ACT ONE:

In which the mundane world is established and we meet our hero who is down on his luck.

Opening Image: The hazy city of Los Santos

EXT. LOS SANTOS — DAY

The city shimmered like a dream under the heat of the hazy, slate grey sky. Cars clogged the freeway for miles. Beachgoers sizzled with sunburn. On the wilted green of a campus students marched with signs in hand, and tops off.

INT. UNIVERSITY OF LOS SANTOS, SAN ANDREAS — DAY

The heat and humidity were worse inside the windowless lecture hall. A single metal fan sat on the professor’s desk, turning its head back and forth slowly over the drowsy room, buzzing the stifling air with barely a breath, the white paper ribbons tied to it limp and sad.

The professor, a stocky man in his mid-50s was down to shirt-sleeves, rolled up and showing his thick, hairy arms as he paced across the room in front of the chalkboard, his tweed coat thrown over the chair.

The class was thin and at low ebb. Most students hadn’t bothered to show up for the lecture in the middle of the heat wave. Half of those who had appeared were now asleep at their desks, or slowly and drearily waving badly made paper fans. And while the fan didn’t do much to cool anyone, the white noise was just enough to make it difficult to determine exactly what the professor was talking about.

Was it establishing shots? It might have been establishing shots.

If it had been, the information had evaporated away like a drop of water on a sizzling blacktop.

With a groan, Michael shifted; crumpling up his own paper fan and letting it roll off his desk and to the floor. Nothing he did was gonna help the heat save for a dip in a nice, chilled pool.

He struggled to focus through bleary eyes on the teacher’s lecture, even as the offhand thought conjured images of Vinewood mansions and opulent poolsides. Poolsides the bastards who skipped class were probably lounging around without a care right about now.

“Tch…” He hissed through his teeth, running a hand through dark and sweaty hair as he whispered to himself. “…It’s enough to almost make a guy miss the north east… Almost. Damn heat.”

Finally, after what must have been an eternity, Professor Corby switched off the fan, and raised his voice. The lack of fan was probably more what got everyone’s attention.

“The first ten pages of your screenplays will be due on Tuesday,” he announced. “Make sure you have your formatting correct; check the samples if you’re unclear. For those of you who are nervous about your grades, I also have an interesting early opportunity for extra credit this evening.”

Some of the other students were already getting up to leave as the professor spoke.

Michael slowly peeled himself out of his chair, stretching stiffly in the oppressive heat.

He hadn’t gotten started on his screenplay yet, and Tuesday wasn’t that far away. With a slight frown, he loitered by his desk. It was possible he could use all the extra credit he could get, if this heat kept up.

The baking sun made it damn near impossible to get anything done.

The professor continued as most of the class filed out. “Some of you might have read that director Jaques Ferraro has recently put a close on the rather messy legal situation that the tabloids so enjoyed covering. To celebrate, he’s planned a special showing of his most celebrated film ‘Six Shot Tango’ with a little meet and greet this evening at the Oriental. Mr. Ferraro happens to be an old friend of mine, and has given me permission to extend an invitation to my students….”

Michael’s attention was caught, his eyes flitting to the Professor as he gathered his books from the table.

“I’ll go, Professor Corby.” He shoved his books into a bag, and headed to the front of the class. “You’re friends with THE Jaques Ferraro? Six Shot Tango was a real inspiration to me when I was a kid, Prof. It’s the kinda flick that inspired me to come to Vinewood to begin with.”

The professor smiled broadly at him, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. “Is that so? Yes, Jacques and I go way back. We met in France in fact, just after the war. Shall I put you on the guest list then, Mr…”

“Townley .” Michael hoisted his bag onto his shoulder with a wince at the slight heat of the friction against his already too-warm skin.

“Michael Townley. I’d love it if you did, Professor Corby.”

He shook his head. “Is he as much of an artist as they say he is? The man strikes me as a cinematic genius.”

“I certainly think that he has a certain vision that other directors lack,” Corby said, taking down Michael’s name on a notepad. “And of course like many geniuses he’s terribly misunderstood.”

‘Misunderstood’ here was probably code for all that philandering and cooking the books that Ferraro got into. Allegedly.

Allegedly was the key fucking word. If he wasn’t caught, then Michael couldn’t care less. Not when he had the chance to both meet a famous director and…maybe, if he was lucky, make an impression to get his foot in the door.

He nodded, “Most visionaries are, sir.”

“An astute man, I see. Well it seems most of your classmates are uninterested, sad to say,” he nodded to the emptying classroom. “So, show up a little early and I’ll introduce you personally, Mr. Townley. The event’s at seven.”

“You’ve got it, Prof.” Michael gave him a brief salute with two fingers, a grin plastered on his face. “I’ll see you there bright and early.”

EXT. ULSA COLLEGE GREEN — DAY

Bag in hand, Michael walked out of the stifling heat of the building out into the wilting grass of the common green area. A pair of puzzled looking police officers were standing off to the side of a knot of protesters who were blocking the flow of traffic, chanting, and holding signs.

They were also barefoot and topless, and mostly young women.

Michael’s eyes were drawn towards them as he passed, more for the spectacle than the content of the signs, at least.A smirk crossed his face.

“At least something good came out of the heat.” he murmured under his breath. Even so, his eyes happened to catch the signs on the way to the sign holders.

Michael noticed a few signs as he passed by–

GOOD FOR THE GOOSE = GOOD FOR THE GANDER

TOPLESS FOR EQUAL RIGHTS

BREASTS ARE CHESTS

And one of them was being held by a familiar —chest— face. His girlfriend, Amanda, was standing at the front in nothing but a pair of denim shorts, leading the chant.

“Mandy?? Fuckin’ hell.”

Michael dropped his bag to the grass, walking through the small crowd towards the protesters.

“If nothin’ else they could use some damn work on the slogans,” he muttered.

Amanda waved when she saw him coming over. Michael noticed she was with her friend Pam, a stocky brunette with floppy hair and big square red plastic glasses, who wasn’t nearly as easy on the eyes toppless as Amanda was. Pam put her arm around Amanda’s shoulder as Michael came over.

Truthfully, it wasn’t a surprise to see either of them at something like this. Michael had met Mandy in his first semester at college while she was at a bra burning.

“Michael!” Amanda called. “Tell me you’re here to join the cause!”

“Mandy.” He gave her a half wave and a strained smile. He briefly glanced down at her chest, before glancing at Pam with a soft snort. “I was just passing by. Didn’t know you and your, uh, friends were gonna be doing anything like this today.”

He gestured around; “especially not, ya know, on the school green in a heat wave.”

“Better than a fully clothed rally in the heat, right?” Pam snorted.

“Totally!” Amanda nodded. “Also these things are SO hard to reschedule once you’ve xeroxed the posters! OH! That reminds me, you’re free tonight, right?”

“Uh huh. Nothin’ like being tits out and sweaty for women’s rights, am I right? Godspeed, ladies.” Michael stuck his hands in his pockets. He tried to hide the tenseness in his shoulders with a shrug.

Had he forgotten something? Or was she about to spring something new on him with the worst sense of timing he could imagine.

“….uh. No, Mandy….I got a school thing I gotta attend.” He braced himself. “Why?”

“Seriously?” she scoffed. “Michael, the abortion thing’s tonight!”

“The what.” Michael’s nose screwed up in confusion. And then suddenly a terrible thought struck him. “Fuck, Mandy, are you pregnant?”

Her mouth fell open. “Excuse me? Don’t you think I’d TELL you– not that I should have to!”

“Do you want me to slap him?” Pam asked.

Michael’s ire bubbled up inside him, his lips pressing tight against his teeth as he hissed “Pam, fuck off. Even try and I’ll lay you flat on your ass. Got it?”

He crossed his arms “I’d fucking hope you’d tell me. Look, babe , did you tell me about whatever ‘the abortion thing’ is supposed ta be?”

Amanda crossed her arms too, sticking her lip out in a pout. “The abortion rally! The big one! You said you’d try to clear your schedule for it weeks ago.”:

“Babe, you fucking expect me to remember every fuckin’ rally you sign us up for?” Michael raised his arms in exasperation “I mean, fuckin’ DAMN , I got school and shit to think about too!”

he pinched the bridge of his nose “what time. What time’s it start? I’ll make it, alright? but I gotta at least…show up to this thing. It’s my big chance to make some real connections in this sweltering disaster of a city.”

Pam scoffed, but said nothing; Amanda tightened her crossed arms.

“And your ‘big chance’ is more important than your girlfriend, huh?” she sniffed. “It’s seven o’clock.”

Michael tensed, pinching the bridge of his nose all the harder as he sucked in a sharp breath. “Of course it fucking is.”

He hissed the breath out and met Amanda’s eyes. “It ain’t ‘more important’ than you, Mandy. You know that. But Vinewood ain’t cheap. And if I don’t make it in this city, it’s right back to hicksville. It’s a meeting with Jaques Ferraro. A personal meeting. Do you have any idea how BIG this could be for us?”

“Who?” Amanda demanded.

“Jaques Ferraro, the pedophile?” Pam’s eyebrows raised.

“That’s unfounded. Last I heard all his charges were fuckin’ dropped as false.” Michael held his hands up. “Mandy, he’s a big name director, made some real classics like Six Shot Tango? Big, Big, Big name”

Aside, Pam murmured. “Settled out of court.” She coughed into her hand.

“Six Shot Tango?” Amanda cocked her head. “Isn’t that the one you told me was ‘impossibly boring’?”

“Well don’t tell him that!” Michael grumbled. “Yeah, it was a piece of shit, but it’s a piece of shit everyone pretends is gold. And with his recommendation I might be able to actually land a job in Vinewood. And then I can provide for ya, Mandy, and we can go to as many fucking abortions as you want.”

He paused before pointing his tented hands at her together as he clarified. “Rallies. Abortion rallies.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Townley!” Amanda sniffed. She poked him in the chest. “You go lick Vinewood boots if you want, Pam and I are going to lick something else!”

Pam smirked. “The patriarchy, obviously.”

Michael flushed, and shot Pam a dirty look. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s what Pam here’s hoping to lick. Mandy, look. Don’t get so mad about this.”

“I don’t have the privilege to not get mad about it!” she snapped. “Just go do your thing, Michael. Pam and I have empowerment to work for.”

She picked up her sign again, stepping back into line.

“Mandy, come on.” Michael griped as she walked away. “Great. Awesome.”

He turned and grabbed his bag off the ground “now she’s gonna be pissed about this all night. Probably all damn week.” He looked over his shoulder at her one last time, before he turned and marched away with a huff of breath.

“Damn it.”

Theme Stated: Two Friends, Reunited

EXT. LOS SANTOS FREEWAY — DAY

The traffic had dissipated somewhat, enough for the line of cars to approach a higher speed as they wound their way around the curving freeway. A red muscle car had smoke issuing from the hood.

INT. MICHAEL’S CAR — DAY

Michael’s car had practically rolled off the factory line the day he bought it three years prior, with the dregs of his money from the last east coast job. At least it had as far as what he had been told. As the engine started to knock, and white smoke started to trail from the edges of his hood as he drove down the freeway, he started to think maybe he’d been sold a bill of goods.

“…..”

The smoke billowed, reflected in the mirrored lenses of his sunglasses as he started to roll the car towards the breakdown lane.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me . How much worse can one day get?”

The sharp crunch as his front fender slammed into the back of another car punctuated Michael’s question.

“GAH!! FUCKIN’ DAMN IT!”

He slammed on his brake, too late as he jerked forward and nearly bashed his head on the steering wheel. Instead, he bashed his fist against it.

“What the fuck !”

Several horns went off around him as the residents of Los Santos acknowledged his bad break. Several middle fingers joined the salute as they were forced to swerve around him. The car he’d hit squealed to a halt. It was a nice one.

He tensed, trying to jam his smoking car into reverse as he tried not to look at the other car.

It was obvious the price point hurt more than the whiplash.

Michael’s car, thankfully, was still functioning well enough to facilitate a hit and run. It roared like a beast, and just narrowly missed hitting the guy who got out of the car– a nebbishly handsome looking man with a mop of brown hair and a pair of round glasses.

Michael gave him a thin smile, before giving him a little salute. “Sorry about the car, man. Send the bill to my agent, huh?”

Not that that the guy could, or was expected to, hear him

Michael began to back up into traffic.

“Hey fuck you, man! Get back here!” the little man yelled at Michael as he disappeared into the flow of traffic.

“There.” Michael snickered to himself as he left the man in his car’s smoking dust. “Not everything has to go bad for Michael Townley.”

EXT. MICHAEL’S APARTMENT, DEL PERRO — LATE AFTERNOON

The Velvet Arms apartments was a great, modern rectangular block of pink cement, shaded by palm trees and wrapped around a big outdoor pool. The deposit on it, too, had come from the same dwindling hoard as the smoking car that now pulled into the back parking lot of the building.

The smoke coming from the hood had become almost overwhelming, and as Michael slid the car into his usual parking space the engine shuddered, and died.

“Shit.” He hissed as he slipped out of the car, and walked over to yank open the hood. “What the hell’s wrong with the damn thing?? It’s supposed to be brand new!”

He got a face full of smoke as he lifted the hood.

Hacking and pulling away from the smoking engine, he struggled to catch his breath as he backed a few paces away.

“SHIT. I can’t afford a mechanic right now!”

Unfortunately it definitely seemed like he was going to need a mechanic– or possibly a miracle– to get the car running again, especially in the time limit he had, which was approaching three hours. Taking a bus or a taxi might be in the cards if he was going to make that gala event.

But no matter how he got there, though, he was going to need a shower and a change of clothes first. His school clothes wouldn’t have impressed at the best of times, and they were soaked with sweat from the steamy heatwave.

He fanned himself and let out a dark hiss.

“…alright. Great. Showing up to the first day of your future in a taxi makes a great fuckin’ impression, Townley.”

He slammed the hood down, and headed towards the stairs in a huff. “…it’s fine. I’ll make it work. It’s fine. I’ll get this worked out, then I’ll make it up to Mandy by, I dunno, attending a ‘don’t eat puppies’ rally or some shit. It’s fine.”

On the last step up to the door, it swung open, and Michael’s landlord leaned out of it. The rail thin old man with his tiny mustache had made no concession to the heat, and was in the same suit and bow tie as ever.

“Townley,” he snapped. “When you signed your lease you told me you weren’t friends with any hippies .”

“……..” Michael’s expression grew tight. “I’m sorry sir, I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“An unkempt man smelling strongly of “grass” was lurking around the building earlier, asking after you.” The man sniffed derisively.

Michael’s brow furrowed. “….doesn’t sound like anyone I know. Probably one of the guys at school who figured out my address and wants to mooch off my homework or something, sir. If I run into him , I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”

“See that you do,” he nodded. “The Velvet Arms is a sophisticated lodging, and I won’t have riffraff hanging about.”

“No riffraff from me, don’t worry sir,” Michael grumbled. “Sorry, I uh, I gotta get my suit on for an important function. Do you mind if I just…”

“Hmm? Oh yes, yes, by all means.” He waved his arms, and moved back into the doorway, to let Michael pass into the hall.

Michael nodded, and walked past him and towards his room with a grimace.

“Some hippie, huh…?”

Michael’s apartment, 4B, was at the end of the hall by the window that looked out on the pool in the building courtyard. As Michael neared his door, he started to smell the strong scent of sweet mary jane.

“……….son of a bitch.” He hissed through his teeth. “If one of those deadbeats in class broke into my place there’s gonna be a murder here tonight. Fucking hippies.”

He pushed the door, testing to see if it was still locked.

The door swung open.

“Ffff…” he stepped inside and barked out. “Okay, pal. Whoever the fuck you are, don’t even think about causing trouble. Get the hell outta my place.”

Silence…. At first glance the apartment looked undisturbed. The kitchen nook, the sequined curtain around his bed….

There was a sharp snore from the expensive LARD-E-BOY recliner that he kept turned toward the window. There was an arm hanging down off the side of it, knobby fingers loosely wrapped around the sweaty neck of a beer bottle from Michael’s own fridge.

“….are you fucking kidding me ?”

Michael walked over, slamming his hand down on the back of the chair, and leaning around to peer down at the person in his own chair, drinking his own beer.

“Listen to me, brother, you made the worst mistake breakin’ in here.”

A strangled cry escaped the throat of the intruder as a pair of hooded, moonish eyes looked up at him, wide with surprise. A familiar face. A familiar grimace.

The intruder clasped the beer bottle, bringing it up to swing at Michael’s head– and stopping just in time.

“Mikey?? Jesus christ don’t fucking startle me like that!”

Michael jerked away, his hand leaving the recliner as he staggered towards the window with a hushed hiss of breath.

“Holy shit… Trevor ? what the fuck are you doing he–…you broke into my HOUSE .”

“What did you want me to do, piss myself in your hallway!” Trevor demanded. “Your landlord already thought I was casing the joint.”

Trevor Phillips– as scruffy and lanky as ever– had hair falling in his face and wore a striped tank top and fringed vest. He brought the half-full beer bottle up to his lips– and then made a face when he realized how warm it was.

“Give me that, T.” Michael griped, holding out his hand. “My landlord thinks you’re a fuckin’ hippie and is probably gonna kick me out when he realizes I know you. The guy ain’t exactly a fan of the movement.”

“It’s warmer than piss,” Trevor warned, handing him the bottle. “Guy looks like an asshole. Bet he’s a fucking racist too.”

“That’s ’cause you slept in my fuckin’ chair without finishing it, T.” He poured the beer out in his sink with a grimace. “…Look, what he is or isn’t ain’t my business. I can afford this place, and that’s a rare thing in Vinewood, alright?”

“He giving you the king’s discount?” Trevor asked with a grin. He struggled his way out of the sweaty arm chair, and stretched.

Michael ignored the bait.

“Trev. Look. Not that I ain’t happy to see you or nothing but…what the hell are you doin’ breaking into my place? You couldn’t have called? Left a message? not spent the afternoon stalking outside my window?”

“What, and ruin the surprise?,” he asked, pulling a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and immediately offering one to Michael wordlessly. “Kind of expected to find you living it up in front of the pool, or banging out that screenplay, or whatever it is you moved to the city of dreams for.”

Michael snatched a cigarette from the pack with a huff of breath.

“It ain’t as easy as just settling in and writing a screenplay, Trev.” He stuck the cigarette between his lips “…I have to go to school. Learn the basics. Make connections. And once I do that I can get my foot in the door to actually have someone LOOK at my screenplay.”

He shook his head. “between that, my girl, and keeping the bills paid, there ain’t a lot of time for poolside lounging.”

Trevor shoved a cigarette in his own mouth, and produced an etched metal lighter from the pack as well, lighting Michael up and then himself.

“Well shit that don’t sound like a dream to me, brother. So hot in here I thought I was back in the fucking brig.”

Michael grimaced, taking a long drag off his cigarette. “Yeah. I was gonna ask about that. Last I heard you were…ya know. Off to war. How’d that go for you, T.”

