Making it famous. (Crime Stoppers)

Wanted for: Wanted for multiple crimes, including the death of a police officer in Los Angeles, California
Possible Locations: National



Race: Hispanic
Height: 5’11
Weight: 180 pounds
Hair: Red/Black
Eyes: Brown
Last Seen: Potential sighting in Lexington, Kentucky

This suspect is considered armed and dangerous. Do not attempt to apprehend him, if you see him call 9-1-1 immediately.

Crime Stoppers will pay up to $25,000 for any information called in to the 310-222-8477 (TIPS) hotline or submitted online at www.crime-stoppers.org that leads to the arrest of this suspect. All tipsters remain anonymous. Tips can also be sent by text message-text TIP610 plus your tip to CRIMES(274637).

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EDIT: I shouldn't write when drunk, I fail @ details. >.<

-Lexington, Kentucky-

Chico sighed, ashing his cigarette onto the cheap carpet that was already stained by sex, drugs, rock and roll, and anything else that potentially could have come through this 49 dollar-a-night slum of a motel complex.

He was scrawled across the dirty sheets of the bed that nearly took up the entire room on his belly, his tennis shoes gently tapping against the wall behind him as he attempted to move the cursor with that little square that's supposed to replace a mouse, but never really does. He frowned when he finally found his picture.

"You'll be famous." they said. Famous was the last thing Chico wanted. Chico wanted a hot meal, a place where he could live, and to work without having somebody else come and take it all away from him. He closed the window before attempting to log into his facebook page again. Still blocked. Chico rolls onto his side before ending up on his back entirely, he takes one last drag off his cigarette before he flicks it against the wall on the other side of the room. The butt lands on top of the small dresser, where it rolls towards the edge, just barely staying on the wooden organizer.

Suddenly, Chico's cellular phone begins to ring. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kpsyzjHddAI&feature=related for his ring tone!)

He sighs again, sitting up and throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. He fishes into his pocket for the phone, and picks it up without looking at it.

"Bueno."

((My buddy's supposed to be doing the next section, but he hasn't done it yet.))

"Good morning comrade. How has Athens been treating you?"

Chico glanced at the phone, the corners of his lips twitched slightly as if that was as close to a smile as he could muster. He didn’t recognize the number, but the voice he knew all too well.

“Muy Buena.” Chico replies sarcastically. “Athens… I’m famous, even here, y’know?”

Chico turns, pulling himself up to his feet as he continues his conversation. He moves towards the lone window of the room.

"Vell I have somethink you might be interested in. A friend in this... City of Vind has told me that our situation might find San Paro a velcome place. This man I trust enough to believe that it would be-how you say, worth our-govno!-... stoit.” The Russian voice continues, Chico slides an index finger into the blinds, separating them slightly as if to give himself a better view.

“Time.”

"Da. Dat is it. It would be vorth our vhile to venture to San Paro. How you say, it good investment. You interested?"

Chico wasn’t even given a chance to respond before the bass toned voice continued.

"Good, good. Can you meet me in three days time?" this pause, again, was a mere formality.

"Okay, the address is 63211 Wilshire Boulevard. You vill know how to get zhere vhen you arrive."

Chico left the Athens of the West shortly after the conversation, not wanting to be late for his destiny in San Paro. His tiny two door hatchback screamed as it hit 70 miles an hour on the freeway, the paint chipped and even the moving company logo was in worse and worse condition as he traveled along.

The days went quickly, the nights were faster. The only thing on the freeway was his tiny little car and the cross country tractor/trailers. (I have no idea how to make such uneventful driving sound good.)

He finally arrived in San Paro, two days, thirteen hours later. Exhausted, sweaty, and with his last cigarette burning between his parched lips. He still didn't smile, but his demeanor changed slightly, as if he was driving on a cloud. Chico looked satisfied for the first time in too long. His first stop, the airport, was close to the edge of town, and it wasn't long before he caught a random taxi driver in the slightly dismal weather. The Rain kept most people under cover, and if they had to travel through it, they jogged or ran. The Hispanic Gentleman, with his dyed red hair, and still wearing his aviator sunglasses leaned out the window, shouting to the Taxi Driver,

"'Ey! Vato! Where tha... chingadera... Motel, eh?!"