Build Up Your Gang Remix

[evgun]

can you grade my old stories and give me a marijuana farm evgun

[Officer Pulaski]

SloSten can you give me 1 more chance in BUYG because you said in the Gang section that you said i was i bit of a spammer on BUYG.I'll do more the gang.

he just wants people to write proper stories

so if you do hell let you in I bet

 

ive started a new story, but right now its all dialogue and only half a story

should I post?

[9jkearse3]

ive started a new story, but right now its all dialogue and only half a story

should I post?

no you should not Dialouge is ok it helps to get to know the characters but if its 50% dialouge then it gets cluttered dont post until you got a better one

[Forelli_Boy]

@SloSten: I would like to be switched to the Atlantic Quays Warehouse as I've run out of ideas for my current storyline. x_____x I'm going to 'restart' the storyline with the one I used in the Liberty City version, reduxed. Sorry.

[Arthazzz]

So can Diaz's gang purchase a tec-9 now, please?

il post my proper story later

[Oblivionz]

Grove Street Families.

 

 

The big rescue.

 

 

 

I was going through CJ's stuff to maybe find some weapons or something for the rescue, when i seen it, he had a f*cking minigun in his basement! I grabbed it and got it out, and gathered up a few of the homies i planned on using for the rescue on CJ.

 

Me: "Ok guys, this is the plan. This is no stealth f*cking plan either, if you wanna chicken out on me go ahead."

Two of the guys walked away, the other 4 all asked at the same time "So, what we doin'?"

Me: We're gonna rage in there, head's up high and start blasting the f*ck outta them fools.

 

I started walking away, when one of them started talking to me.. "Um, dude. I got no peice, you got any i could use?" I started walking, and reached into one of the homies cars and yelled "Anyone know whose car this!" No response, i grabbed a colt from the glovebox and threw it to him, and started walking toward CJ's house. I ran inside and grabbed a Tec and the Minigun and ran outside and looked around, "Wha?, where the f*ck did all my homies go??? HOMIES!!!" No answer. "God these people are stupid today, i hopped into the GreenWood that i didn't know who it belonged to and started speeding off to the Hotel that the dude was staying at. I ran inside the hotel, and reserved a room. Big enough for 5 people. I ran up the stairs to it, and called a few of the OG's houses, asking if they've seen any of the homies. He said that he hasn't seen any homies for a few days. "God damnit, motherf*cking backstabbers. Guess i'm doing this on my own then." I walked out to my car and put the Minigun in a bag i found in the bag seat, and brought it into the room. I threw the bag onto my bed and walked into the bathroom, i let the water run for a bit and threw some onto my face, just as my phone rang. It was the dude who had CJ. I answered it, "Who the f*ck are you, and how the f*ck did you know i have this room!" I hung up the phone and took out the Mingun, i barged out the door and started walking down the hall.. "What room is he in again...." A sudden flashback interrupted me. "Room 69!" I turned around and ran to the room, and kicked in the door. No one was there. I walked back to my room, and threw the Minigun back onto the bed and walked back to the lobby and asked the Clerk "Do you know who was in room 69?" He replied "Umm... No one has been in that room for months." I kicked the desk and reached into my pocket and grabbed my tec-9. I pulled it out and unloaded 3 clips into that f*ckers head. I ran back into my room and grabbed the minigun, and ran to my car. I threw the tec and the minigun in the back and started the car. I floored it all the way back to Ganton to find my homie, but to my surprise CJ was back. I skidding the car to a stop and jumped out, and ran up to him. "CJ! What happened! Who had you! Why'd he let you go!" He didn't answer me. Next thing i knew, he was on the ground, blood squirting out his head. I looked around, there was a f*cking sniper on CJ's roof! I unloading the rest of my ammo up by his head, but no luck. He was gone by the time i reloaded. I hopped into the car, and floored it back to the Dragons to tell Woozie that CJ was dead.

 

 

 

The Four Dragons Casino

 

 

 

By the time i got to the Gant Bridge it was 12, and it's been 4 days since i slept. I woke up the the sounds off many horns honking, apparently i fell asleep at the wheel, and any close to the side of the bridge and i would of feel into the ocean. Close one, i would of died for sure. I started speeding it to the Four Dragons again, and by the time i got there it was 5 AM. I ran inside to talk to Woozie, but it was quiet. And no one was there. I knocked onto his office door, nothing. I called his cell, still nothing. It was way too quiet, i ran outside to grab a Tec, incase this was a setup. I heard gunshots in the distance, and they sounded like they were getting louder. It sounded like AKs and M4s, and they were still getting closer. Next thing i knew there was an Army of Ballas and Vagos surrounding me from all directions, i ran inside my car to grab my minigun and sh*t, i left it at CJs. I pulled out my tec, there were only 3 clips left. I let all 3 clips in all directions. As soon as i was out of ammo i ran into the Four dragons, hoping there were some guns in there. I ran into Woozie's office. "Aha! A colt." There were Ballas all over as i got out of the office. I let bullets fly in all directions, the colt jammed. "sh*t! Bad day, bad day, bad day!." I woke up, tied up. Yet again on some coke covered couch. They were forcing me to sniff the sh*t when i breathed. Before i knew it, i was stoned on the sh*t. I woke up about an hour later, with a pounding headache when a balla came in and put a 9mm to my head. "Yo, my name's Kane. I'll be your murderer today, you're a high powered OG in the GSF, right?" I didn't even get a chance to speak before he answered me "Yeah, that's what i thought. I have a proposition for you, if you wipe the GSF from existence, i'll let you be an OG in the Ballas, what do you say." I spat onto the ground "f*ck no, f*cking Balla." He kicked me a few times, and then dumped a more coke onto the couch, making me sniff more. I had it with him "FINE! FINE! I'll do anything, just don't make me f*cking sniff no more!" That motherf*cker seemed pretty happy with me, little did he know i'd be running like hell in a second. He came over and untied me, and handed me another Tec and told me "Make me proud, foo'." He led me to the door and said "I'll be watching you." I made a run for it and started running as fast as i could, anywhere would be fine, just let me the f*ck get away from him. I tripped over a crack in the sidewalk, last thing i know. I hit my head on the ground, and passed out.

 

 

 

I think this is my best masterpiece yet. I'll have another one up in a few days, i've been playing my PS2 more than i usually would.

[Officer Pulaski]

ive started a new story, but right now its all dialogue and only half a story

should I post?   

no you should not Dialouge is ok it helps to get to know the characters but if its 50% dialouge then it gets cluttered dont post until you got a better one

i know that, thats why i winked

because Slosten went insane because of everyone writing half stories

ha ha...

[GTAFool12]

Oh i missed that because of your retarded wrapper. Story will be up soon.

[sean "sweet" johnson]

can you grade mine now? sorry for being a whiner but i have useful news too! (just let me think of it...)

 

oh yeah. I will have my story by late today or tomarrow

[Tril]

Question:

So I can't spend the money that I earn unless everyone in my gang

wants that item/vehicle/asset/facility?

 

 

Story:Tril's 2nd Story:"Shut Up 'N Shoot!"

 

 

I was stranded and I didn't know where the hell I was.So I started

to follow the tracks.I'd been walking for a half hour and didn't reach

the streets.Then I saw this light coming from behind as I looked back

I saw it was a Box-Car Train.I ran over to the edge of the tracks

and waited for it to come nearer.As soon as it got close I readied

myself for a jump.I saw a open door coming up and I jumped on.

Luckfully I knew how to do this since I was 13.So I knew how to

do it without getting to badly hurt.

 

It was about 2:00 when the train got by Idlewood.I started looking

for a place to jump out without getting hurt.And saw this truck stop

at a redlight.As the train got near it I jumped out onto the back

which was thankfully covered in soft-hay preventing any damage.

I quickly jumped off the back of this guys truck and ran to my Den.

I opened my door and saw that some of my people were in my

crib gettin' high.One of them looked at me and said ,"Wherez Jer at?"

"He's dead man..."

"What the f*ck ya mean he's dead!?!"

"We were gettin' the train away from here when it started to derail

at some cliff and I scream,'BAIL OUT!' he must of freaked out and

not jumped."

"So he fell off the cliff!And you didn't go check if he was ok!?!"

"It was a f*ckin' far way down what the hell was I supposed to do?

f*ckin' jump off and die along with'em!?!"

"YEA!"

"Nigga yo ass is crazy..."

"WHAT!" He said reaching for his 9mm.

 

As I raised my gun and just as he was pickin' up his we heard ,

"CJ is this the right place? though the cracks of the door.

"Yea, this is the right place." And BAM!The door was kicked open

,everyone jumped and pulled out their Ruggers and 9mm.

A man wearing Grove colors walked in and began firing.We all fired

back.Within seconds 6 Groves flooded into the room taking out my

men.I started firing back and poped about 3 of their heads.Then

I heard the man I was arguing withsay,"I can't do this!" I yelled

at'em ,"SHUT UP AND SHOOT!OR WE'LL DIE!" Both our guns were

going off and they were almost all dead when one of'em started to

roll out the door.We heard ,"CJ hurry up!" and we knew this was the

actions of a Johnson boy.After the shoot out in my house I realized

I'd been hit.I was bleeding out of my right arm.Then my vision faded

out and I fell over,I was out like a light...

