Now that I'd had time to think about things some more I wasn't sure that any more solitary runs anywhere or at any time were a good idea any more. Someone was going to quickly come up with the bright idea that a simple accident on the beach would solve nearly everyone's problems, probably including all of mine too, but I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction.The phone had been silent ever since my return home early Sunday morning, but now late this Monday evening the phone rang and oddly it wasn't a charity or someone wanting me to do a marketing survey."Irene? You might know the voice but say nothing. Can you meet me at the usual Place in about two hours? I think you'll know me when you get there." Click. The phone line was pretty shitty but I had a clue or two about the voice, and the meeting point, The Place, was friendly turf for me. Even if this was just another bad fuckup I'd have friends there to back me up, or at least a few casual acquaintances. It was probably the. He certainly knew something was up right now. Carl felt the cool country air, and heard the crunch of gravel under his shoes. He half pondered stealing a car and heading back into Vinewood and hunting out his sister. Fuck Cesar for leaving her somewhere. He should have been there with her. Why wasn’t he? It occurred to Carl by the time he reached the gate leaving the prefab complex that his surrounds were so vastly different from Los Santos. The air had an almost refreshing chill about it, and amongst the smells of pine that filled the air, he thought he could almost smell the sea. Carl wondered how close they were to the coast. All about him was a township that had grown aged, untouched by the outside world. Across the road was a boarded up and broken down place that looked like it was once a fast food joint. Beyond it, the massive yellow chicken of Cluckin’ Bell peeked above the rooftops, perhaps proof that it had fallen victim to a more powerful competitor. Cluckin’ Bell shined.
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