A/N Thanks to reviewers! Qwerty: Katie Zhang? Lol sure… I think I could put her in the next chapter, if not the next another.

Dylan quickly ran up the steps leading to the huge, grey building that was LSPD Headquarters. .He had still been fast asleep 20 minutes ago, trying to recover from the night before, where instead of sleeping he had tried to get his head around what he had seen the previous day. He was sure there was a completely reasonable explanation to why Tenpenny was discussing agreements and Ballas with a drug dealer, he now hoped that he would be told it. He had woken to the angry voice of Pulaski down the phone, threatening that he would be fired if he didn't get his ass down there in five minutes. He jumped over the last step and entered the dull building. A wave of coffee mixed with stale sweat doused Dylan's senses, and he found himself breathing through his mouth. Headquarters was a fairly busy place, the ground and first floor were full of long corridors and cramped offices, men and woman carrying various papers, evidence or prisoners. The basement had about 20 jail cells, brimming with wrong-doers, but it was expected, considering Los Santos' horrific crime rate.

Dylan spotted Pulaski lazily waving him over, standing alone, and drinking a cup of coffee.

'Hey kid, we just need you to sign something, saying that the guys we blasted the other day are fully gang-related, Jimbo should be in there.' He pointed to a wooden door on his left, 'I'd show you around but I got business to take care of,' he said turning around and down a corridor. More like you have Tenpenny's business to take care of thought Dylan, though he was grateful that Pulaski's previous threat was empty. He made his way into the office to find a skinny man, dressed in a cop's uniform pouring over a couple of brown cased folders. Dylan cleared his throat, the man jumped and scrambled the papers back into the files, he looked up, his features tense, but they relaxed when he saw Dylan. He had a buzz cut and a small moustache, Hispanic, like Cesar but his body was gaunt and gawky. He stepped towards him, and outstretched a skinny hand.

'I'm Juan Hernandez, you must be Garnier, yeah?' His accent was quite light but clearly Mexican, he shook his cold sweaty hand.

'Dylan…Garnier,' he replied, 'so I just have to sign the papers?'

'Yeah yeah, there on the desk, I'll see you, I have to go do something…' he trailed off, leaving the room. Dylan sat down in the small, squatty office and surveyed the paper. There was a little more than just a dotted line to sign.

'Ok…date and time of incident,' muttered Dylan. He continued for about five minutes, but he was never one for writing, his mind began to wonder looking for anything that might distract him. Broken pens, pencils, even a playboy under a couple of papers. Dylan's hand hovered for a second, but he was distracted by something.

NAME: Beverly Johnson DATE OF DEATH: 10/1/92

Johnson, a name he was told to remember, he held it up and read the rest of the report.

Shot in the doorway of her home in the Ganton cul-de-sac in a gang related incident, involving the 'Front Yard Ballas' situated in Idlewood. Witnesses report four individuals in a Green Sabre fired out of a car using sub machine guns at the surrounding area. Individuals claim that 'Sean Johnson' the victims son, was the intended target. Bryan Johnson, brother of Sean, was murdered 5 years ago, circumstances are unclear. Carl Johnson is out of state and is currently residing in Liberty City. Both Johnson brothers are being closely monitored by C.R.A.S.H

Dylan read with great interest, the death of his mother must have persuaded him to return, perhaps the death of this brother made him leave in the first place? The murder was a week ago according to the report. Dylan slid the sheet into a file, and then recalled Hernandez reading the files intensely. What did he want with them? After reflecting on this, he finished all he was required to write and went in search for Pulaski and Tenpenny.

He didn't have to look far they were in the main foyer discussing something, looking very serious. Tenpenny spotted Dylan and walked over to him.

'Hey Dylan, sleep well I hope?' Dylan smiled, a stint of embarrassment creeping back.

'Good, because it going to be a late one tonight,' he lowered his voice, 'You see we've received a tip off, that a number of Vagos are seeing a shipment of Cocaine off to San Fierro, of course this is right in our line of business, so Ocean Docks at midnight O.K?' Tenpenny said, looking sternly into Dylan's eyes.

