Chapter 11: 555-WE-TIP

CJ's POV:

"Motherfucker! This garage is a worthless piece of shit!" Carl raged. He slammed his foot into an empty tool box and pounded his meaty fist against the rotting brick wall.

Carl, Kendl, Cesar, Truth, and Truth's three friends examined the Doherty garage the Black gangsta had won in his countryside races. The cobalt paint on its walls peeled in most places, and in others paint had vanished entirely. Exposed, rotting rafters supported the iron shingled roof, which had rusted through in several places allowing the rafters to rot. Pools of stagnant rainwater dotted the concrete floor. A red Hacksman tool chest in one corner had been forced open, and its former contents were strewn across the concrete floor. Light fixtures had been shattered, the car lifts were rusty from lack of use, and the office windows had been reduced to jagged panes of shattered glass. In fact, the only part of the garage that seemed to be in working condition were the bay doors, the side doors, and the office door, as they were all constructed from sheets of formidable, padlocked steel.

"Ay, Carl, it's not that bad! It just needs a coat of paint," Cesar tried to persuade his irate friend with his perpetually cheerful voice. He stooped to pick up a chunk of rafter that had rotted from the rest. "Ok, and maybe we could use some new rafters, too?"

"It's not that bad, Ceese?" Carl stormed across the garage until he was almost nose-to-nose with his best friend. His mighty chest heaved with rage and his broad nostrils flared. "Bullshit, it is that bad! I raced my ass off to get us all a little somethin' and your piece of shit cousin fucked us all over!"

"Hold on, Carl, you gonna diss mi familia?" The Latino gangsta jabbed a lean index finger into Carl's muscular chest.

CJ ignored the dangerous glint in Cesar's eyes and took a deep breath. 'The last thing I need is a meaningless fight with my homie here.' "Look, ain't no love lost between me and Catalina. But this ain't personal, it's about business, honoring your word, and all that."

Cesar nodded. The two men had reached an understanding, and the potential fight between the powerful gangstas had been averted. Kendl wasn't so easily persuaded. "Whatever Carl, you've always acted like this. Like the world owed you something for nothing." The beefy Black gritted his teeth and growled low enough that only Cesar could hear.

Somehow, that was a sufficient cue for Cesar to talk to Kendl. "Baby, you got any ideas about how we can fix up this garage?"

'Man, Cesar's got skills. Look at how Kendl just softens up when he's close to her, how she just loses all that anger she's always puttin' out.' Carl watched as the Latino gently stroked Kendl's exposed arms. She smiled coyly. "Yeah, I do. We need a little money, some hard work, and within a week, we'll be in business."

"A week, what are we gonna do for income in that time?" Carl asked.

Kendl rolled her eyes at him. "How about you go and buy some property around San Fierro? That way, they will generate their own income. Better yet, why don't you just give me the money and let me handle it?"

"I don't know if you're ready for that, sis."

"Carl, grow up," Kendl replied with an exasperated sigh and her hands on her supple hips. "You've got to make your money work for you, instead of you working for your money. Since you don't know how to do it, you gotta let me do it."

"I trust my bombón, CJ. Don't you trust your sister?" Cesar asked pointedly.

'No more than I trust your relationship is gonna last. Somethin' is off between you two, and I'm not sure what's going on. But I'm gonna find out.'

"Yeah, sure, I trust her. How much do you need Kendl?"

"Let's say about fifteen grand."

Carl reached into the pocket of his grey Binco sweatpants, counted out a stack of money, and handed it to his sister. "I'm givin' you twelve. Make it count."

Kendl's stony face communicated her unmitigated skepticism. "You just leave this money-making business up to me. Cesar, can I borrow your keys real quick?"

"Why?"

The Grove Street princess seductively stroked Cesar's smooth brown face. "Baby, I'm gonna look for some properties, like I just said. A city this big gotta have a couple stores for sale, some empty lots, maybe even a house we can rent out!"

Cesar was stunned into submission by the caress of Kendl's hand on his face. He effortlessly reached into his pocket and surrendered the keys to his Savanna. CJ had to suppress laughter at the way Kendl turned the tables. "Sure, mi corazón, whatever you want, I'll be glad to give it to you."

Kendl stood on tiptoe and brushed her full lips across Cesar's. "Alright baby, I'll see you later tonight?" Cesar nodded dumbly. "Later, Carl; bye guys!"

As Kendl jogged out the bay doors, CJ clapped his meaty hands together to center everyone's attention on him. "Alright y'all, let's get to work cleaning this place up! Zero, do you…." The Black's pep talk was cut short by the ringing of his cell phone. He stepped outside and answered irritably, "Hello?"

