"What do you have for me?" Lester asked, wheeling himself into the vast storage room.
"I got everything you asked for, and a Mtn Dew, since you've been so kind." I said, tossing the blue backpack on the table in front of him.
Trevor chuckled deviously, rubbing his hand over the stubble on his chin.
"I gotta say, Mikey, that backpack is way too weird for a forty year old to be carrying around."
I shot a glare back at him and shook my head, turning my attention back to Lester.
"Let's see, we have the blueprints, the photos of the building, and the indoor map from the staff office. Nice job, Michael. I must say, you have gotten wiser since I saw you last." Lester laughed.
"Faking your own death sometimes does that to people, I've heard." Trevor mocked.
"All right, enough of all that."
Lester got up out of his wheelchair and carefully pinned all the photos and maps to the cork board.
"Now, we have a solid plan of action here. We have to choose if we are going to drop in through the vents, or if we want to take the stupid route and go in through the front door."
"I didn't know the "stupid route" was even an option." I muttered, looking over the photos.
"It always is, if you want to get caught." Lester chuckled.
He pushed his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose.
"Let's not entertain the "stupid route" right now, okay? Is the vent our only option?" I asked.
"Well..." Lester started to say.
He hobbled over to the cork board and pointed to some places on the map of the store and blueprint of the street.
"There are only two main entrance points we can use, since the roof isn't really an option without disturbing the rest of the street. We can either attempt to disarm the system, or go in through the vents, though I'd suggest the vent option, personally."
I sighed and ran my hands through my hair.
"Enough with all this bullshit, we need to hire our crew, and fast. Let's just say we go through the fucking vent, huh? Then what?" Trevor started to raise his voice.
Lester hobbled back over to his wheelchair and sat down at the table again, pulling some files out of a black messenger bag.
"Mr. Phillips, I see your impulsive nature hasn't changed a bit. Here are our options. We need a getaway driver, a gun dealer, and a hacker to breach the security system. If I were to go cheap on anyone, it would be the gun dealer. They can't be traced, so."
I pushed Trevor out of the way and looked through the files on the table, carefully considering our options. Lester was right, we could save 7% of the cut by cheaping out on our gun dealer.
"Why can't we just go to Ammu-Nation?" I asked.
"Those are legally purchased firearms, Michael. They can easily be traced back to us and you know just as well as I do that you do not need that right now."
Lester rubbed his glasses off on his sweater.
"I say we go in through the front door, you know, cause a commotion!" Trevor shouted, flailing his arms about wildly.
"No, Trevor we are going through the vents. I don't need to draw any kind of attention to myself if I can avoid it."
He stepped closer to me until our faces were only inches apart.
"Why? Because your wife is in that little witness protection program? Oh yeah, great idea." He jeered.
I shoved him aside and looked at the photos on the cork board.
"Shit..." I muttered.
Lester turned around curiously.
"Changing course already?" He asked.
"I was just thinking..." I started to say.
"How are we going to get through the vents? They're very small and I don't think Trevor, Franklin, or I would be able to fit through those squeezes."
"Day drinking really fucked you over, didn't it Mikey?" Trevor antagonized.
"You shut your fucking mouth!" I shouted, pointing a finger at him.
Trevor brushed my hand away and thought for a second. Eventually, he pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and flipped through the contacts.
"I know someone, she might be able to help."
"She?" I questioned.
We had never taken a woman on a heist before. I never chose any women for any of our crews, they always reminded me too much of my wife who I couldn't have cared less about at that point.
"Respectfully, I don't think any of your trailer park fat girls are going to be able to help us, Trevor." Lester chimed in.
"She's not fat! She is faaaar from it, my good men. She can help, and I know she will."
"Has she done this before?" Lester asked.
"Plenty, though she retired and got one of these cool new work from home jobs a couple years ago, like an asshole. But I can just pray that her number is still the same." Trevor mumbled, putting the phone to his ear.
Character change: Kathryn*
My phone rang loudly on the coffee table and I picked it up to see that it was an unknown number. I don't know what possessed my mind that day, but I had the courage to answer it.
"Who the fuck are you and what do you want?" I whispered into the receiver.
"Jesus, sweetheart. It's good to hear that you still keep your wits about you. I haven't heard that sweet sing songy voice in quite some time. But hey, I need a favor."
"Trevor?" I questioned.
I hadn't heard from the man in at least two years.
My name is Kathryn Stanhope, I'm twenty seven years old. I had worked with Trevor Philips ent. in the past when I got out of Sandy Shores and needed extra money. It was just Trevor and I, and a few other blokes he had picked up along the way. I grew up along Sandy Shores in a quaint little house outside the trailer park, and met Trevor when I was twenty two. I guess he had known my dad somehow before he passed, because he showed up to his funeral stone drunk. He had taken me under his wing ever since I attempted to throw him out of the funeral. Something that day possessed me to listen to him, and I realized he had known my dad. He never really said how.
"What do you need?" I sighed, rubbing my forehead.
"Michael, get Franklin over here, now!" Trevor commanded another man out of reach of the phone.
I sighed again.
