Well, it was time to go to work. CJ figured he could start with the guy in Angel Pine, seeing as how his mansion in Mullholland mansion was on the border with Red County—the collection of small towns outside of the city that was sometimes referred to as The Badlands. This was because of the vaporous borders and lack of on-duty officers. There was also a rumor about bribes being taken due to the small salary of your average Red County sheriff.

He told Sweet and the rest of his crew that he was going to set up an AA meeting for Mad Dogg. He was in a slump as far as record sales. He started drinking again and rumors were everywhere. Carl always had to act as his liaison and reassure the public that MD was going to rehab.

He had his personal chauffer bring out his white Stafford. He entered and the driver shut the door and entered on the driver's-side door, and started the car.

"Where to, Mr. Johnson?"

"Angel Pine Motel, Jimmy"

"Why you goin' out in the sticks for, boss?"

"Listen, I pay you! So let's move it!"

"Right away."

Carl kicked his foot on the floor, disgruntled at his driver's wise cracks, but he shrugged it off and just flipped a switch that put up a glass separator between the driver and the rear seats, not wanting to be disturbed. The pearl-white car pulled out of the long, winding driveway and into the ritzy suburb of Mullholland; this was for the stars and other high-enders who could afford to get away from the gangs of inner-Los Santos. Jimmy hated driving here; the place was just a long stretch of road that had more hills than a roller coaster with side streets and driveways—much like the one CJ's house had—almost as big as streets. Eventually, you reached a stretch that was in the shadow of the Vinewood hills with it's name in 30-foot-high lettering that led you to Red County.

Angel Pine was like any other township of Red County: a barber, Ammunation, a couple fast food joints, a few local businesses that all stood for 50 years or so, and the rest were houses. There were nicer spots, like Dillimore or Palamino creek that looked like something out of 1950's TV, but all places in Red County was the same. Guys with long, shaggy beards filled with silver hairs; tough-looking bikers, stereotypical cowboys; the fat, old hens and the pretty country gals in short denim skirts or tight jeans. These people disturbed Jimmy greatly. He wondered how these people could walk around barefoot or hold a job with little else to do than flip burgers or a clerk, or a sheriff. These people even drove tractors to work for god's sake!

Soon enough, Jimmy pulled into the dirt lot where the local motel was. Many of the rubberneck rednecks gawked at the fancy white car that pulled up. The nicest car around the Bad Lands was usually just a passing by taxi. They also had a gander at the well-built black man that got out of the car in his fancy black suit and well-polished shoes. He had on black sunglasses so no one could tell his intentions.

"Watch the car. If these yokels start shit, you got the Spas in the trunk."

"Yeah, CJ."

Carl went on inside and asked for Jack Powers

"Room 4."

"Aight, thanks."

Carl walked up the stairs and knocked."

No one answered, but an eye looked through the peep hole in the door.

"Mike sent me."

The door opened and he was let in and shut the door behind him, then locked it. Carl looked over and was shocked at who he was sent to retrieve: "The Mute Snake," he only knew as Claude.