April 2002...
--Claude's POV--
Six months. Six months has passed since i killed that trecherous whore Catalina and that stupid bimbo Maria. That's how long has passed since i left Liberty City and came back to the west coast.
Familiar scent of sea hit my nostrils as i walked down the walkway near the old fort on Battery Point. Orange color of Gant Bridge seemed even brighter than it really was as it was hit by the mid-day sun that shone from pale blue sky marred by thin cover of low clouds; Remains of the fog earlier that day.
San Fierro felt like home, even though i didn't have praticularly nice memories of the city or its residents. Unlike rainy, filthy, crime-infested streets of Liberty City, San Fierro was at least superficially clean, even though crime rates have started going up some years prior as local Triads gained more power once they crippled other Asian gangs plaguing the city's ethnic quarters.
I snapped back to reality as i reached the parking lot of the old fort. Back in the early 90s, just before i left the state with Catalina, this fort was a home to the strip club known as Pleasure Dome. From what i've heard, it closed down shortly after i left since its owner got plugged. I looked the front of the fort over, briefly clearing my throat and adjusting the collar of my leather jacket. In reality, this was my first morning here in nearly a decade as i spent previous half a year doing odd jobs throughout the state; From brief stint as a cabbie in Los Santos to the time i worked as a bouncer in some shithole strip club on the outskirts of Las Venturas. It was necessary sacrifice of my time to come here as every cent counted since pretty much all of my savings went up in smoke along with Catalina and her helicopter back in Liberty City. But once i had enough money to pay for a few nights in some cheap motel in San Fierro, i boarded the train in Las Venturas and reached the city previous evening. There was a lot i still needed to see. For example, the old garage in Doherty. Even though Catalina gave it away to that black guy who beat me in the race back in '92, what were the chances that he was still using it or that he was still alive? But then again, i guess that if he's still kicking, that guy would probably think the same about me if we ever crossed paths since he probably knew what Catalina was like even back then.
From this position, i wouldn't reach Doherty on foot for at least an hour. As i figured that out, i realized that i'll need a car. I tapped my foot lightly against the concrete and sighed before looking over at the cars driving past the fort.
"Soon enough." I thought briefly as i started walking at a brisk pace, looking for the nearest traffic light. Grabbing a car there wouldn't be a problem.
--CJ's POV--
Ten years. Nearly ten years has passed since the night i stood in the cul-de-sac at the end of Grove Street in Ganton, Los Santos, watching Tenpenny's lifeless body lie at my feet, pained grimace forever etched onto his face with the soundtrack of panicked Emmergency Services transmissions coming from his overturned firetruck and screams, explosions and gunshots of the Los Santos Riots in the background.
"See you around, officer."
Since that night, both my life and the lives of my friends, associates and family changed mostly for the better. Officially, i was known as the manager of Madd Dogg. Even though his career wasn't as potent as it once was, he was still popular and successful. I was also still associated with Woozie and his Triad outfit, Mountain Cloud Boys and helped them with management of Four Dragons Casino in Las Venturas.
Kendl and Cesar have permanently relocated to San Fierro in early '93 and got married soon afterwards. Cesar went into legit car tuning business. No more car thefts and illegal imports. To help him, i gave him the ownership of the garage in Doherty as a wedding gift along with some money to fix it up. Today, the garage was officially known as V-Tuners and due to its success and high-class clientele, it wasn't bulldozed to make room for another condo high-rise like so many other buildings in the neighborhood had been. Kendl worked with Cesar, mostly on paperwork while Cesar and his main grease monkeys, Dwayne and Jethro worked on the cars brought into the shop. To both mine and Cesar's shock, she refused to stop working even in final months of her first pregnancy, and second for that matter.
Kent Paul and Maccer went their separate ways in '97 after Gurning Chimps' third music album flopped and the band blamed Paul. Last i heard, Paul went back to Vice City since he used to live there back in the 80s and had "some connections there", or at least so he claimed and today is running an internet blog about his personal nostalgia for the 1980s while Maccer split with the Gurning Chimps a year after Kent Paul left and faded into obscurity after trying to make a living as a solo act in '99.
