“So our client is a Korean restaurant owner?” Lamar asked while driving.
“Yes.” Richard sat in the passenger seat, checking the information on his phone.
“President Park, he owns three stores in Koreatown, specializing in Korean fried chicken and beer.
Last year, he lent eight thousand to an American named ‘Tom’ to open a business, but Tom took the money and ran.”
Franklin was in the back seat wiping a pistol—he borrowed it from an old acquaintance, for deterrence only, not intending to fire it.
“What’s Tom’s full name?” Franklin asked.
“Tom Connors, white male, in his forties, former Marine, worked as a bodyguard, bartender, and personal trainer after retirement.
Last seen in—Davis residential area, a rental house.”
Lamar whistled: “Former Marine?
Just the three of us going?”
“Are you scared?” Richard provoked him.
“Me scared?
I’m afraid you two won’t keep up with my pace.” Lamar stomped on the gas, and the pickup truck let out a tortured groan.
Franklin put the gun away and looked at Richard: “Are you sure he won’t just shoot us?”
Richard thought about the typical pattern of “debt collection” missions in the game—most of the time, as long as you don’t pull out a gun first, the other party won’t immediately open fire.
NPCs in GTA5 have a “threat level” assessment; if you go in empty-handed, at most they’ll curse at you; if you carry a baseball bat, they might pull out a knife; if you directly aim a rifle, they’ll definitely fight you to the death.
“We’ll go in empty-handed and talk first.
If talking doesn’t work, we’ll scare him.
If we can’t scare him, we’ll retreat and plan for the long term.”
Lamar grumbled, “Everything you say always makes sense, but every time it ends with a car chase.”
“That’s an accident.”
The Davis residential area is one of the most dilapidated communities in Los Santos, full of abandoned houses, homeless people, and stray dogs.
Following the address on Richard’s phone, Lamar parked the car in front of a yellow bungalow.
The lawn was dead, the windows were boarded up, and a dozen trash bags were piled on the porch.
“This place looks like a haunted house.” Lamar shivered.
“That’s why it’s suitable for hiding people.” Richard took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
No one answered.
He knocked three more times, this time with more force.
A muffled thud came from inside, like something had been knocked over.
Then a hoarse male voice said, “Who is it?”
“President Park sent us.” Richard got straight to the point, “About the eight thousand dollars.”
Silence.
Then the door opened a crack, revealing a bloodshot eye.
Tom Connors was even worse off than Richard had imagined—his hair was a bird’s nest, his face unshaven, he wore a grease-stained white tank top, his right hand was bandaged, and his left hand held a can of beer.
“President Park?” Tom sneered, “That Korean guy sent you to collect debt?
He’s too scared to come himself?”
“He’s busy.” Lamar interjected, “Busy making fried chicken.”
Tom glared at Lamar, then looked at Richard: “Did you bring a gun?”
“No.”
“Then what are you doing here?
Showing me your faces so I can remember them for revenge?”
President Park just wants his money back, and you can pay in installments.
Eight thousand isn’t much; you can get a job and pay it off in a few months.”
Tom stared at Franklin for a few seconds, then suddenly burst out laughing, coughing as he did: “Get a job?
Look at me, do I look like I can get a job?
My right hand is useless, I have no education, no social security number—I was discharged from the army, do you know why?”
“No.”
“Because I hit an officer.
That bastard sent me to Iraq to die, I refused to follow orders, so he kicked me out.
Now I can’t even be a cleaner because when I fill out forms, I write ‘yes’ in the ‘Ever discharged from the military’ box, and they throw my resume in the trash.”
Richard suddenly felt a little uneasy.
In the game, such an NPC was just a target for a “debt collection mission”—you track him down, beat him up, take the money, and leave.
But in reality, this person was sitting in a moldy rental house, drinking cheap beer, with a disabled right hand, his life at a dead end—the eight thousand dollars he owed President Park might have been his last attempt to open a restaurant and change his fate.
Now that it was gone, he had nothing left.
But he couldn’t just forgo the money out of sympathy.
It wasn’t Richard being cold-blooded; President Park was also a hard-working man.
