Chapter 27: "Tech Stocks…My A**" (Part 1)

Home of Franklin Clinton
3671 Whispymound Drive
Vinewood Hills
Later That Night
6:00 PM

After helping Officer Fostenberg with his paperwork backlog as he had promised and clocking out for the evening, a now off-duty Sergeant Harrison arrived at Franklin Clinton's upscale new home in the geographically steep neighborhood of Vinewood Hills. Now dressed in his black leather jacket with a black and gray FBI Academy t-shirt underneath, dark gray denim jeans, and a pair of black leather slip on shoes, he exited his Dodge Charger, grabbing the Well Stacked Pizza Company pizza box off the front seat. He then shut the driver's-side door with his free hand before making his way to the front door and ringing the doorbell.

The sergeant took a few brief seconds to visually inspect the exterior of the very affluent-looking home as he waited for Franklin to answer the door. He was very happy for and impressed by Franklin's chance to purchase such a nice, new home in such a swanky neighborhood, but at the same time, a persistent question nagged his brain. How could a young man, who he had known was a besieged ex-convict struggling to make ends meet just a short time ago, suddenly be able to afford such a nice place in such an obviously rich neighborhood?

Roughly a minute or so later, the front door finally came open, the light from inside illuminating the darkened silhouette of Harrison standing there holding a pizza box. Franklin Clinton, dressed in a white muscle shirt, khaki shorts, and beige boots, smiled as he savored the silly image.

"Are the Five-Oh moonlighting as pizza delivery dudes now?" Franklin smirkingly asked.

Harrison grinned as he made his free hand into a fist for Franklin to bump. "Hey Franklin", he replied, "I hope you like pepperoni on your pizza."

Taking his cue, Franklin bumped Harrison's fist with his own before taking the pizza box from him and ushering him inside. "For sure, dog!" he said, "Thanks! How you been, Harrison?"

Harrison stepped inside the front area of the home and shut the door behind him. "Well," he said as he removed his jacket and hung it up on a hook by the door, "Aside from my being so ass-numbingly busy supervising five young cops for twelve hours a day, I guess I can't complain too much, man."

Franklin led his guest into a very nice-looking kitchen with wide picture windows, each offering a different beautiful view of the surrounding Vinewood Hills. The new homeowner set the pizza box down on the kitchen island and opened it before crossing to the opposite side of the room to fetch some plates and drinking glasses from the cupboards.

Harrison, meanwhile, sat himself on a stool on the right side of the island, at which point he picked up a bottle of red wine and read the label. "'Two-Thousand-Thirteen Marlowe Special Blend Red'" he read out loud, "Holy crap, little bro! I read somewhere that this shit costs like a hundred and eighty bucks a bottle! I have to ask; how did you end up being able to afford a gorgeous house like this with all these great fixings?"

"BAWSAQ, homie" Franklin said in a very proud tone as he placed plates for himself and Harrison on the island, "I invested some money in some stocks for a couple tech companies. Next thing I know, my cash flow went way up, which is good because I was finally able to get out of my crazy-ass auntie's house." He laughed.

"I hear you, dude" Harrison replied, "This nice red wine definitely beats the hell out of pretty much anything else in this city, huh?"

Franklin chuckled in retort. "Absolutely", he replied before making a gesture in Harrison's direction with a wine glass. "You want some?" he asked.

Harrison put two hands up in reluctance. "No thanks", he said, "Alcoholics Anonymous, man. I haven't had a drop to drink for almost five months now."

"Good for you!" Franklin said in a very heartening tone, "What do you want to drink then?"

"I think I'll have some Sprunk if you've got it", Harrison replied.

Franklin nodded. "Sure do", he replied as he turned back to the refrigerator, "Coming right up."

A few minutes later, both Franklin and Harrison were dining on a shared cheese and pepperoni pizza and drinking their respective beverages. "Hey Harrison?" Franklin inquired.

"Yeah, buddy?" Harrison responded; his voice muffled by the chewed pizza.

"I meant to ask you", Franklin said, "What made you want to come back here to Los Santos after all these years, man?"

Pondering a sufficient answer, Harrison swallowed his food and sat up a bit straighter in his seat. "Some messed up shit went down back in Chicago", he replied after a beat, "I got involved with an investigation that exposed some widespread corruption within the city government, including the Chicago PD. A group of high-ranking cops were arrested on various charges, and that had some major fallout for not only myself, but some really good cops I worked with at the time."