 

TO BE CONTINUED!

[sean "sweet" johnson]

tril that's right. everyone in the gang has to agree of what your buying, even if it is your own money

[The Professor]

"Coming Home"

Chapter IV

"The Thin Line Between Good And Evil"

 

~~

 

I was leaning on the railing of the cabaret-floor, watching the dancers perform their first show of the evening. It was a very involving experience; I had to admit. The dancers, my dancers, shuffled out from the side of the stage and grabbed each other’s hands. All of the women in flat-heels and leather jackets rocked back and fourth, as the lead male and female danced in the middle of them, singing their praises of love. I watched streaks of violet and blue emit from the stage, giving to pleased sighs and gasps from the extended crowd. I looked throughout the groups of millionaires, crooks and celebrities enjoying the show. Sitting toward the front of the rows, dressed in a tan business-suit, his wife on his arm was the newly handled Phil Roebuck. A few seats down sat a couple of investors – guys we weren’t really affiliated with, but offered money for a percentage of the earnings. Rich men, terribly stupid, though.

 

Then I looked up toward the balconies and saw one of the few men who was in on Johnny’s affairs. He was a sixty-year old black man named Walter Hennessey that was a good friend of Larry Dove’s. A former cigar-emperor, who sold the majority of Cuban nicotine to our shores, he got in very well with Dove’s family and they worked together on a few business ventures. Beside him, in a mink-coat and pearl-necklace was a woman I’d never seen him with before. She had the air of superiority that begged power and influence, even overshadowing that of her date.

 

‘He’s still alive,’ I heard Terrence Gaine’s voice from behind me. He handed me a vanilla envelope that had already been torn open and stepped back.

 

I peeled the covering off and looked, in almost full darkness at several black-and-white photographs. One showed a slim, handsome Italian man in a suit getting out of a car. The second showed the black-haired young man being escorted into a house by three guards, each holding a pistol. A third photo showed the same man leaving the house, sunglasses on, a smile on his face and holding a briefcase in his hand. I flipped to a fourth one, showing a scrawny man with brown hair, smoking a cigarette outside a dock. A fifth showed the smoker slip a briefcase into a silver Merit and pat it on the hood. And, finally, a sixth revealed a stocky man in his late forties or so, buttoning his dress-jacket up.

 

Terrence looked at me, as if judging whether I knew any of them. I didn’t, at all.

 

He cleared his throat and whispered, ‘The manicured boy in the first couple – you know who that is?’

 

‘Not even a little.’

 

‘That’s Bobby Forelli. The son of that rat piece of s**t.’

 

‘Who the hell’s that kid?’

 

‘What? The one in the glasses?’

 

I handed him the photo of the boy and pointed his picture out. ‘Yeah. What’s the doing?’

 

‘That’s what Johnny wanted me to tell you,’ he said slurred. ‘A couple of his guys have been lookin’ over this manor for a few months now. They thought that Giovanni Forelli was living, or one of Sonny’s sons, until about a week ago when we got a tip from the Leone’s. It seems that one of their professionals, a real animal, was coming to Liberty City. The bosses all thought he’d come to whack them because they screwed up a hit on him a month earlier. Those old men were willing to pay our guys to kill him, since they’re under investigation from the FED’s now. A few of our guys tracked him, lost him, and finally got him again at this house. The meeting was no more than twenty minutes before he left, then, like it was worked out ahead of time, Bobby shows up to collect five-million dollars and meets the same assassin an hour later at a dock and exchanges the briefcase for an agreement. Well, last night, Johnny had one of his men follow a regular Forelli-courier out to Rio Escalante, where he stashes the family’s money in a vault at some apartment building in some district god-knows-where. Johnny’s guys give this guy a trimming, even held him over a balcony to find out what the hell their dealin’ for. It seems, Mike, that Sonny is still alive and looking toward a few more years yet. So he hired this guy, “The Skull”, to murder you when the time was right. Its his last stand… the crippled son of a bitch.’

 

‘An assassin?’ I asked him. ‘How serious of a guy are we talking here?’

 

‘Mike,’ he leaned his hands on the railing of the room, gazing over the lights and show. ‘This man has been working twenty-years in a profession that doesn’t accept mistakes. He has killed mob-bosses in the past, brought down entire goddamn families with a single bullet. The story is – Londo Campanili went to Sicily at age twenty, after shooting dead the man who raped his sister, also a highly respected member of a mob-family, and lived with his mother’s brother there for years. The uncle was a well-respected killer – someone who moved from this country after he found religion. He trained Londo in everything a killer needs to know – ruthlessness, brutality, precision and, above all, being a professional. Londo eventually got so good that he starting killing people for a few dollars in the country, eventually angering his uncle, who he then killed. He came back here and started working jobs all over the map. They gave him the nickname “The Skull” because he used to be so skinny that he looked like death. Michael… this guy is a master-assassin. He’s the guy they send to kill the killer’s.’

 

‘So what the f**k do we do? I can’t hide for the rest of my life from this guy.’

 

He rubbed his hands together and looked at me. ‘We can make a move in the next day or so. Johnny wants a few guys to lead an assault on them anyway – take out Forelli’s Atlantic Quay’s warehouse, smash it all to hell and finish off the sons. We’ll even hit the manor, for good measure. If this guy is a hitman, he won’t come looking for trouble with us for no money. If we rid the world of Sonny Forelli, once and for all, this a**hole will back off, too. Johnny wanted me to make it your call. We’ve got a place for you to go, until this blows over also.’

 

I looked back toward the balcony at the brunette woman, leaning closer to her date. She patted him on the leg and gazed from the stage to me. The whole room got to its feet and proceeded to applaud the dancers and choreographers of the show. I tucked a rolled-up program under my arm, clapping with everyone else. The woman kept her gaze for a few short seconds, before her date grabbed her by the shoulders and moved her out of the room.

 

‘Michael. Michael,’ said Terrence, patting his hands together. ‘It’s your call.’

 

‘Make sure Sonny Forelli can never feel anything again. I want you to be there, personally, to witness it. Tell him, before he dies, that its from Samuel Lampone.’

 

‘It will be handled.’

 

I excused myself from the floor and ducked out in the midst of the crowd. All the way down the hall, walking arm-in-arm was the brunette and Walter Hennessey, flanked by two guards. I followed behind them casually, trying to rationalize my attraction to this woman. She was classically beautiful, sure. And that ass, it kept walking and walking, even when the woman didn’t. I wanted so bad to ravage her, unlike any woman I’d met before. But meshing business and pleasure was never a good idea, ever. I picked one of the earrings a showgirl handed me for good luck from my pocket and jogged toward them, nudging the woman by her shoulder.

 

She turned toward me and met my eyes with a smoldering passion.

 

‘Excuse me,’ I said to her, ‘Did you lose this… Miss?’

 

‘Mrs.,’ she said, ‘Mrs. Hennessey. I don’t think that’s mine.’

 

I looked down at the pearl earring and then noticed that she had diamonds on. ‘My mistake. Michael Carterinni, the owner of the hotel/casino.’

 

I offered my hand to Mrs. Hennessey, only to be clasped by a much larger, infinitely darker hand. Walter smiled at me and put his other hand on my shoulder.

 

‘You’re him then? I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Carterinni – you’ve done a wonderful job with the casino. It’s gorgeous! Don’t you think so, Catherine?’

 

She nodded warmly. ‘You’re floor, its paisley. I love it so much.’

 

‘To be honest, the decorating really isn’t my thing. It’s all up to the woman we got doing it, but I’ll pass on the compliments.’

 

‘Do,’ said Walter, friendly. He tapped his watch and shrugged, ‘Well, we must be going.’

 

‘We have a mini-bar on the second-floor. Jazz-music, good food—‘ I said to them. ‘Anytime you feel like coming in, I’ll comp you. No problem.’

 

‘Thank you,’ Walter dragged Mrs. Hennessey out the door by her hand. I saw her try to wave at me, only to be yanked further toward the curb where the limousine awaited.

 

I walked away from the doors and left the floor via elevator. A sadness rushed over me, and I leaned my head on the back of the elevator’s marble interior. The aroma of peaches soon filled my lungs. Had I made an ass out of myself by messing with one of our investor’s women? His wife, no less. Personally, if someone came looking for a piece of my wife’s clam, I’d have all of his fingers broken for the insult.

 

*****

 

Terrence Gaines arrived at the executive-room an hour after receiving the confirmation. He took off the black dress-jacket and loosened his thin tie. The smell of cigarette-stench all over his clothes, he made himself a glass of fresh Gin and sat down at one of the couches, searching through his little book of numbers and addresses. He first called one of the Sindacco’s front companies in Las Fierro – the construction company Michael Carter had seized from Del Carrington’s control. He arranged a few guns (through code) and had them delivered to Liberty City the next morning, at the docks.

 

‘I need some supplies delivered to the house by seven in the morning tomorrow. It needs to be full – a “stack.” And I need two or three men along with it for dry walling,’ he stated flatly. Of course, there was no such job going on tomorrow. The “house” was cipher for the wharf in Staunton Island, as the word “stack” meant fifteen weapons assorted by a man he was sending out there at the exact moment. Whereas, “dry walling,” meant that there was a hit going down, and the weapons needed to be top-order.

