Michael leaned out the window, pistol in hand. "Just drive, kid. And try not to hit a hot dog stand this time."

"Vinewood," he said quietly. "Solomon's premiere is tonight. Let's give him his movie back."

The Los Santos sun hung low and heavy, bleeding orange and red across the Del Perro Pier. Michael De Santa sat on a bench, an untouched glass of bourbon sweating in his hand. The amusement park's shrieks and the distant wail of sirens had become his white noise.