Chapter Nineteen: Into Hiding

Later on in the day, and still confused about the situation that Trevor refused to share. Franklin calls Michael in hopes of getting a better answer. 

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*Franklin: Where you at man?*

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Michael is sitting on a small dirty fabric couch. Sitting in a crouch position, he has the phone to his ear. He obviously doesn't want to be in this situation, let alone a filthy trailer that smells like piss and shit. 

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*Michael: Oh hey, I had to ah, kinda have to lie low for a while. The nice Mexican we met? Me and T did that job for him. And we fell out.*

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Michael stands up and slowly makes his way towards the door that's been left wide open. 

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*Franklin: You gotta be joking.*

*Michael: I wish I was.* 

*Franklin: So where you at now?*

*Michael: (Sighs) Desert. Out by Alamo Sea.*

*Franklin: Alright, well. I'll hit you if I find anything.*

*Michael: Absolutely. Oh hey, Trevor's got his wife?*

*Franklin: Trevor's got a wife?*

*Michael: No, no. The Mexican's wife.*

*Franklin: What? Shit, I don't know what to say about that one.*

*Michael: Nothing. nothing to say about that.*

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He then hangs up the phone just as Trevor wakes up from his nap and calls for his guy, Ron.

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...Meanwhile...

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You're fucking bored. Without Melanie or any one of your friends here, you're just bored out of your mind. Yeah, you could go around the city and stuff, but since Trevor isn't even in the city, you feel a little bit uneasy about going out. Plus, you've been to the beach way too many times already.

Right now you're just chilling in the hotel room, wondering if you should go out or just stay in the whole day and play online with Jimmy.

You wish that something exciting would be going on right now. Then your phone starts to ring. It's an unknown number, but you know what, maybe you could fuck around with the scam caller just for the hell of it.

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*Y/n: Hello?*

*???: This Y/n right? You Trevor's daughter?*

*Y/n: Yeah... Who's this?*

*Franklin: I'm Franklin, a friend of your dad, Trevor. He told me to look out for you while he's away with your uncle Michael.*

*Y/n: Oh yeah, okay.*

*Franklin: Alright, Imma call you later to check in on you. You don't need anything right now?*

*Y/n: Uh, nope. I got everything I need here. Thank you.*

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He then ends the call. Weird... his voice sounds familiar. But you don't think much of it and just decide to go out. You don't know exactly where, but just somewhere.

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...Even Later...

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Regardless of whether he's been hunted by a Mexican mafia, the O'Neils, the Triads, and who knows who else is after his head, Trevor is still keeping his business moving. And speaking of keeping things moving, who else is going to give criminals below the border guns? 

Trevor hops on his cropduster and starts it. It doesn't look much, but that's the point. It's low-profile, and making deliveries will be easy. So long as Trevor controls the supply around here. 

Just as Trevor takes off with the supplies, he turns on the radio so he and Oscar can talk.

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Trevor: Trevor Philips reporting for duty.

Oscar: Good, listen man. We got some heat. Cops, feds, I ain't sure, but they got radar set up. Scanners. They know there's an operation going down here.

Trevor: So you're saying we lie low for a while?

Oscar: No, just fly low. Business don't stop, buyers are waiting. If you stay close to the ground, you won't pop up on their radar. 

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He does exactly just that. Flying low, he travels for dozens of miles for each shipment. And the best part of this is that with each delivery, there's at least ten grand worth of guns and weapons. And today there are three deliveries he needs to make.

It's going to take a while to get them all done today, but we're talking at least thirty grand he'll make in just one day. So of course the money is worth it. 

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...After the Third Delivery...

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Trevor drops the last shipment just over the mountains and by the river. He'll be getting that money by the end of the day, and he should have at least ninety percent of it in profit. Considering that his guy Oscar will also be getting a cut, and to pay for the fuel expenses. 

But just as Trevor flies his way back to the airfield, a thought crosses his mind that he somehow hasn't thought of the first time he made deliveries. 

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Trevor: So let me get this straight. I bought the hanger; I fly the plane?

Oscar: What you bought was a share of the business. A business that has taken a long time to set up. I handle the contracts, the logistics, the communications, the authorities, the competition. So, yeah, yeah, you fly the plane. 

Trevor: And you track my every move. It's a perfect storm of paranoia and recklessness. How can we go wrong? And about this competition. Who the fuck are they?