“Pretty fucking miserable, Mikey,” he growled, taking a long drag as well. He sat back down perched on the recliner’s arm. “The parts I can remember anyway.”

Michael stared at him over the smoke of his cigarette.

“Sit in the chair like a normal human being T, Please. I can’t afford to replace the damn thing if you snap it.”

Trevor crossed his legs. He didn’t move from the arm of the chair.

Michael rubbed the bridge of his nose before shaking his head. “As far as the war goes– know, I got the feeling. Which is exactly why I did everything I could to avoid it.” He raised his eyebrow ‘…hold the fucking phone. You didn’t desert did you?”

“Desert? Hell fucking no,” Trevor scoffed. “Same as I told you when I got the damned draft letter. Trevor Philips isn’t a fucking coward. I may have gotten a little bit court martialed is all. Something about a problem with authority.”

“Come on man.” Michael said, waving his cigarette. “The seat. It’s a good chair…” He sighed, rubbing the center of his forehead “you know what. Never mind. ” He stuck his cigarette between his lips again. “Court Martialed. The fuck you do? Shoot your drill instructor in the fucking foot or something?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, movie boy,” Trevor grinned sloppily, and blew smoke out from his nose. He looked a little distant, and shook his head. He finally slid off the chair and squatted against it on the floor instead.

“thanks, T.” Michael looked down at Trevor with a shake of his head. “…so you’re outta the army and what…looking for a place to crash?”

“You offering?”

Michael stared at him for a long moment before he said “last time I let you stay at my place you set the kitchen on fire.”

“In my defense, that was more of a chemistry experiment than cooking.”

“Yeah. Trust me, I know.” Michael said , crossing his arms. “You blew up my stove, T. If you did that shit here I’d be out on my ass and in the ‘loving’ arms of the LSPD”

“Well what if I promised not to set fire to your kitchen?” he asked with the cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he smirked. “Or to cook up experimental drug cocktails right over my hippy hating landlord’s head?”

“If you have to be no fun about it, sure.”

No fun. **no fun** .. Michael could feel his eyelid start to twitch. He hasn’t changed a bit

“There’s. A difference between ‘no fun’ and ‘wouldn’t wanna be homeless’ you know.”

Trevor held up his hands defensively and shook his head. “Hey, I get it, I get it. You’re just not a gambling man any more. I got some place to hang my hat for a while anyway.”

“I quit gambling when i got my student fucking debt.” Michael griped. “…you do, huh? Good. I’d offer, but it’s good you got your own place.”

“You would offer, eh?” he smirked. “Alright, I’ll keep it in mind for when I blow up my own kitchen.” He took a long drag on his cigarette, and looked for somewhere to butt the ashes.

Michael, seeing the motion and fearing the worst, lunged to grab the ashtray he kept on his coffee table, holding it up with a snort.

“Uh huh. Look. Try not to blow anything up, alright? I offered ’cause we were real close, T. But Mandy probably wouldn’t be too keen on coming by if you were hanging around cooking up crimes against chemistry in my fuckin’ bathtub.”

Trevor tapped his long cigarette ash into the offered ashtray and cocked his head. “Who’s Mandy?”

“my Girlfriend.” Michael put the ashtray aside. “Amanda.” He paused. “At least she probably still is. If she ain’t still pissed at me.”

Trevor’s thick eyebrows crawled up his head and his grin twisted into a smirk.

“Well shit, little Mikey got a girlfriend, huh? She let you take your balls out of her pocket on alternate tuesdays?”

“Fuck you, T.” Michael snapped. “It ain’t like that and you know it.” He snorted, looking away. “She’s alright. A real revolutionary type.”

“Revolutionary? Like, what, fire bombs and shit? Is she single?” he winked at him.

“Nothing that exciting, trust me.” Michael replied. “Bra burnings are about the high point.”

“Hers, or other people’s?”

“hey no, don’t get too daring.” Michael waved his hands with a sardonic grimace. “I’m missing out on the big abortion rally tonight, don’t get my hopes up.”

“Shit, you’re missing out on that just to keep me company?” he asked, grinning again. “Hey we should go; pop some peaches in a blender and put a pro choice sign on it.”

Michael was midway through a drag on his cigarette when he wheezed it out, coughing .” Fuck Trevor.”

Trevor snickered. “What? Too bad you’ve already got a girlfriend, these pro-choice shindigs are a great place to pick up a girl you know will let you raw her.”

“Fffff.” Michael held up his hand. “Look man, Don’t worry about that. I’m doin’ just fine in that regard.” He quickly changed the subject. “Anyway. It’s not that. I’ve got a …thing…to get to tonight.”

“A thing?” Trevor leaned toward him, looking up from where he was slumped on the floor. “Oh I get it, you’ve already got one on each arm. Christ, you’re such a fucking smooth operator, Mikey.”

“Oh yeah, why don’t I tell you about my other girl, T. She’s a real hotshot, you know. Big name.” Michael drawled

Trevor leaned his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hand, looking rapt. “I’m all fucking ears.”

“She’s in the movies.” He said, leaning in conspiratorially “Name’s Jacques Ferraro.”

Trevor listened closely… thought about it…. and said back in a similarly conspiratorial manner: “I hate to be the one to break it to you, Mikey, but I think your sidegirl might also have a sidegirl.”

“Yeah, trust me I heard,” he said with a smirk. “ad nauseum.” He shrugged his shoulders “but I ain’t meeting the guy for his personality or his fucked up sex life. I’m meeting him for school. For connections in the field.”

“Ahhhh, rubbing elbows instead of private parts. You really are filthy,” Trevor sneered. He pulled the butt of his cigarette out of his mouth and looked for a moment like he was going to put it out on the carpet.

Michael snorted. “…it’s all part of the Vinewood game, man. I gotta get my foot in the door if I’m gonna go anywhere. ”

He hopped up and put his arm around Michael’s shoulders, putting out the cigarette in the ashtray with his free hand. “You’re an ambitious man, Michael. Nobody can say shit about that.”

“Always have been, T,” Michael grumbled, snubbing out his own cigarette. “Even back when we were doing jobs together…in this world you gotta have ambition.”

“Yeah yeah, you said it before,” he snickered, leaning shoulder to shoulder with him. “So, when are we meeting this european cinema royale ?”

“7pm.” Michael said, “Which means I gotta shower and call a fucking cab ’cause my car broke down.”

He paused after a moment and said “hold the phone, Trev. we ?”

“You didn’t think your good buddy would let you face shit like that alone did you, Mikey?”

Michael ran his hand through his hair, shrugging his shoulders as he tried to ignore the heat. “I mean, it’s kind of an invitation event T. Only reason I got a ticket was ’cause of the professor.”

Trevor leaned closer. “So say I’m your plus one. Besides, you’re really gonna take a cab?”

“It was the plan.” Michael took a half step back. “….why, you got a better one, hotshot? Gonna fly me there?”

“Pfft. It’d take longer to get to the airport unless your date is back in Yankton,” he growled with amusement. “I got a car, stupid.”

“And it’s engine ain’t gonna catch on fire?” Michael asked with a raise of his eyebrow.

This…might very well solve his problem. He still didn’t know why his old friend had–literally–broken into his house, but…maybe it was a sign things were looking up.

“If it does I’ll be as surprised and pissed as you are, man.”

“Uh huh.” Michael smirked. “…Alright, fine. I’ll weasel you in as my plus one, T, but you gotta promise me something.”

“And what’s that?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Behave yourself, alright? I’ve gotta make a good impression on this guy or it’s back to fucking Yankton with me.”

“This is your last shot, huh? well you can trust me, Mikey, I’m the pinnacle of discretion.”

Michael gave him an incredulous look “Trevor, unless something big happened in the military, forgive me if I doubt that.”

Trevor’s grin hitched a little, but he slapped Michael on the shoulder. “Come on, buddy, you know I could be way worse if I was trying hard.”

“You know what?” Michael chuckled weakly “yeah. you’re damn right about that.”

Why not take a chance. It’s not every day an old friend you never expected to see again comes walking in your door.

He offered his hand to shake. “You got it, T. Now let me take a damn shower, alright? it’s hot as hell in here.”

“Yeah get to it, Mikey; I wasn;t going to say anything about it but you’re pretty ripe.” He grinned at him and waved his hand in front of his nose.

“Says the guy who smells like weed.” Michael snorted. “I’m gonna have the landlord thinking I’m smoking pot for months, ’cause of you.”

“I’ll burn some incense,” he promised, grinning. “I can hop in the shower too if you want.”

Michael flushed, hissing through his teeth. “Wait till I’m done, at least.”

“Too good for the ol’ crew shower, eh, Mikey? Snob.” He snickered and flopped down on the chair again. “Well, get your ass in the shower then. Let’s not keep Jackie waiting.”

“Too good for the ol’ crew shower,” Michel grumbled as he walked into his bathroom and shut the door. He took a deep breath, rubbing his hands down his face with a low hiss of breath. “alright. don’t let him get to ya, Mikey. It’s fine.”

He stripped out of his sweaty clothes, and slipped into the shower after turning it as cold as it could go.

Catalyst: The Dream Awry

EXT. LOS SANTOS FREEWAY — EVENING

Freshly showered the two men careened down the freeway toward the theatre in Trevor’s ten year old pick up truck. It wasn’t the most stylish ride– but it was probably better than a taxi. Trevor tapped his fingers against the edge of the driver side window as the lyrics of a Carpenters song warbled in and out of static on the radio.

Michael leaned back in his own seat, dressed in a suit and tie, as he smoked the remains of yet another cigarette as they sped down the freeway.

“You know,” he said after a moment. “The Carpenters ain’t half bad, I guess. Didn’t give them a fair shake when they first started gettin’ play but…” he shrugged “they ain’t half bad.”

“Not bad enough to bother changing the channel,” Trevor agreed with a shrug. He hadn’t brought a change of clothes, so he was dressed in some loaners from Michael. A pink button up shirt that fit a little bit oddly in the shoulders, and a pair of khakis. Michael hadn’t been able to con him into the tie, and he still had the fringe vest with him.

“You really love that vest dontcha?” Michael asked, leaning on the window. “..Ah well. It’s an arthouse scene. It’ll be fine.”

He paused before he asked, “…hey, T. Whatcha been up to since you got back? Or was breaking into my place your big opener now that you’re back in town.”

“Nah. Took a while to track you down since fuckin ‘Vinewood’ is all I had to go on.”

Michael snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, you know. Good point. I coulda been anywhere.” He put his cigarette to his lips. “I didn’t know you’d be home so soon. Otherwise I mighta told you something more specific.”

“Oh so you weren’t just ditching me then, eh?” Trevor leaned back in the driver’s seat.

“Trev. You were going the fuck off to war,” Michael said, looking out the window. “And we had to go our own way for a bit anyway after…ya know. That…Job of ours. I figured we’d drift back into contact when the time was right.”

Trevor grunted, and shrugged his shoulders. “ “I didn’t know I’d be back soon either. Felt a hell of a lot longer than it was though.”

“….Sure it was,” Michael agreed with a nod. “Things I heard about the war weren’t pretty.”

“Yeah, me too,” he grumbled vaguely, glancing off into the distance. After a glassy eyed moment, he snapped back to attention. “Hey, guess you were right after all though, Mikey, we did drift back into contact.”

“Looks like,” he said with a thin smile “any reason in particular you stopped on by?”

“What, wanting to reconnect with an old friend isn’t enough? I’m hurt , Mikey.”

“Uh huh,” Michael drawled , sticking his cigarette in his mouth. “Wounded, I’d bet. Fuckin’ heartbroken.” He paused. ‘that ain’t what I meant, though.”

Trevor cocked his head doggishly, glancing at him in the rearview as he pulled off the freeway and onto the narrow city streets. “No? What did you mean, then?”

“I mean there were easier ways to get my attention if you were just lookin’ to reconnect,” Michael replied, stretching back in his seat. “But you hunted my ass down and broke into my apartment.”

“What so I could you and you blow me off?” he asked. “Nah, I prefer the in person touch. Though– I do have a few ideas on the brain for an ambitious man like yourself.”

“You say that as if ya know I’ll blow you off,” Michael snorted, glancing off into the city skyline. “You’re talking about another job, aren’t ya?”

“What else, Mikey?” he grinned. “City of opportunity, isn’t it? And I have a few leads.”

“it’s a real city of opportunity, T,” Michael admitted”but …” That last job hadn’t gone so well. Sure. They got away. Sure, they got a shitton of cash…but not everyone walked out of that heist alive. One of their friends. “It’s risky to get back into that kind of business.”

“And? It’s risky to walk down the street. Piece of the space shuttle could fall out of the sky and blow your brains out.”

“Falling space shuttles are one in a million, Trev.” Michael said. “But dead partners? we’ve already seen that shit go down.”

“So you’re– what? Planning to settle down with this Andrea girl?”

“…Amanda,” Michael corrected, rolling his eyes. “I dunno. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I should. Get married, get a house. become a screenwriter.”

“Your own little slice of the American dream?” Trevor demanded, sneering.

“It’s in the script, ain’t it?” Michael waved his cigarette in the air. “What all the pictures say the dream is. The reward for the hero at the end of the journey, blah blah lbah.”

“Not exactly an art-house piece you’re writin”, Mikey.”

Michael snorted. “Got a better pitch, T?”

“Oh now you want me to pitch?” he grinned. “What if I just wanna be an art appreciator? But yeah, I think I got a few in me. How about a heist flick.”

“A heist flick,” Michael said with a smirk. “We’d need a good hook.”

“Can run a few by you,” Trevor practically purred.. “But it’ll have to wait until after your date, man. We’re here.”

Trevor pulled up to the impressive old theatre building.

Michael leaned back with a soft snort, shaking his head. “I’ll be all ears, T.”

Stretching out his legs, he hopped from the car.

INT. ORIENTAL THEATER LOBBY — NIGHT

Trevor followed Michael inside past the security table– it turned out Michael did indeed have a plus one on the guest list– and into the theater’s lobby, which had been turned out for a party space; tables against one wall and tasteful sequined streamers hanging from the ceiling. There was a smallish– but quite posh– crowd buzzing around in suits and ties.

Michael self consciously tightened his tie as he walked in the door, a soft hiss of breath leaving his lips as his eyes scanned the crowd for his teacher.

“….ritzy crowd.”

“No shit, right?” Trevor murmured. His gaze was orienting right toward the snack table. “That’s what you wanted to be here for.”

“Yeah.” Michael breathed. “I know. but it’s still, I dunno.” He glanced over at the snack table briefly himself. “Still pretty new to be rubbing shoulders with these types after things back in Yankton.”

“Haven’t been to a lot of Vinewood shindigs yet, eh, Mikey? Tch.” He shook his head, just as the two of them were accosted by the enormous form of Michael’s Professor Corby, now in a suit and bow tie.

“Ahh, Mr. Townley! So you did make it!”

Michael’s reply to Trevor was cut off as he turned to look over at his teacher with a strained grin on his face.

“Professor Corby. Sorry I’m late. Had to pick up my plus one.” He lightly punched Trevor on the shoulder. “Rather, he had to pick me up.”

Corby beamed. “Well it’s splendid that the two of you could make it. A pleasure to meet you, Mr….”

“Trevor Philips,” Trevor punched Michael back before he shook Corby’s hand. He made an obvious show of graciousness for Michael’s benefit. “Nice to meet ya, prof.”

“Forgive me for saying, but the two of you make quite the charming odd couple,” the professor said pleasantly. “Have you been together long?”

Michael laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, “Oh, yeah. Since we were kids. We….” His eyes widened as it dawned on him what Corby meant by that, and he flushed “…oh uh, no sir , I mean…”

Trevor had his mean grin on, and looked like he was also about to say something– probably to make an even bigger mess– but Corby put up his hands and smiled.

“Of course, of course. Don’t worry, I shan’t say a thing. But you know,, I believe Jacques and his own ‘plus one’ are around here somewhere; and I did promise to introduce you….”

Michael pressed his hand to his face, taking a deep intake of breath as he nodded. “Yeah I’d…love to meet him, sir. I’m real exited.”

He glanced sidelong at Trevor with an expression that said ‘don’t even fucking dare’

Trevor smirked, leaning toward Michael with a sly ‘ who, me? ‘ look as Corby turned toward the crowd and scanned it.

“Now where has he—ahh! Jaques! Milton! Come meet that student I told you about!”

Jaques Ferraro looked a lot like Michael had imagined him, a tall, slim european looking man with slicked back hair and a small mustache.

Jaques’ ‘plus one’, Milton, was a — a nebbishly handsome looking man with a mop of brown hair and a pair of round glasses…

Michael froze like a deer in the headlights as he caught Milton’s eye.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck ** fuck ** His mind was stuck, stuttering over itself in circles as he forced a fake smile onto his face.

“H…hey. Big fan of your work, real groovy stuff.” He managed to lamely force out, bodily turning to look at Jaques Ferraro and not…oh, the man he rear ended only a few hours ago.

“Always a pleasure to meet a fan,” Jaques said with a pleasant smile under his thin mustache. “Grigori tells me that you have an interest in movies.”

Milton– Milton was staring at Michael. Jaques hadn’t seemed to notice yet.

Michael tugged his collar with a weak smile. “I’ve loved ’em ever since I was a boy, sir. Been hoping to get my foot in the door to writing for them one of these days.”

“Vinewood desperately needs more good screenwriters, young man,” Jaques agreed. “Why I–”

“Jaques, dear,” Milton said in a low, dangerous lisp. “That’s the man. The one who hit me with his car.”

Trevor– who had in this time wandered to the punch bowl and back– nearly spit out his punch.

Michael lurched back, his eyes widening. He immediately launched into a lie. “The fuck I am! I don’t even own a car!”

“Hah! I very much doubt that!” Milton snapped, leaning in close to Jaques.

“Are you certain, my dear?” Jaques asked, raising his eyebrow.

“Beyond a shadow of a doubt!”

“Hey, hey hey, do we have a problem here?” Trevor put his hand on Michael’s back, and gestured at the director and his boyfriend with his cup.

“I think…” Michael stammered “I think MIlton here thinks I crashed into his car or something.” He tensed up, stiffly gesturing to the man. “Look, Milton, sir.”

“Unless you’re about to cut me a check for pain and suffering, I don’t want to hear it!” Milton hissed like a cat.

“Whoa, you need a collar for your boyfriend, Mr. director,” Trevor sneered, muscling half way in front of Michael.

Michael, meanwhile, was glaring at the tiny man, his jaw set. “Listen, man. It wasn’t my fault. ” Still, he glanced at Trevor with a raise of his eyebrow, before turning his attention back to Milton “Let’s just calm the hell down, alright?”

Jaques however, frowned. “I am afraid I am going to have to ask both of you to leave. If for no other reason than your presence is upsetting my Milton.”

Michael paled, and his lips pressed tight.