'Yeah, fine…Sir, you know yesterday?' asked Dylan, this was the only opportunity to get his head clear, but Tenpenny patted him on the shoulder.

'Good man,' he said, turning around and hurrying away.

Dylan watched him go, and frowned, he was obviously hiding something.

He made it back to the apartment at 11:30 with 11 and a half hours to kill, five minutes of that talking to Cesar. He was washing his red Lowrider lovingly, Dylan didn't know why Cesar took such an interest in him, street thugs and cops don't mix, unless there's a hidden agenda involved.

'Hey homes,' he said, dragging his eyes away from his car. Dylan nodded, the experiences today taught him that beefy men, with tattoos branded across their body and shotguns in their houses, should be handled with caution. Cesar looked at Dylan's Oceanic thoughtfully.

'You know, I have some sweet spoilers available…they'll look good on your Oceanic.' There it was, hidden agenda number one.

'My Oceanic is heading for the scrap heap, and frankly my salary wouldn't cover it,' said Dylan moodily, still hot headed from his conversation with Tenpenny. Cesar frowned, giving the bonnet another wipe with a yellow chamois.

'Why are you a cop anyway?' he said flippantly still, gazing down at the car. Dylan didn't respond, but waited for Cesar to continue.

'I mean Tenpenny, he's as crooked as a traficante, ' he said casually, he had Dylan's attention now, he couldn't help himself. 'There's a rumour that he's been dealing with Ballas, plays people along and shit,' he said, as if trying Dylan's silence. Dylan was tempted to pull his gun on Cesar, a huge rush of anger had smothered his feelings, brought on by Cesar's casual accusations and disregard of who had the authority between them, but most of all the fact that all this might be true.

'Whatever man,' he said bitterly, heading for the front door of the apartment. 'How the fuck would you know anyway?' Not expecting an answer he violently slammed the door shut.

'Idiota,' muttered Cesar under his breath.

Cesar's pristine car had disappeared when Dylan returned from his jog at 11:30, running had always helped him clear his head, and tonight was no exception. He changed into his uniform, double checked he had everything, and set off for Ocean docks, it was a cool, breezy night, the kind of climate that Dylan knew and liked.

Ten minutes later, he crossed the bridge to the small island-like land that was Ocean Docks, slowing down he kept his eyes peeled for any sign of Tenpenny and trouble, it was eerily quiet compared to the usual hustle and bustle during the day. Dylan checked his watch, it was approaching midnight, he was right on time. Straining his eyes, he tried to look more closely between the crates and tankers that littered the pavements and seemed to take up every available place. Realising that San Fierro was to the west, he decided to take the left turning available, and was finally successful in doing so.

He could see the familiar black and white car illuminated under the orange street light, and the figures of Tenpenny, Pulaski, and his new colleague Hernandez, he rolled up beside them, and Tenpenny clasped his hands together.

'Nice of you to join us, Dylan,' he said, beaming. Pulaski nodded grudgingly and Hernandez smiled nervously.

'So what are we doing this morning then?' said Dylan, eager to start. Pulaski nodded to Tenpenny who nodded back, beckoned to Dylan and the three disappeared through a gap between the tankers. He followed, as they carefully winded through the puzzle of crates, and a very short while later they came to a ladder that had been purposely planted for the four to climb up two yellow crates. Dylan glanced around, and followed Hernandez up. When he reached the top, Dylan's eyes widened. They were over looking a small clearing where all metal containers ceased to exist, a few barrels and wooden boxes were scattered along the ground. The Vagos had chosen the perfect secluded spot, which was cut off from the rest of Ocean Docks, not only by the crates but from the rippling sea as well.

'Get on your front!' whispered Pulaski, Dylan realised that he was exposed to the five Vagos that were guarding a small white boat which was slowly being loaded, by three other yellow clad men, with ammunition of sorts but the most valued, drugs.

'There's four of us and seven of them,' Tenpenny began, 'though were cops, if they take any notice of that, well… that's another story,' he continued, We'll approach from four directions, Eddie from the top most corner, Juan from the opposite corner, and me and Dylan will take them on from here,' he pointed to about 5 metres on his left, '…and you can hold this position,' pointing below. Without saying a word, Pulaski slid down the ladder and the three followed. Once there were on the ground, Pulaski appeared with several packages, and chucked one to each person. Dylan was the last to receive this and realised that it was black body armour. Pulaski turned disappeared again this time producing four sawn off shotguns.

