A/N Well this is it... many thanks to qwerty, Prophit, Subject to Change, A.O Drak and BADFELLAS INC. Hope you enjoy
'Well…here it is, good luck,' said Carl.
'Thanks…I'll see you around'
He looked up at the huge headquarters and took a deep breath, it would have probably been a good idea to stop off at his apartment, he still had it for one more week, to shower and change into some fresh clothes…he just had to get it over with. He should be safe here, there was no reason why he should be arrested unless they had been in touch with SFPD recently. He entered, nervous. It was still the same place, a hive of activity, even on a Sunday morning. Nobody paid him any attention or even recognised him, he wasn't surprised though, he had only been here once or twice. He walked over to the front desk a woman glanced up at him.
'Hey can I talk to somebody about standing witness at Frank Tenpenny's trial?'
'Wait one moment please,' she tottered off, returning with a bulky balding man, dressed in a tweed suit that was so small for his bulging frame.
'Hello there, Bill West,' he said jovially, his hand outstretched.
'Dylan Garnier,' replied Dylan politely, shaking a podgy hand. Bill's face didn't even flinch.
'The thing is Mr Garnier, I'm sorry to say that Mr Tenpenny's trial if full to the brim of angry witnesses, seems that Tenpenny pissed off everyone in a one-hundred mile radius,' he said brusquely.
'He raped my sister'
'Oh…well,' said Bill humbly, fiddling with his tie, 'I'm sorry to hear that….certainly changes things quite considerably…please come this way' Dylan was led into a small office and ushered into a chair.
'So...Dylan Garnier was it?' Dylan nodded and watched Bill scribble on a sheet of paper.
'Would your sister be able to come and speak to us?'
'No…she passed away two years ago'
'Oh…I- I'm sorry to hear that…it'll be hard to prove anything without the victim to be frank Mr Garnier'
'That's not all…I worked for CRASH saw things, heard things…I left and Tenpenny's been trying to kill me since,' said Dylan bluntly. The smile returned to Bill's face and he rubbed his hands.
'Well Mr Garnier we may have something here…so how long ago was this? I certainly heard nothing about…' he said confidently. The interview carried on for another hour, Dylan tirelessly told his story, as Bill listened intently asking him all sorts of questions, making him repeat all the tiny details again and again.
'Ok ok you can go now…I just have to cover every angle… its tough in court Dylan…no joke at all but hopefully the bastard will be going down, I'll just clear all this with the courts…Thursday 2.00 o'clock, Conference Centre you'll get the details in the post,' he said, looking at Dylan up and down '…look smart,' he muttered, shaking Dylan's hand a final time. Dylan left the building…feeling worse and dreading the future even more. He kicked a can and walked aimlessly along the street, he wondered into Rodeo and found himself staring in the shop window of a Victim, he bought a 300 dollar suit and caught a bus back to East Beach where he found his apartment, peaceful and untouched. He flicked a light on and looked nostalgically around the room, but his night wasn't over yet. Dylan reached for his pocket and pulled out his gun and aimed it straight in front of him.
'Honestly Dylan there's no need for guns,' the man leered.
'You should be behind bars,' replied Dylan, not lowering his gun even a millimetre.
'Jesus Christ Dylan…ever heard of a thing called bail? Anyway I still have a lot of influence in this God for saken city,' he said inspecting a nail thoughtfully.
'Talking the Christian talk alot Tenpenny…afraid you'll be joining Pulaski?' said Dylan.
Tenpenny chuckled.
'I didn't think you had it in you to kill a man, ice cold killer in the making huh Dylan?'
'I'm gonna have the time of my life when your getting death threats in the cells'
'I'm not going down…their evidence is a joke,' laughed Tenpenny.
'Keep sayin' that and it might happen…even if by some miracle you do survive the courts, half of Los Santos will be hunting for you blood'
'Oh that's the least of my worries, I've already booked the 830 to Hawaii, though first I have to pick up some drug money in East L.S,' he grinned.
'Your wasting your money…now get out'
'Fine fine…I was just making a social call don't have to get all snappy,' said Tepenny, calmly passing Dylan who kept his gun pointed.
'See you in court Frank'
'Toodles'
Dylan waited until he heard the footsteps die away and then slumped onto the sofa, breathing heavily.
The next four days passed quickly, Dylan rang his family found a few odd jobs to do, made some money. It had felt almost normal, but here he was sitting down in the court room, his heart thumping, palms sweating and mouth dry, waiting for the judge's verdict. It had gone well on the whole, Dylan had told his story and been pounded with questions but had answered them confidently but Tenpenny stood in his thousand dollar suit smiling the same sneering grin.
The judge cleared her throat, Dylan's stomach leapt.
'Due to lack of evidence the jury finds the defendant…not guilty, and has seen fit to drop all charges'
Dylan choked, he froze as the rest of the witnesses began yelling, but Dylan stayed silent and still as Tenpenny winked at him and exited the room. Dylan attempted to follow him but was met by a frenzy of reporters, camera men and furious people. He heard the words of one woman:
'Los Santos will burn tonight!'
