Talk Vasquez down.

You decided to have Michael persist.

"Hey, officer, you're obviously havin' some sort of work difficulty. Why take it out on this girl? She clearly don't know nothing. Or much of anything, no offence toots." Michael says, adding the last bit on when he catches the hipster girl glaring at him through her expensive shades.

"I'm not exactly a stranger to the life. We should talk, I might be able to help. I know a good coffee shop, right down the way. Well not good, exactly, but I've never seen any hipsters in there, and they don't serve double skinny soy whatever the fuck lattes."

Vasquez considers it for a moment, before releasing her hold on the blonde girl.

"Get out of here." the Sergeant tells her tersely.

The hipster stops only to gather up her effects, bag, phone, hairbrush, minus her stash, and to scribble something down on a scrap of paper.

"Here." she says, passing it to Michael. Checking it out, you see it reads M.M. 0800-555-1792 "Call me sometime. I'd say what you've just done is worth at least a blowjob." she tells him, biting her lip seductively.

"Hey slut, why don't you get outta here, before I feed you my nightstick." Vasquez glowers, hastening the girl's exit.

"Alright, about that coffee..." Michael begins, as you begin walking to the newly-appeared waypoint.

"Y'know, you got some cojones, talking to an LSPD officer the way you just did." Vasquez remarks. "I respect that."

"Oh, if mouthing off's the worst thing I do to a cop in the next while, I'd be surprised."

-

Heading into the diner, Michael orders two black coffees, and sits opposite Sergeant Vasquez in a quiet little out of the way booth.

"So, why don't you tell me what's got you so agitated." Michael asks the younger female officer. "****, right? Though not the usual way they've got people in this town fucked up."

"Yeah. There are groups all over this city. Factions of the Lost MC, the Ballas, the Aztecas who have been pushing particularly dangerous **** out. Crystal, coke, heroin, designer shit. All potent, all poorly cut. Bodies've been piling up."

"Damn, sounds terrible." Michael remarked. He kept quiet on the fact that in his pre-"retirement" years, he'd run **** more than his fair share.

"And when I try to do something, I get shut down. My superiors, hell, half the department, are on the take. Thing is, we know where these groups have got their stash-house strongholds, we just can't move on them without ironclad evidence."

"Y'know, vigilante justice is a longstanding American tradition." Michael remarked. "I might be willing to help you take care of these groups."

"I'm sensing there's an if... coming." Vasquez remarked.

"Well, there's gotta be a lotta cash lying around these strongholds. We take the crooks out, burn their stashes..."

"As far as my bosses are concerned, that money don't exist." Sergeant Vasquez remarked, catching Michaels meaning. "So, it's not like it's even there to go missing in the first place.

"I like the way you think, officer." Michael remarked. "I need the green, you wouldn't believe how my wife blows through it."

"That underpowered, overcompensation you rolled up in can't be cheap, either." Vasquez needled the thief.

"Hey, layoff my car!"

"Just sayin'. My big bro runs a Los Santos Customs. I know a crappy car when I see one."

"Michael DeSanta." Michael remarks, extending his hand.

"Vasquez. Manuela Vasquez." the officer says, shaking his hand.

"The Lost are hiding out in a junkyard on the outskirts of town. We could hit them now, or I could meet you there later. It's your call."

A prompt appeared, to take down the Lost stronghold right now, or come back to it later.