 

The Sindacco worker on the other end responded, ‘Hammers? Drills? What?’

 

Terrence rubbed his eyes, scanning through the words for what he’d need. He had to have at least two guns for every man out there. A MAC-10 and shotguns were necessary for this type of deal. He said, ‘I need fifteen drills and the like of sledgehammers. Also, a couple hammers wouldn’t hurt either. And make sure that your guys are on time.’

 

‘Yes, sir.’

 

He pressed down on the switch and began dialing the familiar number to Larry Dove’s house in Liberty. Terrence removed a long, gold cigarette-case from inside his jacket and lit one up a second before Larry answered.

 

‘’Ello.’

 

‘Larry,’ he said, ‘This is Terrence Gaines. Can we speak?’

 

‘Give me a moment.’

 

Terrence heard the click of him switching to a secure-line and then Dove began, ‘Are we a go?’

 

‘Absolutely. Michael wants this bastard shut-down, and insists I’m there to witness it.’

 

‘Fine by me. We’ve got the guys on stand-by. What time are we hittin’ them?’

 

Terrence dragged the cigarette from his lips and let the smoke billow from between his teeth. ‘Eight-am. Sharp.’

 

*****

 

I was smoking a cigarette in the bar when I looked up from the stool I was at. The reflection in the mirror was surprising. I had undone my tie, ruffled my suit and somehow rubbed my hair amess. The Vodka cooling in my hand was enough to settle any inkling I had toward going after the princess Hennessey. It was bad business, anyway.

 

The saxophone ripped through the air like the best kind of butter, spelling out the emotion of the lone woman playing an acoustic-guitar. She rattled on her strings, singing of broken hearts and mended ways, when a young girl, maybe seventeen, began stretching her violin. The bar was almost entirely empty; score a few of the guards on break and lovers trying their best to work-up a passionate glimmer or two.

 

I sipped the Vodka and turned the stool all the way around, toward the dark tables, as the double-doors of the bar opened wide – allowing a golden shine of light to enter. A massively built black man entered first, a bodyguard, peeking behind him for his boss. I watched the same brunette woman stride in, her hair not as well-kempt as when I saw it earlier. Mrs. Hennessey shed her fur-coat and handed it to the bodyguard, walking toward a table at the back of the room. Although I was struggling with why her husband wasn’t with them, her gaze at me washed away all concern. Her hand came up and waved me toward them, as she sat herself down and fixed her hair.

 

I hopped off the stool and strolled down the aisle, weaving between guests who were headed for the exit, my eyes not leaving her for a moment. I put the cigarette out in an ashtray and continued toward the booth.

 

‘What are you doing here at,’ I checked my watch. ‘One in the morning?’

 

‘I felt like leaving him for a little while,’ she replied jokingly. ‘Winston… leave us for a while. Go get us drinks.’

 

The bodyguard stomped past me. I got myself in the other side of the booth and put my Vodka down on the table.

 

‘I’ve been thinking about you… what you tried to do earlier,’ I said to her. ‘You tried to wave.’

 

She smiled sardonically and put her hands on her lap. ‘Tried. Yeah.’

 

I watched her pull the strap of her blue dress aside, revealing a huge bruise that ran down her chest and up her back. The sore was so brown and deep that it looked like a heavyweight boxer had drilled her in the chest. She met my eyes, tears streaming from hers. ‘That’s what you get at my house when you say hi to a man. Walter… he’s possessive of me. He’d kill someone for looking at me the wrong way.’

 

I looked down, shocked at what had been done to her. ‘I’m sorry.’

 

‘Hey,’ she smiled thinly. ‘I married him, for Christ sake.’

 

‘Why did you marry him? If he’s such a piece of s**t, you should have dumped him. You’re a pretty woman, no need for someone to treat you like that.’

 

‘Yeah, well… an Italian girl from Vice City isn’t exactly someone that has choices in life, you know? I was working at a dress-shop one day, when he came to pick-up his wife’s dress, and he started talking to me. I liked his attention, at that point. I mean, he had a temper – a wild one – but, he bought me nice things, talked to me like a woman, instead of a girl.’

 

I leaned back in the chair and watched her rub her arms. I took my suit-jacket off and folded it around her neck and back. We both eased a little, opening to each other.

 

‘Thank you.’

 

I nodded. ‘Not a problem.’

 

‘You know who I always wanted to be like, Mr. Carterinni?’

 

‘No idea,’ I said politely. ‘And call me Michael.’

 

‘Michael,’ a smile played on her lips. ‘I always wanted to be like Marilyn Monroe. Graceful, rich, have all the men want to f**k me, and all of the women want to be me. I had that for a while. I mean, I adjusted to my husband, obeyed him and surrendered that side of my life. But, God – do you know what its like to be put in a house every day, never allowed to leave without one of his f***ing flunkies following me? I feel like a prisoner, Michael. A prisoner in paradise.’

 

I stared at her for a long time, watcher her body tremble from pain. ‘Why are you telling me this? What, do you want me to go shoot your husband for you? Because I’m not… f***ing… killing… anybody.’

 

She gawked at me in surprise. ‘No! I don’t want you to shoot my husband, or anything of the sort. I still love him; probably always will.’

 

‘Then why the hell are you complaining to me about his abuse if you still live with the prick?!’

 

‘Because,’ she whimpered hard at me.

 

‘Because why?’

 

‘Because,’ she held back tears from her eyes, but it was useless. Her voice cracked, ‘You’re the first man to look at me in three years – like I’m a person. You’re attracted to me? Are you?’

 

‘Yes. I am.’

 

‘Than sleep with me, Michael. I want to be real again. I want something more than this.’

 

‘Shut your mouth,’ I turned my head from her. ‘You don’t know what the hell you’re looking for. You think I’m any better than your husband? Do you really, truthfully think that I’m gonna take you off on a white stallion somewhere and give you back your lost innocence? If I had that power, I’d do it for myself.’

 

‘I was wrong – you aren’t like me. You’ll never be more than criminal.’

 

She brushed herself toward the end of the booth, readying her dress to climb out. I put my foot in front of her from under the table and said, ‘Stop. Give me one more minute, and then you can leave.’

 

Her head turned toward me. ‘What is it?’

 

‘I do know. I do understand what you’re saying,’ I said, biting my nail. ‘But that doesn’t change anything.’

 

‘How can you possibly know?’

 

‘Because I’ve been here – and past. You see, a few months ago, I starting seeing this lawyer who worked for my boss. She was beautiful, and innocent, and kind to everyone she met. We were together for so long that I thought I knew everything about her. As it turns out, time goes by, and she’s trying to have me killed. I had to watch her switch sides right there – in front of my face. One moment, I’m avenging her murder and the next; she’s my enemy.’

 

‘What happened?’

 

‘I killed her. I killed her, and she never even looked me in the eye when it happened. I kill pimps and lowlifes, and give them the right to see the end coming. When it comes to my woman, she dies without so much as a last smile.’

 

‘Did you feel sad about it?’

 

‘No,’ I explained. ‘I turned myself off to it, just like I do when I’m interrogating someone, or killing. And – truth be told – that’s exactly what’s been bothering me for the longest time. How… in the hell, can you fall out of something like that? I confided in her, trusted her, and she used my weaknesses against me. So, I figure if you can end it that ruthlessly, what the hell’s the point in it at all?’

 

She put her hand on my cheek. ‘I can feel your pain.’

 

*****

 

The bodyguard, Winston, ordered two Bourbons and sat on the stool. He buttoned his suit and looked down at the two, sitting close to each other at the booths. Mrs. Hennessey reached straight across the table and rubbed the face of Mr. Carterinni. He watched her crawl over to him and plant a kiss on his forehead. Winston immediately turned in his stool and plotted how he’d inform his boss later.

[SloStenRacing]

can you grade my old stories and give me a marijuana farm evgun

I went back and looked at them and I refuse to grade them until they are updated to fit the rules and guidelines of the thread. So work on them, make them MUCH longer and less dialogue and repost them.

 

Arthazzz - Post a proper story and prove you can do one then I will give you the gun.....If you need to use it in your story that is fine ..... consider it temporary pending a good quality story

 

Oblivionz - Learn to use the enter key. Solid chunks of writing is like a morning hangover's puke, it sucks. But a decent story $23

 

Tril - Your lucky I am feeling nice today cause that was VERY short, $12

 

Professor - I am enjoying this storyline alot.... $137

[Oblivionz]

Oblivionz - Learn to use the enter key. Solid chunks of writing is like a morning hangover's puke, it sucks. But a decent story $23

 

Yeah, i know. I'll start. I'll do it in the next story.

[SloStenRacing]

Hey guys I really dug the idea that I saw yesterday, when I spent 9 or so hours reading and documenting the past threads, of having websites for your gang so I made one for the Haitians. You can find it here The Haitians Although it is no where near done yet. Enjoy.

