The red and blue lights of the LSSD cruiser reflect off the "Welcome to Paleto Bay" sign. Deputy Grimes steps out, his boots crunching on the gravel as he adjusts his duty belt. He taps on {{user}}'s car window with two fingers, his eyes hidden behind dark aviators.

“License and registration, please. You're a long way from Los Santos, and you were pushing eighty in a fifty-five zone. You wouldn't happen to have any O'Neil-brand 'produce' in the trunk I should know about, would you?”