Chapter 9: Dire Straits
Ethan swiftly trotted down the stairs of the clubhouse, swinging the corner and finding Cricket sitting at the bar, hunched over and already drunk before he had even reached midday, but Ethan just grinned and chuckled to himself, amazed that the redheaded party animal had even managed to crawl out of bed yet, let alone find his way to the bar. As he approached Cricket finally caught sight of the young man, flashing him a glance and welcoming head nod before letting out a loud sigh as Ethan cracked him a hearty slap across his back.
"Christ, boyo," Cricket retorted, head clearly reeling form a long night of drinking and debauchery. "Ya get a prospect patch an' suddenly ya think ya can jus' walk around assaultin' brothers like that? What's this feckin' club comin' to?'
"Somebody's gotta keep ya on yer toes," Ethan poked back. "God knows that if someone didn't you'd end up a knife buried in yer back ya damn oblivious drunk."
It had been nearly three months since Ethan had earned his prospect patch, a hard fought title to receive that was earned when he and other members of the Lost LS Chapter struck back against their Blaine County rivals, sending a rippling message that the LS Chapter would no longer be a whooping boy for whomever felt like it. He was proud, and finally felt like he was earning some respect around the clubhouse, which was good since he'd been making waves with the heads of the club not long after his arrival. Cricket, though, had been uncommonly kind to the new prospect, and while he took every chance he could to harass and humiliate Ethan, the fact of the matter was that if anyone else tried to give the newcomer too much of a hard time, they would quickly be put in their place by the rampant Irishman. It was a feeling of relief for Ethan to have someone in his corner that was backing him, and seeing as how his previous three months had turned up no leads on finding Mark or Jack, he needed good connections now more than ever.
"Don' need no one keepin' me on ma toes," Cricket laughed back. "'Specially not some giddy shite what rides 'is bike like a lame mare."
The two laughed and sat there for a moment, watching the tiny television that sat atop the beer cooler behind the bar, news reels of a robbery that had occurred at the Union Depository nearly six months prior. Something about the heist sounded familiar, but after spending five months playing a game that he had now been trapped in for nearly as long, he felt as though he was making connections that weren't really there, and slipping up wasn't an option, not with his friends lives potentially on the line. Any leads to Mark and Jack's whereabouts had dried up shortly after they had arrived in LS, and while Ethan wanted to look for them he had no idea where to even begin. Top priority was simple: survive long enough to get into a good place, then start looking for anyone else that may have slipped through from the real world.
Ethan looked at his leather clad hands, digits protruding out fingerless gloves, busted and scarred from his time running with the Lost, calluses beginning to set in from the drunken fights and maintenance on hot engine components, arms covered in remnants of grease that streaked over bruises and fresh cuts. It didn't matter if the Los Santos that he had been living in was real or not, he was able to feel pain, sorrow, happiness, inebriation and even love, which meant it was real enough; to live and die. There wasn't a day that went by where Mark, Jack and Conner didn't cross his mind, and the guilt of going about a semi-normal life while his friends could be suffering or dying didn't bode well with his conscious. It was a new day, though, and with no obligations to any other members for the first time in months, it was finally the Cowboy's chance to go out and find his forsaken herd.
As Ethan stood up to walk away Cricket grabbed his arm, looking straight ahead at the television, but saying nothing, as though he couldn't remember what he was going to say, or perhaps he just didn't know how to say it. Then he finally spoke,
"Someone came lookin' fer ya. Preppy queer hawk what looked like some kinda Rockford Hills tool. You… know a feller like that?"
Ethan had to think for a minute, trying to recall everyone that he'd met in Los Santos since his arrival, but no one crossed his mind, as most of his new acquaintances either hung around the clubhouse or were shot dead the morning following his arrival.
"No one I can think of," returned Ethan, puzzled and left wanting for answers. "What did he say?"
"Like I said, he jus' said he was wonderin' where ya might be. Told 'im ya were probably out cruisin' fer pussy, but if I knew ya were jus' sleepin' I'd of woke yer git arse up."
"Did he say where I might be able to find him?"
"Aye"
Ethan stood there for a moment, waiting for Cricket to answer, knowing full well that he wasn't going to oblige the boy without having some questions of his own answered first, and given that the whole time they'd been talking he hadn't looked at Ethan once yet was a dead giveaway that whoever it was that Cricket talked to genuinely made him concerned for the young prospects life.