[The Professor]

"Coming Home"

Chapter V

"Ending An Affair"

 

The sun was aglow in a haze of burning orange, over the Ocean that glimmered promises of rain later in the day. Meanwhile, thirty drug-manufacturers were hurrying to prepare the first drug-shipment of the morning, one sent from the shores of Liberty City to Vice City by noon sharp. Some of them shoved the heavy pushcarts down the aisles of the Atlantic Quays warehouse. Several others, dressed in intelligent blazers and sandals loaded the bags of Cocaine and Heroin onto speedboats customized with a Nitro-engine, to get there in half the time. The Forelli family’s most valued commodity.

 

The system of transporting and importing drugs and money was extremely simple. The Cubans, who dealt exclusively with Forelli, had both a need for drugs (that they were unable to safely-stash in Vice City) and to have their money laundered. After three busts almost shut them down for good, Sonny approached them personally and offered his services. Three times a week, the speedboat would leave the underground harbor that was built into the factory and transport the money, along with three heavily-armed men, to the Cuban’s boat-yard where it was immediately put on a commercial-van and sent to their safe-house where it was tested. At the same time, the Cubans gave the Forelli’s a “package”, as they called it. The package was seven million dollars divided into a sack and three briefcases – the maximum was nine million, another briefcase. The three men would then transfer it back to the Atlantic Quays warehouse, where the money was laundered; some counterfeit made and then sent back on the next trip, where drugs would be picked up. This same schedule was held for three years, even throughout the many wars over the gangs. Sonny was smart enough choose guys who weren’t connected to his gang in any way. Thus, they didn’t fear for their lives like all of the Forelli soldiers, and made a good amount of money.

 

Nobody ever, ever messed with the operation. It was the one security blanket that the gang had.

 

But today, of all days, the schedule changed. Two of the Cuban drug Cesar’s flew to Liberty City a night ago, having heard that a delay had sprouted in the operation. As the workers scrambled to make the deadline, the two drug lords paced the catwalks above with cigars firmly chomped in mouth, and Forelli soldiers flanking them. One of them was a short Cuban man in a light-blue blazer and bowler-cap, watching his money and drugs loaded onto the speedboat. He turned to the Forelli representative – Francis Anello – or, as he was known to the others, “Baby Forelli.”

 

Francis was Sonny’s illegitimate son to a striper in Vice City and his most trusted son. He proudly wore a long suit-jacket and regular pants, as his father did, and even tried to emulate him in every way. Francis had the charm with the ladies, but lacked a definitive ruthlessness that made the name. So it was broken into a little routine – Bobby was the one most like his father, and Frankie, or Francis, worked the intellectual jobs. The three of them wandered the high catwalks, Francis shielding his nose from the offensive odor of the cigars the Cubans were smoking.

 

The short Cuban asked, ‘So… what was the hold-up?’

 

‘Well,’ mumbled Francis nervously. ‘You gave us a larger shipment than usual. We’re suited to handle seven-million and sixteen-pounds of Cocaine, and you sent us –‘ he removed a small notepad from his pocket, flapped it open. ‘Ten million and nineteen pounds of Cocaine, plus fifty ounces of Heroin. We’re not built for that much, Luis.’

 

The taller one smirked grimly. ‘I-ph I send ya sixty kilos or twenty poun-ce, I need a deadline.’

 

‘I know, sir. I can assure you that we’re working on it for next time. You just need to warn us, is all.’

 

‘We pay you’se millions, couple of millions for quality,’ the short one said agitatedly. ‘We wand’ da’ drugs quickly.’

 

‘I completely understand. It will be dealt with, I assure you,’ said Francis, adjusting his reading-glasses.

 

All three of them stopped at the railing of the catwalks, peering over as the last three loads of drugs being hauled toward the dormant speedboat. The Cubans both shook Francis’ hand and congratulated him on another job well done. Two Forelli goons trailed behind the men, standing lazily behind them. The large gate blocking the small canal of water opened. Soon, the sun peeked on through and the huge, bouncy abyss of water was visible.

 

‘Terrific,’ said Francis, smiling.

 

At the end of the warehouse, the steel doors of the warehouse slid open. One of the Forelli guards turned his head just in time to see a swarm of eleven men, dressed in police-uniforms horde the loft of the warehouse. Two Colt Pythons pointed square in his face, as the other police locked pistols and shotguns and MAC-10s on everyone else. Two workers, standing on a laundering machine, withdrew pistols and began firing at the police. One cop dropped to the floor, before the other eleven responded by blasting them to death. The bodies rolled off the machine and smacked hard on the surface of the water, bobbing in its weightlessness.

 

A shotgun drilled a worker in his back, hurling the body like a rag doll to the floor. Two more pistol-shots tore the back of the worker’s head open.

 

In a split-second, the remainder of the workers put their hands on heads and got to their knees. The police walked toward each one and removed the shoulder holsters they had strapped on them. After everyone was disarmed, the guns were tossed in a pile and the men nudged to their feet and toward a brick wall where they were told to place hands on the red. The cops rounded the final three who resisted and then several polices stormed up the stairs of the catwalks, toting shotguns and pistols.

 

The short Cuban looked at the two guards, standing blankly behind them. He then turned slowly toward a cowering Francis, who put his hands flat on his head and stammered for an explanation. ‘I didn’t… I didn’t know. I swear, on my mother’s soul.’

 

The Cuban’s eyes narrowed. ‘You f***in’, pansy lair!’

 

The short Cuban dragged a small pistol out from inside his jacket. He cocked the hammer of the gun and placed it an inch in front of Francis’ face. One of the Forelli guards pulled his 9mm from his side and shot the short Cuban in the hip. He bounced from the impact of the shot, firing a round straight past Francis’ face. Two more shots knocked the Cuban over the railing and sent him plunging to the concrete floor below. The thunderous thud echoed throughout the warehouse.

 

‘Jesus Christ!’ screamed Francis, his eyes watering. ‘Stop shooting everyone!’

 

The cops arrived at the top of the stairs and drew aim on the guard’s. A flurry of gunshots hit both of them from a matter of three feet away, rolling the one who killed the Cuban clear over the railing and toward the floor. The other was struck square in the face, simply pitching to his knees and onto the catwalk’s flooring. The cops pelted him twice more with shotguns for good measure, then approached the tall Cuban and Francis Forelli at arms length away.

 

‘Hands on head,’ shouted the commander. ‘I have authority to shoot if you don’t cooperate.’

 

The tall Cuban and Francis put hands on head and dropped to their knees. Francis sobbed pathetically, his face smeared with gunpowder residue. His hands were bound behind his back by a plastic fastener and tightened so hard that his fingers turned white. The cops led both men down the stairs and accompanied them toward the brick wall where all of the other workers were held, facing the wall. A few yards down from them, the driver of the speedboat peeked his head up from the starboard side. Francis saw it from the corner of his eye and felt a cold sweat drip from his brow.

 

‘Go! Go!’ shouted Francis, hopping up and down at the driver. ‘Get the hell out of here!’

 

The driver wobbled toward the seat and grabbed a hold of the gearshift. The boat revved up loudly and the back of it zoomed with the splashing of dual-engine turbines. A cop grabbed a MAC-10 and shuffled toward the ledge of the floor, taking aim at the man piloting it. As the boat started off toward the exit, the MAC-10 roared until the clip emptied. The driver was hit all in all thirteen times in the head, back and both legs before he flipped the boat a yard outside the gate. Once the wreckage began to float toward the surface, the cop reloaded his machine pistol and sprayed the boat again, for good measure.

 

‘That’s f***ing manslaughter!’ shouted Francis.

 

A cop smacked him in the back of the head with a pistol and shoved his face into the wall. ‘Shut you mouth!’

 

All of the men stood silently, listening to the cops raid the warehouse. All of the counterfeit money was tossed in the water. The Cocaine was also fed to salt-water, and the viles of Heroin were dropped on the concrete and mashed by the cop’s boots. The prisoners prayed silently to all of their differing religions, yet the tall Cuban and Francis hoped that all of this wasn’t happening. Francis knew this would kill his father, to have his son end up in the same place he avoided all of his life. Then the cops unloaded the assault-weapons from a trunk the Forelli’s had kept there. The weapons, ironically, the workers were instructed to use in case of a raid, or attack. Five of the police officers cradled the M16s and lugged them toward the loft, about seventeen feet away from the brick wall.

 

Francis listened to the magazine being popped into the guns, then loaded, and finally that metallic clack of them being sighted on an object. He closed his eyes and mumbled for the Lord’s forgiveness for all that he’d done, and slowly, without control, released his bladder. The urine dripped down his pants and off his shoes, creating a puddle beneath him. A few of the cops laughed, as did the tall Cuban, who assured himself that all of this would be worked out with a few million dollars.

 

‘I am never, ever, doing work with you Guinea d***heads again. Ever!’ the tall Cuban mocked. ‘And you pigs… every last one of ‘chuse is gonna lose yo’ job ova this!’

 

‘Shut the hell up, scumbag!’ screamed a cop from the sidelines.

 

A second later, a hand grabbed Francis Forelli by the back of his hair and pulled him backward. ‘Frankie Forelli?’ asked the cop.

 

‘Yeah… yes!’ whimpered Francis.

 

‘A message from Michael Carterinni,’ said the cop, turning Francis completely around to face him.

