Author's Note: Thanks to ExomTaoLover and a Guest for the latest reviews. I really appreciate the feedback that you guys give me, especially about future events in this story. The upcoming chapter will be the last in the San Fierro chapters of the game. There will be non-canonical deaths of several major characters in that chapter. Please continue to review, even if it's negative feedback.

Warning: This chapter contains vulgar language and descriptions of violence. If you can't stomach it, don't read it.

Chapter 18: San Fierro Fastlane

Two Days Later:

Ryder's POV:

"Speak to me and make it quick," Ryder said into the mouthpiece of his cell phone. The short Black gangsta was smoking a spliff of high-grade marijuana in his brown Picador on the road to Dillimore. Mike Toreno had called a meeting with the Loco Syndicate, Ryder, and Big Smoke, and from his authoritative tone, the meeting was an emergency one. 'I'll be damned before I let that fat motherfucker beat me to Dillimore.'

"You lookin' for Cesar Vialpando, correcto?" a Hispanic man asked.

"What if I am?"

"I know where he is."

Ryder tossed his blunt out the window, even though it was only half-smoked. He didn't want the risk of distraction or confusion when he heard this crucial information. Ryder even sat upright in the tattered leather seat of the truck. "Where he at?"

The Hispanic man laughed. "First, you and me, we gotta discuss dinero."

"I'll pay you five hundred dollars if you tell me where he is right now."

"Loco, what do you think I am? Some street tonto del culo? You get Cesar Vialpando when I get one thousand, ese."

Ryder sensed that the voice was familiar, but chose not to ask for a name. He needed to close the deal. "Alright, one thousand dollars, if you get Cesar to some place I can cap his punk ass. Two thousand dollars, if you tell me where Kendl Johnson is too."

The Hispanic man chuckled. "Bien, you have yourself a deal. You got a pen and paper?"

Ryder pulled to the side of the road and dug out a few scraps of paper and a black ink pen from his glove compartment. "Alright, give it to me."

"Tomorrow morning, I want my two thousand dropped in the orange newspaper container in front of Cranberry Station in San Fierro, bien?"

"Yeah, I got you." The Black gangsta scribbled furiously.

"You gonna find Cesar's location in the first newspaper on the stack of morning newspapers inside. Better have my money." With that, the Hispanic man ended the call.

"Shit, they both better be wherever you say they're gonna be," Ryder said aloud to the truck. "Otherwise, I'ma find your ass and pay you with bullets."

Within a few minutes, Ryder eased his Picador into the parking lot of the Dillimore bar and gas station. 'Shit, Smoke, Toreno, and Jizzy already got here before I did. Hate being the last motherfucker to these meetings.' Ryder parked his truck next to a Camper van and sauntered into the bar as casually as he possibly could. He was dressed to impress in some new gear purchased with his cut of the crack trade in Los Santos. Business hadn't been as lucrative as of late, but Ryder still had a new pair of Zip Jeans, a purple, gold and white San Fierro Packers jacket, new purple sneakers, and a fresh purple cap.

Mike Toreno sat in a huddled booth with T-Bone on his right, next to the wall, Jizzy B. in front of him, and Big Smoke on a chair on Toreno's left. "Ah, Ryder, you're late, but it's still good to see you; go ahead and sit down."

'Damn, why I gotta sit next to Jizzy? This motherfucker always gotta smell like a perfume factory or somethin'.' "I got caught in…"

"As long as you didn't get caught in our product, who really gives a shit?" Toreno reclined in his seat as Ryder squeezed into the booth next to Jizzy B. "So, I was just telling the guys that we need to cut our losses on this transportation issue."

"What the fuck you mean, cut our losses?"

"Look, it's pretty simple. Our goods are being intercepted each week en route to Los Santos. Your cash is not reaching us. No cash, no supply, it's simple economics, but you would know that if you weren't such a dumb shit," Mike Toreno replied.

Ryder scowled murderously. The middle-aged businessman folded his arms, clad in tweed Didier Sachs suit, over his chest and smiled. Ryder had made men younger and bigger than Mike Toreno flinch when he glared the way he glared at Toreno.. 'Something's off about this motherfucker. He act like he's the baddest motherfucker in the room. I'll show his ass.'

"We already got it covered. We told you that," Big Smoke pled.

"Right," Toreno replied skeptically, "you said you would have police protection for every shipment to and from San Fierro."

Both Black gangstas scowled at the mocking tone of Toreno's voice. "What's that supposed to mean?" Ryder demanded.

"You trust some uniform-wearing idiota to keep our goods one hundred percent safe and not seize it for evidence or some other bulls-?" T-Bone scoffed at the idea. "This whole operation'll be in jail before you know it."

"I definitely am not down with that plan! I'm too pretty to go to jail," Jizzy bragged.

"Who the fuck told you to talk?" T-Bone growled. Jizzy flinched and leaned into the corner furthest from T-Bone, straightening the collar of his crushed gold velvet suit.

