Los Santos, San Andreas
GCI Warehouse, Pier Two / Ocean Docks
6th July 1994
3:00 AM PST
Big G knew he was in deep shit. Really deep shit.
He was kneeling on the ground with his ankles crossed left over right. His hands were behind his head, fingers interlaced. Big G chuckled at the irony of the situation; he had placed so many other people in this exact same position hundreds of times before. There was a gash over his right eyebrow where the butt of an Ithaca 12-guage shotgun left its ugly mark. Big G felt the blood streaming down his cheek onto the concrete floor. He heard the Vago 'banger named Manuel jacking in another shell into the Ithaca. They were other Vagos milling about talking quietly amongst themselves. They sipped Mickeys from 40 oz. cans and smoked large blunts, the tang of marijuana filled the warehouse. They were here to witness an execution. An execution that was long overdue.
Manuel turned around to face Big G, the shotgun in his right hand. Manuel's hand started to twitch. Manuel's hand always started to twitch when he got excited. There was a feral smile on the 'banger's face.
" So, ese. Not as hard as you thought, eh? I expected more from a living legend. "
Manuel kept the shotgun leveled at Big G as he made his way to folding metal table. He rummaged among the various items which included two 18" white gold rope chains, a Face Black watch, some loose cash, a Motorola Star Tac cell phone, and a Didier Sachs leather wallet. He lifted the wallet from the table, flipped it open, and tossed it onto the floor in front of Big G. The gold shield of a detective was inside. It read "Lieutenant. Los Santos Police Department. "
The Vago still had that annoying smile on his face. Big G snorted once and spat at Manuel, hitting him in the face. Manuel flicked off the slimy mixture of spit 'n blood off his face and smacked Big G with the 12-guage.
Big G felt bone crunch and a tooth became loose. If he survived this, a plastic surgeon in Rodeo would have to work overtime to reconstruct his face. It would probably cost him a chunk of his so-called " retirement fund ". Big G crumpled to the ground but prevented any more injury to his skull by thrusting out his hands. The sleves of his black cashmere turtleneck were torn and smeared with dirt. Ditto with his stonewashed Zip jeans. The only article of clothing that wasn't in disrepair was his snakeskin boots. Thank God for small favors. He looked up defiantly at Manuel. Then it was his turn to smile.
" Hey, amigo! I got a FYI for you, puta. You hit like a punk'd out bitch. You should consider putting on some daisy dukes and selling your ass to the Aztecas around Unity Station. Maybe you wouldn't be so hard up for cash as you are now, you filthy beaner! " Big G had enough strength to flip him the bird.
The Vago's eyes blinked wide at the insult. Manuel screamed in rage as he pummeled Big G with the Ithaca's stock. Manuel racked back the pump and was about to bring the shotgun up to blast Big G. Another Vago rushed in and grabbed the Ithaca from behind, pinning Manuel in a chokehold. Manuel was still struggling when the other Vago spoke.
" Manuel! Get a grip, ese! It's me, your jefe! You will have your chance to kill this asshole but not before he answers to the Russian. Comprende? "
However, the damage was already done. Both Vagos watched as Big G collapsed onto the floor,his eyes rolling up into his head. There the detective's last thoughts were How the hell did I ever get into this clusterfuck in the first place? Big G fell into oblivion, reflecting on how all this started a week earlier.