“Listen, sir. I know your boyfriend’s upset or whatever, but we can work this out. Please. I just… i’m missing my girlfriend’s abortion for this, and it would mean a lot if we…” He hissed through his teeth “Abortion rally not abortion, but…”

“ But nothing, young man,” Jaques snapped. “A bit of career advice– know when its time to bow out.”

Milton pointed at Michael. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

“Are you gonna take this shit, Mikey?” Trevor remanded, turning to look at him.

Michael grit his teeth. He was sure Trevor could see the anger bubbling up inside him, all the way down to the way he clenched his fist.

For a moment, he almost looked like he was about to explode.

“A bit of career advice…. a bit of career advice??” Michael hissed.

“Pardon me,” Jaques cooed. “I was assuming you were interested in a career. I suppose I was wrong. Come along, Milton.”

As Jaques and Milton turned to go– Trevor threw his punch cup at the director.

“Fuck you too, you condescending prick!”

Everyone else in the room had by now turned to watch.

Michael moved to stop him…but once he realized he was really too late to stop Trevor and the damage was done….he leapt forward to clock Milton straight in his jaw.

“Fuck it, whole thing’s gone tits up anyway,” he snapped. “Litigate this, you scrawny douchebag.”

Milton tried to scratch Michael with his nails, but just ended up moving into the perfect position to take the clock on the jaw. He screamed like a little girl.

Trevor let out a whoop and stuck his leg out to trip the director as someone called “Security!!” Ferraro fell flat on his face.

“Come on, T! Let’s get the hell out of here. Now.” he turned, and scrambled on the tiled floor. “Dammit, this whole thing’s becoming a fucking disaster!”

Trevor paused just long enough to kick the director– who was still down– in the ribs, before he turned and skidded out toward the door on the marble floor behind Michael as the crowd watched in abject shock.

“I’m fuckin’ RUINED!” Michael bemoaned as he bolted out the door. “I’m probably gonna get kicked out of my fucking class for this! All because that skinny twerp was in a dead stop on the fucking freeway .”

“Bad fuckin’ luck, Mikey!” Trevor agreed as they scrambled out the door and shouldered through a small crowd of celebrity bootlickers and paparazzi. A few cameras snapped as they did. “Who would have guessed the Vinewood elite are a bunch of selfish pricks?”

Michael did all he could to hide his face as he ran past them, hissing between his teeth.

“Selfish pricks or not, I coulda dealt with it if dickless in there didn’t go friggin’ bananas on me.”

Trevor threw the door to the truck open and swung himself in. He jammed the keys in, and revved the engine. “Sounded like he was pissed you flattened his balls with your car. Though you’d think that director woulda thanked you for the favor.”

Michael leapt into the side seat with a low curse. “I think he was plannin’ on doing it himself later. Kinda threw a wrench in his whole night.”

Trevor peeled off down the narrow street, several cars honking as he swerved past them.

“Guess that’s why he had to return the favor. Damn, what a couple of mean fucking queers.”

“Damn fuckin’ right.” Michael growled, glancing over his shoulder “….” It slowly began to really dawn on him once he realized they weren’t being followed. “Fuck, you just punched superstar director Jaques Ferraro”

“Bullshit. I kicked him.” Trevor grinned proudly. “ You punched his boyfriend. Nice job by the way.”

“Kicked him. You kicked superstar director Jaques Ferraro– I ain’t ever getting a job in this town,” he moaned. “…I punched his boyfriend’s lights out.”

“So what? Tabloids fucking hate that guy from what I’ve seen. Probably on account of him diddling little Italian girls,” he snorted. “I bet they’ll write it like you’re a fucking hero.”

“…that’s a possibility, ain’t it? My face on every tabloid as the hero of the hour.” Michael grinned as it dawned on him.

“That’s vigilante justice right there, man,” Trevor nodded, slapping Michael on the shoulder. “But why stop with just punching his boyfriend, eh?”

“What? you think we should find every pedo in Vinewood? We’d be here for decades, at least. Punchin’ a new one every day.,” he drawled

“Ha! You’re not fucking wrong Mikey! It’d get boring after a couple weeks. Nah, I’m talking about getting some more revenge on the guy who tanked your movie dreams.”

“The guy who built the Los Santos Freeway?” Michael snarked

“I take it back, Mikey, you’re a fantastic actor cause I know you’re not THAT fucking stupid,” Trevor growled in amusement. “I’m talking about Pedo Ferraro obviously.”

Michael ran his hand through his hair, raising his eyebrow. “….He is a condescending prick,” he said cautiously. “And it’s ’cause of him that my movie career’s probably fucked…”

“Uhuh.” Trevor grinned. He grabbed a cigarette and offered it to Michael. “And if the tabloids are right, he just squirreled away a bunch of fucking assets to hide them from his creep settlement.”

Michael grabbed the cigarette. “Did he now? Now that just ain’t right. A real perversion of our glorious justice system, ain’t it?”

“The complete fucking death of it, Mikey,” Trevor agreed with a serious nod. He offered him the truck’s cigarette lighter. “A couple of upstanding guys like us really oughta do something about that.”

Michael lit up, taking a long and calming breath of smoke before he handed the lighter back to Trevor.

“Maybe we oughta, T.” He hissed through his teeth. “Fuck it, I’m in. I’m running low on cash anyway, and I deserve it a hell of a lot more than some smarmy pedo.”

“Damn right!” Trevor grinned, lighting up a cigarette for himself as he switched on the radio. “Told you I had a few ideas, right?”

Michael took a deep drag of his cigarette. He shook his head. “You told me, alright. And here we are again. Trevor and Michael, just met the fuck up and already planning a robbery.” He pointed his cigarette at Trevor. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing this smart. Alright?”

“Hey, whatever you say, Mikey. I’m just the idea man. You wanna decide how we pull this off, I’ll be the monkey and you can grind my organ.”

Michael choked on his puff of smoke, hacking as he tried to catch his breath “fucking hell T. You’re doin’ that on purpose. Fuck you!”

Trevor took a drag of his cigarette and breathed the smoke out in a snicker.

“No idea what you mean, Mikey. I’m just saying, you can do shit however you want. Speaking of which– where the hell are we headed? Am I taking you to your girl’s abortion or what?”

“Abortion rally . ” Michael snorted as he finally caught his breath.

He leaned on the window, turning to look out at the city with a shake of his head “No. No way. She’ll just be pissed to see me there and get her fuckin’ ‘friend’ to tell me off. I ain’t looking for another fight.”

“Another fight huh? Sounds like you two got a great relationship cooking, Mikey my man. Real american dream.”

“Tell me about it. College payments, pissed off landlord, a bickering girlfriend. I’m living the fucking dream, T.” He grimaced as he shoved his cigarette back between his lips for an angry drag, and huffed out a soft breath full of smoke. “What. are you doin’ any better?”

“Me? Oh I’m doing great. Just a broke ex-GI squatting in the desert with the world’s most adorable teenage tranny psychopath. But hey, just hooked back up with my best buddy, so things are looking up.”

Michael turned in his seat to look at him with a raise of his eyebrow. A dozen questions begged to be answered, but he simply took a drag of his cigarette and said “huh. You know , T. Somehow I ain’t surprised.”

He blew smoke into the Los Santos air, and smirked “…guess things are lookin’ up for us both.”

EXT. GRAND SENORA DESERT, SENORA FREEWAY- NIGHT

With the windows down and the radio on, Trevor drove the two of them up the freeway north. They had driven past the rusty and decaying Vinewood sign, missing one E completely now and barely visible in the dark hills. And they had driven out past those same scrubby hills, and up into the dusty desert, where the smog cleared enough for a few stars to be visible in the vast, light polluted Los Santos sky.

The temperature dropped significantly in the desert at night, and as they passed nothing but sand, cacti, and the occasional squashed lizard, Trevor rolled his window up half way and lit a fresh cigarette.

“Almost there,” he said, taking a puff and then hanging it to Michael. “We can have a few beers. Maybe hash out a few ideas about this new project.”

Michael took the cigarette from him, taking a drag with a slow nod “yeah. Sounds like a plan. I could use a beer after a day like today anyhow.”

“Yeah I’ll say, man,” he growled.

As they drove, Michael noticed that despite Trevor claiming they were almost there…. they really seemed to be in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Michael glanced into the distance at the rolling expanse of… sand…. Cactii… nothingness…. before looking back at Trevor

“T. Uh. Think you might have overshot the place a few miles back? This is *beyond* remote.”

“That’s the beauty of it, don’t you think?” Trevor chuckled. “At least, I’m pretty sure that was the point. Guy who made the call was a little too dead to answer.”

As they talked, Michael finally saw the place they were aiming for. A surprisingly modern trailer with a large antennae just…. sitting a little distance off the road in the middle of nowhere.

“…..Don’t tell me that’s it, T. Don’t tell me.” He paused, and glanced over “and don’t tell me you fuckin’ killed some guy to get it.”

“Nah,” he replied, waving his hand. “I woulda but he was already dead when I got there. Some paranoid survivalist who thought god was trying to kill him or something. His journal was boring.”

“Yeah, i hear the ravings of madmen ain’t exactly Shakespeare.” Michael drawled. “…huh.”

He shook his head “well. A home’s a home, tell me you at least got rid of the mattress or couch or whatever the bastard kicked it on.”

“Yeah yeah, buried the damned chair along with him,” he said, pulling up a little too close to the wall of the house before slamming into park.

Michael jerked with the sudden stop, and hissed out a soft breath “Real nice of you, T. Real nice.”

“I’m a real bleeding heart, you know that, Mikey.” He hopped out of the truck and bellowed out, “Honey, I’m home!”

“I ain’t your honey, *sweetums*.” a high, sardonic voice called back from an open window in the rear of the trailer. “Didja bring me some weed?”

“….So your uh, roomie’s home, huh?” Michael asked.

“Don’t know where else she’d be unless she was out drinking cactus juice- I took her truc.,” He snorted as he pushed the door open. “Yeah I got your fucking weed. Put the good falsies on, I brought company.”

The door opened to a surprising homey space inside the trailer– it was even air conditioned.

The window in the back of the trailer slammed shut, and a curtain snapped closed at the far end of the trailer.

“Fuck, if you were gonna bring company, you shoulda warned me!” The girl shouted “I ain’t even wearing makeup, GI. Schmoe!”

Michael glanced at Trevor with a raise of his eyebrow “the american dream, T. You’re clearly the one *really* livin’ it.”

“What, you don’t think this is a slice of golden age post war heaven, Mikey?” he snickered. “You can ask Sammie what she thinks.”

The space that Michael could see had been divided into two areas– a kitchen with a couple of mismatched chairs around the table, and checkerboard curtains. A few dishes stacked in the dish drainer. A cluttered living room with an old black and white tv, couch, chairs, shag rug, and a large– likely illegal– radio equipment station on a desk.

“I think your friend sounds like a fuckin’ square already!” Called the voice behind the curtain, in between the sound of a zipper and the click of a compact. “Even with the *weird old man*, this place is great.”

Michael snorted. “First of all, I ain’t a square. Second…” He walked over and peered at the television, and then the radio station. “Does all this *work*?”

“What, the paranoia rig? Yeah I think so. Makes noise anyway.” Trevor shrugged. “And you might not be a square, Mikey, but you’ve always tried real hard to fuckin’ hide that.”

“What can I say?” Michael snorted “I’ve got ’em all fooled back in Vinewood. it’s the best cover a guy can ask for.”

A moment later, the ringing clack of curtain rings on the metal curtain rod rang through the trailer as ‘Sammie’ threw it open. The noise was enough to catch Michael’s attention, who turned to glance over his shoulder.

Sam, as it turned out, was a rather tall chinese-american girl with a thin, almost bony physique. She wore long bell bottomed jeans, h, a T-shirt bearing spray painted letters that spelled out ‘Fuck The LSPD’ over crude image of a pig in a pool of blood and a combat knife strapped to her belt. Despite Trevor’s crack about the good falsies, she either had put them on, or didn’t need them from the slight rise of her bust under the shirt.

Black hair hung in a loose, shoulder length style that fell around a pair of rose-tinted prescription sunglasses with round frames that sat over a wide, wicked looking smile.

“Wow. Trev. I never thought I’d see the day. They forced ya into a monkey suit. You look like shit, man.”

“Forgive me for offending thine fucking eyes your highness,”Trevor snapped. “Mikey here didn’t want me in anything interesting while we were bowing in front of the kings of Vinewood.” He fished a baggie out of the pocket of his vest and offered it to her. “You owe me.”

“I owe you?” She said, hopping down from her bedroom area to snag the baggie from his hand with a grin “What about the coke I got you last week? That wasn’t easy to come by out here in assfuck nowhere, soldier girl.”

“You don’t look that fuckin’ bad in my suits, christ,.” Michael griped, interjecting. “Not everyone’s got a fringed leather vest, kid.”

“I look good in anything,” Trevor said, throwing the fridge open. “Fuck that coke. That was at least half aspirin anyway.”

“As if you could tell the difference.” She huffed, crossing her arms as she shouldered her way past a befuddled looking Michael. “mr. *drug expert*. I bet the cult woulda loooved you.”

“Cult?” Michael hazzarded to ask.

Trevor thrust a beer into Michael’s hands, and tossed one at Sam. “Sammie here’s a cult survivor.”

Sam caught the beer, and pulled out the combat knife to pry it’s top off with a wide , manic grin. “That’s right, city boy. Not just a cult survivor. The *sole* survivor.”

“….i’m uh, sorry for your loss.”

Sam shrugged “eh. I’ve been rolling with the trauma for a while now. The buncha toad lickin’ morons…” She took a swig of her beer “May their souls find the eternal acid dealer in the sky , or whatever.”

“Licked the wrong toads,” Trevor explained, flopping down on the couch with a beer in each hand. “Sammie’s what you call the cautious type.”

“By which you mean I ain’t a fucking idiot.” Sam plopped her ass down in one of the chairs, and crossed her legs. “They were all like ‘it’ll be the trip of a lifetime, come on Sam…Lick it!’. And like, one, fucking disgusting. I’ve gone down on a lot that you could call *suspect* but I sure as hell ain’t licking a damned amphibian. And two, that thing was poison as fuck.”

She raised her beer. “But nooo, they had to *ascend to a higher level of consciousness*, so….ya know. Mission accomplished.”

Michael glanced at Trevor with a raise of his eyebrow. “She’s shittin’ me, isn’t she?”

“Nah, she’s serious she’s definitely gone down a lot,” Trevor grinned nastily.

“Not on you, old man. There’s some places I ain’t *ever* gonna tread. And G.I Jane here’s one of ’em.”

Michael snorted , popping the cap off his beer. “Listen, Last thing I wanna hear is your adventures with that kinda shit. It ain’t *my * problem.”

Trevor snickered. “Yeah you got enough already, am I right, man?”

He casually flipped Sam off.

Sam flipped him off in return with a huge grin. “Color me surprised. This putz has a sex life?”

“He means problems, kid. And I got *plenty* of those.” he downed a long sip of beer “and my sex life ain’t any of your buisness, you fuckin’ dweeb”

“Lemme put it this way,” Trevor grinned. “Mikey here tells me he missed his girlfriend’s abortion today.”

“Well hot damn.” Sam leaned on her hands with a broad grin. “Someone’s a *busy man*. forget to pull out, or is this a habit for you guys?”

it was like the horrifying mirror image of Trevor’s own grin

*There’s two of ’em. Somebody kill me* Michael thought with a grimace. “Abortion rally, kid. She’s a …you know, protest type.”

Sam winked “in that case I’ll invite her to some of the **fun** protests.”

“Sam’s a bit of a revolutionary too,” Trevor said. “Marching for the right to–what was it again, kid? Cut off your dick and throw it at the cops?”

Sam snorted, and pointed her knife at him. “Keep it up, Trev, and I’ll march right across this table for the right to cut *your* dick off and shove it down your throat.” She grinned “I’m campaigning for my rights, man. The right to *be* who I want. How I want. And *fuck* the cops and the suits for thinking they can stop me. I’m fuckin’ *gorgeous*. They can all eat my ass.”

Michael rubbed the back of his neck with a shake of his head “Hey, you do you, kid. I dunno much about it but all the power to ya.” He snickered “maybe I’ll introduce ya to Amanda sometime and you can take her wherever ya go.”

“Hey, I know *all* the best gay bars in Los Santos, man.” Sam primped her hair, before sipping her beer.

“You might wanna keep her away from the gay bars,” Trevor grinned. “I’m not sure Mikey needs the help *losing* his girlfriend.”

“Pffffff” Sam cackled, slapping the table with a grin “Your girl’s a half step to walkin’ out on you huh dude?”

“Tch.She’s just close with her protest buddies. She ain’t ‘walkin’ out on me. Fuck off.” Michael’s eyes narrowed “we gonna spend the whole night mocking me , T? Or are we gonna get some *fucking work* done?”

Trevor slammed down his beer and grinned.

“Fuck, you’re right. Enough with the warm up routine. It’s time to plot some justice.”

“Woah woah woah!” Sam held up her thin-fingered hands with a grin. “What’s this about justice? ’cause you ain’t getting away with leaving ME out if there’s a fight to be had.”

Michael glanced at her, before turning to Trevor “she’s a kid, we ain’t involving her”

“Hey hey hey, I ain’t a kid!” Sam whined with a frown “and I’ve pulled my own weight for years!”

“You want me to try and stop her. I’ll have to put her in the back next to our esteemed host,” Trevor shrugged.

“Try it and see who winds up buried six feet under with a lard-e-boy.” Sam said cheerfully.

“…Alright, fine. Fuck.” Michael griped “but it’s a dangerous kinda profession, kid. Remember that. It ain’t a game.”

“I don’t think we gotta worry too much about the queen of shankings here not playing for keeps,” Trevor snorted. “Between the two of you, I’m more worried about you getting cold feet, Miey.”

“Ooooh, Queen of Shankings.” Sam grinned “I love it. Keep calling me that.”

Michael leaned on the table, and ran his hand through his hair “fuck, did I get ‘cold feet’ last time we worked together, huh? we were a *damn* good team. All I’m saying is…fuck, we lost a guy last time, so we can’t go into this half cocked.”

That gave Trevor pause, and he finally cracked his beer taking a long swig of it with his body tense. “Okay, you know what fair play, Mikey. Yeah, we lost somebody last time. There’s your warning, kid.”

Sam chewed her lip. “Shit.. “…alright, fine. I know the risks. Every day I’m alive’s a risk, I’m used to it.” She leaned forward with a nod “I’m in. I wanna help.”

Michael looked into his beer before he nodded “…alright kid. Welcome to the team.” He took a deep breath “I’ll make sure ya see the other side of the job, got it?”

“Perfect. Alright enough of this paternal shit, let’s talk about robbing Mr. Jaques Ferraro of all the money and shit he has squirreled away from the lawyers.”

“Woah hey!” Sam brightened up “We’re robbing Little Jackie Pedo? Fuck yeah!!”

