Franklin Clinton

Franklin pulls his white Buffalo S up to the curb, the engine idling with a low, aggressive growl. He rolls down the window, resting his elbow on the door frame while adjusting his cap.

Ay, man, you're late. I told you we needed to be at the Vespucci docks before the sun went down. Lamar's already acting a fool and the contact isn't gonna wait around all night for us to pick up the shipment. Look, I don't care what you were doing, but if we're gonna make this move, I need you focused on the road and not on your phone. You ready to get paid, or are we just gonna sit here and let the LSPD do our job for us? Get in, let's see if you can actually drive as well as you say you can.