Okay, this is my 999th post and I wanted to celebrate my 1000th post with something good. That would mean having to post two stories at once for my enxt two posts on here, so sorry about that, but I want the effect
Anyway, here it goes...
Chater Twenty-two: Family History
“So that f*cker thinks he can boss around Tommy Vercetti?” he yelled furiously. I was sitting facing him as he paced around his office.
“What do you want me to do about it?” I asked, prepared to do anything for a man I so admired.
“Nothing yet Johnny, thanks,” he said, seemingly calmer than before. “No, nothing yet. We’ll wait and see if he does anything. He probably thinks I’m scared and will hand it over soon. I’m not scared though, not one bit.”
“Me neither, so I’ll be off to work then,” I said and picked up the keys to my Huntley and walked out the door.
It had been a day since Giuseppe Leone had threatened to be back in force but the club when I arrived was it’s usual seedy self. I took the back door and settled down in a barstool. The customers were the typical cross-section of the scummy side of the city. Drug dealers, married men, lonely men, perverts; you name it, it was there. I scoped out a man in a trucker cap getting carried away with a stripper’s antics, he was cheering and throwing dollar bills at her. Its flat peak cast a shadow over his face, hiding it from the hazy lights. I could just make out a mullet and a full beard beneath it. He was dressed in a plaid red shirt, stained with spilt alcohol. An assortment of different sized glasses stood on the table around him; shot glasses, whiskey tumblers, pint glasses, tankards, bottles of Pißwasser. He looked like a redneck, and he was drunk. Just like a redneck.
I glanced around the room and took another sip of juice. Non-alcoholic, I needed a clear head in case of a fight. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted the redneck getting up and making his way through to the toilets. I followed him, keeping my distance though. I was standing looking nonchalant as he came out of the toilet a few minutes later and sparked up a Redwood cigarette. He took a long drag on it and pushed through the curtain into a private room. Seconds later a dancer dressed as a schoolgirl followed him in. I stood around the curtain, this guy was potential trouble. Just minutes into the session something alarmed me.
“Get off me! What are you doing!”
“Shut up and dance bitch!”
“Ah!” she screamed. I had barged into the room just before witnessing him stub his cigarette out on her chest. The skin singed and let of a hiss, red raw and bleeding beneath the tab end.
“Get the f*ck off her,” I said and gently moved the girl aside before landing a punch square on his nose.
He recoiled and knocked his head off the wall behind him. Cursing, he leapt out of his seat at me and wrapped his heavy hands around my neck. I head butted him, sending him stumbling in pain. I followed that up by grabbing his head and meeting it with the brunt of my knee. Blood flowed from a gash above his eye and he collapsed to the ground, out cold. I picked him up, slumped him over my shoulder and threw him roughly onto the pavement outside the back of the club, landing a cheeky last kick to the groin whilst he was unconscious.
I felt a hand pat me on the shoulder in congratulations. A smiling Tommy Vercetti greeted me as I spun round. He peered over my shoulder at the bloody pulp of the redneck before flashing me the thumbs-up signal.
“So, any sign of our new favourite customer?” he asked, tongue-in-cheek.
“No, not yet at least,” I told him.
We went back inside and sat down with a table to ourselves and had a few drinks. I ordered a Jack Daniels shot since Tommy told me I could get a lift from his chauffeur back to the mansion and that my Huntley would be towed back for me. Within an hour and a half we were both drunk and stumbling our way through to the office to look for Tommy’s vintage wine bottle. Midway through the hunt we were interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Ssshh, they’ll hear us,” Tommy whispered with his finger placed over his lips. I cracked up and fell to the floor laughing.
“Hello Mr. Vercetti,” a voice said from above me. I spun my dizzy head around to see him. “I haven’t had the fortune of meeting you. Your friend here though…”
“Pepe, how ya doin’ buddy?” I said and laughed some more.
“Mr. Vercetti, I’d like you to meet my father, Alessandro Leone,” he said, completely ignoring me. An elderly man paraded into the room with his head held up high. He shared the same piercing blue eyes of his son, only the older man had silvery grey hair combed back immaculately. They both wore smart black suits with a murky green shirt beneath it and a black tie.