"Can you tell me where," inquired Ethan with a sharp tone, to which Cricket quickly spun around, standing up and coming to bear in front of a now terrified initiate who had never seen such anger in his friends eyes.
"I don' know who th' feck these fellers are, Cowboy," whispered Cricket, his foul breath dragging crossed the air between the two, and bloodshot eyes piercing through Ethan's very moral fiber. "but I'm gonna tell ya this. When a feller wearin' clothes that cost twice as much as me bike walks into a Lost clubhouse like it was a leisurely stroll down the Del Perro feckin' boardwalk, well that sends a bit of a shiver up my feckin' arse hole. Watch yer back 'round twats with big checkbooks and small consciences, boyo, 'cause they're the ones who'll stick a shiv in yer guts and hang 'round to watch the buzzards pick yer eyes out."
Ethan locked eyes with the man for what seemed like several long, uninterrupted minutes, staring back at one another with a kind of unwavering intensity that two wolves about to fight over the same kill get when they haven't eaten for three days. The awkwardness of the situation was cut short, though, once the two heard the sound of footsteps hurriedly making their way down the stairs. Cricket quickly swiped a piece of paper from his pants and stuffed it into Ethan's breast pocket, pulling him in closer so as to be able to whisper into his ear without whomever was coming down the steps hearing what he was about to say.
"This is all he gave me," Cricket said swiftly, "I ain't looked at it, and I don' know what it says, but if ya get where yer goin' and realize ya need help, I'm only a buzz away, Cowboy."
As the two broke their embrace they saw their mystery companion reach the bottom of the stairs, and much to their surprise it wasn't a brother, but rather the clubhouses newest resident and mama in training, Gwen. The young girl was wearing tight, holey jeans with a red tank top and mid-cut boots, a more appealing sight than either of the two men had seen in more than a few days. She was shocked to see two roughnecks standing by the bar, but when she realized that one of them was Ethan the girl soon cracked a smile big enough to signal a low flying zeppelin. In the time since the two had first met they had formed quite a close relationship, and while neither of them would say whether they were together or not, they had been spending most of their free time together. Whenever Ethan wasn't running errands for patched members that is.
"Cricket, Ethan." She greeted the two men with a head nod and strolled over behind the bar, bending over and doing a quick count to see how many beers the two had gone through since she had been away. "Wow, Cricket, only five beers so far. Hell, if you're not careful you may just make it to six o'clock sober."
"Rough chance of that," he laughed back.
"So, what're you boys getting into today?"
"Well," said Ethan, "I was just leaving, so maybe you and Cricket can get into somethin' fun? I hear his a big hit with the ladies."
"Leaving, huh?" Gwen questioned, coming from behind the bar and approaching Ethan with a seductive side-to-side hip walk. She ran her hand down his jacket front, partially unzipping it and bringing her hand to rest on her hip. "Where we going?"
"You really don't wanna go with me, I've gotta get some…"
"Nonsense," the redhead interjected, grabbing her purse from behind the bar and striding towards the door. "I've got the day off. Let's do something fun."
"I've gotta meet a friend." Ethan was growing anxious, not wanting her to find out about him going to meet this mystery man, but at the same time not wanting to push away the closest thing to a normal relationship he's had since before he arrived.
"I can wait with the bike. I'm a big girl."
Gwen chuckled and strolled out the door, looking back and winking at Ethan in a "come hither" fashion, but the boy was less than amused, as he was now going to have to juggle this circus act that was slowly becoming his life.
"Ah, the fairer sex," Cricket sighed, spinning around on the bar stool he had returned to. "So… intoxicatin' with their whimsical demeanors."
"Yeah," retorted Ethan. "Like a Jaeger bomb in a glass of Everclear. Real whimsical."
After his smart remark he soon began working his way towards the door, his mind a flurry of what ifs and imaginary situations that he was playing over and over in his head, wondering what he would say to Gwen if she found out the truth. More importantly, what would he say to this mysterious stranger he was about to meet, a man who evidently had more information about Ethan than he felt comfortable with, and who knew exactly where to find him. It was actually safe to assume that he knew Ethan would be in the clubhouse when he came looking, and the only reason that they hadn't met in person was because of Cricket's seemingly opportune way of not remembering things at precisely the wrong moment.
