As CJ stood outside looking around, he heard his cellphone ring. CJ pulled it out of his pocket to answer it.
"Hello," CJ answered.
"Who am I speaking to?" he heard The Truth answer.
"It's CJ," CJ replied. "Hey, Truth, is that you?"
"Might be," Truth responded. "Might be a government algorithm trying to pick your brains, so don't admit anything!"
"Whatever, man," CJ muttered. "Whassup?"
"I need a favor, Carl," Truth told him. "Thought I could cash in some karma chips."
"Your credit good," CJ said.
"I took some fellow travelers deep into the desert on a peyote safari a few nights back," Truth told him. "We faced the inner light and communed with the lizard king."
"Sounds fun," CJ said. "How did it go?"
"That's the problem," Truth answered. "I don't know. I'm in Los Santos. I woke up in a Japanese bathhouse about an hour ago. I have no idea how I got here or where the others are."
Los Santos? CJ thought. Man, this dude is everywhere!
"They're probably fine," CJ convinced.
"I don't think so," Truth told him. "They were Brits - a band and their managers. They have no experience about the desert."
"OK," CJ uttered. "Where'd you make camp? I can go have a look."
"I took 'em up Arco del Oeste - fantastic sunsets," Truth answered. "Best start looking for them up there."
A band in the middle of the desert? CJ thought. Man, this place is crazy!
So CJ hung up his phone and hopped into a red Buffalo parked just up front. He started the engine and drove straight up to the Julius Thruway South freeway, where he made a right turn. He drove through the freeway, trying to avoid the cars driving out of control.
Can't believe I gotta drive all the way out to the fucking desert just to pick up a band, CJ thought furiously.
It was a very long drive for CJ, about thirty minutes, and by the time he finally made it to the desert, he felt the blazing heat igniting in the afternoon sunlight. It was so hot outside that CJ had to roll the window down due to the heat the inside of the car had been permeated with. He searched around the desert and finally made it to Arco del Oeste.
CJ put the vehicle in park and hopped out, looking for the band in the blazing heat. He saw the heat waves floating around the area and almost lost his vision searching through it. The crows cawed distantly.
"Hello?!" CJ bellowed, squinting his eyes through the heat waves. "Hey, anybody out here? Truth sent me!"
"EH!" CJ heard someone call out in a British accent. "Over 'ere!"
CJ turned to see a British man wearing a white bucket hat, white windbreaker, and blue jeans.
"Hey, man, you all right?" he asked the British man.
"'Kin' 'ell," the British man replied. "I'm fucking hanging."
CJ turned around to find another British man with spiky black hair wearing a blue vest over black pants and red sneakers lying right next to him. "Stone me bloody crows," he answered barely waking up. "Where am I?"
"I dunno, mate," the British man with the bucket hat replied. "I was having a dream; I was wanking over some fat bird's tits when this twat turned up."
The spiky-haired Britain rose up on his feet and approaches the partner. "Maccer, you fucking psycho!" he scolded his partner. "You did it again, didn't you?!"
"That peyote was shite," Maccer answered. "You were lucky I brought some tabs along!"
"I've told you a million times not to put stuff in my fucking drink!" the spiky-haired Britain chastised as he kicked Maccer hard to the ground again.
"Oh, piss off, kidder!" Maccer shot back.
The Britain then saw CJ on recouping his senses. "Who are you again?" he asked CJ.
"Oh, I'm a friend of The Truth's," CJ answered. "He said you guys might need a ride into town or something."
"But I'm a fucking raspberry!" Maccer protested.
"You're not a fucking raspberry!" his partner told him.
"I can't feel me legs, our P," Maccer answered. "I've wanked the use out of them!"
"Just stand up, you soppy cunt," the spiky-haired Britain told him. "We go through this every weekend."
Maccer tried to stand up. "Ah! Ooh!" he cried out.
"Man, what the hell was y'all doing last night?" CJ asked.
"Anybody got a rag?" Maccer asked as he finally hopped onto his feet.
Maccer's partner handed Maccer a rag. CJ just turned away and sighed disgustedly.
"So, where am I taking y'all?" he asked the two Britains.
"I've got a pal, Rosie," the spiky-haired Britain answered. "He's got some casino gig going down in Venturas. Sweet."
