Insanity x2 (A Trevor Philips Story)

11: Trevor the Hipster

                  

The Liquor Store.

The place where Chef cooked all the methamphetamine for Trevor Philips Industries. I had never had any desire to produce meth, my game was Cocaine, and I was damn good at it. Trevor was an entrepreneur, though, selling all the drugs under the sky along with firearms. Smart move, of course, because that would provide more income. He produced small batches of each of those things, providing a large profit. I produced only one thing, in huge batches, making large profit.

Two different techniques, both equally as good, but I was sure my business was older, as it dated back to the mid-fifties.

Taking a look at this place, I knew he had at least been producing and selling for a decade, at least.

I walked up the stained, dirty stairs, wrinkling my nose as I finally got to the door of the upper floor, swinging it open to find Michael and Trevor already in a heated argument.

Oh, boy.

"I was relaxing at home before you showed up by my swimming pool, making me feel bad for mistakes I made a decade ago! Forgive me, you ignorant fuck, but sarcasm is all I fucking got! Sarcasm, and a room full of you cunts!"

Trevor applauded Michael, a moment I had ripped my attention from when I realized something.

I had barely realized two people of the FIB were there—including one of them who was staring straight at my ass. I turned to them. "Who are you?"

"Who are you?" the younger one questioned suspiciously.

"Their fourth person." I spoke. "Lucy Reaper.

"I'm Dave Norton, this is Steve Haines. You missed the briefing, so one of these guys can explain all that to you." the older gentlemen spoke, turning to the younger guy, Steve.

"And remember, we're. . .Not involved in this." He spoke before turning away. I scoffed.

"Surprise there." I muttered under my breath.

"I'll give Lester a call," Michael said as he went into the other room to have the conversation with him. I made my way towards Trevor once Michael was out of sight, and Trevor brought my chin up to his, I stood up on my tippy toes as he roughly kissed me, hand squeezing my ass. We pulled away, and Michael walked back in, eyes still on phone before he placed it in his pocket. "We're meeting Lester. He's takin' a bus out here."

"Which car are we taking?" I questioned. "Could we take mine?" I had driven another car of mine that was brought down from Las Venturas. My chrome Exemplar.

"Sure," Michael spoke. We started to head downstairs towards my car. "Jesus, your cars are great for a person who doesn't care for money."

"I love cars, sue me." I put the key in the ignition and started the car, I watched as Michael and Trevor both went for the front seat.

"Get in the back, should be enough room for your fat ass."

"Fuck you, Trevor," Michael started to walk to the backseat as Trevor sat next to me, our eyes locking before he clicked his seatbelt on and closed the door. Michael closed his door and started to put his seatbelt on, so I drove onto the road and started to head to Paleto Bay.

I began driving down the street, passing my house and then Trevor's, making a right past his house to start heading to the freeway.

"So we're going to meet Lester. . . " I sighed. "Alrighty."

"Don't start," I heard Michael say to Trevor who had slightly turned to look in the backseat.

"I won't. No way. Good call. If you're taking down a bank for a few million, first thing you do is call the hospital. Tell 'em to get you a guy in a wheelchair."