 

The cop produced a large buck-knife from his side. Francis gaped hard at it, confused by why a cop would say that. The knife cut a third mouth-hole under his chin, several every tendon and his windpipe. The knife pulled back and thrust with extreme force into his abdomen. The cop hurled the youngest Forelli to the floor and stepped back, away from the line of fire.

 

Some of the men understood what the strike meant, and rustled forward. However, the tall Cuban simply looked down at the fallen man at his feet, laying in his own piss and sneered. Francis quaked on his back, slowly surrendering his life. A second passed by. Then the eruption of gunshots filled the warehouse. It echoed across the water, faintly disturbed the pedestrians a block away and continued, until the gunshots started silencing from the expulsion of ammunition.

 

Every single man, every body, was pinned to the wall and suddenly pitched to the floor in a canvas of blood. The cops reloaded, aimed and proceeded to empty the remaining rounds into each, individual carcass laying there. None of them chuckled or even showed any sign of emotional-response. This, was professionalism at its most horrific. When the chief cop commanded them to cease-fire, he took a shotgun from another cop and walked over the bodies. The muzzle of the gun trailed from riddled body to riddled body, the only recognizable ones being the tall Cuban and Francis Forelli himself. The chief cop racked the shotgun and blew Francis’ skull clean apart. He then tossed the shotgun beside one of the bodies and led the cops out of the warehouse.

 

Outside, ten men, one assisting a cop, lit cigarettes and got in three vans parked outside. In a few minutes, all of them separated and took off toward their destinations. The chief cop ripped off his uniform in the back of a van and sat on a small bench there, where he dialed a number of a cellular-phone. After a few rings, he received an answer.

 

A familiar voice replied. ‘Gaines.’

 

‘Its done. The kid and both Cubans.’

 

‘The other van headed here?’

 

‘Yes.’

 

‘Then I’ll see you later. Goodbye.’

 

 

 

 

 

Terrence Gaines sat in a silver Sentinel and peeled open his cigarette-case and lit one up for old times sake. He looked out over the Forelli manor in Portland and smiled thinly. Three two men in the backseat and the driver were cautiously making sure that all of the school-buses were out of the street before withdrawing the guns they’d use this morning. The driver pulled a shotgun from under the dashboard and then began feeding it shells. The two men in the back took out an assortment of machine pistol and handgun. Gaines bit his lip and adjusted the sunglasses on his head. He silently looked forward to the cataclysm of violence about to happen. He removed a 9mm from his suit-jacket and dialed up Michael Carterinni’s phone number in Las Venturas.

 

‘Hello?’

 

‘It’s Gaines. We’re sitting outside of the house right now.’

 

‘How many of you?’

 

‘Three – five are on the way. We’ve got the element of surprise and firepower. It should be enough.’

 

‘Be careful.’

 

‘I’ll update you when it’s over.’

 

Gaines slapped the phone shut and looked to the driver. ‘It’s a go.’

 

A few minutes later, two vans screeched toward the street from different angles. One slid sideways, blocking the street entirely, as two men slid out of the front. The van at the opposite end also blocked the street, but three men got out and began walking for the manor with shotguns and machine pistols. The five of them assembled at the curb for final confirmation.

 

Gaines flicked the cigarette out the window and placed a toothpick in his mouth. The four men left the car and strode confidently up the curb, game-faces on for each other. He clutched the 9mm in his hand and looked over the faces of the soldiers he’d work with. A smile played on his lips and he said, ‘Lets get to the killing.’

 

He led the men up the steps toward the front door of the house, putting the gun slightly behind his back before rapping on the door twice. The men collectively prepared themselves for what was about to happen. One the body of Sonny Forelli showed up, it would be a very hard situation for several years. All of Forelli’s associates would either deny all involvement or, worse, turn state’s evidence and go into hiding. Keeping them alive meant an investigation into the Sindacco’s was inevitable, which was the very reason Johnny Sindacco had avoided this act of war for so many years. There was no going back now.

 

The door opened wide, revealing the face of the Forelli lawyer that had been studied by several D.E.A. officers over the years. He looked at the man in front of him, over the mean men behind him and stepped back an inch from the door. Gaines raised his 9mm and blew a hole straight through the lawyer’s throat and then stepped inside. He lowered his sunglasses on the brim of his nose and wandered toward the hallway, as the men diverged separate ways, pelting guards left and right.

 

One of the soldiers marched into the vestibule at the back of the house, where there was a back door, leading to the greenhouse. He held his MAC-10 in both hands, guiding it along the top railing of the balcony and along the dual stairwells. In a matter of moments, the back door swung open and a Forelli guard marched into the house, a pistol lowered at his side. The solder spun around wildly and blew the guards back out the door and sent him flailing through a glass patio-table on the porch. The soldier stood there for a minute, panting at how close he’d come to death and survived.

 

A guard, running from the corridor at the balcony stopped on a dime against the railing. He looked down at the man standing beside the open back door, surprised at the fact he was someone that wasn’t a part of the guard team. The guard lowered his .45 off the railing and drilled the soldier in the back. After the body snapped to the ground, he fired another shot at the soldier’s leg then, as the body snapped up in a heap, dispensed a bullet straight through the soldier’s head. The pistol smoked weakly.

 

Another soldier was already on the second-floor, tiptoeing down the corridor, shotgun raised in hands. He watched the guard murder his partner, and continued further, at a kneel, and pressed the shotgun muzzle against the guard’s back. A seeped hole blew through the guard’s chest. The force of the shot whipped him over the railing in an instant, hurling his body straight toward the polished wood floor. The soldier racked his shotgun again and stepped up to the half-broken railing.

 

A guard whipped around the corner of the first floor and bolted, gun loosely in hand, toward the back door. The soldier drilled him in the back and pinned the body to the corner. He racked once more and finished the guard below him with a final shot. Then he turned back and crept for the multiple rooms on the floor.

 

The sounds of automatic gunfire and, more reserved shotgun blasts around him, Terrence Gaines smoothed out his tie in the living room beside the entrance. He neared a couch, where the corpse of a riddled guard sat motionless, almost frozen. He tipped the body over with the side of his hand and removed a handkerchief from his pocket. Gaines wiped the blood off of his hand and tossed the rag on the body at the couch. On the coffee table in front of him was a line of white powder, Cocaine.

 

‘F***ing pigs,’ he said in disgust.

 

Gaines held the 9mm at his side and sat himself down at a chair, crossing his legs and began to massage his left temple. From the doorway behind him, a guard sprinted out from behind it and absorbed a shotgun blast in the back. The guard thrashed toward the floor and lay limp on his chest. Gaines turned sideways in the chair and watched the guard, on his elbows, crawl for doorway, dragging a red line behind him. Gaines smiled halfway at him and lowered the gun on the guard’s back. He dispensed three shots into the body, crushing every bone under the hail of lead. He put the gun in his lap and consulted his wristwatch. They’d been there for only five minutes.

 

A soldier held a 9mm in each hand, as one of Forelli’s goon’s sprayed an Uzi down the hall at them. A deceased soldier lay on the floor in the bullet-ridden hall, smeared in his own blood. The shooting continued for a few more seconds before the pistol jammed. The soldier, followed by two others marched down the hall, discharging an unyielding array of ammunition into the goon, heaving his body back into the room. When they arrived at Sonny Forelli’s den, the four guards shoved the door open and went in with weapons trained on the lone desk in the center of the room. All of their faces gaped at what they found.

 

Terrence Gaines went through the house silently. He was closely flanked by two soldiers, each lugging a shotgun. The bodies strewn throughout the house were in horrible, wrenched in ghastly poses of death. He ambled up the stairs as one of the guards shouted that their police-monitor picked up a call for the street they were on. Gaines had the men following him arrange the vans for a getaway and have the engine running on his car. He left the men and continued down the hall, stepping over the corpse of one of his men, and neared the doorway of Sonny Forelli’s den. The two soldiers standing inside had trashed it – thrown every paper to the floor, dumped every drawer and ripped out every electrical-cord and piece of non-attached wood.

 

The room was entirely empty. Beside the corpse in the doorway, nothing even remotely human was visible. Gaines crossed the room, tilting his head as he approached the desk, and saw a piece of paper lying there. He picked it up and read the message inscribed on it.

 

“Dear Donnie,

 

Sonny suffered a mild-stroke last night. He’ll survive, but we will treat him elsewhere. Hope to return soon.

 

~Vanessa."

 

Gaines rolled the note up in his hand and dropped it on the floor. He looked at a few of his men, standing there in the room, staring at the floor and sneered. He paced around the side of the desk, hands clenched violently together. His breathing shallowed to the point where he was practically without oxygen. He took the 9mm from his side and pointed it at the dead body laying in the doorway. The gun emptied in the corpse, blasting chunks of flesh from it. By the time he’d composed himself; the pistol was dry-firing smoke.

 

He scoffed under his breath. ‘That… was Donnie, wasn’t it?’

 

One of the soldier’s lowered his head and nodded slowly.

 

‘Groovy. F***ing outstanding,’ shouted Gaines, whipping a phone on the desk to the floor. ‘Now, we’ve started a gang war for a piece of f***ing paper!’

