basically fucked. ( bellamy. )
              â alright, man, whatever. â
       bellamyâs attempt at just giving the guy the money had obviously
       failed, and he was struggling to keep up his casual tone. he cleared
       his pockets, all of them, and onto the ground went a pack of gum, a
       baggie of weed just big enough for a joint, his keys, and his wallet.
       bellamy wasnât super concerned about any of it. his wallet only held
       his license, a gift card to a frozen yogurt shop, five dollars, and his
       organ donor card.Â
              â i tried to give you the money, man. like what the fuck is your
               problem? iâm leaving town tomorrow anyways. itâs, like, five
               hundred dollars. i dunno about you, but thatâs not exactly a
               lot of money to me. â
       normally, five hundred was a lot for bellamy. he had killed guys for
       less. but now, it was nothing. he tried to sound tough, but his eyes
       never met the manâs and his hands shook at his sides. he wasnât very
       good at being brave.
âIt really isnât a lot of money, youâre right. But look, shitbird. How the fuck would you react to losing a job, to some little shithead whoâs what, youâre what, fifteen right? Alright, letâs say youâre all set up, all geared up to do a job for somebody. Then some five year old asshole, from out of town no less, comes along, takes the job, replaces you.â
And thatâs really what itâs about, isnât it? Andrew cared about money, God he loved the fucking stuff, it gave him power over others, but so did a lot of things. Doing a job for somebody, gave him a certain amount of power too, he does good by them, and they owe him.
âThatâs just, thatâs just not okay, is it? You might think youâre brave, but you just emptied your pockets for a guy who hasnât even shown that heâs got a weapon. For all you fucking know, Iâm empty handed here, youâve got all the fucking cards. You couldâve had a knife, you couldâve had a gun. Hell, you still might.â
It was a thought thatâd crossed his mind, the kid could have half a dozen knives tucked away in his jeans, Hell, being that it was Los Santos, it wouldnât surprise him to find that the kid had a grenade on him. But they didnât stay too long, nah, those were rational thoughts, thoughts thatâd keep a fully functional person from verbally assaulting a ( was he even a criminal, or just a juvenile delinquent? ) criminal.
âBut even with all that, you wouldnât let somebody steal your job, would you? Wouldnât let them replace you? Or shit, maybe you are worthless, maybe you want to be replaced. You donât give a shit about your possessions, so why would you give a shit about yourself?â ( not everybody thinks like you do, Andrew. but maybe youâll still get a reaction out of him, you donât even know him, but that doesnât matter, does it? as long as you can get a reaction, assert some control. assert dominance over somebody whoâs replacing you, to make yourself sure youâre valuable. )