"Alright," CJ said.
Maccer then went to hand his partner the rag back. "Fuck off, string," the latter told the former.
"Oh, charming," Maccer replied.
"Alright, ladies, let's go," CJ said as he guided the two to the vehicle.
"Come on," the spiky-haired Britain told his partner. "Fucking Northerners..."
"Well, it felt like I couldn't feel them, honest!" Maccer protested.
So CJ and the Britains hopped inside the vehicle and he started driving out of Arco del Oeste.
"So where's the rest of the band guys?" CJ asked the Britains.
"Maccer, where are the boys?" the spiky-haired Britain asked Maccer.
"I don't fucking know, do I?" Maccer answered. "I remember snakes. Lots of snakes!"
"It's a snake farm not too far from here," CJ told them. "We can go check it out."
CJ took the path down the mountain. As he made his way down, Maccer took a closer look at his partner.
"You look as pale as a drowned baby, man," he said.
"Oh God," the spiky-haired Britain groaned weakly. "I think I'm gonna chuck."
"P, what you need is some food down ya," Maccer said. "A fried egg sarnie with mayonnaise will sort it. Or what about a pickled egg?"
"Pull over, NOW!" the spiky-haired Britain demanded.
CJ knew he had no choice. So he pulled the car over, and the Britain exited out of the vehicle rapidly. He looked around and took a quick vomit onto the ground, puking out chunks of green and yellow substances onto the ground. He quickly returned to the vehicle.
CJ continued driving to the snake farm. The heat wave permeated through the desert road as he drove.
"I don't recognize this part of Manchester, kiddo," Maccer muttered. "Are we in Chorlton?"
"How many times do I have to tell you?" his partner grumbled in annoyance. "We're in America!"
"America?" Maccer asked. "Wait 'til I tell me making about this!"
"He's like a fucking stuck record," his partner groaned, palming his face. "He'll ask about Las Venturas next!"
"Las Venturas?" Maccer asked in glee. "Always wanted to go there, great tits!"
"Don't start," his partner complained. "Not in this confined space."
"Bouncy, wobbling, massive great tits!" Maccer shouted in a horny tone of voice.
"Leave yourself alone, for crying out loud!" his partner told him.
After ten more seconds of driving, Maccer needed to hop out. "Hey, man," he told CJ, "I really need to piss."
"Oh fuck, we're screwed," the spiky-haired Britain muttered, shaking his head.
"Hey, can't it wait?" CJ asked.
"I'm about to burst, man," Maccer protested.
So CJ quickly pulled the car over to the side of the road and Maccer hopped out. He unzipped his fly of his pants and relieved himself in front of some rocks.
After twenty second, Maccer finally zipped his fly shut and returned to the vehicle, which CJ continued driving. After several seconds, he finally made it to the snake farm, and he and the two Britains hopped out of the vehicle.
"Here we are, look familiar?" CJ asked the Britains as they strolled towards the snake farm.
"Looks just like Salford to me..." Maccer answered.
"What are you talking about?" the spiky-haired Britain asked.
The three approached the three hillbillies standing right in front of the shack.
"Take a gander at 'em fellas, is that 'em?" one of them asked his partners.
"That there city boy has gone and been with my prize hog!" his partner answered, pointing at the spiky-haired Britain. "Now I don't even get no sugar from her!"
Just then, two more hillbillies came around the corner: a man and a woman.
"And that one done screwed my sis!" the man said, pointing at Maccer. "I've had a terr'ble aching in my grinds ever since!"
"I'm gonna slap you silly for giving me and my fella the red bumpies!" the woman said, rubbing on her crotch and stomach.
"What'n tarnation?" one of the hillbillies said. "I'm a fixing to give ya a whoopin' for what you gone and done to my young 'uns!"
They fired bullets at the three, and the latter trio took cover. CJ pulled out his pistol and shot each hillbilly one by one.
"Everybody in the car!" he ordered.
He and the two British men hopped inside the car and drove away.
"Seems you boys had a good time," CJ told the Britains.
"Ae, what about the band?" Maccer asked.
We'll just have to pray they've made it to civilization," his partner told him. "Keyboardists and drummers are ten-a-penny anyway."
"Which casino is it?" CJ asked.