'You have 2 minutes to get into position, when you hear one gunshot, that's your alarm, you know the drill,' said Pulaski quickly and surprisingly professionally. They went their separate ways, leaving Dylan standing alone, and waiting nervously for the signal. He crouched low, and shuffled through the gaps, until he had a clear view of scene. He was only 15 meters away, from the small bunch that were on look out, each brandishing small pistols and one a Sub machine gun. Making sure his vest was secure and had a firm grip on his shotgun, he waited.

It must have been five minutes later when the huge blast sounded, Dylan somehow was not prepared for it. His sweaty hands gripped the gun tighter, and he leapt out of his hiding place, hearing shouts of.

'Freeze!' and 'Put your hands up!' Dylan decided to follow this fashion.

'Put your guns down!' he yelled, not sure how much good it would do. All the Vagos froze with surprise and amazement, the three that were loading the boxes onto the small boat by way of a wooden plank dropped the current load they were carrying and put their hands up.

'Hace algo!' One yelled desperately.

'Shut up, or you're dead!' Screeched Pulaski, slowly taking steps to the five, who were still holding their weapons, but slowly lowering them, caught midway between opening fire or surrendering. However the one flaunting the sub machine gun, defiantly held his up, and pulled the trigger. Dylan felt the immense blow delivered into his vest, and lurched back into a crate, he slid to the floor expecting searing pain in his gut, but the armour had held. If anymore bullets had spewed from the barrel, Dylan would be dead. Though fortunately Tenpenny was on the ball, and silenced him with a bullet in the leg.

'Cabron!' shouted another at the fallen man, dropping his baseball bat, the others followed this fashion gradually dropping their pistols. While Pulaski and Hernandez kicked them aside and began to handcuff them, Tenpenny went to Dylan's side and helped him up.

'Are you alright Dylan?' he said, genuinely concerned, for which Dylan was grateful for.

'Yeah, just a bit winded,' he responded, looking at the bullet wedged in the material.

'Good man, go and cuff those three on the boat,' he said and turned to join Pulaski and Hernandez, Dylan unsteadily walked to the boat, a bit taken aback by the recent shooting. The three Vagos on the boat were standing stock still, stunned by the events, but still looking extremely pissed off.

'O.k,' he said to the first, 'put your hands behind your back.' He abided, but stopping to spit on Dylan's shoe and shoot him a filthy glare, Dylan resisted the urge to kick him. He pulled out his PlastiCuffs and bound them one by one, taking care to tighten them a little more than necessary. Once he had finished, he directed them off the boat and to his surprise Tenpenny ordered him to go home.

'Well done Dylan, you did damn good tonight, go home and that's an order, we'll get Adrian and his team to get these guys in a cell,' he said, Dylan nodded and said goodbye to Pulaski and Hernandez, who merely grunted in reply. He headed back the way the way they came, recalling the series of turns, though this time he couldn't resist taking a leak. He was next to the container they had been perched on top of, while he was relieving himself, he heard voices not of Tenpenny, Pulaski, Hernandez or Hispanic, unfamiliar thick Los Santos voices. Already suspicious of Tenpenny's dealings, he crept closer to the clearing and with his back against a crate peered around the corner.

There was Tenpenny and Pulaski, Hernandez had disappeared from view, speaking with a man dressed in baggy jeans and a chequered shirt, a purple chequered shirt. Though this time, Dylan could hear what was being said.

'Oh they is gonna love this in Fierro,' said the Balla gleefully. 'I reckon were gonna get a couple of thousands,' he said, rubbing his hands together. Tenpenny smiled.

'50 percent of that is ours.' The balla's face creased and he frowned.

'No no no Frank, 35 percent.' Tenpenny raised his shotgun very slightly.

'Who got rid of the Vagos, who got the location?' butted in Pulaski.

'Now now Eddie, we'll do 35…' said Tenpenny calmly.

