Gran Theft Auto - Rockstar's classic humour-and-grit crime series sees you having to steal grans to drive them around to complete missions for various undesirables.

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Short Story
Gran Theft Auto

By Mercer88

Billy climbed inside his car. Chrome-rimmed, custom paint job and an engine that growled like a wildcat with a sore throat. It had been his lucky getaway car for a while, ever since he successfully stole it from those nuns in Wiltshire. “So much for God…” he had thought, followed by “What the hell are nuns doing with a flashy, modded car like this?” The answer to that question was a riddle posed by God that no one would ever solve.
In one hand, Billy caressed the steering wheel; in the other he clutched a sack of shiny things. The kind of shiny things that people in crime movies kill each other over. He had accidentally stolen them from ‘Big Stu’s Cat Memorabilia and Shiny Things’ shop, somewhat of an esoteric place. He had simply gone in to get an alabaster sculpture of a British Shorthair for his aunt when he noticed a conversation going on behind the counter. Whatever the subject of the conversation it was sufficiently serious for Big Stu’s bigger conversation partner to pull out a gun! A gun! ‘They go bang!’ thought Billy, and just as he had that thought it did, indeed, go bang. Big Stu was left bleeding on the floor clutching his velvet sack, which isn’t an innuendo, and the bigger stranger darted out the back door after noticing Billy. Billy, the kind of guy who steals cars from nuns, had a fondle of the velvet sack (still not an innuendo) and discovered within a batch of shiny things, very shiny things.
So, bag of shiny things in hand Billy was cruising down the A14, towards Felixstowe, when a van inconveniently crashed into the side of him.
“Oh bugger…” said Billy.
“Yes, I agree…” came a mysterious voice from behind Billy.
“Wha…Whe…Wh…Who the fuck are you?” Billy asked, his face failing to show the pain at his whiplash and bruising and just showing confusion – but it was not hard to confuse Billy.
“Well, you know that person who darted out the back from Big Stu’s?” the voice explained.
“Oh my God! It’s you!?” Billy cried.
“No, I’m his gran. Doris.” She said.
“Oh…Sorry, I didn’t mean to accuse you of being a Stu murderer. Hello Doris.” Billy said.
“Hello dear. How are you today?” Doris asked.
“Well, I was fine. Then I saw a man who sells cat memorabilia murdered and now I’ve been in a car crash with a murderer’s grandmother. Oh, and someone is reaching through the car window to punch me and steal my shiny things.” Billy said, as someone reached through the window, punched him and stole his shiny things.
“Oh, that’s nice dear.” Said Doris. Grans never really listen, and always think whatever you’ve been doing is nice. You could say “Alright Nan, I’ve just slept with an aids-addled West African prostitute and I’m now off to HIV up a load of cheap sluts and share needles at the heroin den!” she’d still just say “that’s nice dear…” and continue watching the television with the volume up so loud it could make a deaf person hear again and immediately regret it.
So, there they were, in an upturned motor vehicle, punched in the face and sans shiny. In all it wasn’t a very good day for Billy, but he was too stupid to realise it.
“I LIKE SOCKS!” he said, somewhat concussed from being punched in the face.
“That’s nice dear…” Doris replied. “Why don’t we go home and watch game shows?” she suggested.
“Ga….Game…Shows…Game shows? Go…Home? You’re not even my bloody nan? What do you mean go home? I don’t know where your home is you crazy old bat!” Billy shouted, slurring his speech a little, as he continued to feel dazed.
“I don’t live in a home. I have my own house.” Doris said, not really understand Billy in that confused grandmother sort of way.
“Well, where is your home?” Billy asked.
“187 Onaundercovercop Drive” She replied.
“Is that a reference to Dr. Dre’s first ever solo single release, featuring Snoop Dogg?” Billy asked.
“I haven’t got a dog! And I went to the doctor last week with my stool sample.” Doris replied.
“I have no idea what world you live in, but it sounds terrible.” Billy sighed. “Right, get out, I’ll have to flip the car.” He said. Doris did as instructed, and Billy drove them to 187 Onaundercovercop Drive.