“That’s right.” Michael smirked “he’s got his riches stashed away where his lawyers can’t get it as he slips out from under the radar after his little…indiscretions in Europe.”

“Yep,” Trevor grinned. “And sources say that he recently purchased a large personal vault to have installed in his Vinewood mansion. Bet you he’s got his nazi gold or whatever in that thing.”

“You know, wouldn’t surprise me if he was rubbing shoulders with Nazis.” Michael muttered “cocky, arrogant prick. What kinda sources are we talking about, T?”

Sam tapped her finger on the table “I mean, there’s an easy way to verify, right?”

“Tabloids. Nosy fuckers,” Trevor said with a smirk. “Whatcha thinking, Sammie?”

“Get someone to schmooze their way in there.” Sam picked under her fingernails with the tip of her knife. “cause a distraction, do some snooping. You know….recon.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Trevor snorted, holding up a hand. “Back it down, we send you in there to suck his dick we might as well just get him to pay us instead.”

“Who said anythin’ about suckin the guy’s dick.” Sam turned her nose up. “That’s where the fuckin’ *distraction* comes in, geeze.”

Trevor looked at Michael. “What do you think, Mikey? Double dip to make sure and maybe get em on to us, or go in blind but raw?”

“Don’t go in raw. No way , no fuckin’ how. that’s a risk I don’t wanna take on this job. If we do and we can’t *find* the thing on the first try, we’re screwed.”

He sipped his beer. “better to know ahead of time what we’re getting into.”

“yeah.” Sam nodded slowly “going in raw’s why your girlfriend’s gotta go to the abortion tonight.”

Trevor snickered. “Point taken. Lets avoid an aborted mission. Alright, Sammie, you sound like you have an idea. Fucking spill it.”

“alright, alright, alright.” Sam spread her hands. “So, what do we know about this guy. I got a few ideas, but I only know him from, like…. bad tabloids and shit.”

“Let’s see…he’s rich. He’s a pervert. Big shot director. Has a boyfriend who Mikey T-boned– platonically speaking….”

“Then you and him are fuckin’ out of recon duty.” She said “they ain’t seen my face yet and I haven’t decked anyone’s boyfriend. So that means if anyone’s gonna do this recon it’s me.”

“And where do we come into baby’s first joint casing?” Trevor asked. “Or are we sitting on our asses?”

“You’re the distraction.” She said with a grin. “See…I use my pretty face and wiles to weasel my way in there…and I get the two of you to hit the man where it hurts. Set fire to his backyard, maybe. steal his car. Do *something* big enough to distract him from me while I take the chance to ‘run and hide’, and snoop around the place.”

Trevor tapped his beer with a fingertip. “Not the worst shit I’ve ever heard. Alternatively, we could go after somebody who works there, a maid or shit, and see if we can work some info out of them.”

“might be a better option.” Michael said “it’d mean Jaques won’t see your face, kid, which’ll come in handy if he ever goes to the cops. Less direct connection with the mark, the better.”

“….Guess that’s true.” Sam leaned on the table “but what if nobody talks?”

“Then we’re SOL and we try something else,” Trevor shrugged. “Worst case scenario is its a big fucking waste of time.”

Michael nodded “damn right. And that’s the thing…right now, we got all the time in the world.”

He sipped his beer. “…There’s a third option, too.”

“Lemme hear the third option.” Sam leaned forward “and it better be fun, or someone’s shin’s gettin’ kicked.”

Trevor leaned on his hand and looked at Michael with eyebrows raised. “Yeah, Mikey, fill us in on this massive brainwave of yours.”

Michael held his beer up “simple. The guy’s a big shot hollywood type. We find a day he’s gonna be away from the house, on a shoot or diddling someone, I don’t care, and we stage a little break in. Quick and silent. Prepare a getaway car, bring some tools, swipe the cash and run. He leaves the house filthy rich in the morning, and comes home a poor , penniless pervert.”

Trevor snorted and grinned.

“So like I suggested first. Quick and fucking raw. Well you know *I* like it, Mikey. Of course I do, it was my idea. Alright, we got three plans. Which one are we going with?”

“Yeah. Like you suggested first.” Michael admitted grudgingly.. “But I think we should keep someone on the guy, you know? I.e. we need to make sure he stays out till the job’s done.”

Sam leaned back with a pensive frown “alright, alright. We got my plan….a series of interviews, or we just break the fuck in while the guy’s out…”

“I vote we just break the fuck in while he’s out– but hey, since Mikey’s the one this asshole was rude to– your pick man.” He slapped Michael on the shoulder. “What’s it gonna be?”

Michael rocked with the slap with a snort, tapping his beer bottle on the table.

“…… Fuck it. Let’s really humiliate the bastard. Option C. And we make sure his distraction’s a *real bad time*. ”

Trevor grinned widely and smacked his hand on the couch. “Then boom! Its decided. Means we can get down to brass tacks when we’re ready.”

Michael glanced at his empty bottle. “Tell ya what. This is a two beer kinda plan.” He smirked “another round, and we’ll dig into this thing.”

“You got it, Mikey,” he nodded, standing to get them more. “And when we’ve got it figured out Sam can share some of that fucking grass I brought.”

“You know what?” Michael chuckled, “Why the hell not. Let’s celebrate in a way that’ll make my landlord have a coronary. ”

“Woah woah,woah!” Sam perked up “i gotta *share* it?”

“Said you owed me, didn’t I? Here’s an easy way to pay me back.”

“Ughhhhh” Sam flopped back in her chair, tipping it backwards “getting high with a couple of weird old dudes. Sounds like the cult all over again. *ughhhh*”

“Hey, hey we are not old dudes, got it?” Trevor said, pointing a beer at her. “Well, Michael might be kind of an honorary old dude.”

“Tch, i ain’t old yet. Not till im fuckin’ balding.” Michael said. “im only 26 for fucks sake.”

“Still older than me,” Sam replied.”Which makes you old.”

“Which makes you old,” Trevor snorted, tossing the beer at her. “Careful, or Mikey’ll start callin’ you a baby or something.”

He flopped down next to Michael and handed him a beer, setting the whole case down on the table in front of them.

Michael smirked, grabbing a beer off the table. “Nah, she’s about as old as us when we started out, right?” He popped the cap off, and raised the beer in a cheers. “Why don’t we make the kid’s first heist one to fucking *remember*. ”

EXT. MICHAEL’S APARTMENT- MORNING

Trevor’s truck pulled into the parking lot next to Michael’s car, one hand on the steering wheel and another around a hot paper cup of corner gas station coffee in the other hand.

“You sure you don’t want me to hang around while your car gets towed, Mikey?”

Michael lifted his own coffee cup to his lips and finished the last swallow. “Nah. Shouldn’t take too long, Trev. It’ll be out of the way in no time.”

Trevor gave him a salute with the paper cup. “If you say so, Mikey. You got my number if shit goes sideways.”

“We’ll meet up soon, huh? Catch up. Get this thing planned.” Michael saluted him in return. He paused a moment, before he punched him in the shoulder. “Glad to have the gang back together, T.”

“Me too, Mikey. Me fucking too.”

INT. APARTMENT HALLWAY- DAY

When Michael got up to his apartment, he saw from a few paces away that there was a note taped to the door.

“…Whe fuck is this?” Michael pulled the note off and peered at it. There was a hasty scribble in pen.

“CALL ME. OR DON’T. -AMANDA”

He hissed through his teeth. “…Fuck. Fuck , fuck, fuck FUCK, she came *BACK* last night?” He pushed open his door with a muffled curse. “It’s fine. She’ll be fine. I’ll call her.”

The apartment was the same as he had left it, and lingered with the less than subtle stink of weed.He sighed deeply, and walked over to his phone first thing.

“Who am I kiddin’. she’s gonna be pissed.”

He dialed her number.

The phone rang.

It kept ringing.

He waited, tapping his finger on the table with a low hiss ‘come on Mandy, pick up the fucking phone.”

Seven rings. Eight rings…..

Just as he was about to hang up, the phone picked up.

“Hello?” It was Amanda. She sounded hung over, her voice thick, and raspy.

“Mandy!” He slapped his hand on the table. “Got your note, are you alright?’

“…..Michael.” Her voice took on a leaden tone. “I guess you had a late night, huh?”

“Yeah. you can say that again …my car broke down at the worst possible time. And things went tits up after that.” He paused. “You uh, sound like you had one too.”

“Pam took me out after you didn’t let me in the apartment,” she said roughly. “I saw your car, so I figured you had to be home.”

“The car ain’t running, Mandy. I had to catch a lift with an old friend who just got back to town…then some shit happened so I had to spend the night, that’s all.” He ran his hand through his hair. “…Pam took ya out, huh?”

“Yeah,” she said raggedly. He heard water run in the background. “So who’s your friend? Can I meet her?”

“Ain’t a her,” Michael grumbled “Don’t be like that, Mandy. Not when you’re off hangin’ around with Pam all night.”

He leaned on the counter. “He’s an old friend of mine from Yankton. Just got back from the war. We met his psycho roommate and had a few beers and we didn’t wanna risk the drive back drunk.”

“Huh. So…. did you get that movie deal?”

“…..” He hissed through his teeth “no. No I fuckin’ didn’t. Turns out the guy’s a bigger douche thank you thought, Mandy. Whole thing was a fucking wash. ”

“Sounds like *somebody* should have gone to the abortion rally.”

“Yeah, Manda, you don’t have to rub it the fuck in, okay?”

He grimaced, and tapped his fingers on the table. “look. At least I got to see an old friend. And the chick he’s livin’ with’s a cool enough cat, too. We had fun. How was the rally, anyway?”

“It was great,” she said dully. “We got hosed. Which was why I’d been hoping to clean up at your place. I almost lost an eye.”

“You got hosed.” He said , just as dully. “Sorry about your eye, Manda. You can see outta it, right? Look, sorry I wasn’t there. As I said, it was a weird fucking night.”

“I guess it must have been,” she grumbled. “You owe me a date. Assuming you want to continue, you know, having a relationship.”

“Of course, of course, Amanda,” he assuaged through a set jaw. “Wherever ya wanna go.”

He added on. “Provided it ain’t that expensive. I ain’t flush right now.”

“You know you *used* to take me out for nice dates.”

“That was when I had money, babe,” Michael drawled. “Before my car shit out, and my landlord raised rent.”

“Uhuh. And all you ever do is spend money, Michael,” she chided. “What are you going to do when your fund runs out and your screenwriting career still hasn’t happened.”

“I’ll find another way, dammit!” Michael griped “fuck, Mandy, I didn’t call you to get a fucking lecture! I’m working on it, alright? I’ve got some irons in the fire. I got a few plans going….I don’t plan on going broke anytime soon.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” she sniffed. “Well what *did* you call for?”

“Because I wanted to make sure you were alright. You left a note on my door, Mandy. I was worried about ya. …Look, why don’t I get a cab and swing on by?”

“I have class today, Michael. I was in the shower when you called.”

“Oh. Well, later then. Sure.”

“Feel free to come by my class when it’s over,” she said, noncommittally. “Maybe you can actually plan a date.”

“…Yeah, sure. You got it, Mandy.” Michael said with a weak chuckle. “See ya there.”

“See you then, Michael.” Amanda hung up the phone on him.

“Damn it, Michael.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “She’s furious at ya..”

Michael realized just as he hung up that he had no idea what class Amanda had today or what time it was.

“…….” Michael kicked his table with a curse. “FUCK!”

He turned , running his hands through his hair. “…why the hell do you keep getting yourself into this kinda shit, Mikey? Damn!”

Michael’s to-do list was looking worse and worse for the day. Get the car towed into the shop. Try to figure out what to do with this Amanda issue….

And think about the heist. He couldn’t forget that ever present needling in the back of his mind.

He couldn’t *not* think about it. Not when the last attempt he and Trevor did killed one of their friends and left them with the damned guilt of it all.

And now they had a kid on board.

“Dammit,” he muttered “…Michael, you got a talent for getting yourself into shit, don’t you?”

INT. TREVOR’S TRUCK, DESERT HIGHWAY- DAY

Trevor glanced at Sam in the seat beside him. Trevor hadn’t said exactly where they were going yet, just that they were working on something that would be related to the upcoming heist.

“So, Sammie. Didn’t want to embarrass you in front of Mikey, but you sure about this crime thing?” He grinned meanly, almost certainly razzing her more than he genuinely doubted her commitment.

“Tch.” Sam snorted under her breath as she kicked her feet up on the dashboard and leaned back “I’m *damned* sure, you fuckin’ twitchy bastard.”

She turned her nose up. “More sure than your buddy Mikey, I’d bet. I’m *committed*. I ain’t a stranger to crime and danger.”

“Hey, watch your mouth. Mikey’s all in once you get him going. Back in the day we got into some shit.”

“Is that so? ” Sam asked, flipping him off with a smirk “then me and him ain’t so different. I’m the same fucking way.”

“Oh are you, huh?” Trevor grinned, sticking a cigarette in his mouth. “All in once you get going huh?”

“Damn right.” She leaned on the door with her arm on the window. “How about you, Army boy?”

“Don’t even have to get me going, kiddo,” he snickered. “I’m ride or die from moment one.”

“Don’t even have to getcha going, huh?” she repeated with a sly smirk “wow. Don’t usually meet guys that ready for anything.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Then I guess we’re **all** in this for the long haul.”

“Damn right,” he nodded, lighting his cigarette with the dashboard lighter and taking a long puff. “We pull this shit off, I got ideas.”

“You got ideas huh?” Sam leaned over toward him. “Well are ya gonna clue me in on ’em or is it all a big surprise?”

“Let’s keep shit one thing at a time,” he said, puffing smoke out of his lips. “See what my army buddy has to say about some of this shit.”

“Wait, hold on.” Sam crossed her arms. “We’re goin’ to see one of your GI buddies has to say? Can we *trust* the guy?”

“With my fuckin life. Lester’s a complete creep. Furthest thing from a fucking narc you could be,” Trevor promised, waving his cigarette for emphasis. “Got out before me. On medical leave.”

“Lester. Sounds like a fuckin’ dork.” Sam leaned back “A creep, huh? Well if he tries any funny buisness without my go ahead, I’ll fucking gut him. Just a heads up.”

“You can make sure to tell him that,” Trevor snickered. “Love to see the look on his face.”

“Oh don’t worry.” Sam grinned nastilly “I will. First thing, too.”

“Yeah well I’ll be looking forward to that. You might have to dodge a whack from his cane. Bastard’s a cripple now.”

“Oh don’t worry. I’m sure I can dodge the guy.” She paused, fluffing her hair. “Is he cute?”

Trevor raised an eyebrow and snorted. “Lester? Well he ain’t *my* type.”

“Wh huh, uh huh, and what *is* your type?”

“My type?” he snorted. He took a slow puff of his cigarette. “Yeah, not Lester…”

“Not Lester, ya already said that.” Sam grinned “come on. Is it cute hippie chicks?”

“Sure,” Trevor grinned, giving her a sly look. “I told you, I’m down to go any time you are.”

Sam kicked back in her seat, legs propped up on the dash as she winked with a wide grin “Maybe, you ol’ creep. Maybe. I could be down for it.” She stuck out her tongue “anything else?”

“What, you trying to play matchmaker santa claus?” he asked with a snort, driving with one hand. “I’m just your garden variety pervert. Give me models and movie stars, if we’re making a wishlist.”

Despite his words, Trevor seemed vaguely embarrassed, which wasn’t something that had happened often in the short time Sam had known him.

“I think I finally got under your skin, big guy.” Sam purred, poking his shoulder with a sharp nail. “good.”

“Under my skin?” he pointed his cigarette at her. “No fucking way. Skin of steel.”

“Nuh uh, I can see you blushin’ , old man.” She leaned closer, grabbing his arm, “come onnn, you can tell Sammy.”

Trevor scoffed, swerving slightly into traffic as she grabbed him, before righting the truck.

“God damn it you nosy queen,” he growled. “What are you looking for me to say? I ain’t blushing.”

She leaned across the truck’s front seat to lean against his shoulder with a shit eating grin. “You certainly look *flustered*. Must mean you’ve got *some* kinda juicy secret.”

He stuck his cigarette back in his mouth and put his arm around her shoulders. “Fuck you. Juicy secret. It’s no secret Trevor Phillips will lay anybody, any time, any place. I’m the fucking master of passion. That’s my secret.”

“Unf.” She said, leaning on his shoulder with a snicker “You must be a real blast at parties.”

“Damn right I am,” he agreed, affecting a broad grin, cigarette clenched in his teeth. “Mr. Party himself.”

Sam shook her head , that grin still plastered on her face as she reached out to grab the cigarette for herself. ‘Uh huh. I’ll keep that in mind….So. is this about your boyfriend? You know, the gettin’ defensive and shit?”

“My–okay what boyfriend? What’s this shit?” he growled.

Trevor’s mouth falling open at the suggestion left a great moment for her to grab the cigarette. She snagged it and stuck it between her lips with a wink.

“You know. Mr. Hollywood back there. You two were actin’ like an old married couple.”

Now Trevor really did flush, and didn’t manage to hide it.

“Michael? Fuck. …. he’s an old friend. Good friend. … Straight arrow.”

“Straight arrow, huh ?… Yeah I can tell from his uh, stellar soundin’ relationship with his girlfriend.” She shrugged her shoulders, and took a drag off her cigarette. “So that’s your type, huh?”

“Nosy queen,” Trevor grumbled again. He lit a fresh cigarette.

Sam slipped her arm around Trevor with a smile. “the nosiest, you old bastard.”

“Don’t fuckin’ say shit to him about it or I’ll feed you your own lungs.”

Leaning her head against his shoulder, she promised; “I won’t say a fuckin’ word. I know what it’s like to have a secret or two.”

She paused before she added: “you try feeding me my own lungs, though, and I’ll choke ya with your own hands.”

“Stop trying to turn me on when you got me thinkin about my old flame, bitch.” He leaned shoulder to shoulder with her, smoking heavily.

Sam looked delighted as she pushed up her rose-tinted glasses with a broad smile.

“Not like you could do anything to stop me.”

“You little fuckin troll,” he said with a smirk. “Yeah, alright, you got me.”

Sam cackled, and blew him a kiss. “Damn right I did. But seriously, if you want help making a move, I’m your girl.”

“Sweet offer, but it’ll never fucking happen. Unless I get so wasted I decide to burn myself alive.”

“Hey, plenty of bars in Los Santos to immolate yourself at, eh?” She winked

“You ain’t wrong about that,” he muttered, pulling up in front of a little one story house at the edge of the suburbs. “But it’ll never happen. Mikey’s straight arrow. Not fucking interested in some scruffy lovesick fag. Hey. We’re here.”

Sam shifted off his shoulder, and cracked her fingers. “Hey, ya never know.” She smirked “most folks I knew as a kid didn’t know I was fucking gorgeous.”

