los Santos. The door whined in protest as he pushed it open, making it obvious that the hotel was in bad need of a repair-job done to it. But Frank probably wouldn't be in the hotel long -- or even in Los Santos, for that matter. For about two years now, Frank Tenpenny had been traveling to Carcer City, Liberty City, and those sort of places, earning as much money as he thought he could out of the town, and moving on. Surprisingly, he didn't have a very large criminal record. Mostly on account of his natural talent at being deceitful, making the right contacts, and playing it smooth.
He, like all good criminals, was arrested from time to time. Who didn't caught? No one was perfect. Unless you bought into that whole "Christianity" theory. Frank wasn't a Christian -- infact, he mostly opposed them. Honestly, if there was a god out there, Frank wouldn't be so rich and good looking. He'd be poor and miserable, unless this Guy was just not paying attention to Los Santos -- in which case he wasn't all that great of a Guy, was he? But Tenpenny didn't like to get into religion. He didn't buy into any of it. Most of those religions entailed being nice, and good, to begin with. And Frank was anything but that.
Frank walked forward, and turned, slamming the door shut. From the sound of a light clanking outside, one or more of the numbers on the front of his door had just fallen off. Oh well, he thought. What did it matter? If he even came back after tommorow, he would just look for the room missing a number. He didn't feel like complaining at the front desk -- if it could even be called that. More accurately, the 'front desk' was a small room. With a ceiling fan. And a chair. And a desk. No more, no less. If there could even be less than that for it to qualify as an office .. Maybe one less chair.
Tenpenny proceeded to the small bedroom, where he sat down on the edge of the bed, and dropped the gym-bag filled with money onto the ground. He opened it up -- and swore loudly. Empty. A few dollars poked out of it merely for the illusion, and now Frank was mad. Very mad. He stood, and kicked it across the room. He'd just killed two men, and trafficked several pounds of illegal drugs, for nothing. He began shouting random cursings, his rage not something to be laughed at. "You think you can fuck with Frank fucking Tenpenny?" He shouted as loud as he could.
What he heard set him off. From the wall of his bedroom, he heard "Shut the hell up!". Clearly, someone through the thin walls didn't like his attitude. With that, he screamed in fury, and ran to the wall, shoving his foot through it. It broke straight through his wall, and he felt it hit the other one of his friendly neighbor. The man shouted out in fear. But Frank wasn't done. He pulled his foot out, and backed up a few paces. He reached to his lower back, and retrieved a nine millimeter -- the same one he used to kill the two narcotics dealers -- and aimed it at the wall. It was silent. So deadly silent, that he could hear his loud breathing.
He almost decided against it. But he wouldn't take shit from anyone. He fired atleast ten shots, all along the wall, and heard the man on the other side cry out as one of Tenpenny's bullets found it's target. He defenetly wouldn't be coming back now. He shoved the pistol back into the back of his pants. He had to hurry. He took the money that had been sticking out of the bag -- $100, at the most. Pocket change to Frank Tenpenny. Soon, he gathered all his clothes and belongings from the hotel room, and had put them in the bag. So, he exited the room by kicking the door open.
When he was outside, he looked around to see if any police had shown up yet. None. But the Hotel manager was standing to the right, on the balcony that was the upper floor of the hotel. He had a .22 -- a stapler, for all it mattered -- aimed at Frank. Frank just stared at the man, holding his bag. "Y'all should really think about some thicker walls." With that, he walked past the man, who dropped his gun in fear when Frank bumped him with his shoulder.
Tenpenny opened the door to his car, snow falling off of it gently. He threw the bag into the floorboard of the passenger's seat, and slid into the seat, shutting the door loudly. He twisted his car-keys in the ignition, and soon had it working. He turned on the Radio, and started listening to some Rap, Disco blend, since both seemed to be popular at the time. He switched it into Reverse, and backed out of the parking lot, into the street, and then went to drive and set off to a sort of boarding house he knew of on Seville Boulevard. He only needed somewhere to put his things before he started to search for the bastards who pulled a fast one on him -- and no one pulled a fast one on Frank Tenpenny, and lived to tell the tail.