They arrived at a small bungalow in a seemingly rough neighbourhood. There was graffiti all over the place, tags of various artists, some creative pictures and on one wall someone had just used a brush and some emulsion to paint ‘fuckpiss’. Billy was unsure what ‘fuckpiss’ meant, but was sure it was not pleasant, whatever it was.
“Here you go, Doris. You’re home now.” Billy said.
“Oh, thank you lovey. Will you come in for a cup of tea?” she said.
Billy thought for a moment. He really didn’t enjoy spending time with this marginally demented old lady, but he remembered what his mother had taught him. If an old lady offers you in for tea, you had better do it or she will put her witches curse on you and make it so that you smell of wee and never look good in hats. Isn’t it funny how, no matter how nonsensical they are, we carry those lessons with us when we get older. In fact, only last week I pulled a face and the wind changed and now I can’t stop pulling that face.
“Okay Doris, thank you, I’d love some tea.” Billy replied politely.
He entered her bungalow, which wasn’t an innuendo, and the faint smell of degradation upset him. For the first time he realised this was not some crazy old bat. This was a human being, worn to the nub after years of abuse at the hands of a needlessly exploitative world. Her meagre possessions told only a thin, diluted story of her life. The watch that her been her lover’s, he had died in the war. A faded sepia photograph of an infant in a woman’s arms, that was her and her mother when she was a child. There was a clock that sat faithfully on the mantelpiece. She had to wind it every day, she said it was like her, it just needed a start and then it would be fine until the evening. It’s easy to forget the elderly, or dismiss them. But they are a resource to be cherished. They have stories untold that beg to be heard, tales of love and daring, tales of pain and heartache, tales of sordid violence and the pains of all humankind.
“Doris?” Billy said.
“Yes dear?” replied Doris.
“Do you enjoy it here?” he said.
“Well, it’s the best I’ve got isn’t it? I have to make do.” She said.
“That…that doesn’t really answer my question.”
“Well, in that case, no. I bloody hate it. It’s grim, I’m surrounded by feckless arseholes and my family and friends are too scared to visit me. Well except for Sean of course, but then he’s a bad lad, really. Needs putting in his place.”
“Well, why don’t we?” Billy said.
“Why don’t we what?” Doris replied.
“Put him in his place. He obviously stole back the bag of shiny things, and they are expensive macguffins in that bag! Let’s get them back, sell them on and use the money to buy you a nicer place to live!”
“YAY!” cried Doris.

Billy put on a badass leather jacket and some very cool 80s action movie sunglasses, while Doris for some reason dressed as a ninja. Tight ninja clothing does not look cool on octogenarians with titties at their ankles, but to each their own. They got into the car and starting driving.
“Right, Doris.” Billy said, “Where does Sean live?”
“Erm…187 Onaundercovercop Drive.” Doris replied.
“But…that’s where you live.”
“Yes.”
“We just left there.”
“Yes.”
“But Sean lives there.”
“Yes.”
“With you?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Upstairs, dear.”
“He lives upstairs. In a bungalow?”
“Yes dear.”
“Are you sure you’ve not gone mad?”
“Yes dear.”
“So, we’re driving away from your house, thus away from where Sean is?”
“Yes dear.”
Billy turned the car around, sighing loudly in a sort of, half-sigh, half-huff sort of arrangement. He did not quite want Doris to think he was angry but at the same time he did want to make her feel bad. She, meanwhile, didn’t give a shit on account of the fact that she would soon be dead. So she sucked a murray mint and did some knitting.
They arrived back at the Bungalow, which did not, as Doris had supposed, have an upstairs, but merely had a loft.
“SEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!” Billy shouted ominously.
“Ooh hello!” came an effeminate voice from the back of the room. “Who are you?”
“I’m…Well I’m Billy. The guy you stole the shiny things from, who took them from Big Stu, who you murdered.”
“Oh right! Hello, how are you?” Sean replied.
“Well, I’ve had better days. Anyway, I’m here to get the shiny things back.”
“Well you can’t have ‘em.”
“Why not?”
“Because I need them to sell to get my gran a better home. I went to Big Stu’s to pawn them, but the silly git tried to rob them off me. I managed to wrestle the gun out of his hands and shot him, but before I could grab my shinies and leave, I noticed you, darling. Ooh I was so startled I just ran away. Anyway, is Gran home?” said Sean.
“Erm…Yeah, she’s downstairs. She said you were a bad lad. That you needed putting in your place. I thought you were some kind of criminal abusing her?” Billy said.
“Ooh no, love. Let’s just say she disagrees with certain aspects of my lifestyle. She’s old fashioned that way. Disagrees with me cavorting with other men.” He said.
“Ah, the supposed forgivable bigotry of the elderly under the thinly veiled excuse for ignorance that is ‘they’re from another generation’…” Billy said. Both he and Sean sighed. “Well, I was coming to get the diamonds back in order to do the same thing you wanted to do, so shall we get them sold?”
“Yeah, come on.”

Years later Billy sat sipping a cold lemonade on the veranda and wondered quite what qualified as a veranda. What he now called a veranda he had always just called a porch. Sean sat beside him, he had a coke because he did not like lemonade, and they idly sat gazing at the countryside. Sean reached out and held Billy’s hand. Yes, they were a homosexual couple now, much to the chagrin of Doris.
They were sat outside her new home, a large house in a small community of other well off elderly types. The shinies had all been sold, it turned out they were those ‘diamond’ things everyone in the world so crudely and materialistically coveted and thus they earned loads for them. Everyone was happy, it seemed, except for Doris.
“I don’t like it here.” She said. “There are too many blacks on the staff.”
Oh, that Doris, what a shallow bigot she truly was. It turned out, in the end, that she was the villain for being so narrow minded.