Ken Rosenberg, that high-strung coke-head of an ex-lawyer is dead. Despite my best attempts to intervene into his relapse of cocaine addiction, to the point where i did the same thing i had done for Big Bear and personally checked him into rehab facility in Los Santos back in '93, but it failed. Unlike Bear, Ken wasn't a fighter in any sense of the word and relapsed soon after he finished the program. One morning in June '94, he was found dead in his apartment, face-down on the table that had traces of cocaine lines on it. Official cause of death; Cocaine overdose. Urn with his remains is buried in Los Santos along with some other unclaimed corpses.
Truth, that old hippie whom i first met through Tenpenny shortly after i was all but officially exiled from Los Santos after Sweet's arrest, was unnaccounted for. Soon after Tenpenny's death and the end of Los Santos Riots, he simply vanished and no one ever saw him again. Considering my personal history with the old fool, i was almost certain that his disappearance had something to do with my break-in into Area 69 and theft of both that strange jetpack and that weird green goo he had me grab from that army train passing through Las Venturas although i wasn't absolutely certain and already got over the fact that i likely won't know what happened to him.
Jeffrey Cross, also known as OG Loc, was left disgraced after his theft of Madd Dogg's rap lyrics was discovered and he was blacklisted by every major music label in the State Of San Andreas. To my credit, i was involved in the process as a favor to Madd Dogg. As if that wasn't bad enough, Jeffrey was also arrested and sent back to prison for violating conditions of his parole now that he could no longer hide behind Big Smoke and his drug money. That was also when i learned the reason for his original sentence; Vehicular manslaughter. That, in addition to official charge with theft of intellectual property due to the entire shit with Madd Dogg's lyrics got him booked for four years. Last i heard, Jeffrey was released in '97 after serving out his full sentence and moved to Carcer City where he vanished.
Zero, RC nerd whom i met in San Fierro, was still alive. Even though our relationship was kind of strained since he was responsible for getting the police on my case during the heist of Caligula's Casino by bragging about it to his sworn enemy, one Berkley, we were still business partners. After the heist, it was decided that in order to punish him for jeopardizing the entire job, Zero would get nothing from the take. Of course, he wasn't happy about it but he quickly clammed up after i reminded him that i was officially his landlord back in San Fierro and that he should be happy i won't pull the plug on his hobby store. Speaking of which, the store is still open today and Zero is still running it even after he managed to expand to Los Santos with another store that was opened back in '98. In any case, his business is doing well and i'm also profiting off it.
Sweet was the only one from my family who really fucked up. Even as i kept begging him to leave Grove Street and gangbanger bullshit behind and share in Johnson family's newfound wealth, he stubbornly refused. Things came to a head in '95 when Ballas came back to form and went toe-to-toe with the Families like it's '92 all over again. I wasn't ready to risk my life for the "hood" this time around and Sweet took that as an insult.
"You done turned your back on everything that made you, nigga! You became a fake-ass phony just like Jeffrey. If i ever see your fancy ass anywhere near Grove, you're a dead man, you feel me?"
That was the last thing he told me before he left. Next time i saw Sweet, it was to identify his corpse on a morgue slab after Ballas caught him in the drive-by a week later. That day was the first time i cried since moms died three years prior.
I sighed and swallowed loudly to choke back a lump forming in my throat as i recalled Sweet. I was walking down the streets of Doherty, having just dropped by to see Kendl and Cesar. The neighborhood was no longer a rusting, industrial dump it was when i first came to San Fierro ten years ago. Now, it was home to newly-built condos meant to house new money who struck figurative gold through dotcom bubble. In other words, Doherty was slowly entering 21st century, fueled by yuppies and their internet-gained fortune.