…
As his candy apple bagger tore down the Palomino Freeway Ethan continued to go over what the note had said again in his mind, growing more tense the closer he and Gwen got to their destination, wondering just who was waiting for them, and whether or not they'd be friendly. The thought of it being Ray and a squad of his cronies had been a shallow concern, but with the description that Cricket had given of the guy it seemed pretty farfetched to believe that anyone from the Ballas could pull off a rich, middle aged killer look.
Bishop's Chicken. Palomino Freeway. 4 P.M. Ethan was fixated on the letter. What if it's Jack or Mark? What if they managed to find me after all this time? God, what would I even say to them? 'Sorry for leaving you for dead these last three months to join a fictional biker gang. No hard feelings, right?' I'm sure they'd understand. It's kill or be killed. I just hope they would have the guts to be the ones doing the killing.
Gwen could feel Ethan tensing up, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling herself up to his ear and leaning her head over his shoulder so as to nestle into his neck and attempt to comfort him. Her hair smelled of lavender and vanilla, a perfume that she had picked up from Olivia, who seemed more than happy to try to push the two newcomers together like some kind of poorly written romance novel that may as well have just been a novelization of the cheesiest porno ever produced. Regardless, it was somewhat soothing for Ethan, not just the smell, but having Gwen riding with him, as she seemed to be the only constant in his life since he arrived in Los Santos, aside from the insanity and extreme violence that the city seems to ooze out of every gutter and sewage pipe. She was his auburn haired, denim clad saving grace, and he felt that even if he was stuck in this version of reality forever, so long as he had her everything would be just fine.
The warm feeling wouldn't last forever, though, as the truck stop containing the meeting location was only a few miles ahead, and the clock on the fairing was reading about fifteen minutes from their meeting time, meaning that by the time they arrived his associate would be waiting. As he slowed the bike and climbed the off ramp he could see the restaurant sitting opposite the gas station pumps, only four cars sitting in the parking lot and a homeless beggar sitting by the dumpsters, slumped over and presumably either tweaking or OD'd, though no one cared to check. Whipping into the parking lot a good ways from the entrance Ethan quickly dismounted the bike, scanning the outside of the building from behind his riding glasses, looking for any signs of potential danger or indications that it may be a trap. As Gwen scooted forward he turned to her and looked to see if she was poking about, but rather she seemed to be content just sitting on the bike and adjusting her lipstick.
"You need to stay out here," Ethan told her, hanging his glasses from the handle bars. "Don't leave the bike, and stay where I can see you."
"I got it, I got it," she retorted with a smile. "God, you act like you're about to kill a guy. I thought you were just meeting a friend?"
"I am, just… stay by the bike, okay?"
"Don't worry, I'll keep my pretty little ass planted right here until you come back for it."
With one last glance back Ethan began to make his way towards the doors, rubbing his hands together and feeling the loaded pistol tucked away under his left armpit, a security policy just in case things decided to get hairy. Throwing the glass door aside as he walked in nothing seemed out of the ordinary, a few people at a table to his left, and a gangly teenager handing greasy food to a disgruntled customer who had probably been waiting far longer than he should have for food his arteries didn't need. That's when he heard a raspy voice calling him from across the room, low and scratchy, yet brash and demanding, coming from a man trying his best to conceal himself behind an outdated newspaper.
"Psst," he hissed out. "Over here, I'm over here."
Ethan quickly traversed the room, darting to the corner booth and quickly taking a seat across from the man.
"Were you followed," the voice asked.
"N… No," replied Ethan with a hesitant tone. He had never even thought to keep an eye out for a tail, but then again why would he have, up until this point he thought he was just coming for a simple meeting with a complete stranger.
"I hope not, for both our sakes."
As the man put the paper down Ethan's jaw nearly dropped to the floor when he saw who the individual was that had been hiding behind the newspaper, a man whom he never thought he would see again, yet who seems to have an all knowing way of locating whoever, and whatever, he wants.
"We don't have much time, but I'm the guy who saved your butt the day you fell from that arrived in Los Santos. You can just call me 'L'."
"Jesus Christ, Lester," moaned a man behind Ethan. "What the hell's up with all this secret agent bullshit? You know everything about this kid since he shows up, but you can't even tell him your name?"
