12:53a.m., Downtown Los Santos, Los Santos
Having dead bodies in trunks is a very common practice in places like Los Santos, and despite being a routine, and somewhat effective way to keep cadavers out of police sight, the drivers themselves need to practice a higher and heightened form of vigilance and alertness so as to prevent detections from the cops. That night, Franklin and Lamar learnt the concept's importance, the hard way.
All because Lamar had some loose ends to clean up.
"How long before we reach Paleto Bay, dog?" Inquired Lamar, looking down on his phone's clock. "It gone be quick, right?"
"Shit, nigga. Don't expect us to fly there! It's gonna take like, two hours or some shit!"
"Two hours?!" Shouted Lamar. "Nigga, I need to go back to Strawberry! Got some shit I need to clear up with Harold!"
Franklin was not pleased.
"Stretch?!" Franklin was at awe that the not-very-bright gangbanger was still rolling with him. "Man, he's the reason why the Ballas 'napped yo' ass! He stabbed us in the back!"
"Yeah I know, nigga! He's a motherfuckin' sni-i-itch!" Said Lamar, smiling. "S'why I got a present for him!"
"Man, that's fuckin' stupid, nigga! First of all, the Ballas gone come for your ass, and second, we got a dead body in the fuckin' trunk! Popo be swarmin' and shit!"
"Easy, nigga! I'll make sure none of those two things ever happen, well the first one at least. I got this. And nigga, remember what I told you about the concept of friendship and shit? This is one way to show that!"
Franklin gave Lamar a very annoyed look, yet he did feel a bit guilty. Lamar was actually right for once, if Franklin had actually evaluated on the value of friendship he had with Trevor and Michael deeper, they wouldn't still be lying on the asphalt right now. Taking a deep breath, Franklin finally agreed to help Lamar.
"Nigga, only because you my homie for life!"
Reluctantly, Franklin made a turn back towards Strawberry, making no eye contact with his homie.
1:06a.m., Stretch's house, Strawberry, Los Santos
Harold "Stretch" Joseph was outside sitting by the front lawn, placing a blunt into his lips and slowly lighted the other end of it, inhaling the fresh, marijuana smoke before breathing it out through his nose. He began to think about the benefits he was able to reap from rolling with the Ballas, the money, the bitches, way better than the shit back in prison, and with the Families.
Fuck that lanky ass bitch Lamar, fuck that fat ass Franklin an' fuck the Chamberlain Gangsters Families! I made it, and ain't nothing's gonna stop me! Thought Stretch to himself, grinning a bit and taking another puff of the blunt. The night was calm and peaceful, in stark contrast to back in the day, where at least three drive-by shootings would occur every night. A young Harold would cower behind the sofa along with his momma, crying in fear that he might lose his life any second, as many of his friends unfortunately did over the course of his childhood.
Over the years, he came to the realization that he, of all people, was still standing, that he was still alive, breathing. It was then he didn't care anymore. He didn't care about people, the gangsters, life in the hood, only himself. This sentiment was further strengthened when he went to prison, it was when he did his time he found out that reality didn't care for anyone, and that it was either a life full of rewards if you fought resiliently for it, even if it means betraying your closest friends, or be on the ground, bleeding to death, waiting for no one to save you.
"Life's a bitch." Uttered the former Families member emotionlessly, casually puffing the blunt.
Suddenly, the silence of the night was interrupted by what sounded like a loud digital alarm clock ticking coming from inside the house. Stretch, thinking that he might have set the alarm clock to the wrong timing, quickly made his way back into the crib.
To his surprise, nothing sounded from the alarm clock. Pressing the alarm clock against his cheek, Stretch finally found out where the sound was coming from.
Running into the kitchen, Stretch opened up his kitchen cabinet.
Inside it was a bright-yellow set of cylinders crafted from plasticine with a single watch in the middle of the bunch and wires all over it, pasted on the wood. The sound was beginning to halt.
Stretch stood in the kitchen without moving, in complete shock and horror.
Just earlier…
"He's outside, blazin'." Commented Franklin, seeing the stout figure sitting outside, lighting one up. "So what's yo' great idea this time?"
"Nigga, just shut up for a sec!" Whispered Lamar over to his homie, who was beginning to grow very uneasy with Steve's body in the trunk. "Now it's time!"
Subtly pressing a button from a remote control in his right pocket, away from Franklin's line of sight, Lamar looked back at Stretch, who began to head back to his crib.
"Yeah, that's right. Get yo' ass in there, Harold!" Laughed Lamar darkly.
In a matter of seconds, a bright orange flash shone brightly from the old house, splinters of wood and debris came flying around the perimeter, and a loud boom was heard, causing the neighbors in nearby houses to turn on the lights in their houses. Screams were heard all over the neighborhood and sirens filled the night air.
"That's what you get, you snitchy motherfucker!" Laughed Lamar maniacally. "Should never have fucked with the Families, Harold!"
"Nigga, the fuck did you…" Stuttered Franklin, appalled by Lamar's 'technique' of wiping out snitches.
"I took out a liability, nigga!"
Swerving the car to the alley on the left, the Stanier began to exit the premises, zooming past a few police cruisers, flashing their signature blue and red lights and sounding the sirens, approaching the site of the explosion.
Driving across the streets, Franklin came to the conclusion that this was Lamar's craziest idea yet, exceeding even Trevor's level of crazy.
"C4 always works, nigga!" Said Lamar. "No trace and shit, the Ballas ain't never gonna find out who did it! Bet five-oh gonna call it, a gas explosion, or some shit!"
Franklin was simply speechless, keeping his eye on the road.
Steve's body was beginning to rot, and the smell was close to entering the car's interior.
Taking a gulp of air and rolling open the windows, Franklin continue to stir on as the Stanier rushed through the freeway, making its way towards Paleto Bay.