"What are you doing in San Fierro, boy?" A stern, masculine voice without conviction asserted.

"Who is this?"

"Officer Hernandez, I've called you before," he said with deflated bluster.

"Oh yeah, you're their bitch! Why are you callin' me again?"

"Look, we know you're in San Fierro, and we have an important assignment for you. And you're going to do it, boy."

"Today is Thursday, bitch. Tomorrow is the day I talk to hoes. Saturday is the day I talk to bitches. Call me then." CJ started to end the call.

"You'll stay on the line unless you want to lose someone close to you." The Black reluctantly brought the phone back to his ear. "We have a network that runs deeper than you know. You wouldn't reach the people at the top even if you spent years trying. So listen up."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Meet me at the diner in Paradiso in two hours. I'll explain everything there." Hernandez hung up.

CJ arrived at the diner ten minutes early and overwhelmingly hungry. He wore a tight gray Rockstar sweatshirt, black Zip khakis, and gray Zip boots. Anyone whose eyes wondered in his direction turned away almost immediately because his scowl and dark clothes projected a fearsome attitude. He preferred it that way.

He took a booth near the kitchen. In case he had to defend himself, its walls and door offered the best cover in the whole restaurant. The husky Black ordered a bacon cheeseburger, a fruit smoothie, and a salad while he waited.

His waitress, Andrea according to her nametag, set the gangsta's smoothie on the Formica tabletop. Just then, Jimmy Hernandez strutted through the door. With his straight-brushed, jet black hair, blue Zip khakis, gray boots, black tank top, and black leather biker jacket, Hernandez projected a lethal aura of coolness. He was innocuous in his street clothes, but he received more than a few lingering glances from the waitresses and a few male customers as he sauntered through the restaurant. 'Gotta hand it to the bitch, he lookin' sharp in the street clothes.'

Officer Hernandez seated himself in the booth across from CJ and folded his hands together. "Hernandez," Carl said coldly.

"Johnson."

"What do you want?" 'Even if I ain't in Los Santos, I can't let my rep slip up. Can't let people think I'm some cop-lovin' snitch.'

Hernandez sighed. With a face was as inflexible as a champion poker player with a winning hand, the cop didn't respond to CJ's question. "Did you get what Tenpenny told you to get from Truth?"

"Yeah, what do you want with it?"

Andrea returned to the table with Carl's smoothie. "Here you go, cutie." She bent flirtatiously when setting the glass on the table, and remained bent over when turning her gaze to Hernandez. "Now you look too good to be his boyfriend, or am I leaping to conclusions?"

Hernandez chuckled. "We're just discussing some business."

"That's good. So what will you have: something to drink, something to eat, or something good to go?"

"I'll have a tall glass of Sprunk, if you don't mind."

Andrea giggled and placed one hand on her ample but not overly large bosom. "Alright, but before you leave, I'll check if you want something to go as well." CJ caught the flirty waitress' wink before she walked off, switching her hips with bone-breaking swiftness.

Hernandez leaned forward again. "There's a D.A. here in San Fierro who's investigating Tenpenny and Pulaski. I'm caught in the crossfire too." His hazel brown eyes darted from one side of the restaurant to the other. "Tenpenny wants you to plant the green in his car then call We-Tip. He drives a blue Merit."

"How the fuck am I supposed to plant that stuff in a D.A.'s car?"

"He'll be at the Vank Hoff Hotel at two a.m. Tenpenny's pretty sure he's meeting an informant there. The Vank Hoff has valets, and for tonight you're going to be one of them."

CJ reclined on the leather-covered bench. "You must be runnin' pretty scared too, huh bitch?"

"Don't act like you understand what I'm thinkin', boy. This D.A. isn't going to slap charges on me."

Suddenly interested, Carl leaned forward. Hernandez cursed under his breath, because the look the Black gangsta deliberately gave him conveyed the error he had made. "Why not?"

"Because…I'm an informant."

Carl laughed. "Look at the bitch growin' a pair of balls. How long have you been snitchin'? I bet you've been doin' it since you started workin' for Tenpenny and Pulaski."

"Do you like working for Tenpenny and Pulaski?"

"Did slaves like it on the plantation?"

Hernandez chuckled, and CJ noticed how his hazel eyes sparkled when he laughed. "If I had your sense of humor, maybe this job wouldn't be so hard."

"It ain't the job that's the problem. It's your bosses." Leaning forward, CJ whispered, "So are you snitching or not?"

"The Feds are trying to build a case against the whole C.R.A.S.H. unit. Tenpenny isn't running the unit the way it was meant to be run, and it's obvious. Gangs in Los Santos are getting bigger every day, and there are more crack dealers on the streets than before C.R.A.S.H. got started. I'm a good cop, and I don't want to see the badge tarnished this way."

