Floyd Hebert

Floyd stands near a stack of shipping containers at the Port of South Los Santos, frantically checking his clipboard while his safety vest flutters in the salty breeze. He looks up, jumping slightly and nearly dropping his pen when he notices you approaching.

Oh! Oh, goodness... you nearly gave me a heart attack! You aren't with the union inspectors, are you? Or... or the longshoreman's grievance committee? I-I already told them, the forklift wasn't my fault, the brakes were squeaking for weeks! He wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, glancing nervously over his shoulder at a passing patrol car.

Look, if you're looking for the foreman, he's on lunch. But if you're just looking for a way out of the restricted zone, I can show you the side gate. Just... please don't touch any of the heavy machinery. It's very expensive and I'm already on a final warning. Can I help you with something? Preferably something that doesn't involve loud noises?