She looked over at the house “wow uh, stylish place he’s got here.”

“Yeah, the bastard’s started investing from what I heard,” Trevor said, obviously grateful for the change in subject. He threw the truck into park. “Back in the service he was selling supplies black market.”

“Oooh, I be the suits didn’t like *that*.” She said with a grin “he sounds like a fun guy.”

“I told you, he’s a creep,” Trevor grinned, climbing out of the truck. He offered Sam a hand to help her down. “So yeah, he’s pretty fun.”

EXT. LESTER’S HOUSE, EL BURRO HEIGHTS- DAY

The little house was one of only a handful in what was obviously a new development. Nearby there were several plots that had been marked out, ready for construction. There was a billboard on the side of the road that read ‘IF YOU LIVED HERE YOU’D BE HOME ALREADY’ and then gave the name and phone number of the development company.

The american fuckin’ dream , Trevor thought to himself as he and the kid walked up the path to the door. Lester’s house had a pair of lawn flamingos outside of it, and a little sign in the window that read ‘no soliciting’. Other than that, the outside of it was rather plain.

“No soliciting, huh?” Sam snickered. “Alright, man.”

She hopped out of the car, and walked with confidence for the front door, sauntering her way past the pink flamingos as she smoothed out her vest over her bust.

“I keep seeing these kinds of places around– way above my pay grade. I can’t afford this shit.”

“Would you want to if you could?” Trevor asked. He hopped up Lester’s front steps and pounded on the door. “Hey Les! Let us the fuck in!”:

“No way. I ain’t one for cookie cutter houses and a white picket fence. I ain’t exactly a traditional kinda gal.” She leaned on the doorframe, taking a moment to freshen up her lip gloss in a small compact mirror.

There was the sound of someone shouting, and a couple of thumps before the door opened.

“It says no sol–oh it’s you.”

The man who answered the door was a heavyset, soft looking man around Trevor’s age, with brushed back ginger-gold hair, and brown eyes made larger by the big, square gold-rimmed glasses he wore. He had on a polo shirt, and was leaning on a cane.

“Yeah, great to see you too, Les. You look great,” Trevor snarked.

“What if I wanted to solicit, mister.” Sam purred, batting her long eyelashes behind her sunglasses.

Lester glanced at Sam with raised eyebrows and back to Trevor.

“Did you bring me a hooker, Trevor?”

“Maybe. Let us in before your neighbors start trying to figure that out too.”

“Ugh.” He made a face, and gestured for them to follow him in, limping as he walked and leaning on his cane as he went down the hall.

Sam sauntered into the house with a snicker. “My prices are real high, I dunno if you could afford me, fella. Especially not if you spent all your cash on this little slice of heaven.”

“Only an idiot spends all his cash,” Lester said, leading them into the living room. “And I’m far from an idiot.”

He carefully sat down in a large armchair that had a stack of electronics and science magazines on the table next to it.

Trevor looked around at the place, which was far from pin neat, but wasn’t a pigsty either. There was some tasteful furniture– and some not exactly tasteful artwork on the walls. Framed erotic paintings mostly, and one art print of a japanese painting of a woman being ‘attacked’ by an octopus.

Sam looked around the walls with a soft whistle “huh. Trevor was right. you are a pervert.”

“I said creep,” Trevor clarified.

Lester snorted. “Sure. Well, are you a hooker or not? Should I be insulted?”

“Creep, pervert. In this case, same diff.” Sam snickered. She glanced sidelong at Lester with a sly smile. “I dunno. Are you hoping I’m a hooker?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time Trevor’s brought me one.”

“Hey, you said I owed you, right? And she owed me. Everybody won that night,” Trevor grinned. “But nah, Sammie’s not a hooker. Uh– well. not here on hooker business anyway.”

Sam grinned “i’m freelance, you know? I’m just a fun time, wrapped up in a deadly little package.”

“Cute,” Lester rolled his eyes. “Alright then, why are you here?”

Trevor flopped down on Lester’s couch, and patted the seat next to him for Sam. “Got a little business proposition for ya, Les. Remember that shit I told you I used to be into before the draft?”

“You told me a lot of shit, Trevor.”

Sam hopped onto the couch, and adjusted her knife so the sheath didn’t poke into the guy’s cushions. “We’re big time crooks, Les~” she declared.

“Big time crooks,” he crossed his arms. “Is that why you’re carrying around a fish knife?”

“It ain’t a fish knife!” Sam huffed “I bought it from some deserter back when I was part of the cult. He said it was his real deal, an Army knife.”

“Yeah it’s a real deal army knife,” Lester agreed. “For gutting fish. So what’s this about being crooks?”

“We’re lookin at a job, Les, and we’d like to cut you into it,” Trevor said. “Well, provided Sammie ain’t so hurt she guts ya with the knife.”

“…..” Sam lifted the knife out of the sheath with a pout on her face.she whined; “I’ m thinking about it!”

“Well it’d be a sexy way to die,” Lester admitted, leering at her. “But cool your jets. I’m messing with you.”

Sam stared him down for a long moment, before she licked the edge of the knife suggestively, and sheathed it again with a grin.

“I knew ya were. I know the real deal when I see it.” She fluffed her hair. “Anyway. We want you in on the deal, like my buddy said.”

Lester’s gaze lingered on Sam as she licked the knife. He put the tips of his fingers together. “Alright. You have my interest.”

It was deeply unclear what exactly had his interest, but Trevor started talking about the job anyway.

“So there’s this director.”

 

EXT. ULSA CAMPUS – DAY

The campus bustled with life in the late afternoon, a group of drunken jocks harassing passers by with beer bottles, another small protest, some nerds taking polaroids for the campus newsletter.

Michael got out of the taxi cab with the knowledge that weighing on him that the car wasn’t going to be a cheap fix, and that he had no idea where he was supposed to meet Amanda.

With a low grumble, he set out onto the campus green with his hands in his high school letterman jacket’s pockets.

“Just gotta ask someone. Someone’s gotta know where the fuck she is.”

He had options. He could go to the office and see if he could con them into giving him a copy of her schedule. He could go to the dorms and see if anyone had seen her, since she lived on campus. Or he could just roll the dice and ask the first person he saw.

Michael made his way towards the office, whistling to himself as he walked. The path of least resistance was deceiving the authorities, after all.

He made his way through the buzzing campus– at least the heat had slacked off a bit today– and into the main building. Unfortunately, it was early enough in the semester that there was a line for the lady at the front desk, and Michael would have to wait at the back of it.

The young man at the front of the line was currently yelling at the secretary about apparently having gotten dropped from a class involuntarily.

“Well ain’t that a tragedy.” He said, shaking his head

He leaned over, and tapped the person in front of him on the shoulder. “Hey– got a second?”

The bespectacled girl turned to him. “Um….. what’s up?”

He flashed her his best smile. “Hey, Name’s Michael. We might have class together. I was uh, wondering if you knew where my friend was. Name’s Amanda?”

“Amanda?” she asked, cocking her head. “Um, I might. Which Amanda?”

“Amanda uh…uh. Long brown hair, ties it back a lot. ” he worked to describe her. “Freckles , mighta seen her marching around without a shirt on some campus protest or another?”

“Oh! Lesbo Amanda! Yeah we have chem together!”

Michael’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead. “I’m sorry… Lesbo Amanda?”

“Yeah, I mean, that’s what I’ve heard people call her.” The girl nodded. “Lesbo Amanda, hippie Amanda. The one who hangs out with that butch girl Pam, right?”

“Yeah.” Michael said , a little tensely, “yeah, Pam’s her friend.”

“I heard they were dating. Is it true?”

Michael nearly choked.

“Wait, hold the fucking phone?? That’s what people are sayin’? No!, no fuckin’ way. I’m dating Amanda!”

She laughed for a moment. “That’s a good one. Oh… wait. Oh gosh, are you serious?”

“….” Michael’s eye twitched. “Yeah. I’m fucking serious.”

“Oh.” She was quiet for a moment. “Um…well, I think she has Modern Lit right now.”

“Great. What building’s that in?” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “ Lesbo Amanda, fucking christ.”

“Uh, Should be West building. Classroom F12, I think? Don’t quote me though,” she said.

“yeah. Fuckin’..thanks.” He sighed.  “Thanks.”

As he turned to walk away, he jammed his hands in his pockets, muttering. “Fuckin’ christ , Pam.”

 

INT. ULSA WEST BUILDING HALL. LIT DEPT.- DAY

Michael muscled his way through the flow of students as he made his way toward the classroom he’d been sent to.

A familiar voice called to him from inside an office as he passed. “Ah, Mr. Townley.”

Michael hissed through his teeth, and turned around with a big, fake smile. “That’s my name, man.”

Professor Corby was just standing up from behind his desk in the cluttered little office, and waved him in. “If you wouldn’t mind? A word?”

“Ah…” Michael eased into the room with a tense smile. “i’m kinda in a hurry–Amanda’s waiting and alll…”

“This will only take a moment,” the professor promised. He closed the door behind Michael, and moved back to his desk. “That was quite the scene you made last night.”

“Look, sir…” he began, his arms tensely crossed, “…the guy aggressed on me first, you know? . It wasn’t groovy, sir. not in the fuckin’ least.”

“I would agree, Mr. Townley it was distinctly ungroovy,” he sighed. “I managed to talk them down from pressing charges, you know. On you, in any case. Jaques is rather adamant about your date kicking assaulting him however.”

“…..” Michael looked away. His date. Amanda wasn’t the only one getting misidentified … . “…look. It was a case of self defense, you know?”

“I’m not entirely sure it was,” Corby said, tenting his fingers. “I strongly urge you to give mr. Ferraro the name of the man who assaulted him, if you want to repair the relationship damage.”

Michael gripped his arm, as he crossed them over his chest. He had a choice here–repair the relationship with the director by throwing Trevor under the bus–or turning his back on his professor’s offer.

He hissed through his teeth, before he finally said. “His name’s Jock Cranley, sir.”

Corby sighed. “Your loyalty is admirable, Mr. Townley, though your taste in actors may be as suspect as your taste in plus ones.”

“Heh.” Michael said with a thin smile. “Sorry, sir. But I can’t give you his name. It’s a personal thing.”

“Then I wish you the best of luck, Mr. Townley. I hope I will still be seeing you in class?”

“Of course, sir, provided I ain’t expelled for that whole fuckin’ mess.”

The professor waved a hand. “I hardly think Jacques has any authority over the school. Friend of mine or not, I won’t compromise your education.”

Michael grinned. “Thanks sir. You’re a real lifesaver, ya know that?”

“I’ve been told, on occasion,” he said with a little sigh. He waved his hand. “Now, I believe you said you were in a hurry?”

“Yeah, shit, I gotta go see my girlfriend after I made a mess of shit last night.” Michael laughed weakly.

“That sounds like more drama than I’m interested in in my old age,” he chuckled along with Michael. “But good luck to you.”

“Well. What can I say? Drama’s for the young, sir.”  He saluted his teacher, and turned to head out “thanks again, Prof.”

As Corby waved him off, and Michael swung back into the hallway, he was immediately greeted by another familiar voice.

“Michael! you actually showed up!” It was Mandy.

“Mandy, baby!” Michael held his hands out with a tense grin “Told you I would!”

She pulled him into a hug, and he could feel her nipples under her t-shirt. No bra today.

“It was a low bar, but I am impressed,” she half giggled.

He patted her back with a low chuckle. “Yeah, heh. Of course, babe. Look, sorry about last night. How’s your uh…eye? it was your eye, right?”

She touched her eye gingerly, and Michael noticed there was a lot of makeup around it. Like someone had punched her in the face.

“It’s hurting like a bitch and people keep asking if Pam hit me,” she complained.

He put his hand on her shoulder.

“That sucks, Mandy. I’ll make it up to ya, alright?” He winced slightly, and after a moment of hesitation–“They asked if Pam hit ya?”

“She’s got kind of an aggressive reputation,” she sighed. “She’s in boxing club you know?”

“Huh. Yeah, I’d fuckin’ bet. I’ve seen her. She looks like she packs a fucking punch,” he murmured “I uh, hear she’s got some other kinds of rep too.”

Amanda frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“I uh.” he rubbed the back of his neck “heard some people sayin’ some shit about you and her, is all.”

“What, like someone’s been spreading rumors about us?” she asked. Her tone sharpened, and the flow of traffic started to give them a wider berth.

“Yeah,” he said, standing his ground “Some chick at the guidance office was callin’ you Lesbo Amanda and talking about how the two of you are supposedly dating and…yeah…, you know?”

He felt like maybe, just maybe he was digging himself a hole here. “But hey , that’s just like, their fucking opinions and shit. Why don’t we ditch the bad vibes on campus and, I dunno, get some lunch, huh?”

He was in fact digging a hole because it seemed like she’d stopped listening after ‘lesbo Amanda’.

“Who the fuck said that?” she snarled. “Who the fuck is trying to smear my reputation?”

“Hey, Hey, let’s just chill out, alright?” Michael held his hands up. “I didn’t get her name, alright? just some chick in line at the guidance office. I was trying to find your class, and she was in front of me, and she spouted off some bullshit. Live and let live, ya know?”

“Holy shit what a slut!” She pouted, stomping her foot. “If I find her I’m going to give her a piece of my mind!”

“Yeah, I bet you are.” Michael laughed awkwardly. “Sorry to bring it up, just. ya know. Wanted to make sure you heard, I guess.”

She grabbed his arm and clung to him. “Well now I’ve heard! Of all the nerve!” she paused. “Did you say you’d treat me to lunch?”

“Yeah. I said I’d treat ya to lunch.” he chuckled. “Nothing too expensive ’cause I gotta pay for the car, but–you wanted a date, right?”

“I do!” she nodded. “I have news too, so that’s the perfect time!”

“News, huh?” He raised his eyebrow as he headed towards the exit. “alright. Let’s catch a cab and you can lay it on me. Good news?”

She hung off his arm. “Definitely good news.”

INT. A SMALL CAFE JUST OFF DEL PERRO BEACH- DAY

With the heat of the last few days mostly abated, Michael and Amanda were able to sit out on the patio of the Neuvau Hippe cafe within spitting distance of the Del Perro pier. A gentle breeze tugged at the umbrella, just enough to threaten to send sandwich wrappers flying around the place.

The two of them had managed to have something approaching pleasant small talk through the cab ride up, and into the first few bites of their meal. As Amanda picked at her sashimi and fried tofu salad, however, a quiet had descended over the shaded little table.

Michael couldn’t help but feel anxious. The looming threat of ‘the news’ over lunch was like a lingering stormcloud, and all the benign small talk in the world wasn’t dispelling it.

He leaned back, looking out at the beach in the distance. “So…Mandy…”

She looked up at him distractedly. “Hmm?”

“You said you had some news. Is it uh, good news or bad news?”  He balanced his drink in his hand, pointing it towards her “just so I can prepare myself, ya know?”

“Oh that!” Amanda brightened, straightening up, as she told him. “I got a letter from my parents today! They’re coming to visit for two weeks! I can finally introduce you to them!”

Michael’s eyes widened. “Woah, your parents are actually comin’ to Los Santos?”  He rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous smile. “Cool. Groovy. That ain’t bad news.”

“I told you it was good news, stupid,” she said with a smile. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to meet you. After all, they did send me to college so I could find a nice guy.”

Michael rubbed his neck. “is that why they sent ya?…” He looked into his drink with a smile that he didn’t know if he felt.

It’s a step forward…Meeting her parents means things are gonna get serious, Mikey….ain’t that the dream? A wife, a car, a house by the water…

“You think they’ll like me, huh?”

“Well, yeah ,” she insisted with a smile. “Sure, you may not have a real job yet, but you’re clean, well put together, polite– compared to most of the guys at school. you know? I don’t see why they’d have a problem with you.”

“I’m uh… I’m workin’ on getting a real job, Mandy, I am.” He glanced back at the beach, gazing out at the surf and sand. “I guess I don’t see, neither. Though, I ain’t exactly the richest guy in town, nor the highest class..”

“Honestly the worst thing about that is my dad will probably try to offer you a job with his company if he thinks you’re serious about me.”

“A job with his…” he paused.  “What’s your dad even do, anyway? I don’t think you ever told me.”

“Oh he owns a company that makes drills,” she explained with a shrug. “Super boring stuff, as far as I’m concerned. But mom’s never complained.”

“Drills. Huh.” Michael sai , rubbing his neck. “Mom… never, huh?”

“No way. At least, not after the beach house and the inground pool.”

“That’s the American dream, right?” He said with a slight smile. “heh.”

“Mmmhmm. But I know you’re still excited about screenwriting, so don’t be too insulted when daddy offers, okay?”

Michael sipped his drink thoughtfully. “Hey, as long as he ain’t offended if I turn him down for now, I ain’t gonna be offended by him askin’.”  He hesitated a moment before he asked; “so uh, your folks coming down. Means we’re getting pretty serious, huh?”

“I mean….” Amanda traced her finger over the checkered tablecloth. “You do want to be serious, right? I know I was mad at you this morning but I got pretty messed up last night. I know you had a bad night too.”

“It uh, got a little heated, yeah,” he agreed, dragging his hand through his short-cut hair.. “and you got blasted in the eye. I just uh, thought you were pretty pissed at me for missin’ last night.”

“Well I am!” she said, biting her lip. “But you can always make it up to me… How about by going all out when you meet my folks?”

“…all out? –whatcha mean?”

She curled her hair around her finger, and batted her eyelashes at him.. “Like, really trying to impress them. Showing them– and me– just how serious you are.”

There seemed to be something that Amanda was hinting around the edges of, or maybe trying to hide, but beyond that, she was as inscrutable as a beautiful young woman in a movie always was.

“Just how serious I am..” he said with a shake of his head. “…I’ll see what I can do, Mandy. I sure as hell don’t wanna do wrong by ya. I’ll…work something out.”

“I’m really glad to hear you say that, Michael,” she purred, putting her soft, lotioned hand on his. “They’ll be here next saturday, and be here for 2 weeks, like I said. So…”

“I’ll get planning something, alright? I…might have a bit more money soon, actually. I got an investment going. An opportunity.”

“Really?” She beamed at him. “Did the party work out after all?”

“Somethin’ like that,” he offered with a slight grin “I don’t wanna screw my run of good luck by sayin’ too much too soon, but…”

“Don’t tell me then!” she chirped. “You can tell me the good news when you have it.”

“You got it, Mandy. I promise…in a few weeks time? Things are gonna be looking up.”

 

INT. LESTER’S HOUSE- DAY

Trevor’s truck rumbled and roared out of the driveway as Sam and Lester still sat in the livingroom. With the plan firmed up, and Lester on board, there were preparations to be made, and since Lester had trouble driving since his injury, he’d asked for Sam’s help as Trevor took care of some of the more rough elements.

“Well. It’s just you and me, specs.” Sam stood from her spot on the couch, and stretched out with a wide grin, before sauntering  over towards his kitchen. “Whatcha got in the fridge for me?”

