Chapter 35: A Most Unusual Truce

Copyright Notice: This chapter features some not-so-thinly veiled references to characters and in-universe locations from both "The Shining" and "In the Heat of The Night". "The Shining" is the official property of the amazing Stephen King as well as Doubleday Publishing, Warner Brothers, and any other related entities. Meanwhile, "In the Heat of The Night" is the official property of the late author John Ball as well as Harper & Row Publishing, United Artists, MGM Television, and any other related entities.

Eastern Motel
Route 68
Grand Senora Desert, Blaine County
6:00 PM

Chief Detective Troy Harrison made it back to Blaine County within an hour. He managed to track down Wade Hebert at his trailer that neighbored Trevor Phillips and was planning on confronting him directly, but instead elected to discreetly tail him when he saw him exit his home.

By 6:00 that evening, Harrison had quietly followed both Wade Hebert and Trevor Phillips to the Eastern Motel, a rundown out-of-the-way place that often accommodated the less discriminate motorists who travelled along Blaine County's Route 68. The features advertised on the aged marquee beneath its neon sign were less than truthful, as the air conditioning was about as useful as a toilet plunger in an outhouse and it lacked certain modern touches with its somehow still-functioning vibrating beds in each room. This latter element was a very apparent holdover from the motel's original heyday in the early 1970's.

His blue 2006 Dodge Charger SXT was tucked off to the side across from the motel, wherein he sat in the driver's seat eating Chicken Lo Mein from a Chinese restaurant in Sandy Shores with chopsticks out of a paper takeout box, all the while diligently watching the various goings-on at the motel. His cell phone soon chimed, at which point he put down his phone to look at it. The alert was for a new text message from his girlfriend, Anna Barakova.

"Are you going to the funeral tomorrow?" Anna's text message read. The joint funeral service for the three Blaine County deputies who were killed just after the Paleto Bay heist was scheduled for the following morning.

"Yes", Harrison typed back, "I'll pick you up at 7 AM."

"Sounds like a plan", Anna responded a few seconds later, "Sorry that we've both been so busy lately. I miss you, handsome."

Harrison chuckled and grinned. "Miss you too, doll" he typed back, "Love you!" he punctuated his message with two heart emojis and sent it before putting his phone down in one of the cupholders, resuming both his impromptu dinner and attentive observation of the motel.

Roughly ten minutes later, Harrison's interest was abruptly peaked when he observed something that, to him, appeared to be quite out of place for such a substandard motel.

A white 2011 GMC Savana panel van pulled into the parking lot, stopping just outside Room #3. The side of the vehicle was emblazoned with the logo of the Digital Den, a well-known electronics store chain in San Andreas. A young collegian-age white man dressed in distinctive purple and white coveralls with a Digital Den baseball cap on his head exited the van and immediately went over to an exterior junction box right near Room #3.

Harrison continued to curiously watch the young man do his work before it finally donned on him what exactly he was doing. The young technician appeared to be installing a specialized T3 broadband internet connection and funneling it into Room #3. The observation lingered until the tech finished his work, got back in his van, and left.

The strongminded Chief Detective decided to seize the opportunity to make his move. He got out of the Charger, at which point he pulled back his jacket and discreetly withdrew his Sig-Sauer P-226 handgun from his leather shoulder holster and quietly creeping toward Room #3. With the room's blinds unfortunately drawn, Harrison couldn't see what was going on inside, so instead he tapped on the door with his gun.

"Who is it?" Trevor Phillips' muffled voice inquired from the opposite side of the door.

"Room service", a quick-thinking Harrison called out in response as he poorly imitated someone with a voice that was much more guttural than his own.

The room's door promptly opened, at which point Trevor Phillips appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in a Blaine County Radio t-shirt, blue jeans, and gray cowboy boots.

"We didn't order any…" Trevor muttered before he was able to mentally register the sight of Harrison standing there with his gun in hand, "…Oh shit!"

With that, Harrison burst inside the ratty motel room, pointing his gun outward in a very tactical stance. Franklin Clinton, Michael De Santa, Wade Hebert, and a heavyset balding man with glasses whom he didn't immediately recognize were all seated around the desk across from the two beds in the room.

"Alright gentlemen!" Harrison barked as he kicked the door shut behind him with his foot, "I think you all know who I am by now! But for those of you who don't, LSPD! Show me your hands!"

All five men raised their hands accordingly, although Harrison could tell that Michael was itching to draw the handgun he had tucked on his right side. "Hey Michael", Harrison continued, "Do yourself a favor and don't even think about it, dude. I may kind of like you, but make no mistake, you draw on me and I won't hesitate."

