3:38a.m., Paleto Bay Outskirts, Blaine County

The rusted Stanier screeched as it finally came to a halt in front of the cliffs overlooking the majestic algae-turquoise Pacific Ocean in the cricket calls of the night. The smell in the back had grew so bad that Franklin and Lamar had to cover their noses out of disgust. Getting off the old sedan, the pair quickly made their way to the trunk, keeping a lookout for any bystanders who might be in the premises.

Thankfully, only a handful of cars passed through the freeway, ignoring them both completely.

"Ey, dog. Before we throw his ass into the water…" Said Lamar, placing his hands on the trunk. "I wanna take one last, good look at the motherfucker!"

"LAMAR! Don't-!"

With enthusiastic arms, Lamar propped open the trunk, showing the body of Agent Steve Haines in all of his glory. His skin was beginning to darken from decomposition, and he looked like he had been injected by a tire pumper. His signature purple polo shirt was now discolored by the blood, turning it into a sickening, maroon-brown mixture. Flies and maggots were swarming all over the orifices of the murdered corpse, a smell reminiscent of a horrifying mixture of rotten eggs and candy canes escaped from it, making the two friends gag uncontrollably.

"DAMN, NIGGA! THAT FUCKIN' STANK!" Shouted Lamar loudly. "I think I'm gonna hurl…"

"What was you expecting, dog?" Retorted Franklin angrily at the lanky gangbanger's stupidity. "It's a dead motherfuckin' body! Close that shit and let's just throw the car into the ocean!"

Swiftly, Lamar slammed the trunk with both hands loudly, throwing up a bit on the ground. Together with Franklin, the pair placed both hands against the rear end of the Stanier, before manually pushing it forward, reaching over the edge of the cliff. Like a large boulder rolling off Mount Chilliad, the car tumbled downhill, flipping over a few times before entering the water, submerging completely.

"Man… That's over and done with…" Panted Franklin, trying to shake the visions of the body off his head. "Let's find a ride and head back to my pad."

"Fo' sure, homie." Said Lamar, looking quite unhappy.

Walking across the barren, dusty roads of the freeway, the two gangsters looked around. There weren't any cars driving at all during this hour, it seemed like the only way back to the city was to walk all the way back, which would probably take about four hours or so, provided if Lamar didn't randomly shoot anyone on the way.

After much wandering around, Franklin and Lamar finally found their ticket out of Blaine County. The car was a light blue Dundreary Regina, which sat outside a roadside pit stop, its engine surprisingly still running.

"Driver must be takin' a shit. Let's jack that whip, dog." Commented Franklin, as the pair walked towards the station wagon.

The doors were unlocked, and the keys to the car were still stuck in the ignition. The pair quickly got in, and were pleasantly surprised by this fact.

"Easiest carjacking ever." Laughed Lamar. "Dumb ass motherfucker thought his ride was safe in the middle of nowhere! He wouldn't stand a chance against Simeon!"

"Don't remind me, dog." Said Franklin, remembering the bad memories with the repo gig.

Revving the engine again, the Regina departed from its initial position and accelerated off to the freeway back to LS. The radio was tuned to an old school soul radio hosted by actress Pam Grier, the haunting brass sounds of 'Smiling Faces Sometimes' started playing from the radio. Lamar looked quite happy when the song began to play.

"Haha! This is my grand momma's jam!" Laughed Lamar, much to Franklin's surprise. Lamar, since his high school days, had always been listening to hardcore gangsta rap and openly embraced its message about gang culture, while listening to nothing else. He never thought that he, of all people, would actually enjoy listening to this form of intelligent, spoken word music.

"Smiling faces sometimes~… Pretend to be your friend~… C'mon nigga, sing it with me!" Ushered Lamar happily as he nudged his homie, who expressed annoyance.

"I'm driving, dog! Sing it by yo' self!" Replied Franklin, steering the car at the appropriate moments, narrowly avoiding a tanker.

"Ey, quit being such a bitch, nigga!" Said Lamar endearingly. "This is one of them 'homie-for-life bonding time' moments, you feel me?"

"Man that sound gay as hell!" Said Franklin. "And we just dumped a dead body into the fuckin' waters. It ain't never a good time to sing!"

"C'mon homie, you always tense. S'why Tanisha broke up with yo' straight an' narrow ass! You never know how to sit back and chill!"

Sighing a bit, Franklin finally agreed to sing along, forming a rather effective duet with Lamar in the car as it cruised over the freeway. The sun was slowly beginning to rise over the horizon, brightening up the navy blues of the night sky with its warm orange hues.

"Smiling faces… Smiling faces, sometimes~… Hey, they don't tell the truth~!

Smiling faces… Smiling faces, sometimes! And I've got proof~!"

The female vocals came in following the chorus, and Lamar altered his voice so as to match the vocal range, failing terribly and causing him to sound completely off-tune, making Franklin laugh heavily.

"Man, you should definitely sign up for Fame Or Shame!" Replied Franklin, laughing while driving. "Love to see those judges and shit pull you apart, one by one!"

"Nigga, I got the golden voice!" Said Lamar, trying to put up a serious look. "Those bitches over there would love me!"

"Yeah, they'll love you so much that they'll call in security an' throw yo' lanky ass out into the street!"

6:01a.m., 3671 Whispymound Drive, Vinewood Hills, Los Santos

The drive, as anticipated, took way longer than expected. The Regina was a very slow and unreliable car, with a weak engine that couldn't even climb up hills. By the time the pair had reached town, it was already early morning, and public buses and transport began to operate. Unsurprisingly, no phone call was heard from Lester… Yet.

"This crib is fly, dog!" Shouted Lamar excitedly, stepping into the cozy high-end house overlooking Vinewood and the surrounding green hills. "I should cut back on the liquor store holdups and start robbing banks and shit!"

"With your personality?" Said Franklin sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. "Nigga, you better off working at Cluckin' Bell for the minimum wage!"

"Minimum wage my ass!" Laughed Lamar, slumping back on the couch and turning on the wide-screen television. "You got any drank?"

Taking out a nice, intricately-patterned bottle of bourbon that he enjoyed with Lester after the Merryweather boat heist, Franklin took out two glasses and filled them up with the clear, golden colored beverage, sliding one glass over to his homie. Lamar, seeing Franklin actually living the life, looked envious.

"Man, this is some high-end shit!" Commented Lamar, taking a swig of the drink. "So that's what you get for workin' with the old dude, huh?"

"Nigga, it's nothing." Said Franklin, taking a sip. "We gotta wait for that Lester dude to call back."

"Why do I get the feeling that he ain't gonna call in a while?" Inquired Lamar.

Ignoring his question, Franklin went outside to check on Chop, while Lamar continued to mindlessly flick through the channels on the TV.