"Dammit, Michael!" Lester shouted just as Michael Townley appeared with a fast food bag, soaked in grease and nearly as white as Ethan's face upon seeing who just pulled up a chair across from him. "Are you happy, now? He knows our names, what next our addresses, social security numbers, maybe my LifeInvader password?"
"Hey, listen," interjected Ethan, frantically trying to fight his primal fanboy instincts. "I'm not gonna tell anyone your names."
"You better," Lester scolded. "I don't want to have to make you disappear."
Michael took a bite of his sandwich, sending ketchup running down his hands as he leaned towards Lester with a mocking expression. "You? The cripple? I'd pay t' see that shit."
"Enough, I think it's about time we spoke about why we decided to meet our newest, dearest associate."
"Whatever you say, Lest."
"I'm sure you're wondering why we've called you here." Reaching into a portfolio Lester retrieved a small tablet no larger than a small book, logging in and pecking away frantically as he pulled up numerous folders all labeled with the names of different government organizations.
"Wait, were you two the ones who saved me back at the river?" Ethan was anxious to know the answer. On one hand his in game heroes potentially saved his life in one of the single most insane firefights he'd ever seen, while on the other if it wasn't them it meant that there was someone else out looking for the boy, possibly stalking them as the three sat talking.
"You two," cried Michael, almost taken aback by the statement. "Yeah, Lester was a big help, sitting in the car, crying while he scribbled a note and pissed himself."
"I wasn't crying, I told you the gunpowder was building up in my eyes!" Even as the two bickered Lester never took his eyes off the tablet, jotting down little notes and filing away what seemed like important details. "To answer your question though, yes, it was us."
"How'd you know where to find me," prodded Ethan, curious as to how they managed to pinpoint his exact location.
"For that I'll have to start from the beginning. You see, two days before your arrival government satellite arrays began picking up unique distortions of sound waves emanating from just above the stratosphere. When cross checked with ultraviolet scanner and high frequency sonar, it showed that not only were these foreign sounds being transmitted from our atmosphere, but light and matter were being bent around several centralized locations throughout San Andreas and Blaine County."
"This… this all sounds a little science fictiony."
"Don't worry, it gets nerdier. Fast forward two days and the distortions are now occurring roughly every fifteen minutes, and unlike before they're ripping holes right through empty space, creating small transdimensional rifts, according to some geeky multi-dimensional unified field theorists. Turbo nerds, am I right? Anyway, they started generating these bursts of energy that could only be picked via a type four passive sonar, so most just overlooked it as sudden energy dumps due to a buildup of unstable mass, but I knew better. I bolstered the sensors from a high powered space telescope I borrowed from the government, rerouting a multispectral transmitter through the lenses, and wouldn't you know what I found?"
"What?"
"You. Well, you and about a two hundred thirty seven others who were just being dumped out of these rifts. We tracked you based on a unique heat signature given off when you broke through space time continuum. Luckily, we managed to find you before your heat signature wore off, and right before your normal heat signature was… shut off by your new acquaintances."
"So then you know…"
"About the other world? Yes, so don't worry, I won't ask you a hundred questions. No, I just wanted to get a read on your vitals and thermal output, which I already did while we sat here talking. Now, I'm sure you have some questions for us, so go ahead."
Ethan's head was a hurricane, wondering what he should and shouldn't ask, what may seem stupid, and how much did they know of his world, perhaps even how to get back through whatever wormhole it was he fell out of. For a moment he looked out the window and saw Gwen patiently waiting on his bike, staring into the sky without a care in the world, completely oblivious to the conversation unfolding in the restaurant. Seeing her sitting there made him question whether or not he actually wanted to go back, for the first time in years he was happy, and the thought of all that being taken away hurt him like he'd never felt. It didn't matter, though, the question still had to be asked, and the potential for Lester to know where Mark and Jack were was too good of an opportunity to pass up on.
"Is there a way back?"
Lester sat for a moment with a genuinely anguished look on his pock mark stricken face, turning to Michael for some kind of assurance before finally looking back to Ethan and answering his question.
"No. We're not really sure what caused these rifts, and even if we did they've all but disappeared now. Anyone coming through is already here, and anyone that was leaving is long gone."