"Yo Harrison!" Franklin interjected, "Just chill out, dog! What the fuck is this about, man?"

"Trevor", Wade interrupted, "I told you not to kill that drug dealer…"

"SHUT UP WADE!" Trevor snapped in reply.

Catching his breath, Harrison's adrenalin started to deplete and his heartrate slowed to a functionally calm level. He holstered his handgun and put both hands up awkwardly. "I would say I'm sorry", he said in a still somewhat anxious tone, "But cops like me tend to get a little prickly when three young deputies die in the line of duty and twenty-four other members of law enforcement and the military are badly injured."

"What the fuck are you talking about, piggy?" Trevor barked.

"T", a now much calmer Michael said, "Give up the act, bro. Our boy Harrison here is a smarter cop than most."

Franklin then stepped forward and put an arm around Harrison. "I second that, homie" he added before turning to Harrison, "You alright, dog?"

Harrison sighed and nodded before patting Franklin on the back. He then moved over to the first bed and sat down on the edge. "I'll be fine", he said, "but getting on my good side isn't going to absolve any of you knuckleheads of the fact that you robbed the bank in Paleto Bay earlier today! You put myself, two of my friends, one of my bosses, and all those other people in harm's way! Like I just said, three deputy sheriffs are dead!"

"We never meant for anyone to get hurt", Michael replied, "It's just since I was forced to come out of retirement and brought in Franklin, Trevor, our man Lester here, and have had all these other less-than-desirable goons running around, everything's been going a thousand miles an hour."

Harrison looked to Lester, the balding man seated at the desk, thought for a second, and nodded with sudden recognition. "Oh yeah", he said to Lester, "I remember you now. You're Lester Crest, right?"

A flattered Lester chuckled and grinned. "You've heard of me, I take it" he replied.

"I have", Harrison said, "You were the only man smart and ballsy enough to single-handedly hack the Liberty City power grid and cause the great Liberty City blackout of Two-Thousand-Three. People were in the dark for twelve straight hours before everything magically turned back on at around six o' clock the next morning. You got a slap on the wrist for that, if my memory serves me correctly."

"Suspended sentence", Lester clarified, "In return, I ended up giving the US Attorney's Office some information that eventually led them to take down a ring of child pornographers. How did you know all that, anyway?"

"I spent ten years with the FBI before I became a cop", Harrison said, "I worked a bunch of cases in Liberty City."

Lester turned back to his laptop and typed in some information. "I see", he said. "'Troy Daniel Harrison'", he read out loud from the screen, "'native of Winterville, Vermont. Graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Criminology from Sparta College in Sparta, Mississippi with a minor degree in Psychology.' Recruited by the FBI less than a year later, spent ten years specializing in organized and serial crime. Left the Bureau a few years ago to join the Chicago PD. Now I guess you've decided to enjoy the West Coast these days, eh?"

Harrison shrugged his shoulders. "Got sick of those brutal East Coast winters, I guess", he replied.

"I also see that you've been on quite the upward trajectory since joining Los Santos PD", Lester continued, "Six months as a Detective in Homicide, three months as a Sergeant in Rockford Hills, and according to this very recent article from the Daily Globe, you're the very first person to hold the title of LSPD's Chief Detective."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah", Trevor cut in, "We get it, Lester. 'Piggy' here is a glorified nerd with a badge and a gun."

Harrison promptly flipped Trevor the bird. "You're one to talk, Trevor" he said with a sarcastic chuckle, "You look like what would happen if Jack Nicholson's character in 'The Shining' somehow escaped the blizzard at the end of the movie, moved to Blaine County, and got addicted to 'Toilet Cleaner'!"

"FUCK YOU!" Trevor snapped before starting to go for Harrison.

As Michael and Lester erupted in laughter, Harrison defensively put his hands up and slid further back onto the ratty motel bed. Franklin then got between them, extending his arms out in a valiant attempt at deescalating the situation. "Alright y'all", he said, "Let's just cut this shit out! Damn! Harrison, why are you here anyway, man?"

Harrison composed himself and stood back up off the bed, making his way over to Wade. "Hi", he said to him as he extended a hand to him, "Your name's Wade Hebert, right?"

The dimwitted Wade nodded and shook Harrison's hand. "Yeah", he said, "I'm Wade."

"Chief Detective Troy Harrison", Harrison said, "As you've heard, I'm with Los Santos PD. I need you to ride back to the city with me, Wade."

Their conversation was cut short by Harrison's ringing cell phone, which he promptly took out of his pocket and answered. "Harrison", he said into the phone, "Oh hi Lisa. What's up? Really? Where? Okay. Yeah, send it to my e-mail please. Thanks."

