Tragic news

 I received the following letter this morning:

Doc,

I am so sorry that I had to write this. I told Casey he wasn't ready to go it alone after all these years, but you know how fucking crazy he was. I got his text message and GPS signal but by the time I got to Los Santos it was too late.  I found him downtown, dead by the side of the road outside one of the hospitals. His medication bottle was empty. One of the last things he did was draw a Voorish Sign in the dust with his finger. He'd only been in town two days.

I guess when you lead a life as batshit as his you burn out eventually. I can't believe it was finally his diabetes that took him down and not the punk rock life - or any of those missions over the past three years.

But I guess that's why he was one of your best agents. He said they can't drive you crazy if you're already crazy to begin with, He used to say he didn't care how he died, because as far as he was concerned he'd beat the odds so many times the Grim Reaper must have given up on scooping him up. He was sure that he was already dead. He was just waiting for his heart to get the memo.

The world will never know the sacrifices he made, but that came with the job description. You and I know, and that's enough. They carted him off to the morgue. Now he's just a memory and a footnote for obscure music collectors. I'll mourn him in my own way. But first I had to get myself situated.

As for me, I found a cafe' downtown but it wasn't open. There's a serious labor and food desert issue down here. A guy named Darius answered my tweet. He stopped by, handed me a taco and a water bottle and gave me a little tour. I started taking up some side gigs, delivering packages on an electric scooter. I'm building up my confidence to try driving one of those 21st century automobiles. Some of these top of the line models look downright unearthly.

You know how I am, I like to go where I can do the most good. There's a fancy seafood restaurant on the pier called Pearl. I hear they need a good cook, and if there's one thing this New Englander knows it's how to cook seafood. Later I'll see if I can get my New Palermo bar transferred to Los Santos. Either way, I'm sure they could use a private investigator.

Sincerely,

D. Littman