"Listen sweetheart, I don't know if I can explain everything right now, but just come to Darnell Bros as soon as you can. You will not be disappointed, I promise." He chuckled.
"I'm not sleeping with you, Trevor."
"Aww, that's a shame. But seriously, get down here as soon as you can, Darnell Bros."
"But what about–"
I didn't have time to finish before Trevor abruptly hung up the phone.
I sighed and got up off the couch in my little house. It was a small house, but it was nice. I had no room to complain considering I bought it entirely with my savings about a year ago. I got a corporate job and did away with my life of crime. Thankfully, my job had no idea since it was a remote position and I submitted an old photo for my ID. I had my ways of getting around things.
I threw on a tank top and sweats before grabbing my black backpack and heading out. The smell of pumpkin air freshener attacked my nose as I entered the kitchen, but it was a nice smell. I grabbed a Red Bull out of the fridge and darted out the front door to my car, a black 2011 Audi A4.
I eventually found the factory and let myself in the front door, which was surprisingly unlocked. I followed the sound of voices until I got to what looked like a bland storage closet, but much more vast. I clutched my right hand around the hunting knife in the band of my sweats, and slowly pushed the door open.
"What the fuck do you want?" I asked, sternly.
"Katy Kat! So good to see you, sweetheart..." Trevor announced, wrapping me in a hug.
I hugged him back. He smelled like beer and cigar smoke.
"Yes, yes, very nice...now what the hell do you want?" I pestered.
"Just a little help with a little problem we're having. You wouldn't want to let down your uncle T would you?"
"Jesus, will you shut the hell up, you bald headed hillbilly?" another man said, shoving Trevor out of the way.
The other man approached me and held out his hand. He was tall, at least six foot one. He had thick, dark hair and ice blue eyes. He looked to be about forty, maybe younger. He clearly had a lot of money stashed away somewhere. He was wearing a white button down and gray slacks. His outfit was fairly bland, but you could tell he worked out since the shirt hugged almost every curve of his muscles.
And my lord, he was handsome.
"Michael De Santa..." He whispered.
"Kathryn Stanhope..." I whispered back, shaking his hand.
Brief character change, Michael*
Kathryn Stanhope looked like something out of a supervillain comic. She was wearing a black tank top and black sweatpants, but carried herself in a very confident way. Despite being no more than 95lbs, she had a way about her that let me know that if I had met her and tried to fuck with her in the past, I would've gotten my teeth kicked in.
She had obviously shaved her head in the past and had at least a year's worth of hair growth on her head that had been dyed black. She had olive green eyes that had perfectly crafted wings drawn over them in makeup, and thin batwing eyebrows sat on top of her sour expression. There were a some piercings in her face but I didn't bother to count how many. The most distracting factor, besides her overall beauty, was her tattoos. Beautiful American Traditional style tattoos decorated her arms, hands, and sternum.
If only I had married a woman like that nine years ago instead of whiny Amanda that never showed an ounce of thankfulness for all I've done for her. She even went behind my back and fucked her tennis coach, in my bed no less.
Character Switch, Kathryn*
"Nice to meet you, Michael." I said softly.
He smiled kindly and motioned to a black man standing on the opposite side of the room.
"That's Franklin, he's the newest member of our...posse."
"Man don't say it like that, you pipe sniffing cracker." Franklin sneered.
I couldn't help but laugh.
"Hi, Franklin." I said, holding my hand up in a wave.
Franklin waved back and smiled. I was also introduced to Lester who was in a wheelchair, but I suppose he was the head behind whatever all this was.
Michael quickly led me over to the cork board and explained the heist to me, but pointed out the errors in their plan, explaining what I was needed for.
I crossed my arms and paced around the room.
"I might have to think about it. It's been a while, I mean, I might be too scared."
"You got all those tattoos in the last couple years and you're still worried about being scared?" Trevor mocked.
"You don't tattoo the fear out of someone, you bumbling idiot."
"Jesus Christ, Kathryn you need some Xanax or a Diet Coke, maybe that'll get you out of this funk that you're in."
"Trevor, I'm not in a funk. I just haven't done this kind of shit in years and it's a valid fear. I don't even know if I want to get back in the game!" I shouted.
"We'll give you a 40% cut." Michael interjected.
My eyes widened. I couldn't pass up that offer.
"Oh...alright fine." I sighed.
Trevor pumped his fist in the air.
"Yes! See, this is what would make your dad proud."
The other men looked confused.
"Oh, uh, her dad was...her dad was Martin Stanhope." Trevor corrected.
Michael's eyes widened before he turned back to me, placing a hand on my shoulder lovingly.
"I'm sorry for your loss..." He whispered.
I nodded at him and then back at Franklin.
"Yeah, my condolences." He chimed in.
Michael paused for a moment before wrapping an arm around my shoulder, leading me back to the cork board.
"Listen, kid...your dad, he was a legend to Trevor and a real good mentor to him over the years. I never knew him, but from what Trevor tells me, he was a good man."
I nodded.
"He was..." I whispered.
The room fell silent for a moment before Lester spoke up.
"So you're in?"
"I'm in..." I said firmly, shaking his hand.