Ryder snickered at the pimp's cowardice. "Look," Ryder whispered, "these cops ain't got clean hands. They ain't got good reputations. They got nothin' to lose."

T-Bone leaned forward until Ryder could count the scars on T-Bone's weathered face. "And you think that makes them less of a threat? No way chico. The only good cop is a dead cop."

"Whatever." Their waitress brought two buckets of Sloppy Fried Chicken to their table. Big Smoke unsubtly pulled a bucket close to him and practically swallowed a drumstick. "Look, we all know that Los Santos is your biggest market. So if you cut us off, you gonna end up high and dry."

Ryder didn't need to glance at the Loco Syndicate for confirmation. It was practically palpable. "It takes too long and costs too much to get our product pushed onto the streets of San Fierro," Mike Toreno answered, "so we'll go with your idea, but with one slight adjustment?"

"What would that be?" Big Smoke asked.

"Instead of moving the product by land, we'll move the product by boat from now on. San Fierro docks to Fisher's Lagoon to East Beach, and reverse for the money. Do we have a deal gentlemen?"

Ryder stood up and shook Toreno's hand. "You bet your pasty white ass."

"Don't get smart with me, kid," the businessman warned, "or I'll rip off your balls and feed them to you for lunch." His gray eyes stabbed Ryder as he rose from his seat. "And that's only the least of what I can do to you."

Ryder continued to glower at Toreno as he exited the bar. 'Motherfucker can't stop me. I ain't scared of him.' Jizzy B. in his velvet suit and T-Bone in a clean black tank and gray Victim pants and gray Zip boots followed Toreno. 'I got plans for all of y'all.'

Once the Loco Syndicate exited the bar, Big Smoke squeezed himself free of his chair with a grunt and picked up a bucket filled with chicken. "Well, I'm glad that bullshit is over. Let's go back to Los Santos."

Ryder stiff-armed the obese gangsta. "Nah, we ain't through yet. We gotta figure out who's fuckin' up our supply."

"Didn't you just hear Mike? The situation is solved; the route is gonna be different from now on. We back in business, baby!"

"Think about it, Smoke. Use that fat potato sack you call a head for once! The motherfucker who fucked us up once can do it again, only this time, our s-'s gonna be at the bottom of the ocean. What the hell we gonna do then?"

"Alright, you got a point." Big Smoke settled into the booth across from Ryder and began chewing on the remaining chicken. "Who you think it is then? The sheriffs out in Red County?"

"Fuck nah, those hillbilly motherfuckers ain't capable of orchestrating a takedown on my plans!"

"Who you think it is then?"

Ryder stroked his goatee and reclined in the booth. He let the dramatic effect build for a few seconds, while Big Smoke gobbled down two more pieces of chicken. "I think it's CJ."

"CJ?" Big Smoke croaked. "Nah, no way, baby! Tenpenny took care of his ass."

"Bullshit, Smoke! Tenpenny didn't do nothin'! Plus, Kendl and that chulo motherfucker ran out Los Santos with a ton of cash and guns." Ryder lowered his irate tone of voice. "Where do you think they went, huh? That cockroach ain't smart enough to stay hidden this long."

"You think they found CJ?"

"Hell yeah, and I think they planned this shit out to take us down too. I don't know how, but I know it started with them three motherfuckers."

Big Smoke set aside the empty bucket. "So what you goin' do, homie?"

"I'm gonna find them motherfuckers in San Fierro. I'll kill CJ my damn self, find that refried beans motherfucker's gun stash, and make Kendl my number one bitch." Ryder smirked. "Chea, I am a motherfuckin' genius."

Big Smoke's POV:

Five hours later, Big Smoke pulled his teal Glendale into the underground garage of his crack palace. 'Damn, my doggies are barkin'! Can't wait to get to the hangout on the third floor, check out the new girls from the Pig Pen workin' that pole!' Big Smoke chuckled to himself. Ryder had gone to a meeting with several Ballas lieutenants to initiate a few new members. Without his constant nagging about handling business, Big Smoke envisioned an extraordinary evening.

When he reached the top floor of the complex by freight elevator, two SMG-wielding Ballas waited for him outside the imitation mahogany doors. Both were short and slim, wearing oversized white tees, purple shorts, and socks with flip flops, but one was lighter skinned than the other. It was the light-skinned one who spoke. "Aye boss, you got some guests to see you."

"Who?"

"Police officers," the dark-skinned one said in a nasal voice. "We started to cap 'em, but…They said if they went down, the whole LSPD was gonna be down here."

'Shit, I bet it's Tenpenny and Pulaski. What the fuck do they want?' The porcine gangsta strolled past the guards into his apartment. His scowl kept the guards from asking any further questions.

Inside the apartment, the three cops waited in Big Smoke's living room. Someone surprised Big Smoke by putting the obese man in a headlock the instant he walked through the double doors. "Get off me!" Smoke gasped and struggled against the pair of hairy white arms.

"Quit fighting, shit-eating scumbag, or I'll snap your neck," Pulaski warned.