"What do you mean by 'fallout'?" Franklin asked.

"For starters", Harrison explained, "My good friend went down for a DUI and was suspended from the force for a while so she could be sent to rehab. She's back on the job now and even got a promotion, but the powers that be parked her on desk duty at CPD Headquarters. If they were going to allow her a promotion, she definitely deserved a better post than that."

"Tough break, man" Franklin said, "What else?"

Harrison sighed. "Some mistakes that I made ended up putting the Homicide Unit I was with under investigation by Internal Affairs", he continued, "Thankfully though, they were all cleared of any wrongdoing. I just couldn't take the fact that the stupid errors that I had made put them in somebody's crosshairs."

"So, you decided to come out here for a fresh start?" Franklin asked.

"Pretty much", Harrison said, "Well, another fresh start anyway. I searched the internet for any police departments that were looking for new detectives, and I was intrigued by the LSPD opening. I did a phone interview with Chief Sacco, mailed him my resume, and ended up getting the job."

As Harrison got up to go put his plate in the sink, he accidentally bumped his Sprunk can with his elbow, knocking the can sideways and causing the remaining soda inside to spill out onto the lower half of his t-shirt. "Shit!" he exclaimed following a growl of frustration.

Franklin grabbed a handful of paper towels and passed them over to Harrison. "No reason to panic, homie" he said, "Why don't you borrow a t-shirt from my closet?"

Harrison chuckled awkwardly as he dabbed at his now dampened t-shirt with the paper towel. "You sure?" he asked.

Franklin nodded with a comforting smile. "Yeah, go ahead" he said, "My bedroom is down those stairs by the front door. It's the only door that's open down there."

"Thanks, bud" Harrison said, "But what about my shirt?"

"I'm doing laundry tonight before I go to bed", Franklin explained, "I can throw your shirt in with my stuff and bring it back to you later."

A now very grateful Harrison nodded before crossing back through Franklin's living room and descended the stairs. He quickly found his bedroom as he had indicated and stepped inside, sidestepping over to Franklin's impressively full walk-in closet. He stripped off his now stained FBI Academy shirt and threw it into the laundry basket he discovered in the corner of the closet.

Harrison briefly gazed at Franklin's wide selection of t-shirts and chose what looked to be a very freshly clean white long-sleeved Crevis shirt. He pulled it on over his head, at which point his cell phone rang. He quickly finished putting the shirt on before pulling the phone out of his pants pocket and smiling upon seeing Anna Barakova's name appearing on the Caller ID display.

"Hey you", a smiling Harrison answered, putting the phone to his ear.

"Hey handsome!" Anna replied from her end of the line, "What are you up to?"

"Having dinner with an old friend at his new house up in Vinewood Hills", Harrison said, "How about you?"

"Ugh", an evidently discontented Anna said, "I'm stuck at the lab pulling a double shift tonight. A bunch of bikers were killed in a shooting out near Sandy Shores earlier this afternoon, and since Blaine County's too small to afford their own crime lab, we have to handle and analyze all the evidence."

"Aw", a sympathetic Harrison replied, "Bummer. Sorry, love. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Actually", Anna said, "There might be. What time do you get off shift tomorrow?"

"Seven o' clock, I think" Harrison replied, "Why?"

"Would you mind making a detour to my place before you go home?" Anna asked.

"Of course, babe" Harrison said, "I'd be more than happy to. Is everything okay?"

"I think so", Anna replied, "I just overheard something at the scene of the biker shooting earlier that caused me some concern. I don't feel comfortable talking about it over the phone in case my concerns are misplaced, you know?"

"No worries, dear" Harrison said, "I'll come see you right after work tomorrow night then, okay? If you need anything else in the meantime, my cell will be on all night."

"Okay", Anna said, "Thank you. I've gotta get back to work. I love you."

Harrison's smile widened at that. "I love you too, baby!" he sweetly replied, "Don't work too hard. Bye." With that, Harrison hung up the phone and placed it back in his pants pocket.

As he turned around to step out of the closet, something abruptly caught Harrison's eye. Stuffed clandestinely into the corner next to the laundry basket was a set of red coveralls. Harrison manipulated them with his foot, at which point a Bugstars pest control logo became noticeable.