Lester stayed put while she wandered and he waved his hand dismissively. “Help yourself. You look like you could use a sandwich.”

In the kitchen Sam drew her hands down her side, to the knife she kept holstered.

“You don’t get a lot to eat when you’re used to the whole ‘cult’ life, you know?” She whistled as she opened up the fridge. “But I think I look pretty good, old man.”

Lester’s kitchen was modest, but his fridge was stocked. And organized. Hyper organized.

“You’re definitely pulling off the Twiggy gogo look, if that’s your intention. You can drive, right?”

“The Twiggy gogo look’s my bag, brother.” She purred. She began taking things out and piling them in her arms . ” “I was part of the hip crowd for a while you know. The wave of the future until they all killed themselves sucking toads like a bunch of fucking morons.  As for drivin’, yeah, I can drive. I know how to drive, and if any cops pull me over…well …”

“Do us both a favor and don’t get pulled over, alright?” he snorted. She heard thumping, and he hobbled out of the living room on his cane, sitting down immediately at the small dining table.

“Don’t worry about it.” She purred as she dumped some supplies for a sandwich onto the table and got to work. “Ya want one, Mr. G.I?”

He leaned on a hand and grinned at her, his glasses obscuring his eyes. “Sure, why not. We’re not exactly on a schedule.”

Sam grinned, and began making another with a shrug of her shoulders.

“You know, you should be happy. I bet ya don’t get pretty girls over here often. ”

“Not without leaving money on the table,” he agreed blithely.

“Well, lucky you. not only am I too expensive for ya, but I’m not gonna charge.” She pushed the sandwich his way, and took a bite out of her own with a wink . “And I’ll even drive you around for the sake of the Job.”

“You don’t have much choice if you want there to be a job, but I’ll take it.” . He started in on the sandwich and after a moment asked. “So how the hell did you wind up running with Trevor Phillips of all people?”

“Well–you see. it was a little while back, you know? A bunch of my friends were lying dead in the desert. I was the only one left under the crescent moon. Nowhere to go. Nobody to lean on. Things were lookin’ bleak.”

“You have me there, that sounds like the only time someone would be glad for him to show up,” Lester said, leaning on his hand.

“Well, that ain’t where I met him. After that I took to living on the streets, you know? Under the car park in Los Santos, spending nights in the gay bars and finding someone who’d take me in on their couch for a night. Shit like that, And then, one day I hooked up with some fella who lived out in the Alamo sea, only he’s a real piece of work. I get annoyed and head on out into the night to find a way home… when I bump into a walking trash fire of a man named Trevor Phillips.”

Lester kept eating his sandwich, listening like she was narrating a radio drama. He waved for her to continue.

“There he was, in the dead of night…hopped up on all kinds of cocaine and going absolutely wild on this dude. Turns out, the guy was some schmuck looking to rob the wrong dude, and wound up on the wrong side of Trevor’s violent side.”

She tapped her knife as she chewed her sandwich. “it looked like fun. So I joined in.”

“So you joined in,” he repeated flatly. “Can you be more descriptive?”

“Alright, alright. I’d seen the guy around, the mugger I mean.He was kinda a ‘well known’ asshole in the counterculture circles I run in, you dig?  And it so happened I had a few bad times with him, myself. So I see him fail to rob some coked out loonie in the Alamo sea, and I think ‘well here’s my chance to get a few hits in, fucker probably deserved it’.

“I ran up and punted him in the side for callin’ me ‘an ugly fag in a bad skirt’ a while back. I may have shouted a few choice tidbits about his tiny dick, and lack of a fucking personality too. ” She bit her sandwich. “right before I broke his nose. Trevor seemed to like my spirit.”

“That…. tracks,” Lester offered, brushing crumbs off of his shirt. “Sounds like you have that ‘unchecked aggression’ instinct in common.”

She preened, brushing her hair over her ear, evidently taking it as a compliment.

“Uh huh, we sure do. After that we started hanging out, I mentioned I was a little homeless, and he offered me a place he found. All I gotta do is put up with his crazy ass hangin’ around, and I’ll go to bed every night.”

“Win win,” Lester snorted. “Trevor has someone to listen to his insane ranting and you don’t have to live on the street.”

“His ranting aint’ half as crazy as the shit people said back during my ‘religious retreat’ days.”

“Yes you did mention that you had been in a cult….”

“Yep.” Sam leaned on the table ‘one of those big, big hippie cults. The kind that was out there lookin’ for ways to expand your mind, and find the true answer to life through the wonders of chemistry.”

Lester snickered”Living in the desert, scrounging food out of dumpsters and taking as many drugs as you could get your hands on?” .

“You got it, specs.” Sam pushed her sunglassed up her nos.e “and don’t forget the sex. Kinda a huge draw for a lotta folks who joined.”

“How could I forget the sex.Was that a big draw for you then? Indiscriminate sex?”

“Oh you know.” Sam said, waving her sandwich in the air. “The sex, the drugs, the freedom. Finding folks who weren’t gonna call me ‘young man’ every five fucking seconds. All pretty big draws”

Lester looked her over significantly. Probingly even.

“So you’ve alluded. Though I doubt you get too many people calling you ‘young man’ these days. Hanging around with Trevor I expect more people think you’re a child bride he brought back from ‘nam.”

“Yeah I’d fucking bet. But no, my old man came from a little further north than Vietnam, sorry pal.”  She blew her dark hair from her face. With her narrow, but pointed shoulders and lanky form, she was certainly not masculine in the least. She crossed her legs, and winked. “The intention is to show everyone just how gorgeous a gal I am.”

“I’m sure you are,” he said with a little grin. “You strike me as a little bit of a narcissist. ”

“Me? A narcissist? I’ve just got a healthy dose of pride, that’s all. Only people who don’t like pride are bible thumpers.” she winked at him “which i’m sure you ain’t.”

“What makes you guess that?” he asked, raising his chin to her, and peering at her curiously.

“I heard a few things about ya.” She grinned “Trevor says you’re a creep. And rather fond of black market dealings, so uh, not exactly ‘good book approved’.”

“I could be a hypocritical creep,” he offered. “The world’s full of them. Fondling church boys and what not.”

“Hmmm.” She looked him in the eyes “I dunno, you seem smarter than that. The hypocrisy, I mean. Not the uh, fondling church boys, though maybe don’t do that, neither.”

“Personally I don’t see anything particularly interesting about a church boy’s inherent vulnerability to authority,” Lester shrugged. “No, you’re correct. I’m an atheist in fact. And no, before you ask, that doesn’t mean I’m a communist.”

“So you weren’t sellin’ guns to the reds back in ‘nam?” She said with a grin and fluffed her hair in amusement. “the ol’ FBI never came knocking at your door with an accusation of communist sympathy? Good to know, I guess. Not that it matters. Whole world’s fucked , when it comes to leadership.”

“Obviously I’m a capitalist ,” he snorted. “I was selling guns to whoever had the money. Speaking of which, are you ready to go?”

“Well, if you’re that eager to slide into a car’s front seat with me, sure. I’m ready to roll when you are.” Sam batted her eyelashes

“I’d love to get there before Circuit Size closes, yeah,” he snorted, struggling to stand with his cane.

Sam slid from her seat, and stretched for a moment before she casually offered him a hand.

“Come on, specs. Let’s get you that nerd crap you need to get this shit done.”

INT. MICHAEL’S APARTMENT– EVENING

Michael’s apartment stank of grass again when he got home. This time mixed with the scent of patchouli. And once again, Trevor was relaxing in Michael’s arm chair, though this time he was awake, and had a stack of tabloids in his lap.

“Hey, Mikey, welcome home.”

“Trevor.” Michael said as he slammed the door behind him. “I see you’re smokin’ up my apartment again.”

“Brought some for ya,” he replied, giving him a lazy wave.

“i’m fuckin’ flattered.” He chuckled tiredly, before he collapsed on his kitchen chair. “Fuckin’ shit.”

Trevor fished a joint out of his front pocket and held it up for Michael to see. “Fuckin’ shit, eh? Tell me about it, Mikey.”

“So.”  He took a deep breath. “….have I told ya about Amanda yet? My girlfriend.”

“You mentioned you had one of those,” Trevor nodded. He lit up with his zippo, and took a puff before handing the jay to Michael.

Michael took it, and took a long drag.

“Yeah, We had lunch today after I apologized for missin’ her rally.” He hesitated “…she wants me to meet her folks next week.”

Trevor snorted, blowing the smoke he’d been holding in his lungs out his nose. “Meeting the folks huh? You going soft and settling down on me already, pal?”

“…Don’t put it that way.” Michael griped , passing Trevor the joint “….but that’s what she wants. I actually wonder if she’s hoping I pop the question at the dinner with her dad.”

Trevor took a long puff, the paper blackening and making small popping noises as the fire ate it down.

“Well shit,” he rasped, lungs full. He held the breath in for a long moment, before letting it out, breathing smoke like an old dragon. “You gonna pop?”

He handed the joint back to Michael, his fingers twitching slightly.

Michael took the joint and stuck it between his lips, taking a deep breath.

“I dunno. I mean ,shit, she’s probably expecting me to, right? And…she’s.. I mean…” He sunk into his chair. “Shit, I dunno. ”

Trevor stretched out a little bit more, subtly leaning closer to Michael as he held out his hand expectantly for the smoke.

“Well I mean, how long you been dragging her ass around? You ready to commit to the ol’ ball and chain?”

Michael handed the jay to him with a shake of his head. “I mean. for a while I guess…I ran into her back when I first started college. She was burning her bra.”

He snorted, and sucked in another breath of pungent smoke. “So what, like 2 years? That’s a long fuckin’ time to dick a lady around you know, Mikey. She’s gonna be expecting you to pop a few buns in her oven before you know it.”

“She’s a liberated woman, man. don’t talk like that,” Michael griped as he took the stick of weed “I know she’s expecting it, I’m just…I dunno. I should probably do it, you know? It’s the first step to that American Dream.”

“The American fucking dream,” Trevor growled, shaking his head. “You really believe in that shit? After all the chaos of the last few years?”

“…I dunno.” Michael murmured. “Ever since I was a kid it’s been the promise in the pictures, you know?”

“Earth to Mikey, you know they don’t make just documentaries, right?” he snorted, leaning forward on his elbows.

He looked like he had more to say, but he left it at that for the moment.

“I mean, fuck, I guess? but.” He leaned his head back. “if I don’t take some responsibility at some point…”

Trevor paused and tilted his head. “If you don’t take some responsibility then uh, what, Mikey?”

“I dunno.” he grumbled “like…” He pointed the joint at him “what if she’s my only shot , you know? At the whole…kids and a white picket fence kinda deal…”

Trevor leveled his gaze at him and just stared for a moment, before he put his hand to his face.

“You have to be fucking kidding me.”

“W-what?” Michael hissed through his teeth

Trevor held his hands up. “Nothing. Fucking… Nothing. Just forget it.”

“That’s what my fucking father did, and his dad.” He crossed his arms “…what a lotta the guys in class talk about too. It’s just, you know…”

Trevor snorted. “Look, man, you want that father’s father white picket fence shit, that’s your business I guess. But if you think this girl Alana is the only girl out there who’s gonna want to settle down with you you’re fucking delusional.”

“Amanda.” he corrected. “And I don’t know that. I mean, shit. We get along alright, most of the time. She’s a decent chick, even with all the protests and Pam and all that shit.”

“Sounds great,” Trevor said snidely, pulling back a bit into the chair. “So hey, are you gonna be too busy picking out curtains to do this job with me?”

Michael passed him the joint

“Tch. Fuck you, T. I’m 100% committed to this fucking thing. I just…gotta keep in mind that I gotta set aside some time to meet her parents, alright?” His brow was furrowed, his voice edging on irritable. The tension was obvious in every muscle.. “No big deal.”

“Yeah, no big deal,” Trevor agreed, just as tense. He snapped the joint back and took a long puff of the little that was left of it, burning it down to his fingertips. He squashed the roach of it in the ashtray.. “Talked to my guy. He wants to meet you. Also says we need to find out what kind of safe Ferraro bought.”

“Yeah.” Michael tapped his foot on the ground with a frown. ‘…think we can pump someone for intel? Maybe ask around the local safe shops.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” he agreed. “Unless you wanted to try to chat up the hot shot who wrote the article.”

“Maybe we should try that, actually.” Michael pointed. “Less direct. Less suspicious.”

Trevor passed him the magazine he’d been holding in his lap. “Thought you might see it that way. Not like the guy’s got any ethics, am I right?”

“Exactly.” Michael smirked as he took the mag and looked it over. “None of these rats in journalism do.”

“Don’t let your college buddies hear that,” Trevor snickered. Flipping through the magazine Michael found the article on Ferraro. The by-line was credited to somebody named Frank Warden.

“Frank Warden, huh?” He said “Shouldn’t be too hard to track down. I’ll see if we can coax it outta him …if not , I might try a bribe.”

“Can’t imagine a bribe wouldn’t work on one of those fucks,” he agreed. “Speaking of which, I got a lead on some guys for our B-team. You know, the distraction.”

“No shit?” Michael asked with a sly smirk , now that the conversation had turned “Lay it on me.”

“Some ex-mob teamsters looking for work,” Trevor explained. “They’re not important. My question is do we send Sammie with ‘em to keep an eye on ‘em, or do we keep her with us for the main job?”

“Depends. How much you trust the kid?” Michael asked, “She’s untested.”

“She is,” he agreed, shrugging. “I trust her not to kill me in my sleep. Beyond that. I donno. Where you think she’ll do the worse damage if things go tits up?”

“Lemme rephrase the question.” Michael held his hands up ‘if things go tits up at the distraction– you think she’ll do something reckless and alert our mark?”

“Huh….” Trevor thought about it for a moment. “Let’s show her the ropes personally.”

“It’s a plan, T. Best to keep her close while we teach her the basics.”

“Sounds like a plan, Mikey,” he grinned. “Give you some practice for that fatherhood thing you’re excited about.”

“Tch. yeah, real excited.” He said with a roll of his eyes “I’m sure Sam’s a good kid. We’ll teach her well, man.”

“Yeah she reminds me a bit of–” Trevor was cut off when Michael’s phone started ringing in the corner.

“Shit, shit shit…” he tipped, falling out of the chair before he scrambled to his feet and over to the phone. “Hold that thought, T, and don’t say nothin’!”

It was the garage, calling to tell him that his car was fixed, and he could pick it up.

As he talked on the phone, Trevor lit a cigarette and a fresh stick of incense that started to fill the room with more of the patchouli scent.

“Thank you, yeah that sounds great. Excellent. What’s uh, the bill?’

It wasn’t pretty. Michael could cover it– barely. But it was going to make everything else a problem.

“Shit.” Michael slammed the phone down on the cradle. “…this is gonna drain me dry, T.”

Trevor cocked his head.

“Thinking about ditching the car?” he asked.

“Ugh…” Michael grimaced as he considered it. “I mean… I need a way to get around, T. But…”

Trevor grinned nastily. “Could pick up a new one. The ol’ five finger discount.”

“Oh yeah, a little grand theft fucking auto never hurt nobody,” Michael drawled

“You and me never got caught,” he pointed out with a nostalgic smile. He took a long puff off of his cigarette. “Not joyriding, or selling em to chop shops.”

“Yeah.” Michael said with a slight smirk. “Back in the boonies we were kings of the road.”

“So how about we head out into the boonies and get you a new ride, Mikey?” he suggested, offering Michael his half smoked cigarette with a wordless gesture.

Michael reached out and grabbed the cigarette, placing it between his lips. “Think we could pull it off?”

“Without a hitch,” he smirked. “There’s a garage down in Sandy Shores that’ll help us out with a new paint job and hook us up with plates for $200, no questions asked.”

“…a fraction of what the fuckin’ shop’s gonna charge me.” he mused “alright. You know what? why the hell not?”

“Hell yeah, that’s the Michael I know,” Trevor punched him on the shoulder, his foul temper seemingly lifted. “You up for playing outlaws tonight or do you need to pencil it into your social calendar?” He mimed writing, holding his nose in the air.

“Tch.” Michael said with an amused smirk .”Fuck you, man. I’ve got time. Nothing’s on my ‘schedule’ tonight.”

There was that first 10 pages of his screenplay for Corby’s class– it’d probably be a bad idea to ask for extra time on that when the professor had just gone to bat with him over the party debacle– but he still had a couple of days to bang something out.

“Hell yeah,” Trevor grinned. “Tonight we ride again!”

“Yeah, maybe it’ll give me a little inspiration for my screenplay, if nothin’ else.”

He offered Trevor a high five. “Let’s tear up the town, partner.”

Trevor’s hand met his with a resounding noise, and sting of the palm. “With pleasure, partner.”

 

INT. ELECTRONICS STORE, DEL PERRO SHOPPING CENTER– EVENING

The Circuit Sized Electronics Boutique was a deceptively large store in the corner of the busy shopping center, crammed full with narrow shelves full of spools of wire, gears, plugs, batteries, and all kinds of esoteric equipment. Lester puttered about the shop with his cane, mumbling to himself, leaving Sam, for the moment, to her own devices.

Sam mosied about the store, looking things over with a note of amusement…half looking to kill the time…and half looking for something to shoplift. “Groovy place.”

“Interested in electronics at all?” Lester asked.

All the items had prices on them, of course. And some of the smaller items were a little expensive. Nothing really impressive aside from some of the things behind the counter however.

“A little bit.” Sam admitted. “It’s all real cool but it kinda goes over my head..”

“The trick of it is to start small, and work your way up,” he said, gathering items into a basket. “Well, and if you’re lucky you start when you’re five.”

Sam stared at him. “Wait, is that where you started? at age five??”

“Around then,” he agreed with a shrug. “My father was in commercial engineering, so there were always components laying around the house.”

Sam whistled. “The only thing my dad had lyin’ around were his old business papers and disappointment.” She leaned on the wall to look at the expensive items. “What kinda stuff didja make?”

“Oh the sort of thing every ten year old makes,” he said with a shrug. “Short wave radios and small explosives, mostly.”

“Oh yeah.” Sam snickered. “the shit every ten year old makes. Absolutely.”

Lester smirked at her, and offered her the basket. “Put that on the counter for me?” he asked. “You’re saying you wouldn’t have built small explosives?”

“I mean, I woulda.” She said as she scooped up the basket. “And blown up people’s mailboxes. Or their hands if I really hated ’em.”

“See? Every ten year old. ” He planted his cane on the ground and headed to the counter.

She followed him with the basket in hand. “Uh huh” she snickered. “But most ten year olds, like, can’t actually make one.”

“Not with that attitude.” He checked out the parts at the front, a bored mall cashier putting things into a bag for them.

“Lemme go back in time to tell 10 year old me not to let her dreams be dreams, huh?” she laughed, as she watched the cashier pack the items. “So all this? it’s gonna come in handy?”