Dylan elbowed his way out, his hand straying to his jacket pocket, but it was to late Tenpenny had hurried to a blacked out car was speeding off.
'FUCK FUCK FUCK!' yelled Dylan punching the wall until it made his knuckles bleed, he was shaking now, shaking with anger, revenge, hatred…
'Excuse me sir…what happened in there?' said the reporter nervously. Dylan hit him so hard he heard the crunch of the poor mans nose as it felt the fury of Dylan's knuckles.
'Shit man!' screamed the reporter clutching his face. Dylan walked the streets solidly, for half an hour, through the developing crowds, he knew where Tenpenny was heading…East Los Santos he had said. It was probably a blood bath there, all the gangs would try and take advantage of other's territories why Los Santos rioted. He watched as a supposed civilian ripped a cop from his car and began beating him to a bloody pulp.
It was an hour's walk to East Los Santos from here, by the time Dylan reached it Tenpenny would be high in the air. The buses weren't running only a few cars flew by. Dylan had no choice. He eyed a man heading for his car.
'Give me the fuckin' keys!' yelled Dylan, the guy glanced nervously at the blood on Dylan's white shirt and dropped the keys to the Blista Compact and put his hands up. Dylan accelerated and sped through the empty roads at 80 Mph. He was just crossing the border between Idlewood and Ganton as bullets ripped into the side of his car, he ducked and skidded off the road crashing into a bush and an unfortunate elderly lady. He didn't have time to stop, the car was still drivable. He was almost there, though he could see smoke rising in the distance…he didn't know what to think. His cell phone rang, it was Cesar's number,
'What!'
'Dylan Dylan…it's Carl'
'What the fuck?'
'Tenpenny's escaped, he blew up the crack factory, he's headin' for the airport!'
'Where are you?' said Dylan doing a U-turn.
'I'm with Sweet, he was long gone when we got out of the building, you have to cut him off man…shit!'
Dylan threw the phone on the seat, and pushed the pedal even harder. He could make it in ten minutes. After a lifetime of weaving, dodging and speeding Dylan braked and scattered civilians as he parked his car on the pavement. He threw himself out of the car and grabbed a nearby old woman.
'You going to Hawaii?'
'As a matter of fact I-'
'Good, what terminal is it!'
'Well…let me just get the documents out,' she muttered, rummaging in her huge handbag.
'Terminal 4,' she said. Dylan sprinted through the crowds…this was Terminal 4 alright. He glanced around desperately.
'Where the fuck is he?' yelled Dylan out loud. Seconds ticked by and then he saw him. He was wearing a hat and shades but there was no mistaking that suit. He was about 10 metres away, a suitcase in one hand and what Dylan guessed was a bag of money in the other. Dylan walked slowly, his eyes fixated on Tenpenny. His hand reached for his pocket, drew out his gun and aimed. Several people screamed as Dylan walked oblivious to any airport security. Tenpenny turned and smiled when he saw Dylan, saw the gun and remained looking gleeful.
'Your not really gonna shoot me are you Dylan?' shouted Tenpenny. Dylan fired. The lead hit him in the chest and Tenpenny fell a look of surprise on his sharp features. Dylan crouched over the fallen figure and clasped his hands around Tenpenny's throat.
'Sonavabitch,' gasped Tenpenny trying to struggle. Dylan punched him hard, hoping to break his jaw as Tenpenny wheezed and choked for breath.
'Any last words Tenpenny?' said Dylan. Tenpenny managed a smile.
'Frank Tenpenny doesn't go anywhere unarmed,' he wheezed, Dylan ignored him and raised his arm for a finishing blow. A sharp, slicing pain in Dylan's stomach made him freeze in midair. Dylan glanced down at his shirt, a knife was protruding from the white material, blood was spreading like blotched ink. Foul tasting liquid trickled from his mouth down his cheek, he fell back staring wide-eyed up at the blue sky. People surrounded him, sirens rang out ….he heard running footsteps… his eyes closed…
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Bobby gulped nervously and rapped on the door. This was definitely what he wanted to do alright…though there had been a great deal of speculation if the special narcotics division would survive the past events, it had done so…with a new man at the helm and fresh new recruits. Bobby hoped he'd be one of them.
'Come in'
Bobby entered the room the bright square room, it was neat and tidy, the walls were bare but had been freshly painted. A man was at the desk, he had short black hair, hazel eyes and was dressed in a black police uniform. Bobby recognised him, he had been in the news alot lately, for the right reasons though…kind of…if killing a man was a right reason…though the man was on the Los Santos's most hated list and was carrying a bag of drug money when he was killed. So it all balanced out in the end.
'Bobby Watson?'
'Yes sir,' he shook the outstretched hand nervously.
'Take a seat,' he said warmly, Bobby sat down. The man gave him an encouraging smile.
'So Bobby, why do you want to be part of crash?'
The End