“Hey, you! I know you from somewhere,” I pointed at Alessandro, and squinted in thought. “Alessandro Leone… Uncle Al. Hey! D’you know Joey Leone?”
The man turned pale faced and dodged my question. Pepe spoke up again, this time his voice was commanding.
“Tommy,” he said. “This club is mine.”
“Oh yeah?” Tommy asked incredulously with a sni**er of laughter. “f*ck off before I kill you.”
“Kill me? I rather think the opposite is more likely,” he drew out a silenced 9mm pistol at Tommy, who looked down the barrel calmly, as if it was an every day occurrence.
“Ooh, got a gun now big boy, huh?” he mocked Pepe. “You know, this isn’t like it is in the movies. I’m betting you ain’t even got police protection.”
It was Pepe’s turn to be put under fire. He looked nervously at his father before slipping the gun back into his pocket, obviously thinking better of killing tonight at least.
“Well, there are other ways that the business can be taken,” he said and he and his father marched from the room.
“Bring it on then, f*cker!” screamed Tommy in a desperate attempt to get the last word.
I woke up the next morning with a pounding headache which struck the walls of my skull relentlessly. I dragged myself out of bed and slipped into a dressing gown. My cell phone rang from my trouser pocket from the night before and the shrill tones further punished my cranium. I accepted the call and put the phone to my ear.
“Hey Johnny, look,” it was Joey Leone, the last time I’d heard from him was before I left. “That Giuseppe and Alessandro Leone, do you recognise them.”
I cast my mind back through the drunken fog of the night before. The silver combed back hair, the blue eyes. “Alessandro looked familiar,” I said, still not able to pinpoint him.
“Alessandro Leone was my father’s cousin. In the 1980s when Little Luca Senior, then Don of the family, died, it left a battle for the new leadership,” he told me. I knew most of this already, but maybe I’d learn something new. “My father and his brother Alessandro were the two main competitors for the position as boss. A civil war erupted for months. My uncle was losing and knew it. He and my father agreed to a truce but Alessandro had caused so many personal grievances with my dad’s crew that he’d never be allowed to live.”
“So he had him killed?” I asked, thinking I was correct.
“What!? His own brother!? No, he let him live but at a cost. Alessandro was never allowed back to Liberty City and was made to swear an oath not to rival any family interests under fear of death,” he continued. “Well, this interrupts our business Johnny! Vercetti is a vital ally and a great friend of mine. You will deal with them, yeah?”
“Of course,” I told him.
Chater Twenty-three: Retribution
I walked down stairs, already showered and change, ready for the day ahead of me. I got into the kitchen and Tommy was sat hunched over his cell phone at the counter. He kept dialling number, putting the phone to his ear, and then trying again.
“f*ck!” he screamed, an edge of terror in his voice.
“What’s wrong Tommy?” I asked, pouring myself a bowl of cornflakes.
“Read,” he said and pushed across a scribbled note to me. I unfolded it and read:
|Tommy, I told you not to f*ck with me. Why didn’t you just listen?|
If you want to see your son again, then bring the deeds for all of your properties to the agreed location. Call this number to contact us.
Yours sincerely, Giuseppe and Alessandro Leone.
“sh*t, what have you done so far?” I asked.
“I’ve tried ringing the number on it but they won’t answer yet,” he said, clearly worried. “Peter. My only son. Gone.” He was inconsolable.
“Okay, we’ll get some guys of yours together and call them,” I said, trying to lift his spirits. “They’ll answer. They have to. Otherwise, what would be the point in it all?”
Tommy sniffed, “Yeah, you’re right.”
“We get guys together and then we can go to the meet, get your son and make it work out that you keep your power,” I convinced him.
An hour later and there was fifteen guys milling around Tommy’s mansion. Tommy was still periodically dialling in the provided number but to no avail. No doubt Pepe was just wanting to make him sweat. We bundled into cars together about ten minutes after that, by which time it was quarter past eleven in the morning. I got in my Huntley with Tommy, a guy called Paulie Trieste, and another young man who I knew only as Baker, he looked like a tough motherf*cker and anything but Italian. He wore his hair long and in a ponytail, he had a leather waistcoat and chains hung from his torn jean pockets.
“Ah, we should have taken bikes around the city,” he sighed with longing. “Roam free, yeah?”