Big Smoke relaxed, but the arms around his neck did not. Tenpenny sat in a plush brown leather armchair directly across from him, hands folded so that the fingertips touched. "Well, if it isn't our old friend, Melvin! How are you doing, you fat fuck?"

Another man approached from behind him-'It must be Hernandez,' Big Smoke thought—and patted him down. The third officer gingerly removed Big Smoke's guns and stepped back into the shadows. Pulaski released the headlock and dismissively shoved the fat gangsta to the floor. "What you want, Tenpenny?" Big Smoke gasped, crouched on all fours.

"Don't take that tone with him, boy!" Pulaski yelled. A polished, standard issue police shoe landed in Big Smoke's gut. He gasped for air anew and sensed Tenpenny grinning victoriously above his head.

"I don't think that's enough of a lesson for the little pig. You need to learn some obedience and respect, Melvin." Pulaski chuckled. Tenpenny unholstered his standard-issue pistol and aimed it at Big Smoke's head. "You've got twelve seconds to take off your clothes, or I'll put you outta my misery."

"Aye boss," Pulaski said, suddenly paler than usual, "I don't really wanna see that naked fat a-."

"Me neither," added Hernandez.

Tenpenny aimed his gun first at Pulaski, then at Hernandez. "You two cowards must think I'm going too far, huh?" He lowered his gun to aim at Big Smoke's left hand and pulled the trigger.

"SHIT!" Big Smoke screamed from the five thousand flaming knives that lodged in the back of his hand. He rolled onto his back, cradling his wounded hand in the other to staunch the flow of blood and whimpering like a wounded dog. Two more gun blasts followed from Tenpenny's gun, and Big Smoke winced instinctively. 'This crazy motherfucker's about to fuckin' kill me!'

A warm piece of metal pressed against Smoke's right temple. "How about you call off the rest of your dogs, bitch, before I turn your brains into a new wallpaper?" Tenpenny whispered into his left ear. He placed a walkie talkie on Big Smoke's chest. It was already crackling with radio traffic.

Big Smoke pressed the talk button but paused to suppress the whimpers of pain battling to leap from his throat. 'My boys don't need to hear how fucked I am right now.' "Yo Tyjuan?"

"Boss, is that you?" Tyjuan Reed, one of the most loyal high-ranking Ballas Big Smoke knew, demanded through the walkie talkie. "I'm on the third floor, heard some gunshots from upstairs. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Big Smoke swallowed another cry of pain. He was starting to sweat feverishly. "Why'd you stayed here?"

"Somebody gotta keep these fuckin' fools in security in line boss," Tyjuan laughed. Big Smoke forced a laugh as well, but Tyjuan suddenly snapped to seriousness. "You sure everything is alright, boss?"

"For sure, baby! I'm gonna need some replacements on the fourth floor though."

"I got ya." Big Smoke released the talk button. Tenpenny stroked the side of the fat gangsta's face with his gun. "Motherfucker, I oughta kill yo' ass!"

Tenpenny placed the pistol between Big Smoke's eyes. "You try that, you fat piece of shit, and where will you be? LSPD would hunt you down. You would lose your little crack ring with the Locos. Oh, and you'll be upstate with a whole gang of former Groves who would love the opportunity to do more than shoot you." Tenpenny glowered at Pulaski and Hernandez. "And that goes for you two dumb bastards as well!"

The senior-ranking officer then returned his loathing gaze to Big Smoke. "Is that what you want?"

Big Smoke responded by glaring hatefully at Tenpenny. "Good," said the cop. "So what happened at tonight's meeting with the Locos?"

The gangsta hurriedly and briefly explained Toreno's idea to transport the product by boat and Ryder's instinct that CJ was in San Fierro. When he finished, Tenpenny thoughtfully stroked his chin. "Much as I hate to say it, we gotta get rid of Ryder. And we do that by finding Mr. Johnson."

"What? Ryder is the muscle of this operation!" Big Smoke exclaimed.

"Ryder is an annoying piece of shit midget." Pulaski scowled. "We can't have him trying to kill Johnson. That n- stil has some use in him."

"That's right," Tenpenny added. "CJ's gonna take out the Locos for us."

Big Smoke shook his head in disbelief. 'I can't stop these motherfuckers from doing what they do, but I might be able to get them to see reason.' "How are we gonna get crack into Los Santos?"

"With the Locos dead, their suppliers gotta find someone to deliver to," Officer Hernandez explained. "They'll deliver the raw to you; you process it here at your crack hub, and meet the demands of all Los Santos."

"But the only way we can do that is if CJ lives and Ryder dies," Tenpenny finished.

Big Smoke sighed in resignation. His hand throbbed from the bullet wound, as if to remind him of the consequences of disagreeing. "How and when?"

"As soon as we can, but CJ needs to take care of some problems here in Los Santos first."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Make sure that shermhead knows nothing before we take him out." Tenpenny stood up and tossed Big Smoke a mocking salute. The fat gangsta waited until the other two cops slipped their guns into their holsters before he pushed himself to his feet. "I think our work is done for the day, boys. Let's head out."