"It's called Caligula's," the spiky-haired Britain answered. "It's on The Strip somewhere, I think."
"How many tits does this Rosie have?" Maccer asked. "Big, floppy sausage tits? Empty saddlebags, or bee stings?"
"Rosie's a man!" his partner grumbled in annoyance. "And stop touching yourself."
"It's just for comfort Pablo!" Maccer whined. "This is a stressful situation, man."
"You're fucking telling me it is?" the spiky-haired Britain said.
"Aww, can it, you two!" CJ barked.
"Hey, he started it!" Maccer complained.
CJ just shook his head. He didn't have time to argue with two Britains who found themselves abandoned by their band and lost in the middle of the desert. He just continued driving through the desert until he made it to the freeway, where the driving was only about twenty-five minutes long.
By the time CJ made it to Las Venturas, the sun was slowly beginning to set, and the lights around The Strip started shining. CJ finally made it to Caligula's Casino.
"Come on then," the spiky-haired Britain said as CJ parked the car up front. "Let's go in and see Rosie."
"Rosie" turned out to be Ken Rosenberg. Ken Rosenberg was a former lawyer who resided in Vice City. Six years ago, he worked as a lawyer for Tommy Vercetti, a Mafia gangster from Liberty City who had once allied with the Forellis and was released after a fifteen-year sentence for murdering eleven men. After Tommy killed Sonny, the leader of the Forelli gang, he and Ken ran Vice City together.
Unfortunately, Ken's cocaine addiction had jeopardized his friendship with Tommy currently, and the latter had to send the former to Las Venturas in rehab. To make matters worse, Tommy has even refused to take Ken's calls, and since then, Ken has now become a neurotic mess, not that he wasn't ever neurotic to begin with. Now, 40 years old and balding, he was now lying on the couch in his room of the casino.
He then heard a knock on the door. Ken's assistant walked over to the door and opened it to find CJ, Maccer, and the spiky-haired Britain standing up front.
"Kent Paul," the spiky-haired Britain introduced. "Here to see Rosie." His name was Paul, but he was occasionally referred to as "Kent" or "Kent Paul".
"Hey boss," Ken's assistant called to him, "there's somebody here to see you."
"Oh, go away," Ken whined. "I have a migraine."
"Oi, Rosie, son," Paul said as he stuck his head through the doorway. "It's me, Paulo!"
"Oh, God," Ken sighed in relief. "My despair is complete. OK, let him in."
CJ, Maccer, and Paul walked in.
"Rosiiieee!" Paul cheered, waking up to Ken. "How are you, me old son?"
"I pray that one day I can escape my perpetual torment and retire in peace and comfort a million miles away from anyone I've ever fucking known," Ken complained, turning away while lying down. "Instead, I get this."
"Come on, it's me, Kent Paul!" Paul told him.
"Well, hello, Paul," Ken uttered, turning around as he sat up on his seat, "what a pleasant surprise." He then stared at CJ and Maccer. "Who the hell are these guys?" he asked.
"These are my boys - Maccer and Carl," Paul introduced the two.
"Whassup?" CJ greeted.
"You want any Speckled Doves, boss?" Maccer asked. "I'm peaking on one right now. Top-of-the-range, man."
"Well it's fitting," Ken answered as he hopped off his seat and slowly walked over the other seat. "As I sit here up to my neck in a river of shit, with every Mafia gorilla from Liberty City to Los Santos pissing in my face, that you, Kent Paul, should witness it."
"What's the matter, son?" Paul asked as Ken took a sea on the chair.
"Too numerous," Ken answered, "oppressively insurmountable and depressingly fucking typical even to mention."
"It's alright, bruv," Paul said, putting a hand on Ken's shoulder. "Paulo can help. Give us some space would you, son. I'll give you a tinkle later."
"Alright, for sure," CJ replied. He started to leave, with Maccer following along.
"Not you, Maccer," Paul said stopping Maccer.
"Oh, you twat," Maccer grumbled.
"Unbelievable," Paul groaned.
As he headed outside, CJ took his cellphone out of his pocket and punched in Woozie's number.
"Hey Woozie," he answered. "I think I found a way to scope Caligula's without causing too much suspicion. We can talk later."
So CJ hung up the phone and decided to see Woozie right away.