"I see…"
"There is another reason you're here though, kid." Michael leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and staring straight into Ethan's eyes. "You're friend, Mark, went missing about three days ago, and we have no clue where he's at."
"Mark is… he's alive?" Ethan was overjoyed, thrilled to hear that at least Mark had made it alive through the portal, and while he wasn't sure of his condition, just knowing he was still kicking was more than enough.
"That's where it gets a little iffy. Ya see, he was alive three days ago, but we have no idea if he is now, or where to even start looking for him."
"How'd you manage to find him?"
"Like I said before," responded Lester. "We could track the heat signature for a while after arrival, he was the first, and he offered swathes of information that helped me to gather what intel I have already have, or had I should say. Problem is that when he went missing so did all of my information, so now I'm back to square one and he's been kidnapped."
"Are you sure he didn't just leave with the information?"
"Not likely seeing as how it was all kept in an encrypted file that only I can access. Normally, if any average hacker attempted to break into the file it would trigger a memory wipe and be gone in seconds, but that didn't happen. Instead whoever hacked the file managed to disrupt the dump, taking everything on my computers, and Mark, in one foul swoop."
Ethan leaned back in his chair and slouched over, wondering what could have happened to his friend, and whether or not he was alive, or perhaps being dissected in some government facility along with anyone else who managed to slip in through the rifts.
I have to find him, Ethan thought to himself. Whatever it takes I've got to find Mark, then we can focus on getting Jack and getting the hell out of here. Where would I even start though? Lester's the best hacker in Los Santos and even he has no idea who would've had the capabilities to break in and take Mark. This is so fucked.
"I'm willing to help with whatever you need, but I have to ask you something. Why come to me now? It's been three months since you've made any sort of contact with me, and now suddenly you come looking for my help. Maybe I would've like to have known my friend was alive?"
"Mark didn't mention you or Jack until recently," Lester explained, stealing fries from Michael's bag all the while. "Even when he did he made it explicitly clear that he didn't want you two to know what was going on until after we figured out a way to return you to your dimension."
"So you do know where Jack is?"
"Unfortunately not. I had feelers sent all across Los Santos and Blaine County, but nothing ever came back with any substantive information. The closest we got was some pot farm that got toasted after somebody broke in and smoke about six thousand dollars in dope."
"That sounds about right…"
Suddenly the doors to Bishop's Chicken flew open, slamming against the floor stops and cracking the glass in several spots, sending a majority of the patrons spinning to see what had blown into the restaurant. Sprinting through the doorway was Gwen, heading straight for Ethan, Michael and Lester, looking over her shoulder and frantically scrambling past cheap, pressed steel chairs and particle board tables.
"Friend of yours?" Michael was looking at Ethan as the trio watched Gwen running through the dining area as though some terrifying creature was after her.
"Ethan," she panted, trying to catch her breath. "There's… there's these black cars outside. Guys in suits. They're… they just killed a guy."
Ethan immediately shot up from his chair, as did Michael, both drawing their pistols and heading straight for the windows to see who was causing trouble outside, though upon laying eyes on their uninvited guests it quickly became apparent that they were not only outmanned, but outgunned. Eight men accompanied by two armor plated SUVs guarded the Bishop's Chicken parking lot, each man carrying a Coil Combat PDW, heavy body armor and enough ammunition to wage war against a small sovereignty. They had clearly come looking for someone, and it was too much of a coincidence for it not to be the trio that had come to talk about the appearance of interdimensional visitors being a reality. As Ethan and Michael chambered their pistols the crowd in that had been amassing by the windows inside Bishops were well aware that a firefight was about to breakout between the two armed men inside, and the small army that had gathered outside.
Without warning a high pitched shriek tore past Ethan like a bolt of pink lightening, knocking down whoever got in its way, and sending one man flying towards the glass window against which he had been leaning. The shriek was a middle aged woman in a pink track suit who clearly could not handle what she was watching unfold, and as she flung the doors wide open and ran into the parking lot all that awaited her was a hail of gunfire unleashed by the men in suits. The rounds ripped through her like a band saw through plywood, riddling her slightly overweight body with enough lead to drop a bull elephant, and sending blood and brain matter splattering against the window. The remaining patrons began to panic at the sight of the woman in pink being gunned down just yards away, several of them running through the doors and meeting the same fate at the end of a smoking gun. Those left in the building ran for cover wherever they could, as bullets were already passing through the glass and striking the adjacent walls, splintering concrete and metal fragments throughout the dining area and kitchen.