“When I put it together, yes,” he nodded, handing her the bag again when the cashier was done with it. He handed the guy a wad of bills.

Sam took the bag, and hefted it over her shoulder with a shrug “You’ll have to walk me through it.”

“Not in the store,” Lester murmured, as he limped to the door gesturing for her to follow.

She nodded, scurrying along to follow him with a wide grin. “Well no shit, man.”

Lester slowly limped out onto the sidewalk and parking lot of the shopping center where people were passing casually between shops, and sipping drinks at one of the sidewalk cafes.

“So you wanted to know what this stuff is for.”

“That’s right.” Sam said with a grin. “I ain’t much in the way of technology, but I’m curious at least.”

“The primary thing is short wave radios on an unmonitored band,” he explained. “You want to be able to communicate in and out of the house without some idiot picking up the chatter”

“Oooh.” She nodded “Radios’ll come in handy, yeah. I mean. Last thing we wanna do is be unorganized.”

“exactly,” he nodded. “No plan survives contact with the enemy, so it’s important to be able to coordinate on the fly.”

“You learn that one in Vietnam?” she asked with a raise of her eyebrow

“I certainly put it into practice there,” he snorted as he headed towards his car.

As they crossed the parking lot, Sam heard footsteps behind them.

“Excuse me, miss!”

Sam froze, and looked over her shoulder. “What? Who is it? whatta ya want?”

She turned around to see a skinny man in a suit and sunglasses, holding out a card. He had a camera around his neck. “I was right. Drop dead gorgeous.”

Sam raised her eyebrow under the rose-tinted lenses of her round glasses.

“Well whoever you are, you got good taste. I am gorgeous. But ya didn’t answer my question, fella.” She grinned lasciviously. “If you’re looking to hire me for the night, I’m afraid at the moment I’m on vacation from the ol’ streetcorner grind.”

“Oh baby,” the man grinned, pushing down his sunglasses to look at her. “Nothing like that. I’m with a modeling agency.”

He offered her the card from between his fingers. She reached and took it looking it over quickly.

“Modeling agency, huh? Didn’t know you just recruited chicks off the street like this. I thought there were like, interviews and shit.’

“I’m a talent scout,” he told her with a grin. “And I know talent when I see it.”

The card indeed said Merkin Modeling Group, and listed an address and phone number.

Lester looked on over her shoulder with a dubious snort.

“And you think I got talent, huh?” She asked with a cock of her head.

“I know it when I see it. Feel free to drop by our office.”

Sam flipped the card in her fingers, before smiling sharply at the agent[-like a shark.

“You got it, handsome. Maybe you’ll see me around.” She waved over her shoulder as the card went into her pocket. “Toodles.”

“Toodles, doll,” the man grinned back, and sticking his hands in his pockets, headed off.

Lester rolled his eyes, and opened the car door.

“You know that guy was a pornographer, right?”

“Well duh.” Sam said as she slipped into the car with a wink. “I ain’t fuckin’ stupid. I’m no stranger to sexwork, I know what kinda creeps can run the show.”

“Just checking,” he snorted, letting her drive again.

“Think I could have a career in the porno circuit?” she asked as she started the car.

“Something you’re interested in?” he asked, glancing at her curiously.

She brushed her dark hair from her face, fumbling around in her purse for a pack of cigarettes “Eh, It’s something to put food on the table. And sex is fun. But I dunno if I’d wanna do porn. Might take the fun outta it, you know?”

“I’ve heard it can have that effect,” Lester agreed dryly, smirking. “Don’t mix business with pleasure and that kind of thing.”

Sam nodded. “Exactly. and if I ain’t having fun…what’s the point?”

“Money, I guess,” he snorted. “Though I doubt that they’ll be paying well. Definitely not better than this job– if we can pull it off.”

Sam snickered. “Still, it could be good for a laugh.” She leaned over to bump his shoulder with hers “This job’ll set us up for a long while, huh?’

“Depends on how you’re planning to spend it.”,

“Got any tips, tricks?” She asked with a grin, looping an arm around his. “‘Cause I’m all ears, big guy.”

“Don’t buy a bunch of fancy toys. Don’t tell your relatives about it. Invest.”

“Damn, I wanted to buy some fancy toys.” She said with a smirk. “I don’t have a lotta contact with my folks right now, so that’s fine, but I know jack shit about ‘investing’.”

“You’re in luck. There’s an entire industry built around people who know jack shit about investing,” Lester smirked, his glasses glinting in the late afternoon light.

Sam raised her eyebrow. “I can’t tell if you’re teasing me or not.”

“I little bit,” he agreed. “Mostly I’m offering to manage your money for you if you want.”

Sam looked him over with a sly smile. “…can I trust you with it, Les?”

Lester snorted. “You’re living with Trevor. Even if I weren’t offended by the idea that you might trust me less than you would him–which I am– I have to consider the very real possibility that screwing you over would put my life in serious danger.”

Sam rested her arm on his shoulder with a grin as she drove down the street. ”

You’re damn right it would. I ain’t someone you wanna screw with.” She giggled. “but you know what…sure. Why not? You seem like you got the idea with this kinda thing. Help me out, and I’ll return the favor, huh?”

Lester pushed his glasses up by the bridge, smirking. “It’s a deal then. We can discuss whatever that favor might be at a later date.”

INT. TREVOR’S TRUCK-HIGHWAY ALONG THE ALAMO SEA– NIGHT

“So what are you thinking, Mikey? Hotwire or stick up?” Trevor grinned, a lit cigarette hanging half out of his mouth.

“Stick up can get messy.” Michael said “Don’t want anyone recognizing my face, you know? A hotwire we can probably get in and out without anyone being any the wiser.”

“Oooh, look at Mr. Secret Identity,” he teased. “Nah, you’re right though. And how fancy you want this ride, James Bond?”

“Fancy enough. I don’t want a broken down piece of shit, but I ain’t looking for this year’s hot new one of a kind item.”

“I think I got just the place to look then,” he growled, grinning, and shifting forward in his seat. “There’s a bar out here on the edge of Sandy Shores where a bunch of assholes in power suits come to slum it.”

“No shit?” Michael snorted. “Of course they do. Sounds like the types. Groovy then, bastards can afford another ride, I’m sure.”

“If they can’t, fuck em,” Trevor snickered. “I don’t give a single shit what they can or can’t afford.”

“Besides. It’ll be nice to ride in style for a bit, huh?” Michael grinned “Rather than the piece of shit rotting away at the repair shop.”

“You seriously paid for that fucker, didn’t you, Mikey?”

“Yeah, I fucking did. The fucking dealer sold me a fucking lemon.”

“Fuck him. He around? We could teach the fucker a lesson.”

Ahead, Trevor could see the neon sign of a desert Road House, its parking lot crammed.

“Eh, he’s near Strawberry.” Michael said “some fucker named Simeon. Might want to give him a piece of my fucking mind.”

Trevor tapped the side of his head with a grin. “Committing it to memory, brother. In case we need to go work out some aggression.”

He pulled into the parking lot, in the space closest to the exit. The bar seemed pretty active inside, but there was only one couple– a huge bearded man and what looked like a hooker– outside, making out by the door.

“I’m sure ya are, T.” Michael nudged him with a chuckle. Casually he glanced over the cars in the lot. “You know any other good bars out here? Ones that ain’t overrun with rich kids.”

“Been to one or two. You wanna go out drinking after this?”

“Maybe. Maybe I do.” He smirked. “to ‘celebrate’.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Trevor grinned, hopping out of the truck. “Let’s do the deed, Mikey.”

The lot was filled with cars, and motorcycles, of varying levels of expense and reliability. There were a couple of newish sports cars, and a couple of fancy business sedans, as well as plenty of middle of the road coupes and four-doors.

“You know,” Michael said. I’m kinda tempted by the sports car.”

Trevor grinned, hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped. “Hey you wanna go for it, I’m not gonna stop you.”

“Yeah, you know what?” He walked casually towards the nicest sports car he could find, a grin on his face “Let’s ride in style.”

No one noticed as they approached the car. Trevor casually slid his fingers under the handle of the passenger’s side. “Locked.”

“Course it is.” Michael snorted, before winding his way to the back to check the trunk. “Lemme test something.”

The trunk, unfortunately, turned out to be just as locked as he put his hands on it.

“I got some wire in the truck,” Trevor said quietly. “Unless you wanna break the window and have ’em sort it out at the shop.”

“Nah, get me the wire. Breaking the window’ll cost more and raise alarm.”

Trevor nodded, and ducked back to the truck, leaving Michael alone by the car for a moment.

Michael looked into the car, taking a scope of it’s interior.

“Shouldn’t be too hard.” he murmured

Michael could see inside the car was a pair of nice sunglasses, and a purse. He also saw at a glance in the rearview mirror– that someone had just walked out of the bar, and was looking straight at him.

“…………….” Michael cleared his throat, and leaned on the car like it was his, ready to simply smash the window if need be. “Hey.”

“Hey man that’s–” The man started walking toward him, but was suddenly distracted as someone else burst through the doors of the bar– or rather was tossed. Both of them slammed into the pavement in front of the bar, just as Trevor jogged back to the car with a bent wire.

“Got it, Mikey,” Trevor said, reappearing with the wire. “Oh shit, bar fight huh?”

“Got fucking lucky there, T.” Michael said as he grabbed the wire and worked to dig it into the lining next to the window.

“Can’t have bad luck all the time!” Trevor watched the pair fighting at the doors, as the man who had seen Michael tried to extricate himself.

Despite being out of practice, Michael was as quick and deft with the operation as usual, and he got the lock open within seconds.

Trevor grinned, and punched him in the shoulder. “My man! –uhoh. Let’s cut this short.”

He nodded toward the front of the bar– where the man had managed to extract himself from the ongoing fight, and was coming toward them. Luckily he had a fairly large parking lot to cross.

Michael hopped into the car, and slammed the door shut, as he bent down to pop the wires out from under the ignition. “Lemme get this started.”

Trevor hopped into his own truck– and threw it into the way of the oncoming guy, while Michael’s nimble fingers started up the car. It hummed to life.

Michael grinned, and peeled out of the parking lot, tires screeching, rolling down the window as he yelled; “Routine repo, man, don’t get your panties in a twist! Peace and love, brother!”

He saw– and heard– Trevor start out after him with squealing tires; then suddenly throw it into reverse and hit the guy.

Michael hissed through his teeth.

“Oof, Shit!–He’s fine, Mikey, he’s fine. don’t worry about it.” He rocketed off down the street. “You ain’t going down for murder today..”

Trevor gained on him in the rear-view and Michael saw him waving, and grinning like a maniac.

“….son of a bitch, man hasn’t changed an ounce since Yankton.” Michael shook his head before returning his eyes on the road. “Grade A fuckin’ lunatic.”

Trevor pulled up beside him, rolling the window down, shouting at him. “Nice one, Mikey! Follow me to that shop so we can get a plate change before the cops hear about it.”

Michael rolled down the window. “idja have to run the fuckin’ guy over??? Is he alive?”

Trevor waved his hand. “Eh, he’ll live! But I think he hit his head pretty good! Won’t remember us, that’s for sure!”

“Shit.” Michael ran his free hand through his hair. “fuck. Damn, As long as nobody tries to fuckin’ taking us in for murder.”

“Naaah, I saw him getting up. Forget about it! Now come on!” Trevor gunned his truck and pulled in front of Michael.

Michael cursed under his breath, pressing the pedal to the metal as he pulled down the street and swerved behind Trevor. “Alright, alright, fuck!”

 

INT. RED SPADE GARAGE – SANDY SHORES — NIGHT

Trevor laid on his horn for a moment as he cut the engine in the dingy, yet organized garage. As Michael pulled in after him, he could see that there were a number of cars up on jacks in various states of disassembly.

Michael pulled into the lot next to him with a raised eyebrow. “Nice shop. Well put together.”

Trevor hopped out on the truck and leaned against the door of it.. “Yeah the dyke in charge of cars is a real neat freak I’ve heard.”

“Her name’s Arrow, Trevor, and she’s right behind me.” Out of the interior door walked a heavyset young woman with heavily teased black hair wearing a studded black jacket, fishnets, chains, and not much else. “Is it business or trouble tonight?”

“Huh.” Michael said, sliding out of the car with a wave of his hand. “Sorry , ladies. Business. …but if you know Trevor you know trouble ain’t far behind.”

Behind the first woman was a tall, lanky lady with coffee colored skin covered by a biker’s jacket marked with neon-blue arrows down the arms, and up the front. She wore ripped jeans, and combat boots from military surplus, her dark hair tied back in a very short ponytail just to keep it out of her face.

“Dyke in charge of cars. Fuck you, man. I got a name.” She had a cigarette balanced in her fingers, though she pointedly kept it near the ashtray she had at the edge of the garage. “Been a while since you showed up to harass the Spades. The fuck you want? and who’s the dork?”

“What I want is some service with a smile, ladies,” he growled, “And this dork is my partner in crime and wanna-be Vinewood fatcat, Michael. Mikey, these are the Spades. They got the car biz sewn up around here.”

“Damn right we do,” the one in fishnets said. She looked Michael over with undisguised interest. “I’m Priss. And like I said, this is Arrow.”

“Please fucking remember it this time.” Arrow muttered, smothering her cigarette in the ashtray as she crossed her arms. “I handle workin’ on the cars because frankly, I’m the best there is at it. Period.”

Michael leaned on the hood of the car and flashed Priss a grin. “I ain’t a Vinewood fatcat yet, but I’m workin’ on it. Nice to meet you ladies.”

“Nothing wrong with a little ambition,” Priss purred, and she batted her eyelashes. “So what can the Spades do for you tonight?”

“Got a hot ride that needs a little love,” Trevor smirked.

“So I noticed,” she cooed, looking directly at Michael with a rather predatory expression.

Arrow pressed her hand to her face with a low mumble. “They said they’re here on business, boss.”

Michael flushed, clearing his throat as he slapped the hood of the car. “Need the plates switched, maybe a little detailing so the guy doesn’t come lookin’ for it. –provided Trevor didn’t fucking plaster his head to the sidewalk with the tire of his truck.”

“Hey! I said he’ll be fine,” Trevor growled. “It’s not like I could get up to ramming speed in the damned parkinglot.”

Priss stuck her tongue out at Arrow, and then held up her hands. “Regardless of who might be looking or not; this is exactly what the Spades do. We can help you out. Cash, obviously.”

“Obviously. Don’t want a trail.” Michael smiled at her. “Ain’t my first time boosting cars. I’m an old hat with this kinda thing.”

Arrow glanced over at Trevor with a nod “Yeah, guy’ll be fine if it was in the lot. Unless he fell wrong onto a curb or somethin’. But dead or not–by the time we’re done he wouldn’t even recognize the thing. New paint, new plates, It’ll be all yours, Vinewood.”

“See, what did I tell ya, Mikey, good people,” Trevor declared. “We’ll be back to pick her up tomorrow.”

“You sure?” Priss purred with a smile. “The two of you are welcome to stick around and hang out with the crew.”

“That so?” Michael chuckled “well, thank you ladies for the offer. You seem like good folks, but T and I were gonna have a few drinks.”

Arrow eyed Trevor with a raise of her eyebrow. “I think Priss has the hots for your guy friend, Trev.” she said dryly

“Yeah, who doesn’t?” Trevor growled. “See, Mikey, what did I tell you?” he slapped Michael’s shoulder.

Priss flushed, and crossed her arms. “The offer stands,” she declared, giving Arrow a slightly playful, dirty look. “My intentions are as honest as ever.”

Michael glanced at Priss, looking her over with a slight chuckle. “…guess you’re right, T. Heh.” He shook his head “I’m taken, at the moment, ladies. Sorry.”

“That ain’t gonna stop Priss.” Arrow stuck out her tongue “Priss is relentless. and I mean that as a fuckin’ compliment.”

She shook her head. “Look, whatever. Trevor’s a creep, but you guys are welcome to spend some time around the garage. ‘specially if the Boss is eagerly invitin’ you.”

Trevor turned to Michael. “Well, Mikey, what’ll it be? We go out to celebrate like we planned, or stick around here with the lovely ladies?”

“It’s tempting.” Michael chuckled. “But you know ’em better than I do–and the tall one looks like she’s trying to burn a hole through me with her eyes.”

“I ain’t.” Arrow said. “You’re just in my line of vision, Vinewood.”

“Sure,” Trevor chuckled. He shimmied a little closer to Michael. “We’ll party another time, Prissy pie, Mikey and I got a celebration to get to.”

“Your loss,” Priss purred. “But I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow anyway.”

Michael winked at them “see you tomorrow, ladies.”

He punched Trevor’s shoulder “come on, T, let’s get a move on.”

Arrow closed her eyes for a moment, before nodding “I’ll get to work on the car. The Spades’ll make their own fun tonight.”

 

INT. TREVOR’S TRUCK – ALAMO SEA HIGHWAY — NIGHT

“Told you I knew somebody who could take care of the car,” Trevor said.

“Some kinda gang, I’m guessing? That’s the vibe I was gettin’ from them.” Michael said, leaning back in his seat and kicking his feet up.

“Oh yeah,” he chuckled. “They’re definitely a gang. Mostly ladies. Pretty rough bunch.”

“Of course they are.” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, “real go getters, too.”

“Oh yeah, really go getters,” he agreed. “Like Priss wanted to go and get your dick.”

Michael nearly choked. “Yeah, I noticed. I ain’t that dense.”

Trevor elbowed him conspiratorially. “So much for Amanda being the only girl interested, eh?”

“What, you saying I should try to settle down with a gang babe?” he elbowed him back with a smirk.

“What, you don’t like the idea?”

“it’s got an appeal” Michael chuckled. “that’s for fucking sure. But it sounds like landing myself in hot water if it ever went sour.”

“What and you’re not with this other girl?” he asked. “At least you know the gang girl’s getting her aggression out, right man?”

“Good fucking point.” Michael said , rubbing the back of his neck “And a gang girl probably ain’t gonna drop a parental visit on your lap.”

“Not fuckin likely,” Trevor agreed, shaking his head. “Or narc on ya if the cops come knocking.”

“You’re really selling this to me, pal. Got a personal stake?” he joked

“What?” he growled, looking away. “Looking out for your happiness is a personal stake. No matter how long it’s been since we saw one another.”

“You care that much, huh buddy?” Michael asked. “to play matchmaker if you think I’m miserable with Manda? Which I ain’t, mind you.”

“I’m wounded you’d think I didn’t care that much.”

Michael held his hands up. “I dunno, you’re the only buddy I know who’s gone out of his way to play matchmaker. That’s all.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say I’ve gone out of my way, OR played match-maker, buddy, that’s just how you’re taking it,” he said, glancing back at him as he drove. “I’m just trying to help you see that you got options.”

“Well.” Michael looked over at him with a thin smile “consider your point made, T.”

“It better be,” he said. “Anyway, we have some fucking celebrating to do, am I right?”