Just then, Harrison heard Franklin coming down the stairs toward the bedroom. "Harrison!" Franklin called out as he came down the hallway, "Did you find a shirt, man?"

Harrison quickly picked up the discovered coveralls and darted out of the closet just in time to see Franklin enter the room. "Yeah", Harrison replied before holding up the coveralls, "I also found these exterminator coveralls, which just so happen to be the ones that the suspects were wearing during the Vangelico jewelry heist in Rockford Hills."

The expression on Franklin's face dropped instantaneously in response. "Yo", he almost breathlessly said, "I can explain that shit."

"Yeah", Harrison angrily snapped, "You damn well better, little brother! Tech stocks, my ass!" He gestured to Franklin's bed. "Sit down on the edge of the bed, Franklin" he ordered, "I'm listening."

Franklin did as Harrison had instructed and sat down on the edge and sighed deeply. "Michael De Santa and I went to get revenge on this tennis coach dude that he thought his wife was banging", he began explaining, "So, we stole this big contractor truck that had a wench on it and we chased the dude to what we thought was his house."

A lightbulb went off in Harrison's head, at which point he briefly hung his mouth open as he seemingly connected the pieces. "You guys pulled off the balcony with the wench", he said, "But it wasn't that coach guy's house or balcony that you guys yanked down, was it?"

"No", Franklin said, "It was some rich dude named Martin Madrazo. We're doing these jobs so that we can pay him back for the balcony. How'd you know?"

"Chief Sacco mentioned what happened to me and my partner during a meeting a while back", Harrison said before taking a second to clear his throat. "Franklin", he continued, "In case you don't know, Madrazo isn't any ordinary businessman. He's the biggest drug dealer this side of the West Coast."

"No shit, homie" Franklin replied, "I grew up in Strawberry. I have a pretty keen sense for motherfuckers like that.

"But that's only half of it, man" Harrison cut in, "We think he's been setting up murders of small-time drug dealers across the Southwestern United States for several years now."

Franklin fell silent as he quietly pondered what Harrison had just admitted to him. "Are you going to arrest me for this shit, Harrison?" he nervously asked after roughly 40 seconds.

Harrison briefly looked down at the coveralls before returning his gaze to Franklin. "I'm not going to lie to you, little bro" he candidly said, "There's a part of me that wants to read you your Miranda rights and bring you in. But I think I know a way to keep you out of this so that I don't have to for right now."

"What do you mean?" Franklin inquired.

"If what you guys are doing can keep Madrazo and his goons occupied for a while", Harrison replied, "I don't see a reason to take down you, Michael, or anybody else that you might be working with. I am, however, going to do you a huge solid to cover your ass on this for now. You should know that means you now owe me a favor or two in return."

"You got it, man" Franklin confidently replied, "What are you thinking?"

Catfish View
Sam Chianski Mountain Range, Blaine County
9:30 PM

A lone silver 2013 Jeep Cherokee Laredo SUV made its way down a long, winding dirt road just past the scenic and historic Cape Catfish lighthouse. By this time, that entire half of the state was being mercilessly pelted by a torrential downpour, making the Cherokee driver's trip particularly treacherous and difficult. The SUV finally came to a stop in an unmarked dirt driveway in front of a small, dilapidated boathouse on the very edge of the Cape Catfish waterfront, known as "Catfish View" for obvious reasons.

A male wearing a heavy black Los Santos Panic hoodie with the hood up stepped out of the Cherokee's driver's-side door, holding the Bugstars coveralls in one hand. He made his way towards one of two rundown tugboats that were docked on the shore just to the right of the driveway. He haphazardly threw the coveralls onto the deck of the shabbiest of the two boats. After going back to shut the car door, this shadowy male figure made his way inside the boathouse.

Inside the small boathouse, a light switch was flipped, illuminating the small interior room in a bright florescent light, at which point the man crossed to a small sink and removed the hood.

Troy Harrison splashed some water on his face. The boathouse in which he currently stood belonged to his maternal uncle, Leland Black, who was an avid boat restorer and marine vessel enthusiast with several other boathouses and related properties in other locations nationwide.

Harrison dried his face with a ratty orange hand towel before looking at his own reflection in the large mirror mounted above the sink. He pondered whether or not he crossed a line by doing what he had just done.