As i prepared to cross the road, i heard unmistakeable sound of screeching tires coming from my left; The tunnel leading into Downtown and beyond. As i looked at that direction, i saw red-colored Kuruma sedan speeding out of the tunnel and turning towards Doherty. As i watched, car slowed down near the garage that had large neon sign reading "V-Tuners, est. 1993" on it before coming to a full stop. Then, the door on the driver's side opened and out came a tall, dark-haired man in olive cargo pants and black leather jacket.
"Hold up... He looks kinda familiar." I thought as i slowly walked towards him. He was watching the garage intently for a few seconds before closing the car door and walking around the car, approaching the garage.
As i got closer, the sensation of deja vu regarding the man got stronger. When i was within his earshot, i called out to him.
--Claude's POV--
"Hey! What'chu doing here?"
Words rang out like a gunshot. Unmistakeable African-American voice. I whipped my head around to see a black guy, just like i expected. He was dressed in beige polo shirt with visible Didier Sachs logo on one breast and grey chinos along with brown loafers. He had his hair cut short and his face was clean-shaven. As i took a better look at the man, spark of recognition lit up in my head. He was slightly less muscular and he had hair now but that was almost definitely that guy who beat me at that race in Red County in '92. As i took notice of a faded tattoo of a cross at his left forearm, my certainty that the man calling out to me was a racer named Carl only intensified. Due to this, i relaxed my posture and leaned against the trunk of Kuruma which i "borrowed" from an unlucky middle-aged businessman at the traffic crossing in Juniper Hill, waiting for the man to approach me. As i looked at him, he stopped for a moment, almost as if he was reliving some flashback.
--CJ's POV--
"Impossible! It's the mute asshole that Catalina's been fucking ten years ago... Argh, fuck, why did i think about that crazy bitch!"
As i recognized the blank face staring back at me, i felt like someone sucker-punched me as every memory regarding that psychotic cousin of Cesar's named Catalina came surging back, from the day i first met her in Dillimore to the day i finally stopped playing nice for the sake of money and stood up to her at the second leg of the race organized by Woozie and his boys out in Red County. That was also the day she introduced me to the man standing before me. Sure, he looked a decade older and leather on his jacket was worn and stained but his physical build and even the hairstyle were almost identical to the way they looked when i last saw him. I also recalled one of the crazier phone calls Catalina had made to taunt me after our "break up" where she called me while having sex with the man. At that point, she identified him as "Claude". Was it his name or some sort of pet name thought up by Catalina? I'm not sure. But i don't know how else to call him. I sighed before approaching him.
--Claude's POV--
We were face-to-face now. I wasn't much of a conversationalist even before Catalina decided to perform a bullet tracheostomy on me but in my current condition, i had absolutely no chance of breaking the uncomfortable silence that has descended between us. By now, it was obvious that he knew who i was and i almost definitely knew who he was.
"You're that mute guy Catalina's been seeing ten years ago. Claude, right?" Carl said, his voice wavering from uncertainty as he said my name.
I nodded, doing my best to retain a stone-faced expression at the mention of that psychotic skank. At this point, any lingering doubts i had about the identity of the man standing before me faded away for good. This was the guy. Enigmatic Carl whom Catalina taunted over the phone for months after we left San Andreas until he eventually changed his number and she could no longer reach him.
"Name's Carl. It's been awhile, hasn't it?" Carl continued, doing his best to advance our one-sided conversation. I couldn't discern any immediate signs of innate hostility from him. It looked more like he was perplexed. Or rather, curious. Maybe he was wondering how i was still alive after nearly a decade of running with Catalina. He extended his hand. I accepted it into a brief, firm handshake.
--CJ's POV--
Claude's handshake was firm and brief. His facial expression remained unchanged, like a statue in a public park. Just like ten years ago, i couldn't read anything from his face. But the real question wasn't what was he thinking but rather what was he doing here? Was he back in town to reminesce about his youth before he gave up the garage whose exterior served as a backdrop for our meeting? Did Catalina send him to start some shit? No. Maybe not. Knowing her, if she wanted to do something to me or my family, she would do it personally and certainly a lot sooner, not ten years after we last saw each other and i finally changed my phone number to stop her from harrassing me. Speaking of which...