"So why are you puttin' in work for them?"

"Too many bodies are poppin' up. Felix, that Vagos drug-pusher in East LS they had you burn up. Sergeant Fisher Omen, the Feds' first informant on Mount Chiliad. A Russian arms dealer a few weeks before that, and Ralph Pendlebury, who stuck his nose where Tenpenny didn't want it. It's only a matter of time before I go missing or end up dead in the line of duty. I'm going to set things right before that happens."

'Damn, I killed most of the guys on Hernandez's list. Tenpenny and Pulaski probably comin' after me next.' "So let me guess: You want me to turn snitch too?"

"No, but I do need you to provide evidence for me to take to the D.A."

"What kind of evidence?" Something hard tapped Carl's knee under the table. "Ay, what the…."

"It's a camera. Take it." CJ wrapped his large hands around the camera and hauled it into his lap. "The D.A. needs physical evidence of their wrongdoing. I already got a note Tenpenny wrote about planting the green in his car. When he gets arrested, I'm going to compile a dossier and hand it over to the federal D.A. We need a picture of the green in his car."

"That's where I come in, right?"

Hernandez nodded, reached into his pocket, and pulled a five dollar bill out. "That's exactly right. I'll keep in touch, CJ."

"Alright, bitch, I'll see you later." Carl watched Hernandez stroll out the diner then laid a ten dollar bill on the Formica tabletop as well. Andrea sashayed from the kitchen with his delicious-looking juicy cheeseburger on a white plate in one hand and a steaming pot of coffee in the other. "Hot Chocolate, where are you going?"

"Gotta take care of some business right now." CJ checked his Zip Blue watch. It was already 23:06. "I'll be back later though."

"You do that now, because I want me a tall cup of hot chocolate before it gets cold." She winked at Carl, who grinned and slowly walked out the diner. 'I ain't feelin' her like that, but Carl Johnson ain't turned down free pussy. Gotta make sure she ain't crazy like Catalina though.' The Black gangsta hopped into the red Bravado Banshee he had stolen that morning and cranked the engine with the keys the foolish owner had left in the vanity mirror. He sped down Paradiso Road into San Fierro's Financial District. The sports car belonged among the towering, ostentatious skyscrapers of the city's prominent skyline, and the gangsta belonged to number among the wealthy, high-powered men and women of its businesses. Whereas Carl would have been awestruck by a Banshee anywhere he saw it, the businessmen walking the sidewalks of Financial gave it no notice, even at this late hour.

'Kendl's right. We gotta stop doing the two-bit hustle of robbing and carjackin'. If we wanna move up in the world, we gotta get on their level.' He turned right and found himself approaching the Vank Hoff Hotel. It distinguished itself from the rest of the Financial District skyline with its whitewashed limestone walls and elegant, nearly windowless façade. 'Like this place: Jefferson Motel looks a lot worse than this place because the owners think on different levels. Dope boys don't come to the Vank Hoff, they go to the Jefferson. CEOs don't go to the Jefferson, they go to the Vank Hoff.'

Carl steered the car into the underground parking garage, narrowly missing a valet dashing back to the street level. "Hey you jerk, watch where you're going!" the man in the red vest and black slacks exclaimed. He kicked the side panel of the Banshee.

The Black shifted the car into park, got out, and grabbed the valet by the back of his collar. "Hey asshole, let go of me!"

'Hernandez did say I had to become a valet. No time like the present.' He clapped a hand over the valet's mouth and dragged him into the bowels of the garage. "Look, I can cut your throat and take your uniform," the gangsta growled, "or you can give it to me and get lost. Which sounds better to you?"

"I'm calling the cops on you, pervert!"

"Suit yourself." CJ pulled the valet into a corner, pulled out his blade, and dragged it across the valet's slim throat. Blood sprayed wetly and warmly onto his fingers. The gangsta tossed the valet's dying body onto the ground, realizing that the blood spray could stain the uniform he would have to wear.

Within five minutes, the valet had stopped gurgling on his own blood. Within ten minutes, CJ was squeezing his hard body into the dead man's clothes. And within twelve, the half-naked deceased man's body was stuffed into the Banshee's trunk.

'Time to get to work, just gotta remember what kind of car Hernandez said this D.A. drives.' CJ parked the Banshee in one of the parking garage's parking spaces and ran to the valet's station in front of the hotel. Three other men in identical uniforms stood just to the right of the hotel's main entrance. He wiped absentmindedly at a few spots of blood on the collar of his white shirt and vest. "Ah, you must be the new boy?" asked one of the other valets, an Asian of medium height. Carl nodded. "Get in line."