Dylan didn't hear the rest, he didn't want to hear the rest…he had heard enough. Stripping off the vest and dropping the shotgun, he broke into a fast run, and weaved through path, back to his car.

He woke with a start, the phone on the wall ringing persistently, instantly the events of last night rushed back into his mind, and the questions flooded past as well, Dylan desperately wished that there was a good explanation, but it seemed doubtful. Realising that the phone wasn't going to give up, he reluctantly left his bed and picked up, surprisingly it was not the coarse voice of Eddie Pulaski.

'Hey homes'

'Cesar, what the hell?'

'No time Dylan, just get down to Seville, next to the line of garages, I'm down an alley way, you gotta see this,' he said quickly, and hung up. Dylan's mind struck limbo, did he have any choice? Crooked cops on one hand, and street thugs on the other. Dylan found himself driving in the direction of Seville, regretting it instantly. He had more or less offended Cesar yesterday and was probably walking into a trap which involved several angry friends and golf clubs. Turning into Seville he automatically knew where to go, considering he had spent most of yesterday there, he took a sharp left into a small alleyway barely big enough for his car then right again and there was Cesar's Lowrider. Dylan got out nervously, he could make out the silhouette of another in the passenger seat, so taking a deep breath he pulled the lever and got in.

'Ah Dylan you made it, this is Carl or CJ,' he said gesturing to the passenger; Dylan's heart skipped a beat. Oh crap And there he was, the fierce face of Carl Johnson, his eyes just slowly gazed at Dylan and then he realised.

'It's you, the stupid dickhead who tried to arrest me, oh I'm gonna rip your head off fool!' he said angrily, about to get out of the car. Cesar's face broke into a smile for a second but he grasped Carl's shoulder.

'Hey hey CJ, look you don't want another bent pig on your ass do you?' Carl opened his mouth to retort, but he understood.

'No man, but why the fuck are you mixing with the bacon?'

'Look, I'll explain everything later,' he said, irritated. Carl sat huffily, like a child that had been refused chocolate. Dylan had remained silent, not wanting to encourage CJ's threats.

'So you dragged me way across town to see... what?' he said aggressively

Just in time, ese, take a good hard look over there'

'So, some Ballas hanging around a dope spot, so what?' Directly ahead of them, there was a courtyard with garages on either side, where indeed a group of three just standing and doing what Ballas do.

'Just watch, homes,' he whispered, leaning over the steering wheel and watching intently at the scene, while Dylan and CJ just stared lazily. Then suddenly two men, one was the guy that he had seen yesterday at B-Dup's apartment, the other sporting a worn bowler hat, and a large stomach. Dylan sat a little straighter, it was taboo to see a mix of green and purple together, without the influence of guns.

'What the fuck? Oh, no! Shit, Smoke, what you into?' cried Carl, it must have been one of his trusted 'homies'. And then this time, Dylan saw something that stunned him. There was Frank Tenpenny appearing from inside a garage, beckoning something towards him. A Green Sabre.

'Oh…shit' gasped Dylan.

'Shut up! That's the mother-fucking Green Sabre' yelled an angry and frustrated Carl. Cesar began explaining to Dylan, what the significance of the green car was, but Dylan had read it in the report and he barely noticed Cesar's explanation, it was a tiny ripple on a huge surface.

'Why the hell did you show me Cesar? Why the fuck do you care?' said Dylan slowly. Cesar's mouth shut and he frowned.

'Look homes, do you think I want another stupid-ass cop on my back helping the Ballas in their control over Los Santos? Tenpenny is already breathing down my neck, claming that the Azteca's are running drugs, it ain't about you homes,' he fumed, staring icily at Dylan. He turned back to CJ 'What you thinking?'

'It's Sweet, I think him and the homies is walking into a trap. Just go, GO!' he yelled leaping out the car, Cesar turned back to Dylan, but his seat was empty. Rolling down the window, he hastily cried to Dylan.

'Don't cross Tenpenny man, he's dangerous!'

But Dylan didn't listen, the whole episode had just confirmed that Tenpenny needed to be exposed… and destroyed.

A/N Thanks very much for reading, review!