Los Santos Adventures

The Mess (Ch.17)

Y/N: "Any luck on Oliver?"

I asked, taking a seat on Lester's bed while watching the older man type away at his computer screen, his fingers moving in quick succession. As he studied Olivers records, finally stopping on his police report from three years ago.

Lester: "Nothing, his mother and father died in a fire eight years ago. With no next or partner, even before that, he was a piece of work. He learned how to fly by joining the Australian air force. Did a few relief missions and was finally caught with over three kilos of cocaine. Spent time in prison and got out a year ago. Even his social media was dead, nothing special."

Y/N: "Jesus... Guess the dude was alright in the end."

Lester: "Keep telling yourself that the guy was a bully and was barely able to handle doing any form of work on the side."

I solemnly nodded, not much more to say on the matter. We had buried Oliver out at sea. Where no one could find him, it was the only thing that seemed plausible. But with his death also came the problem of his transaction; I wanted to send the money to any loved ones he may have guess that's out of the picture.

But with him having no one left, the money would be given back to the government, which would've done nothing for him or us as a group. Leaving us with only one choice, the money, would be spotted when it entered the government database. Meaning we split it three ways. Lester spun around in his chair and shrugged his shoulders.

Lester: "What's wrong with you?"

Y/N: "Nothing, I just don't want to take the money like this... He was a piece of shit and had his problems. But-"

Lester: "But, nothing. Listen, kid, it sucks, but it doesn't matter in the end. He's dead, and you've got his money. So do with it as you please."

Looking to Lester, I wanted to shout back and explain that it wasn't right... But I was a hypocrite; Oliver would've been thrown out of the crew. We needed a new person who could fly a plane or shoot. Sure, I felt I shit for him dying. But having no one left for him back home.

That struck a chord with me.

Lester: "Would you kindly stop doing that? You're staring at me like a lost dog. Oh... Those disgusting puppy dog eyes."

Y/N: "Lester... I'm just."

Lester: "Just look at the big picture here. He's dead. That's it... Honestly, I'd be more concerned with what that so-called manager at the Strip club is going to do."

Y/N: "He won't do anything."

Lester finally stood up from his seat and walked over to me.

Lester: "Are you sure of that! Because he's the only person linking you to this guy's death, and if he's part of a gang, he can hold this over your head."

Y/N: "Lester... Please not now."

Lester groaned and moved over to one of his cabinets, pulling out a bottle of some or other drink; not once in my lifetime has I seen Lester drink. But, watching him take a large gulp of the alcohol made me double-take at the man. Was this how he dealt with stress and anxiety.

I didn't want to know.

Lester: "Here."

Glancing at Lester's hand, he held the bottle out and sighed, downing a few gulps of the drink and handed it back to him.

Y/N: "Moonshine?"

Lester: "Good guess. You should probably catch a cab. This stuff hits pretty hard."