A gray Buffalo pulled into the hotel's driveway. 'Can't remember the model, but I know it was supposed to be blue, and he wasn't supposed to be here until two a.m.' He glanced at his watch again. 'It's only 12:12.' CJ ignored the Buffalo, allowing another valet to pick up the car.

The Buffalo was followed by a white Landstalker, a yellow-and-black Banshee, and a black Merit. Carl began to become restless and started whistling. 'What's going on, some kind of fuckin' convention at the Vank Hoff?' "Hey man, you're not trying to park cars, huh?" another valet asked.

"Uh, nah, I am. I just, uh…"

"I understand bro." The blond valet ran a hand through his hair. "Looking for the right one to test drive, huh?"

"Uh, yeah…" CJ checked his watch. It was 1:48, and his legs were growing restless from prolonged standing.

"Yeah, that's why I took a job like this too. Plus, look at the benefits! You get to smoke on the job, knick people's change and loose fries, and it's not your car! So who cares if you scratch it?"

CJ was spared from responding by the appearance of a blue Merit in the driveway. The nattily-dressed man in dark gray slacks, black-and-gray striped vest, and white dress shirt who exited the car exuded the arrogant confidence of a man of significant power. 'This must be the D.A.' Before the blond valet could approach the car, Carl sprinted to the driver's side door. "Don't scratch it, don't steal my spare change, and don't change the radio station," he ordered and sauntered into the hotel.

Carl drove quickly to the Doherty garage, narrowly beating a trolley car speeding up the hill near the hotel. He pulled out his phone and called Cesar when the construction site came into view. "Ay, Ceese? Is Truth's van still in there?"

"You mean this tie-dye scrap metal? Yeah, it's here homes."

"Open up the trunk and get all that stuff in there ready to move." Carl hung up and pulled into the garage next to Truth's van. Cesar stood just behind it with a worried expression on his face. "What's wrong, Ceese?"

The Hispanic waited until the bay doors closed before responding. "Homes, how come you didn't tell me there was a fuckin' garden of hash back here? Are you smokin' this shit?"

"Fuck no, Cesar. I just need it for somethin'."

"Are you sellin' homes?"

Carl popped open the D.A.'s trunk, reached into the van, and lifted out the airtight plastic bags. Each one seemed to weigh at least one hundred pounds. "No, Ceese," the Black grunted, "this is just to do somethin' for Pulaski and Tenpenny. Now, you gonna help me put this green in this trunk or not?"

Over the next hour, Carl and Cesar transported the entire two ton cargo of Truth's van into the D.A.'s trunk. It was exhausting. Throughout the labor, CJ pondered Hernandez's words from their meeting. He pulled out the camera when the trunk was filled and snapped a picture of the trunk and its contents, then a picture of the trunk and its license plate. "What was that for?" Cesar asked.

"Insurance against Tenpenny. I'm not about to be their bitch forever." CJ closed up the Merit's trunk, and Cesar closed up the van. "What you doin' here so late?"

"Couldn't sleep, so I figured I would clean up a little more. Doing all that moving wore me out homes."

"I bet," CJ chuckled. "Meet you back at the apartment?"

"Si homes." The two men bumped fists, and the husky Black drove flawlessly back to the Vank Hoff. No one, not even the on-duty valets, noticed as he steered the D.A.'s car into the underground parking and filled an unoccupied space. Carl dashed from the garage, crossed the street in front of the Vank Hoff, and leaned against a telephone pole in front of the hotel to dial We-Tip.

"Hello, We-Tip? I just saw the San Fierro D.A. at the Vank Hoff Hotel and he actin' kinda strange. You might wanna come check it out."

The squad car pulled up half an hour later, just as the D.A. was climbing into his car. Carl watched as the cops approached the attorney's car in the predawn light. He didn't overhear their entire conversation, but when the police opened the trunk of the car, the D.A. clearly resisted arrest by lunging foolishly at the officers. One of the punched him in the gut and slapped him across the face. Metal handcuffs flashed in the glow of the rising sun, and the handcuffed D.A. was hauled into the backseat of the squad car.

'My work is done. Now I just gotta dump this Banshee into the bay so cops don't catch me with somethin' special in my trunk.'

Author's Note: Recent chapters lacked the mission details I included for the first three chapters. Starting with this chapter, I'll start providing details again. In upcoming chapters, Pitbull returns and has a showdown with Kendl; Ryder comes to San Fierro; CJ gets a little closer to Hernandez; and Sweet starts an interesting relationship. Review with comments and follow to see the next update (hopefully finished tonight)!