Richard slowly smiled as he pulled a gun to the man's rib cage, barely even moving. Both the men stood there silent for a couple seconds. The man put the gun down from Richard's head and hugged Richard.

"Good to see you to, Eric" Richard said hugging Eric back.

"You know me, I've always had extravagant greetings" He said, putting his gun away, "Now let's get out of here before the pigs decide to start interrogating us with bullets in our skulls"

Eric hopped over the metal bars surrounding the metal detector so he wouldn't have to go through, followed by Richard doing the same. Eric entered a black infurnus in the passenger seat saying, "You wanna drive?" to Richard.

"Only if you're not planning to do any drive-bys"

"Shit, San Andreas got you paranoid" Eric laughed

"You'd be paranoid too if your friend kicked you out of a moving car and into the arms of armed thugs and thrown into prison for 4 years. 4 years, man. I'm not getting those back, and-"

"Shut the fuck up, Richy. Don't bring that up. It was for the best. You're lucky they didn't kill you. Water under the bridge."

"Yeah. Water under the bridge…" Richard said as he got into the car. He quickly pulled out of the parking lot, and began driving.

"So, Eric, how can you afford such a nice ride?" Richard asked.

"It ain't mine. I jacked it about an hour ago. So please, don't let the law or my fears of damaging a car restrict you from having a good time. Go all out." He replied.

"You sure?"

"Positive." He said as he turned on Vrock and turned the volume up to full blast. With a sly grin on his face, Richard began to apply pressure to the gas pedal as a sped around a few cars. Richard was about to turn to a road in Little Havana, but Eric quickly reached on the wheel to make him go straight.

"Never turn there when I'm in the car" Eric said.

"Why? Some pricks giving you a hard time?"

"No. I'm giving them a hard time. And they will kill me if they get the chance, and I don't wanna give them that chance. Keep going straight and turn onto the main road and head towards the downtown area and I'll explain."

Before Richard could protest, Richard was violently shoved into the steering wheel while Eric flew out of the dashboard due to a vicious rear end by a Cuban Hermes. Richard slowly lifted his head from the steering wheel to see blood on his steering wheel. He turned around to see the Hermes front end was totaled and the Cubans were getting out with guns in their hands and joking around with each other about how pathetic the shaking, bleeding Eric looked. Should Richard play dead and let Eric be killed or should he be a man and step out of the car and try to take on the Cuban bastards with only his pistol and bare hands? Richard listened a little bit closer to understand little Spanish he knew. He only knew "Should we kill him?" and "no." and "the boss wants him". That was good enough for Richard. One of the Cubans stopped a car and shot the driver and took him out and he got in the drivers seat while the rest of the Cubans piled Eric into the back as the driver took off.

"What should we do with this other dickhead?" One of the remaining Cubans asked the other.

"Let him die like the pig he is," he replied.

Thinking quickly, Richard rolled out of the car and fired his pistol into one of their heads. The other one took of yelling "Shit! Shit!"

Richard, luckily, being faster than the Cuban tackled him to the ground and punched him yelling, "Where are you taking my friend?" and only replied to Spanish.

"Sorry, I don't speak illegal immigrant, in English, you stupid prick!" he yelled again slamming his head against the pavement.

"In- In el Fudge… Packing Corporation about a block… from here. Por favor, don't kill me." He said gasping for air. Richard slowly got off him thinking about how many times his life has been spared in San Andreas. Before he left, he grabbed the Cuban's other pistol and money and began jogging around looking for a place called Fudge Packing Corporation. After about a minute or two of searching in Little Havana, He saw the small abandoned warehouse with a faded sign the said "Fudge Packing Corporation".

Richard grabbed the sliding door and slid it open to about 5 or 6 Cubans circled around Eric, mocking him. Eric lifted one of his pistols and shot at one of the Cubans and having the bullet hit him in the side of the neck. The man screamed which made the other Cubans aware Richard was there. Richard dived behind a crate, firing whenever he saw an opportunity. Richard had shot at least 3 of them when suddenly he felt a painful stinging sensation in his leg. He recognized the feeling before. He had been shot in the leg!

Out of nowhere, a heavy Cuban voice said, "Stop! No more blood needs to be shed. You, behind the crate, come here."

Richard painfully clutched onto his leg as he limped into the dim light to face a large Cuban man with slick black hair and a mustache. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Richard Moore."

"Me llamo Umberto Robina." He replied as he held out a hand but with Richard ignoring it. "Well, Ricardo, you sure have cajones for coming here. Now what do you want?"

"My friend."

"You can keep him," he replied as he pushed Eric off the chair, "I just wanted to whip him into line in order to persuade him not to mess with my amigos. Listen man, I think you have cajones, but I'm not sure. Come by Café Robina if you want to prove you do."

"Thanks." Richard replied as he tossed Eric's arm around his shoulder as he limped towards a parked car.

What to look forward to in future chapters

Claude Speed (he can talk too!), Tommy Vercetti, Kent Paul, Vice City gangs and original gang with massive wars.