“Tom,” Richard squatted down to his eye level, “I have a proposal.
You don’t have to pay back the money, but you have to do us a favor.”
“What favor?”
“Did you learn to drive in the army?”
“I drove Hummers.”
“Can you do car chases, drifts, and evade pursuit?”
Tom narrowed his eyes: “Who exactly are you?”
“My name is Richard, and we are the ‘Problem Solvers’ of Los Santos.
I’ll talk to President Park; we’ll cover half of the eight thousand, and you can slowly pay back the other half.
But you need to do one thing for us—teach one of us how to drive a heavy truck.”
“Who?”
“A friend, he needs to learn how to drive a semi-trailer.” Richard was paving the way for future heist missions.
In the game, Franklin could drive any vehicle, but in reality, he hadn’t touched a semi-trailer yet.
Tom hesitated for a long time, then took a sip of beer: “First, help me get President Park’s debt waived, then I’ll consider it.”
“Half.” Richard extended his hand, “Four thousand, no less.
You can pay off the remaining four thousand within a year, about three hundred dollars a month.
You can find a job as a security guard or a mover; you can do it.”
Tom looked at Richard’s hand, then at Franklin and Lamar.
Lamar nodded at him, his expression unusually serious.
Tom finally shook Richard’s hand.
“Deal.
But if you lie to me, I’ll choke you to death with my other hand.”
“I won’t lie to you.” Richard smiled.
On the way back, Lamar kept grumbling: “Why are you fronting money for him?
Do we even have four thousand dollars?
Our total startup capital is only five hundred!”
“We will.” Richard looked out the window, “And this isn’t free; he’ll be useful later.
Tom is a former Marine; his skills will be worth ten times that money later.”
Franklin didn’t speak, but the way he looked at Richard had changed a little again.
It wasn’t suspicion; it was more like, “This guy thinks further ahead than I do.”
The pickup truck arrived at President Park’s fried chicken shop.
Richard went in to talk for twenty minutes, and came out with a piece of paper in his hand.
“It’s settled.
President Park agreed to only collect four thousand, on the condition that Tom no longer appears in Koreatown.
I agreed.”
Lamar shook his head in disbelief: “You’re a damn negotiating genius.”
“It’s not that I’m a genius; it’s that President Park also feels bad for Tom.
He said Tom was very respectful to him when he opened the restaurant, never delayed rent, just had really bad luck.”
Franklin leaned against the car door and suddenly said, “You just told Tom, ‘We are the Problem Solvers of Los Santos’—when did we get that title?”
“Just now.” Richard smiled, “Came up with it on the spot, what do you think?”
“Too long.” Lamar commented, “Should be ‘Los Santos Three Heroes’.”
“Shut up.”
As the three were about to get in the car, Richard’s phone vibrated.
It wasn’t the system; it was a text message:
[Tonight at 8 PM, Vinewood Cinema, repossess a black obey.
They’ll give you two thousand.
Don’t be late.
—Simeon]
Richard’s heart skipped a beat as he looked at the text message.
Black obey.
Vinewood Cinema.
Two thousand dollars.
Isn’t this the mission where Franklin first meets Michael in the game?
Except there are some discrepancies from the game.
He looked up at Franklin: “Do you know someone named Simeon?”
“My boss.” Franklin’s expression wasn’t good, “He wants me to work tonight.”
“I’ll go with you.” Richard said.
“Why?”
Because I know the owner of that car is Michael De Santa.
Because that meeting tonight will change everything.
Because this is the sign of the main game quest starting.
But Richard just said: “Because I’m bored.”
Lamar raised his hand: “I’m coming too!”
“No.” Richard and Franklin said in unison.
“Why?!”
“Because you’ll mess things up the moment you open your mouth.” Richard patted Lamar’s shoulder, “You stay home and play games; the two of us are enough for tonight’s job.”
Lamar got into the car dejectedly, complaining all the way about “you guys are excluding me,” “I’m part of the team too,” “I’m going to form a new team,” and so on.
But Richard didn’t listen.
His mind was filled with tonight at 8 PM, Vinewood Cinema.
After transmigrating for so long, he was finally going to meet the second protagonist.