"Where's Catalina anyways? She's still around or did she dump you for another mute?" I asked, half-expecting him to nod in confirmation. For all i knew, Claude's been roaming on his own for years and maybe never even reached Liberty City. Or he did and was dumped there. Neither would really surprise me, knowing Catalina. However, instead of nodding in lieu of "yes" or "no", Claude raised his index finger and ran it across his throat, gesticulating a throat slitting motion. That was also when i first saw subtle change on his face as i noticed his jaw tightening. He was angry.
"So, she's dead?" I asked. Maybe that crazy bitch finally found her match in "The worst place in America" and got plugged on the streets of Portland after pushing her luck too far. After spending five years down there and witnessing such situations more times than i cared to count, i could easily picture how it likely went down.
After a brief moment of silence, Claude nodded. That was the only confirmation i needed. Catalina was dead and Claude returned to his hometown. But why?
--Claude's POV--
"So, she's dead?"
I could hear the thunderstorm again. I could hear helicopter's rotor blades spinning out of control. I could hear the explosion as downed helicopter crashed into Cochrane Dam. I could hear the shotgun blast that shut Maria up once and for all. For a brief moment, i could even smell the putrid mixture of rain-soaked concrete at the dam and blood oozing from dozens of dead Colombians i had mowed down on my way to Catalina. All because of those three words. Yes, she was dead. And all the better for any unlucky son of a bitch she would've ensnared and ruined otherwise. I was snapped back to reality as Carl spoke again.
"So, if you're not with her, what are you doing here, man? This garage isn't even mine anymore if that's what you're after. And even if it was, i wouldn't hand it over."
If i had functional vocal cords, i would've burst into laughter right now. I had no interest in the garage anymore. I simply wanted to reminesce since while the garage wasn't mine anymore, i had some history with the building. It was the place where i built my first custom tuner for racing out in the countryside back in '88 and until i met Catalina, it was my home. A place where i slept, where i hid out from the law and where i made some money by fixing up cars for other local racers. The problem was that i couldn't tell that to Carl since my voice box was screwed up. I just nodded my head "no", hoping that i'll at least get the point across that i don't want anything from him.
"I guess you can't speak, huh?" Carl asked. I nodded in confirmation. If i could, i would've said something by now.
"That's too bad, man. If you could, i'd be interested to hear what you've been up to. I gotta be honest, this garage is one of the best things that happened to my family. It helped us not to starve when we first came down here and it's helping my brother-in-law provide for his wife and kids even today so..." Carl stopped briefly, clearing his throat. "I guess i should thank you for giving it away after that race."
I nodded in understanding. I guess that's what he meant when he said that he no longer owns the garage. At least his family put it to good use.
I looked over to the garage once more before walking back to the door of my car. I saw enough.
--CJ's POV--
Claude was leaving. As he prepared to sit at the driver's seat and take off, i called after him.
"HEY!"
As Claude turned around, i continued. "I guess this is the last time we'll see each other?"
Claude looked at me briefly before shrugging his shoulders. Figures. Life has a way with surprises. I wouldn't be too shocked if that old greaseball Salvatore Leone pays me a visit over Caligula's heist one of these days because of that. Seeing Claude like this again probably wouldn't happen again, but the cards were on the table that it just might. With that in mind, i looked the man in the eyes. "Take care, Claude."
Claude nodded, a faint notion of a smile twitching on his lips before he entered his Kuruma and turned the ignition on. He was speeding off towards Easter Basin within seconds.
As i watched the car disappearing down the road, i heard footsteps behind me. It was Cesar, still dressed in his oil-stained mechanic coveralls. He stood beside me, joining me in watching Claude's Kuruma as it became a small dot on the horizon.
"I was watching your conversation from the garage, holmes. Who was that guy?" Cesar asked me.
"No one, Ces. Just an old acquaintance." I replied.
THE END