Oscar: Who aren't they these days man. There's runners everywhere. Some local crazy rednecks. Mexicans, of course. Mainly the Aztecas right now. And that Salvadorian gang, the Marabunta Grande. they got real dangerous the past six months. There used to be enough pie to go around. Now everyone wants the same piece. 

Trevor: And who are you with? Just so I know who I'm pissing off.

Oscar: I'm independent. I work with local buyers up here, the cartels down there. I mean, I'm not stupid. I look after the Vagos, I pay dues to Madrazo. But I'm freelance man. 

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Then that means the Aztecas are next. He had already killed one of their leaders a while ago. Before he went to Los Santos. 

Looking at the side window of the plane, he sees nothing but grassy mountains, woods, small houses, and farms. Trevor knows you like taking pictures of scenery. And what's better than his hometown and the countryside of Sandy Shores? So while he makes his way back to the airfield, he snaps a few pictures of the scenery. 

Definitely a bad idea to take and send you pictures while flying a cropduster, but he literally couldn't care much of a fuck about it. Plus, he needs you to know that he isn't trying to ignore you or anything. But he kind of regrets hitting Madrazo unconscious and kidnapping his wife. Cause now, even he doesn't know when he'll be able to get back to Los Santos without them knowing about you. 

Back to you, you're at the nail salon getting your nails done. The woman is almost done with your right hand, meaning you're scrolling down on your phone with your left hand. It's been a while since you've gotten them professionally done. Maybe you get some waxing done while you're here. 

Your phone starts to buzz and your notification pops up. It's a message from Trevor. He just sent you a few pictures of him flying a plane. There are pictures of mountains, hills, woods, farms and lakes. 

It's so cool that your dad knows how to fly a plane. You haven't even told Melanie about him taking you on a helicopter joyride. But then again, maybe it's best that you shouldn't. The last time you talked about Trevor to Melanie, you could tell she's still not a fan of him. Then Trevor calls you and you pick up.

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*Y/n: Are you flying a plane right now?*

*Trevor: More like a cropduster, but yeah. I just finished making a few deliveries and I thought you might like the view I'm seeing right now.*

*Y/n: Oh yeah, you said you sell things to Mexico right? What does your business sell by the way?*

*Trevor: Ahh they just need a few tools.*

*Y/n: Tools? What kind of tools?*

*Trevor: Nothing special you know, just tools for work and things. Say, how are you doing over there?*

*Y/n: Oh I'm doing alright. I'm at a nail salon getting my nails done. And, your friend Franklin called.*

*Trevor: Yeah, I hope you don't mind him checking on you while I'm gone.*

*Y/n: No, I don't mind. So, you don't know when you're coming back to Los Santos?*

*Trevor: Things right now are unpredictable right now. But I promise, I won't be gone for too long.*

*Y/n: Alright, I guess I could keep wandering around the city and beach until then.*

*Trevor: That's the spirit kid. And hey, don't stay out too late. Go back before the sun starts going down.*

*Y/n: I know.*

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After he hangs up with you, he makes another call to someone else. A guy who knows how to make almost anyone be under the radar. Of course, this is going to be for your protection, not for him. 

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...Meanwhile...

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Michael is standing on the front porch, just outside the trailer. He's talking to Lester on the phone and basically gives him the rundown of what happened. 

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Michael: And now, I gotta stay in this shithole with a psychotic idiot. God knows if my family is ever going to talk to me again, and I have to watch the Mexican's wife.

Lester: Well uh... I can't say things will get better. Especially with Trevor, you never know. 

Michael: No fucking kidding. 

Lester: The way I see it Mike, is that you're going to have to give Madrazo something priceless. Or a great amount of money again. 

Michael: Fuck...

Lester: I gotta go. I'll call you if I get anything.

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Michael hangs up the phone and lets out a vast sigh before heading back inside to check on the woman still tied to the chair in the living room part of the trailer. 

The woman calmly stares at the wall, not paying much attention to Michael, now sitting down on the dirty couch. Believe it or not, this isn't the first time she's been kidnapped. Ever since she "happily" said I do to Madrazo, her life has always been at risk. But this somehow feels a little different from all the other times she's been kidnapped. If anything, she's sort of... relieved to be away from Madrazo this time.