"Who was that?" Franklin asked.

"Lisa Maddox", Harrison replied, "She runs our Technical Operations section at the PD. Michael, you remember that 'Vlado Marks' guy I told you about a while back, right?"

"Yeah", Michael said, "He was that Serbian guy who helped steal my yacht."

"Full disclosure, guys" Harrison began, "We think he's responsible for more nefarious shit than that. We think he's a hired gun for Martin Madrazo. Franklin tells me you guys have crossed swords with him before."

"We have", Michael said, "It's gotten even worse since Trevor kidnapped his wife!"

Harrison's head practically snapped toward Trevor in retort. "What?" he snapped.

Trevor shrugged his shoulders. "I had to get his attention somehow. She's back at my trailer in Sandy Shores. No worries, though, Piggy. No harm's come to her."

Harrison sighed in vexation. "I don't know how well I can take you at your word", he candidly said.

"He's telling the truth, Harrison" Michael cut in, "I've been crashing at Trevor's for the last few days. Patricia Madrazo is there and she's completely unharmed. As a matter of fact, I don't think the place has ever been so clean. Now, what's this about Vlado Marks?"

"The Blaine County Sheriff's Office took a theft report from an old timer in Grapeseed two days ago", Harrison began explaining, "he said that his Fleeca Bank debit card was stolen while he was getting groceries. They received an alert from the bank a few hours later. Apparently, the thief tried to use the guy's card at the Limited Gasoline mini-mart in Grapeseed. He withdrew forty bucks from his checking account. They forwarded the image to Lisa Maddox for enhancement and she just sent it to me."

Lester turned back to his laptop and resumed typing. "Troy-dot-Harrison-at-Los Santos-dot-gov, right?" he asked.

"Yeah", Harrison said, "Wait…"

Franklin put a hand on Harrison's shoulder. "I'd say this is the time to let our boy Lester do his thing, man" he said.

With that, the four men congregated around Lester and looked over his shoulder. After the proficient veteran hacker had successfully infiltrated Harrison's work e-mail and opened the attached image, a grainy but well enhanced black and white surveillance image appeared on the screen. The image was of a tall bald white man dressed in a white muscle shirt, brown heavy duty work gloves, and blue denim shorts. The size of the image's frame prevented them from seeing what kind of footwear he wore.

"That's Vlado Marks", Harrison said with great certainty, "But he's a hired gun. Why's he stealing debit cards from elderly dudes?"

"My guess is that if he's dressed like that", Trevor said, "He's probably working as a hired field hand at one of the farms near the store. Grapeseed's pretty well-known for its farming."

"Oh boy is it", Lester added as he continued his meticulous research, "According to the US Department of Agriculture, the nearest farm closest to that specific Limited Gasoline store is a potato farm owned by the Union Grain Company. I'm also looking at immigration records and apparently they hire immigrant day laborers and exchange their labor for temporary US work Visas."

"So, a guy like Vlado Marks who's trying to hide in plain sight would fit right in", Harrison said, "I guess the question is then, where in Grapeseed is there a cheap place to stay?"

"Right on the farm, apparently" Lester replied, "The Union Grain Company keeps a small building on the property that their workers use as a bunk room."

A bit overwhelmed by the rapid influx of information from Lester, Harrison sat back down on the edge of the bed and took a moment to stretch. "Okay", he said a minute or so later, "I think Marks and Madrazo are bigger fishes to fry. But Blaine County and the LSPD are still chomping at the bit to hold some people accountable for the Paleto Bay heist, our three wounded colleagues, and more importantly, those three dead deputies."

"Then what the hell can we do about that?" Michael asked.

"Trevor", Harrison said, "I can't imagine everybody in your social circle are choir boys. There's got to be three people you don't like that we can point in their direction."

Trevor took a moment to truly ponder what Harrison said. "There is", he finally said, "But in order to get ahold of them, I'm going to have to return a favor for my friend Maude. Don't ask."

"I don't plan to", Harrison said, "Believe me." He then turned his attention to Wade Hebert. "Wade", he continued, "Come with me, man. I've got to take you back into the city to meet with some of our detectives. They want to talk with you about something really important."

Wade stepped forward. "Am I in trouble?" he asked with a very apprehensive tone.

Harrison put an arm around him and they moved toward the door. "Not at all, bud" he reassuringly said, "I'll just take you to the station, you can chat with them for a while, and I'll put you on the bus back out here right after."

"O—okay", Wade said.

As he ushered Wade out the door, Harrison looked back at Michael, Franklin, Trevor, and Lester. "I've got to go to the funeral in Paleto Bay tomorrow morning. I'll catch up with you guys right afterwards."