“For tonight, all other shit’s out of mind. You and me? We’re gonna party, T. Get drunk, celebrate, have some fun.”

“Damn right! So was that your first real crime since we split? I’m betting it fuckin was.”

“Yeah, it fuckin’ was. We said we were gonna lay low, right? I was laying low. Going to school…trying to go straight.”

“And I was off waving a gun around for uncle sam,” Trevor snorted. “Well hey, this one went off without a hitch. Good omen for the big job.”

“Ain’t it?” Michael grinned “….looks like the team’s back in business…even if you did drag some new blood into it.”

“Hey new blood keeps it fresh, am I right?”

“Sure does, as long as they don’t wind up spilling it. Which the kid won’t. I’ll be lookin’ out for her.”

“Hey the kid’s a tiger,” he grinned. “But we’ll both be looking out for her.”

“Trust me, I noticed.” Michael snorted “With the two of us looking after her and her uh…natural spirit for the kinda work we do, she’ll be fine.”

“How about you– think you’re ready for the big leagues again?” he grinned, pulling into the parking lot of another bar– this one a bit more ‘in town’.

“Of course I am.Remember who you’re talkin’ to.”

Trevor cut the engine of the car as he pulled into a parking space and turned toward Michael in his seat. “Why don’t you remind me.”

Michael leaned in, looking him in the eyes. “The MIdwest’s greatest stick up man.. One part of ’em, at least.”

Trevor looked him over, and then looked him in the eyes. “You know, seeing what you’ve been up to the past couple years, I almost did forget. But I’m fuckin glad you;’re ready to remind me.” He punched him in the shoulder.

Michael grinned , nodding as he punched him back “I’m gonna make you sorry you ever forgot, man. I haven’t gone soft. Not by a long shot.”

“Warms the cockles of my fuckin’ heart, man. Now come on, let’s get shit faced.”

INT. LESTER’S HOUSE– NIGHT

Lester sat at the dining table, his glasses perched at the tip of his nose and a number of little tools laid out on the table before him. He snapped the last component together for the radio, and set it down. He looked up at Sam. And then at the clock.

“So, was Trevor going to come pick you up, or are you my problem for the night?”

Sam scuffed her foot against the floor as she watched him work through the thick lenses of her glasses “I thought he was gonna come pick me up, but he’s probably off banging his Vinewood boytoy or something.” She huffed, crossing her arms. “Which means I probably ain’t gonna get a ride home.”

Lester sighed. “Thanks for leaving me with the bag, Mr. Spontaneity. Well. I have a guest room you can use.”

“Thanks, man.Don’t worry, I’m a good guest. Been crashin’ at people’s places for years now.” She blew a teasing kiss at him.

“Oh is that so?” Lester asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh huh.” She said, kicking back in Lester’s chair while she sat with her arms back behind her head. “I mentioned that I was couch surfing when I met Trev, right? I’ve been doing that for years since I ran away and got involved in the Scene, you know?”

“You must have started fairly young then. Unless you’re… significantly older than you look.”

“Nah, I started young. Been out and about since I was like, frick…13? 14? Guess in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t that long ago, but it feels like a while to me.”

“Four years or so is a long time when you’re young,” Lester shrugged. “So I’ve heard.”

“So you’ve heard.” She smirked, as she tipped back forward to lean on her hands. “What, you never been young?”

Lester snorted. “For a while I didn’t think I was going to get old. Almost didn’t make it.” He tapped his cane on the ground.

“Was that back during the war?” She asked, leaning on her hand “I heard some real horror stories.”

“The war breeds horror stories like rats. “Some of it is not as bad as you’ve heard. Some of it’s worse.”

“What about yours?”  She leaned over to investigate the pieces of mechanics he had laid on the table. “if it ain’t rude of me to ask.”

“No, it’s not rude.” He stood up heavily leaning on his cane. “But let’s move into the living room. The kitchen chair blow for sitting a long time.” He motioned to the refrigerator. “Grab a beer from the fridge if you want one.”

“Sure thing, Les.”  She skipped over to the fridge with a soft hum “ya want one too?”

“Eh, why not. Sure.” He nodded, hobbling into the living room.

Sam found the beer easily, there was a whole case of it she’d seen before while making sandwiches. Sh grabbed a pair from the case, and whistled as she followed after Lester with a smile on her face. “They’re probably off getting shitfaced , so why don’t we enjoy ourselves too, huh?”

“Heh, probably. Unless they’ve already gotten themselves in trouble with the law. But knowing Trevor I doubt it’ll be a problem for long even if so.” He held his hand out for the beer, already sitting in the armchair again, cane at his side.

Passing him the beer, she plopped herself onto the couch with a grin, and popped off the cap with her ‘fish knife’. “Yeah, he has a funny way of gettin’ outta trouble.”

“Sure does. What about that ‘vinewood boytoy’ you mentioned?” He offered her his beer to open it too.

“Dunno, honestly.” Sam admitted as she leaned forward and pried the cap off with her knife. “I just met him the other day but uh, Trev vouches for him, so….”

“Huh. It’s kind of shocking how many friends he apparently has, for a completely feral, psychotic bastar.,” Lester chuckled, taking his drink back. “And I say that as a friend.”

“Yeah I know right? I’m a feral bitch and I don’t got half as many friends as he’s got.”

“Must be animal magnetism,” he snorted. “I certainly can’t explain it.”

“Rawr.” She snickered, before taking a long sip of beer. “lucky bastard.”

“Lucky bastard indeed,” he sighed, and sipped his own beer. “So, you were asking about the war.”

“That I was.And you were gonna tell me about it, if you felt up for it.”

“There’s not that much to tell,” he sighed. “Camp ambush. But if you wanna hear about it…”

Sam sipped her beer. “Not gonna force you. But…camp ambush huh? sounds like a nightmare.”

“That’s guerilla warfare for you. You definitely pick up a few tricks learning by example. But they got us by surprise.”

Sam nodded, looking at him over the rim of her bottle before she took another sip. “Guess someone’s gotta have the element of surprise. Sometimes it’s you, sometimes it’s the other guys.”

“Exactly. And you have to hope it’s you. Easier to pull off in the civilian racket than a military one,” he snorted.

“Especially when ya know all the tricks of the trade.” Sam grinned. “Like those gadgets of yours.”

“That’s right. Getting a peek at military tech while I was out there was interesting at least. Mostly it’s a bunch of pieces of shit, but now I know how to avoid it.”

Sam raised her eyebrow. “What kinda stuff do the feds have up their sleeves?”

“I’m sure you know about the chemical weapons,” he sneered. “Beyond that, a lot of advanced radar and anti-radar detective technology. Drugs. I heard they were experimenting with mind control, but that’s probably just a rumor.”

Sam grimaced, balancing her beer between her fingers. “I hate the sound of that, they’d better not be. It’s shit like that makes me wanna tear down the system.”

“Yeah, good luck with it,” he snorted. “The government’s in the middle of consolidating a power grab. We’ll see if it sticks.”

“If I get my say in things? It won’t.” She shrugged. “Until the feds start respecting me and my people? Fuck ’em. and even then they’re on thin fucking ice.”

Lester raised his beer. “I’ll drink to that. I never had much use for the government.”

She raised her beer too. “I really thought the crew I hooked up with was gonna, like…do a little damage, you know? Change something.”  She sighed “but they didn’t do jack shit.”

“There’s a lot of people out there who talk a big game. But really, most people are just out for themselves.”

“Yeah, I kinda noticed that,” Sam murmured. “Or are a bunch of big idiots who lick poison frogs and die.”

“Well, you won’t catch me licking any poison frogs. So you’ve moved up, I guess.”

“Guess so.” Sam raised her beer to her lips “Moving up in the world.” After a distant moment of quiet she grinned and changed the subject. “How comfy’s your guest bed, by the by?”

“It’s passable,” he admitted with a shrug. “I won’t lie and pretend it’s a fancy hotel.”

“Probably better than most of the couches I’ve slept on over the years.” She paused, “or like, the cold hard ground.”

“Definitely better than that. Though I admit, it sounds a little like you’re asking to sleep in my bed.”

Sam raised her bottle to her lips “Why? Is your bed comfier than the guest bed?” She asked with a coy grin.

“ Obviously ,” he said, rolling his eyes. “What kind of person buys a guest bed that’s more comfortable than their own bed?”

“An idiot.” Sam flipped her hair off her shoulder with a wink. “And ya don’t strike me as one of those.”

“Yeah, definitely not. So your answer should be obvious.”

“Uh-huh.” She batted her eyelashes. “I wanna sleep in the comfy bed.”

Lester crossed his arms. “Is that so?”

“Uh0-huh.” Sam repeaped, leaning over until she flopped down on the couch in a lazy, but stretched out recline. “Mmm hmmm. It’s true.”

“Well I’m not going to be sleeping in the guest room,” he said pointedly. “It’s bad for my back.”

“Wouldn’t want to hurt your back,” Sam purred, leaning on her hands as she kicked her feet in the air. “Not in such a dull way, at least.”

He raised his eyebrows, looking her over once more. It was obvious what her intentions were. “Uh huh. Well, I expect if I tell you to sleep in the guest room you’re just as likely to just get in my bed anyway, so.”

“Absolutely.” Sam said with a snicker. “Bad for my back , you know?”

He waved his hand in a gesture of (feigned?) irritation. “Fine then. you can sleep with me.”

Sam cheered, rolling over to wave her hands in the air. “Yay!! I won ya over~”

He raised his beer to her with a smirk and a shake of the head. “Something tells me you’re not the type to stop until you get what you want.”

Sam reached over to pick her beer back up, and raised it with a grin “Never.” She said, as she took a long sip “I’m tenacious to a fault. It really got me in trouble in school.”

“No surprise there,” he said, sipping his bear. “Well, we might as well get to know one another if we’re going to share a bed. Tell me about it.”

 

INT. DIVE BAR- SHADY SANDS– NIGHT

Michael and Trevor were two drinks in already, and Trevor brought another round back from the bar. He sat down heavily next to Michael at the little table, and shoved the drink toward him with a grin.

Michael snatched up the drink and raised it to his friend with a grin of his own. “Just like old times, huh?”

“Just like old times!” Trevor his glass against Michael’s, the liquid in it sloshing and just barely staying in the cup.. “Feels good, right?”

“Feels good so far, at least.” He admitted, before taking a long drink. “No fuckin’ regrets yet.”

“Damn straight no regrets,” Trevor agreed. “We haven’t done shit that’s worth regretting.”

“Not yet , anyway.” Michael pointed out with a smirk. “Few more drinks, and who knows, huh?”

Trevor snickered. “Always the danger, eh Mikey?” he said, shifting his chair a little bit closer to him.

“Always.”  While he didn’t move away, he glanced at Trevor sidelong as he sipped his drink. “But maybe we’ll be too blasted to remember, even if we manage it, eh?’

Trevor slapped him on the shoulder. “Man, did you lay off the booze in Vinewood? Is it only gonna take you four or five to black you out?”

“That’s assuming we stop at four or five.” Michael smirked “And no. I’ve been drinkin’ plenty. You gotta to get through the doldrums of fucking academia”

“Academia. Aca-fuckin-demia.” he shook his head, shotgunning his drink and wiping his mouth with the back of his forearm. “Shit, Mikey, I still can’t believe you pulled the trigger on that.”

Michael finished off his drink, as if Trevor issued a challenge. “Whatcha fuckin’ mean by that?”

Trevor slammed his empty drink on the table, and pointed at Michael. “It means that I still can’t believe you’d rather go back to school than do anything fucking else, mr. midwest’s greatest stick up man.”

“I…” Michael snorted “I wanted to work in Vinewood. And you can’t get a job in Vinewood bein’ a stick up man, you know? Can’t just hold the place up and demand they work your script, I mean, fuck.”

“Not with that attitude! Hell, why not just blackmail some producer fucker. You could.”

“I could but I’d be arrested the moment the damn thing premiered.” Michael pointed out, lowering his glass. “Besides, T. We said we were gonna Lay Low, which is EXACTLY what I was doin’.”

“You’re right, man,” he nodded with a feral expression. “Congrats on managing to lay this low. Nobody’d ever think to look at ya.”

Michael’s eyelid twitched. “Hey, man. I’ve got someone vying to fucking wed me, where do you get off sayin’ nobody’d ever think to look at me?” He pointed at Trevor, “I was just following the plan.”

Trevor threw his hands up. “Hey, touchy, man. I mean, you know, as a criminal . C’mon, let’s get another drink.”

Michael rolled his eyes , but stood anyway.

“I need another drink, that’s for damn sure.” He ran his hand through his hair with a grimace. “iI mean. The moment I get back in the game, people are gonna take notice. The two of us? We were downright infamous.”

“You’re damned right we were,” Trevor said, thumping his shoulder against Michael’s. “You aren’t having second thoughts about gettin’ back in game, are ya?”

Michael shook his head, bumping his shoulder back. “Fuck no. No way. Especially if we make sure the kid’s fucking safe. i’m just sayin’ that people’ll know us once we start. We ain’t gonna be laying low no more. Eyes’ll be on us.”

“You’re right about that, Mikey,” he said, moving to lean on the bar, and motioning the bartender for a couple of drinks. “What are you gonna tell the girl about it?”

“I…” He grimaced as trevor brought it back to the forefront of his mind, and he shook his head. “I dunno, T. I dunno what I’m gonna tell her….she thinks I’m a respectable kinda guy, you know?”

“Yeah, you know, I was getting that impression,” Trevor nodded, patting Michael on the back, as he leaned, shoulder to shoulder with him. The bartender put the two drinks down in front of them.

Michael picked a glass up. “You think i should tell her? I mean. She’s got this whole idea about me. She doesn’t know that I’m…ya know.”

“I donno man,” Trevor admitted. “Guess you gotta decide if its something she’s got a right to know,, or if you’re just gonna keep doin’ what you’re doin’ without poking the wasps nest.”

“I mean, if she finds out and I didn’t tell her…she’s gonna go ballistic on me,” Michael murmured

“And if you tell her now?” Trevor asked, sipping his drink. He glanced at Michael without turning his head.

“She’ll probably call the whole damn thing off.”

“No chance she’s into it, huh?” Trevor said, smothering a smirk. “That’s chicks for you. So, either you tell her now, or you wait. Move in together. Get married. and you pray to shit she don’t find out. That what I’m hearing?”

Michael sucked in a breath, taking a swig of his drink . “Yeah, that’s what it sounds like to me. Buncha bullshit.”

“You’re right, Mikey, that sounds fucked,” Trevor agreed, knocking back his whiskey. “Maybe you oughta say fuck it. Step back from the job. Be honest with your girl. A real stand up husband, I know you got it in you. Wouldn’t wanna fuck up the relationship of my best fucking friend.”

“That’s real nice of ya, T.” Michael murmured, leaning forward to rest his head against the bar with a low groan. “But I ain’t backing out of this. My career’s in shambles, that bastard think’s he got one over on me, and I ain’t backing away from a promise, you hear me?”

Trevor patted Michael on the back. “I get it, Mikey, I hear ya. Just would hate for you to get your shit in too deep. Don’t wanna see my partner fuckin implode. Man, would that be some sad shit or what?”

“Yeah, it’d fucking suck, T,” he murmured, half closing his eyes before he took a long sip of his drink. “I wish there was an easy fucking answer.”

“Depends on how much you give a shit about this girl, huh?”

Trevor let his arm rest on Michael’s shoulder and Michael leaned back against his arm as he took a long sip of his drink.

“Yeah. Guess that’s the real question, huh?” Michael said, staring at the bar. By this point both of them were fairly drunk.

“Simplest thing might just be to break it off now, buddy,” Trevor advised, sympathetically, patting him gently. “Before you end up worrying it ain’t just the relationship you’re gonna have to ice. She finds out about you down the road and decides she wants to soak you….” he hissed in a breath. “Could be a bad scene, Mikey.”

“ Shit ,” MIchael cursed under his breath. He hadn’t even thought of that possibility. “You don’t think she’d pull something like that, do ya??”

“No fucking clue, Mikey, I ain’t even met her yet,” Trevor shrugged, arm now around Micheal’s shoulder. Comfortingly. Companionably. “But if she feels betrayed when she finds out what you’ve been doing behind her back… shit man, woman scorned and all that. She could go fucking scorched earth.”

Michael downed his drink “…..scorched fucking earth could be real bad given the magnitude of the shit we’re up to.”

“Sure fucking could, Mikey,” Trevor nodded. He tapped the bar for another round of drinks. “You know I’d help you out of any fucking jam you got youself in. That’s just the kind of friend I am. But… oof, shit could get real bad.”

Michael dropped his head into his hands. “How the fuck did things get so fucked up in only a few fucking days?”

“Happens like that sometimes,” Trevor nodded. “And you got two choices. Dig in and hold on to your hat and hope, or run out there, screaming and charging right at em.”

Michael sipped his drink. “Can I be honest, man?”

“I’d be hurt if you weren’t, Mikey. Shoot.”

Michael looked into his drink. “I don’t wanna fucking get married. She’s a nice girl and all, but fuck she dropped this right on my fucking lap.”

Trevor was surprised, or perhaps feigned surprise. “Well shit, man, is that all? If you don’t wanna get married, why force yourself?”

“Because….” he gestured vaguely and drunkenly. “because I told you why! Earlier!”

“Yeah you sure did,” Trevor sighed. The bartender put more drinks in front of them, and Trevor picked up his.

Michael picked his up, too.  “I ain’t backing out of this job.” he promised again. “…I ain’t. I’m going through with it. But this meeting with her family..”

“You backing out of that?” he asked, his tone as even as he could manage.

Michael ran his hand through his hair “…Maybe, I dunno. Maybe.”

“You got time to think about it, right?”

“Not much.” he snorted. “Two weeks. WIthin two weeks. ”

“Well, hey, that’s time,” Trevor offered. “What’d help ease your mind better, Mikey. We do the job before or after you’re done with that shit?”

“….” he hissed through his teeth. “Before. Absolutely before.”

Trevor leaned heavily on him, drunk, and touchy. “You got it, cowboy.”

Michael flushed, lightly punching his shoulder “You alright there, man? Falling all over me.”

Trevor chuckled and straightened up– but only a little. “What you don’t wanna be my drunken armrest, Mikey? I’m hurt.”

Michael stared daggers at him for a brief moment before he leaned over. “Fuck fine, go ahead. I’ll allow it, you fucking pain in my ass.”

Michael took a long sip of his drink, feeling the warmth of Trevor’s body against his.

“That’s me,” he half-grinned. “Shit, I thought we were supposed to be celebrating! now we’re down here in the dumps.”

“Then cheer us up.” Michael drawled. “Thought you were good at that kinda thing, mr. barrel of laughs.”

“That’s me,” he said, squeezing Michael’s shoulder. “The life of the party”

Michael smirked “then liven this thing up, huh? No sense moping the fuck around.”