 

Gaines turned and paced toward the bed where Sonny’s clothes lay scattered and finally walked out the door. He mumbled in his exit, ‘Let’s just hope we can still protect Michael.’

[CarlJohnson24]

Im still here at BUYG and im with GSF so i will make a better story soon,Officer Pulaski i'm already in the BUYG.

Edited April 27, 2005 by CarlJohnson24

[SloStenRacing]

Professor - Once again ... FVCKING AMAZING! $174

 

Okay I have adjusted the story counts to accurately represent my many hours of toiling through the previous threads. My records show that I owe some folks some things.

 

johnson467 - You will receive $100 with your next story

 

Forelli_Boy - You have been moved to the warehouse and if you write 2 more stories you too will receive $100 bonus

 

Warlord - I realize you have not wrote a story since April 2nd but if you read this you only need another 2 for your $100 bonus also

 

daniel_law - You will receive $100 with your next story

 

The Sicillian - If you haven't got it yet you will receive $100 with your next story

 

The Professor - If you haven't got it yet you will receive $100 with your next story and after 4 more stories you can choose any car under $400 for The Sindacco's.

Edited April 27, 2005 by SloStenRacing

[Lochie_old]

Im surprised no-one has been cheap and gone to join the Yardies, GJ Slo.

[Eight]

Colonel Cortez's Gang - The Story of Julio Romeo, Introduction

 

Romeo arrived in Vice City a young, cocky kid with a love for the women and the highlife. He found exactly what he was looking for when he became a part of Colonel Cortez's gang.

 

Working from the yacht at Pier 2, and a few apartments down the block from the pier Colonel Cortez was able to set up a huge crime business ranging from selling drugs to contracting hits. Along with the crime business came money, stacks of the stuff. Cortez and all of his men were able to live the flashy lifestyles that were only usually experienced by celebrities, and millionaires. The Cortez gang had strong ties with both the Vercetti gang, and the gang headed by Ricardo Diaz, and Colonel Cortez often held parties on his huge yacht, which were attended by not only Vice City gang members & celebrities, but also a lot of businessmen and state officials, who were happy to clear Cortez's name and get him out of trouble whenever this was needed aslong as they were given a slice of the profit and protection in return.

 

This all changed however, when an all out war ensued between the gang ran by the notorious Tommy Vercetti, and a certain group of Liberty City mafioso. As one of the Vercetti gangs closest allies Cortez had no choice but to help his friend, sending in some of his top men to help out. Julio Romeo was one of these men. After countless days and nights of what seemed to be turning into World War III the majority of Cortez's friends who were high up in the state pyramid began to fear for their lives and abandoned Cortez, opting rather to flee to San Andreas and Liberty City. This left the Colonel in a rather sticky patch however, as the combined forces of the Police & FBI seen this as the perfect opportunity to finally get their hands on a man they'd been trying to capture for the best part of a decade. It didn't take the feds long to gather together a huge case file, and arrest Colonel Cortez on numerous drugs charges, several counts of murder, countless firearms charges and alot of other things. When they searched the yacht this only confirmed alot of what they had originally guessed. Cortez was being held in jail with a $2m bail bond.

 

When Cortez's men found out what had happened it was almost too late. His trial date was arriving fast, and the huge price that was on his head to bail him out was a pretty impossible amount of money for the gang to pay, but they just about managed it. Money being held in offshore bank accounts, and money earned from hastily made drug deals just about reached the figure needed to get the Colonel out of jail. By this time the war involving the Vercetti gang that the Colonel's gang had been helping with was all but over, most of the mafia having retreated back to where they came from, leaving Vice City to drop back into the peaceful paradise it was known as. With his life in this city pretty much over, Colonel Cortez decided it was time to leave, and with the help of Tommy Vercetti, and some of his connections that had stuck around he managed to stall the trial long enough to make an escape.

 

But on setting sail from Pier 2 in Vice City, his target location San Andreas, the Colonel suddenly realised that he had a huge problem. With every federal official across the country soon to be after him, and just enough fuel to get him and his men to San Andreas, he had hardly any cash left after the police seized most of it, and the rest was used to bail him out, and also the majority of the gangs weapons had also been seized, or used in the war with the mafia. Another thing that was more likely than not gonna cause a few problems was the fact that the Colonel & his gang had absolutely no connections at all in San Andreas, it was a territory previously unexplored by this gang. Not for much longer would that be the case though.

[SloStenRacing]

Eight - You could use alot of improvement but I will let you join on..... $16

[evgun]

can I have the marijuana farm

 

[evgun]

 

 

Ceaser and Pedro were driving down to the cementary for one of there friends funeral who had been killed during a drive by shoot weeks ago. When they got there they seen Sleepy dead. Black Crow of the varios told Ceaser that the ballas did a drive by shooting 30 seconds ago and Sleepy had gotten hit. They said before any of them could get there guns out the car had sped away. Ceaser told Black Crow and Anothy to take him to the hospital. Then he told them to take Mrs Martinez Pedros mother to the Jefferson motel.

 

 

Ceaser then finished off the ceremony and after told Hector, Pedro and gieppe to get in the car with. They drove down to idlewood and shot at a group of ballas chillin around then they went to Jefferson and blasted at on that was standing by his self. They circled the block and they seen him running so Ceaser hopped out the front seat and pistol whipped him with the gun the he let off shots in him at point blank range. Then the crew headed off to the liquor store and told the homies that were out there end the lifes of any ballas that you see.

 

Ceaser dropped Hector and gieppe home and him and Pedro went to a club in Jefferson. When they got there they seen a big time drug kingpin from the ballas talking to the bartender. Ceaser pointed this out to Pedro and they left back out. Since all of the clubs high class people where none to leave out the back door Pedro and Ceaser went there to wait for him. They went back there and hid behind a garbage can. Then they waited for him to comeout. When he came out they let him get in his car and the rushed both sides of the door.

 

Ceaser: What up ese hand all your money over or im going to empty my mack 10 in your face.

 

Pedro: Yeah

 

Balla: Ok ok just dont shoot

 

Ceaser: matter fact dont dig in your pockets we got this

 

Ceaser chokes the balla and roll his head up in the window while he chokes to death and Pedro searches his pocket. He gets a bundle of money and him and Ceaser hop back in the voodo and drive to Ceasers house. Then they split the money and Ceaser hits the house while Pedro says he going to catch another balla slippin and try to get paid. And Ceaser tells him if you need anything hit me up on my cell.

[F-s-X]

First i will buy an Ingram Mac-10 and a Ruger.

Now my new story.

 

 

The Da Nang Boys - Pier 69

 

We got out of the airport at noon. A worm breeze greeted us. “I’m going to see my brother, but thanks for the help even if we didn’t kill him” I said to Shao.

“Say hi to him for me, and if you need any help just call” He got in an Admiral and left.

I want to the parking lot looking. After i minute or so i found a Bullet. The doors were open so it was just for me to get in. I went to the hospital.

 

 

When i got there a nurse showed me to his room. “Jak, how are you doing” i asked when i enetered the room.

“Fine. The doctors said I made an amazing recovery” he said with a laugh.

“Good, so how long are you going to be here then?” i asked.

“I’m...” He started but a nurse interupted.

“He need to sleep but you can come back later” she said with an angry voice.

I got out of the hospital and entered the Bullet. I went to Pier 69 to see Kim.

 

 

When i got there i saw him screaming to some workers. The workers left in their cars.

“What was that all about?” i asked him.

“Come and see for yourself” he said while he pointed at a door to a warehouse.

I got in and saw that he had built a crack lab while a was in Los Santos.

“I know what happened in Los Santos but it’s ok. You will get him the next time. I got to go now, bye” He said.

We left the warehouse. I got in the Bullet and went to Mai’s apartment.

 

 

I rang the doorbell and she opened. She was wearing bright clothes. “Hi Tan, i missed you, do you want something to drink” she said.

“I missed you to, and I wouldn’t mind a drink” I said with a smile.

She poured a glass of scotch and gave it to me. I took a big sip but then i noticed something was wrong. But it was to late. Everything got black and i fainted.

 

 

I woked up in a dark room. Infront of me was a plate with food. I took the fork and the knife and saved them in my pocket, they might be useful i thought to myself. After awhile Mai and her father Ran came in. Mai was now wearing black clothes, suits the bitch i thought.

“Hi Mr Phen” Ran started “how does it feel” he laughed a little.

“Great, just another little bitch out of my life” I said.

“Good, seeing as ‘the little bitch’ will kill you tomorrow” Ran said

“Asshole” Mai said before they left the room.

I fell asleep about 15 minutes after they left, maybe i was tired.

 

 

A man woke me up. I had my hands tied and a rag over my mouth.

“Come it’s time for you to die” he said, smiling.

We entered a room which was filled with chairs and tables. There were triads everywhere.

Mai stood there with a katana in her hands. The triad pushed me down on my knees.

I sat there in the middle of the room. Ran started to hold s speach.

“Why don’t you just kill me now so i don’t have to listen to this crap” i said to him.

“Why not then, Mai it’s time” he said.