We checked all major places where we’d thought they could be. North Point Mall car park was empty, there was no-one in the lighthouse, the huge film studios were abandoned and the scrap yard in Little Haiti was deserted too.
“Hey Tommy,” Paulie piped up. “Remember that place we took Rosenberg when we dealt with him? How about we check there?”
“Good idea,” Tommy said. He’d kept fairly quiet during the car ride. “Johnny, take a right here and go the other way to the airport at that fork.”
“Yeah, it’s an abandoned docking warehouse,” Paulie confirmed.
I accelerated past Sunshine Autos and turned right to head to the airport. Seconds later I parked up outside of the huge empty warehouse. An old, battered white van stood outside with its’ doors wide open. We all got out and strapped up. Tommy armed himself with an M4, I picked up the MP5, Baker took a desert eagle from the glove compartment and Paulie drew a stubby shotgun from under his seat. Now ready, we checked the van, but it was empty. Tommy lead the way into the warehouse, he cautiously entered and took cover behind a box. I crept ahead of him and peered down into the docking bay. Two men, hard to distinguish from such a distance, stood over a third guy. The third guy was tied to a chair and gagged.
“Down there,” I mouthed over to Tommy and pointed in the direction where they stood. I crawled back over to the group.
“We’ll go back outside and call for more people,” Tommy commanded us; he was a natural born leader. “I’ll get some guys to arrive and surround the top. Maybe some snipers will do the job.”
Amazed by the extent of his power, I walked back outside and we waited whilst Tommy rang around some friends to come and help out. Twenty minutes later, four more carloads of people arrived. There were eighteen of us in total, a little excessive, but necessary given the circumstances. We all gunned up and headed into the warehouse for the showdown. Tommy held M4 in one hand and the box of deeds to his property, to be used as bait, in the other. He led the way and stood overlooking the three men below.
“Gentlemen,” Tommy announced. They all looked up, they could only see Tommy and I from where they stood. “Have we still got a deal?”
“Mr. Vercetti, how did you find us here?” Pepe asked, incredulous.
“Never mind that, let’s get down to business,” he said and trudged down the steps.
“Tommy, you can’t bring your gun down here,” Alessandro said in concern.
“Sorry but I must, it gives me a sense of security, please,” Tommy replied and continued his way over towards the Leone partnership.
“Okay, the deeds are in that briefcase, yes?” Pepe asked greedily.
“Of course, but first I’m going to need my son,” Tommy said.
Pepe quickly did as he was told and cut the binds with a knife. Peter got up weakly and scampered over to his father. Tommy took his son in an embrace and walked off up the stairs with him. At my side again, he ordered Peter to wait in the car.
“Now. Giuseppe, Alessandro,” he said, addressing both of them. “You didn’t think I’d let you live, did you?”
They looked at each other in horror, realising they were now at the mercy of the Vercetti gang. A dozen or so men stepped forward; the rest had flanked the sides to make sure of no escape. However, Pepe and Al made a run for it. Each puling out there own gun before we could even react, they fought their way through the blockade of people at the side. The entirety of Tommy’s men, myself included, let loose on the area. Bullets splintered into the ground, deafening my ears. I kept my trigger finger pressed in a blind hope that I’d hit one of them. They were now escaping; they were heading for the side exit and towards my Huntley. Praying that Tommy’s son hadn’t chosen the Huntley to wait in, I let a round of fire off at them. Pepe ran ahead to start the car up and pick his dad up. Baker behind me took a shot with his gun and clipped Alessandro in the skull. The waiting Huntley was wallpapered in brain matter. It layered the windscreen and the wipers scraped it off, leaving a horrified Giuseppe Leone pen-mouthed looking at his dead father. I took careful aim with my MP5 and popped off a few more shots. Giuseppe slumped over into his seat, a bloody mess. My Huntley was f*cked now though.
We gathered outside the scene, two Vercetti men had been wounded and needed hospital care. They were driven away by other gang members and we were left to congratulate each other. Tommy wasn’t around for the celebrations though; he’d whisked Peter straight off to the mansion to check if he was alright.
EDIT: This is chapter 22 and 23, I'll go and change my story count. Also bought a Bullet for the Leones, which I've edited in - see below.
Edited by mark-2007, 23 May 2008 - 01:04 PM.