"Out the back," Michael shouted, pointing towards the delivery door on the far side of the kitchen. Lester didn't need to be told a second time, making his way to the back as quick as he could, Gwen trying to help him along. Michael and Ethan slid over the counter and made a straight shot for the backdoor, sprinting past employees who were hunkered down against the prep tables, terrified and shaking, wondering what was going to happen next. Their faces were young, some no older than twenty, just college kids looking to make a quick buck while they blew through their parents bank accounts trying to earn some worthless business or sports medicine degree. Ethan was taken back to life that he had left not that long ago, trapped in a career field that he didn't want to be a part of in a city that he hated, but this was his life now, running from gunfire in a once fictional city, fighting beside characters he once controlled. The powers that be had certainly handed him quite a strange hand of cards, but regardless it was his hand to play, for better or worse this was his life, and he either had to roll with the punches or get rolled over.
As Michael and Ethan approached the door they threw themselves on either side, taking up a position so as to breach through if there was anyone on the other side waiting for them. They steeled themselves for an exit, and as Michael nodded to Ethan the young biker flung the door open and brought his pistol to bear. Stepping out into the light and through the door four more men were waiting for them, all with their PDWs pointed at the door, waiting and prepared to fire. Quickly grabbing Ethan by his jacket, Michael jerked the boy back through the entry way, sending him to the floor and slamming the door closed just as another volley of fire pelleted against the heavy steel, unable to penetrate, but still leaving massive welts in the metal. They were trapped on all sides, and with nowhere to turn it seemed as though this would become their Alamo, only no one would remember their names or even why these men came for them.
"Well, shit," Michael laughed. "What the fuck now? How long before these assholes storm the place?"
Everyone knew that there was no way out, even Lester, who normally kept a pretty level head, was beside himself trying to think of a way out, but as he scrolled through the outside security cameras on his tablet it was despairingly obvious that they were surrounded on all sides. The remaining guests had gathered behind the front counter, out of the line of sight of the men outside, but not out of harm's way, as the small force was gearing up for their push into the restaurant.
"Who the fuck are these guys Lester? FIB? IAA?"
"No," he replied. "They're too well armed and not well enough organized to be a government agency. The body armor and expensive coms setup tells me that they're private sector, probably hired by someone with too much money and not enough to do."
"So what the fuck now?"
"I'm trying to figure that out Michael, just give me a minute!"
As Lester typed away Ethan tried to think of a way to help the situation, but given their surroundings he was hard pressed to find anything that would be of use, and as he looked around at the distressed diners he realized that even if Gwen, Michael, Lester and he made it out, all those who were left behind would surely feel the wrath of the men who had lost their bounty.
Outside the SUVs revved their engines as they pulled up to create an impromptu barricade parallel the front door, and the armed men began stacking up against the glass, prepared to storm the building and take their target by force. Michael and Ethan braced against the service counter, prepared to take as many with them as they could before being overwhelmed, which wouldn't be very many given their situation.
"Get ready kid," said Michael, pressing his shoulder into the counter and placing his only spare magazine on the floor next to him. "We'll probably die, but that doesn't mean we don't have to make these pricks work for it."
Ethan was ready, though there was still a nauseas feeling in the pit of his stomach, a feeling he hoped would stop the more he had to do this, if lived long enough to do it again, that is. He looked back at Gwen, who was trying to comfort some of the people trapped inside, many of whom were on their phones, realizing that this would probably be the last time they got to talk to their families. As Gwen bent over to grab something from off the ground Ethan saw that her SNS pistol was strapped to her inner thigh, a shock as she hadn't worn in since the incident at the liquor store with Olivia. It didn't mean much in the way of comfort for their situation, but at least she wasn't defenseless, and the fact she was carrying it meant that she finally came to terms with what it may mean to have to use it.
Outside, storm clouds began to gather in the sky, swirling into what seemed like a mad vortex as water droplets began to fall onto the front window, smearing and mixing with the gore that was spread across glass. Whatever happened next, Ethan decided he was ready for.
I can't crack under the pressure now, he thought. Not when Gwen and Michael are depending on me. Whoever comes through that door is gonna pay for every inch. .