She started walking towards me but suddenly the door bursted open. About 10 Da Nang Boys came in with Ruger’s,Tec-9’s and Mac-10’s and started shooting. I got up and ran to them. Chris was there and he untied me and gave me a ruger. I saw how Ran and Mai left through a door on the other side.“Lets go” Chris said

 

 

When we got outside a guy with a RPG, on the roof, blew up three cars which were waiting outside. I took down the guy with my Ruger. He fell down and landed on the ground next to us.

“sh*t how are gonna get out of here now” Chris said. We took cover by the wrecked cars and started taking down triads. I could hear a helicopter taking off, problably with Mai and Ran in it. A Da Nang Boy got hit. Soon another. We were 5 left when a cop car and a bike came.

“Freeze” one of the cops said while he pointed his gun at us. Everyone started shoting at them.

“Lets go” i said while i reloaded my Ruger. We ran to the car. I got on the bike. I shot down two more triads then i drove after the others.

 

 

When we got back to Pier 69 we dumped the cars in the water.

“How did you know where i was?” i asked Chris.

“Easy” he said ”i overheard a Triad”.

I put my hand in my pocket and took out the fork and knife. Then i started to laugh. A bullet had hit right on the fork.

 

[Forelli_Boy]

@Prof: I got whaaaaacked. Though Franco wasn't really that Vinnie Gognitti emotional...

 

@the readers: I'll be using a similar storyline that I used back in the original Liberty version prior to its untimely demise. Same background, but I'm redoing the character and going redux on the storyline. Franco the Manhunter becomes Zeno the Driver. Despite the indications in the prologue, he won't be such a Vinnie this time round. Sorry if the Prologue is a bit...short.

 

I'm treating this as a full-fledged storyline, so I've also posted it online here. to get outsiders' thoughts on it. I'll remove it if SloSten has a problem with it.

 

Prologue: "Uninvited"

 

Las Venturas

Christmas Day 1992

 

It was barely morning. A balding yet dignified Italian man with a Greek mustache and a brown suit stood next to a panoramic window in his top-floor office of Caligula's Palace, peering through a set of binoculars. He took in the view of the nocturnal city as it prepared to slumber. In particular, Las Venturas Airport.

 

A Shamal - he could tell by its nightlights - took off from the airport, and banked toward the sunrise. He watched it until it disappeared behind the Emerald Isle casino just up the Strip.

 

Don Salvatore Leone smiled as he put down his binoculars. By the end of the day, he would have full ownership of Caligula's Casino. And there would be no opposition to his control over mob operations in the West Coast.

 

"Merry Christmas, you p***ks." he muttered.

 

-o0o-

 

 

Liberty City

 

It was sunny that day, the sky immaculate of clouds like the Virgin Mary. Not that clear sunny days were unheard of in the city of Liberty, when people went outside they often paid more attention to the heat the people around them were packing rather than that of the sun. Any behavior that fit a sunny day was commonly reserved for indoor occasions.

 

In St. Mark's Bistro on historic Portland Island, a family enjoyed a Christmas lunch in a comfortable, native setting. It didn't look that much different from most other families enjoying a Christmas meal, apart from the fact that both parents were present with their child.

 

And the fact that this family bothered to invite as many of their surviving relatives and their children and grandchildren and their good friends that resided in America, the land where they prospered over the past century, as possible. As well as ample security. This was, after all, a family gathering. One where, despite the family's grievous troubles, members could get together and bask in the good times.

 

A plain yellow Taxi pulled up to the parking lot, slowly weaving around the driveway and the luxury cars packed neatly in the white parallel lines. Its passenger handed the driver a thick wad of bills and asked him to keep the change before getting out.

 

The man looked like a true cross between gangster and 'gangsta.' African-American with cornrows 'to the back,' he wore aviators, a tailored dark-green suit and pants, and dark top-of-the-line Erises. To top it off he wore a sizeable diamond Christian cross necklace, small enough to mix well with his outfit but recognizable enough as respectable 'bling-bling.' Muscular but slightly tubby, he commanded fear as much as - or more than - respect.

"Sorry, sir. This is a private function." the 'dumb muscle' bouncer replied as the man approached the waiter booth.

"Well, Mr. Leone says otherwise." the man replied.

"Mister Le-" the bouncer would never finish as a single assault rifle bullet suddenly lodged itself between his eyes and exploded his forehead.

 

The Forelli Family Mafia's gathering suddenly came to a halt as the guard fell back onto the polished Italian tile.

 

The first few moments of the subsequent onslaught had some guards quietly surrounding the family members while the rest rushed upstairs to take out this upstart. There wasn't much panic, after all this was Liberty and someone was bound to try to break in and assassinate an entire mob family, given this ripe opportunity.

 

But that didn't last long. Another series of gunshots resulted in the quick deaths of the guards, followed by a period of silence as the murderer reloaded his gun. The people downstairs of course, thought the guards had pumped the man full of lead, until a single hand grenade came hurtling from the balcony down to the dining area below.

 

The resulting explosion shattered any nearby glass and sent quite a few family members, guards, and various furniture flying across the dining area.

 

The man approached the edge of the balcony, assault rifle in hand, and proceeded to empty the current cartridge out on the dazed guards. Family members that had regained their bearings started to scurry around in panic, many trying to crowd out the back door while those more consumed in fear ran back toward the front - and into the line of fire.

 

There wasn't any place to hide, the gunman taking every opportunity between each kill to shoot up any enclosed space that could fit an adult. He seemed to withdraw endless amounts of ammo from within his suit. The gunman also proceeded to set fire to the path behind him with a molotov or two, exploding a gas tank under the oven if necessary.

 

By the time the gunman reached the back entrance of the bistro the entire building had dissolved into an inferno. Sirens started to sound in the distance as the FDLC's firetrucks roared into action. Those few surviving guards had banded together to protect three particular members of the family, and were firing at him from dumpsters, cardboard boxes or whatever they could hide behind. They were, naturally, horribly inaccurate.

 

A little boy, about 6 years old, scrambled with his parents into the back seat of a polished new Sentinel XS. His father frantically ordered the driver in Italian to 'start the f***ing car,' said driver fumbling with the keys, trying to find the one that fit into the ignition.

 

The driver got the correct key a few millimeters from the ignition hole before a hail of bullets shredded him and the windshield. The boy squeezed himself into the ample legroom by his father's feet while his mother, Marilyn Forelli, started screaming in abject horror.

 

Another series of bullets punctured several holes in the roof and cleaned out what was left of the windshield, finally embedding themselves in the bodies of the boy's parents. The boy choked as his father slumped forward, forming a gruesome cover.

 

The boy curled up in the darkness, sobbing. He trembled as the roar of raging gunfire slowly died out with the death of each guard. The silence - ironically - was deafening.

 

He was quickly plunged back into light as the gunman yanked open the door closest to him. The gunman lifted Sorin's corpse and shoved it back toward Marilyn's like cheap furniture. And proceeded to grab the boy by the shoulders and yank him out of the legroom onto the concrete alley. The boy looked around in fright, at the scattered corpses of the guards.

 

His parents had once told him about death but never in his wildest nightmares did expect to experience it first-hand like this.

 

The gunman approached just enough to let his shadow blanket the boy, a cruel smirk on his face. To him the boy was just one more corpse to fill a bodybag before he could enjoy a relaxing return trip to Venturas on a luxurious private jet.

 

The boy sniveled as he looked up into the pitch-black aviators of the gunman with the gleaming diamond cross necklace and the assault rifle with just one bullet left in its chamber. Then he looked past him. At the immaculate blue sky and, for a fleeting moment, the sun that continued to shine unhindered. Like God's mercy, as his now-late mother used to tell him.

 

The boy closed his eyes, too scared to even wet his shorts.

 

"Tell the Devil that CJ sent you." the gunman growled in an African-American accent.

 

He pulled the trigger.

 

Zeno Forelli heard only a single shot before his other senses followed him painfully into darkness.

[Oblivionz]

Slo, are you gonna be writing any stories? I really enjoyed reading your stories.

[SloStenRacing]

F-s-X - Alot of dialogue ... very short. Improve them or I won't grade them as that pretty much is breaking the rules and guidelines. $18

 

Forelli_Boy - One of the first good, quality, followed the rules story next to Professors of the thread. $36

 

Oblivionz - I just can't seem to find a groove again. Maybe sometime in the future you will see the return of BFR. Until then I am working on a couple projects for background of the characters and such to bring back some good, old ideas.

Edited April 27, 2005 by SloStenRacing

[sean "sweet" johnson]

why haven't you graded mine, slosten? I didn't break any rules, did I? tell me if i did and I will try and fix them

[Tril]

Story:Tril's 3rd Story:"Fire Exchange"

 

"You gotta get'em to a 'Medix'l!" a scrambled voice said.

"I know I'm headed their right now!Get the boys together just

in case any Groves come after us!" a voice said.

I remembered Medix was a street doctor.He wanted to use his skills

to get out the hood.But as it turns out it brought him closer to the

Ballas.

 

I opened my eyes and saw E.N. behind the wheel of the car.I

looked outside an could barely see.The lights were zipping by and

it was dark outside.I realized I couldn't feel my arm.I looked over

to the right and saw it was gushing blood.The hole was the size

of a gulf ball."Can you move your arm?" E.N. said to me as he

glanced over at me quickly."I can't feel it..." I replied quietly.I

looked into the rear-view mirror and saw to quick moving lights

head our way.As it quickly came nearer E.N. looked back and said,

"f*ck Grove Street Families!" I quickly responded and asked,

"Where's your gun at!?!" He looked over and grabbed a Rugger from

the passanger seat."I can handle this!Just leave the shooting to me

and you worry about the driving..." I said as I grabbed his Rugger.

 

I opened the sun roof.I was holding the Rugger over my right

shoulder and holdin' it with my left arm.I stood up and leaned

against the back of the sun roof.I saw a Grove begin to lean out

the window and take aim.I quickly pulled the trigger and bullets

began to spill out into that Grove.As soon as I let go of the trigger

the man hanging on the window fell getting smashed against the

streets.Just then the system inside started blasting "99 Problems".

And then from inside I heard ,"Thought we could use some 'getaway'

music!" all of the sudden the car swerved and the lights shifted.

It took me a second to realize that the car had turned.As the lights

shifted one of the Groves in the Greenwood behind us leaned out the

window behind the driver and began to shoot.Luckfully he missed

with all nine shots.I began to aim and fire and the door was all shot

up and blood sprayed out.

 

The all of the sudden I heard ,"Up front!" I swiftly turned around

and saw another Majestic.Since we turned the car slowed down

alot and I could see the plates of the car in front of us spell out

'GROVE4L'.And I heard a familar voice from the car say,"Let's blast

on these bitches!".A 3 guys began to lean out the side of the car.

I heard from inside the car ,"Aim for the tires!" and thats what I did.

I carefully aimed at the tire and fired before they got to.The car

began to spin out.I carefully turned toward them while still firing at

the car trying to hit them."Been waitin' for a rainy day" I heard

coming from inside.In the distance we saw a car blockade.In a

few seconds within seeing it we realized it was the cops.We heard

,"THIS IS THE LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT STOP THE CAR!"

I heard E.N. shout ,"SHOOT THEM f*ckAS!" and I began to start

blasting and I saw him lean out the window with a M4 and fire at

them."AIM FOR THE GAS TANK!" I heard and then began to aim for

the gas-tanks of the Police.The rounds quickly started coming out

and the car in the street exploded knocking the cops against the

walls.The Majestic we were in quickly swerved around the Police.

And my vision began to get blurry.I quickly passed out...

 

I woke up in a dark room and heard ,"Are you alright son?" I looked

up and saw Medix."Your gonna have to wear that for about 1 or 2

months." He said.I looked at my right arm and saw I was wearing

a cast painted in Balla colors."Thanks Medix" I said while getting up.

"Oh,your gonna have to take these twice a day" He said handing me

a bottle of pills.I got up and walked over to the window and saw

the sun rising up.I thought to myself "Today's a new day for the

Ballas..."

 

TO BE CONTINUED!

[GTAFool12]

-Chapter 1: Back to the Streets

 

We stepped out the apartment and walked out onto the streets. It was a cold day. We all looked at each other to see if we had our uzi9mm ready. We had to walk there since at the moment the Purple Nines were poor. We headed down east. We all looked over the bridge we were walkin down and spotted some Red Jacks hangin out down the street from here, near the park.

 

Blade looked at me and said, “ You know what, I just remembered something.”

 

We all responded, “What?”

 

“James doesn’t have an OG name.”

 

I blushed a little bit.

 

Jaw butted in and replied, “Well he hasn’t been that loyal to the nines.”

 

“Jaw shut the f*ck up, the only reason you have a gangster name is because you talk so much sh*t.” I responded coolly.

 

“Alright Chill.”

 

We spotted our enemies down the street. Blade told us we were just gonna walk up and ice them. I studied the Red Jacks. They thought they were the sh*t. I saw a Red Jack reach in his pocket and take out his cell phone. They chatted for a while as we slowly approached. He hung up and pointed into the park and they walked into it.

 

“Damnit,” Blade said. “Oh well, let’s go follow them in there. Probably gonna sell some weed. Let’s go.”

 

Nobody ever disagreed with Blade. No one really feared him, but we give him a lot of respect. I counted how many Jacks we were following. 1,2,3,4…5. Yeah, 5, we could take them. I squinted hard to see what gats they were using. Looked like some sort of pistol. We had Uzi’s. We would dominate these busta’s.

 

We were almost there. I checked the sky. It was getting late. We decided to wait 5 minutes before we continued following them. A minute of silence had passed and I decided to ask Blade a question.

 

“So Blade, what do you think my gangsta name should be?”

 

“ I don’t know.” He replied. “I’ve been thinking on that for awhile now. Anyways let’s go blast these fools. I can’t wait.”

 

We continued in there. Haze whispered to us his plan. He immediately spotted them sitting down at the picnic bench. He whispered we get close to them, when we get their attention we say some gangster sh*t, and then ice them. Sounded like a good plan. I glanced over at the other homies. I noticed Jaw break a sweat. He never was a public speaker but he got his name for talking sh*t to the Jack’s. We stepped up to their table. It was really dark out and we could barely see each other. Jaw stepped forward pointed his gun and opened his mouth to say something. The Red Jack’s scrambled backwards frightened.

 

“Mark Chump.” He Chuckled. “This what happens when you mess with da Purple Nines, bitch!

 

The rest of us raised are guns in unison and opened fire. Our gunshots lit up the area. We heard a Rumpo Hoodz XL roar and turn the corner.

 

“sh*t, Take Cover, DRIVE-BY!” Haze screamed.

 

I ran over to the table and flipped it over and took cover behind it. Blade hid with me while Haze strafed behind trees firing. Blade and me were shooting over the table. 3 Red Jacks came out the back of the Rumpo and opened fire. I spotted Jaw walking up from my left side. Shells were falling to the ground like rain in a storm. He yelled loudly and fired. Me, Blade, and Haze continued firing at the van. From the corner of my senses I heard a click, click. The Rumpo was smoking. A remaining Red Jack shot at Jaw.

3 shells fell to the ground. We all stared in horror as Jaw fell to the ground and grabbed his left arm. I jumped out from behind the table and opened fire. I wasn’t quite sure if I unloaded 50 bullets into him or just 3. I don’t even think he would now. He dropped to the ground in a flat second. Just then I realized Blade and Haze just about to light up the truck.

 

“Wait! Don’t shoot the truck. We need one witness to tell them Jacks that were back. I went over to the truck and ordered Blade and Haze to help out Jaw. I walked over to the driver’s door and pulled out the Jack. I kept my gun pointed in his face the whole time. I stripped his gun from him and threw it over in Blade’s direction. I pushed him this time with the gun in the back.

 

Blade was holding Jaw up and said, “We have to get him to a hospital or something.”

 

I pushed the Red Jack to Haze and said, “Watch him, I’m gonna go see if the Van works.”

 

Haze started saying sh*t to the Jack. Probably making fun of him. I went up to the drivers’ door and reached in getting ready to give it a test and then scoop up Jaw. I peeked my head in and noticed in the back a Red Jack sitting there pointing a gun at me.

 

“Oh sh*t!” I screamed as I jumped back from the car. I thought fast and lay to the ground and rolled underneath the van. My heart beat faster as I heard the Jack moving slowly. Blade yelled to me asking what the hell I was doing. I reached my hand out the front of the van and made the hold on a second sign. I looked down to my feet where the back of the car was. I saw two feet touch down on the ground and begin creeping towards the passenger side of the car. Within 5 seconds the Red Jack had made vision contact with the rest of my crew. Blade was holdin Jaw and couldn’t wield his gun. Haze took his hostage and stepped forward.

 

“Don’t move one step or I’ll ice your homie,” Haze yelled.

 

“ Let go of my homie or I’ll light up your blood spilled friend and that mark-chump over there,” The Jack yelled back.

 

He was foot away from the side of the van. I knew Haze and the rest of my homies knew my plan. I slowly pointed my gun out from underneath the van. They continued to yell back and forth at each other telling one another to surrender. My arm was just about fully extended. Haze saw it and said, “ Don’t look down now.”

 

“ What the f*ck you talking abo-.” As the Jack said that I unloaded in him. His body was sprayed with bullets and flew back. I rolled out and picked up the dead Jack.

 

“Nice work guys. The bastard never saw it coming.” I spoke to them, “Now lets get outta here.” I said as I threw the dead Jack into the near water. We all got into the van. First I checked the back to see if anyone was still hiding. I got in and helped lift Jaw into the van. He wasn’t that heavy. Haze and his Red Jack hostage followed in after me. Blade shut the door and said he would drive. He hopped in the front and started off fast before we knew it we were out of the park.

 

“Haze what are we doin with him?” I asked.

 

“I’ll drop him off right at the territory border, the bridge.”

 

We approached the bridge and Haze kicked open the back door of the van. We were about halfway up it and Haze said to his hostage, “ Tell your busta Red Jack friends that the Purple Nines send their regards, bitch,” He kicked him out the back and slammed the doors shut.

 

“Next stop,” Blade said, “Hospital.”

 

 

We arrived at the hospital 5 minutes later and Haze and me carried Jaw in. Blade ran to catch up with us as we rushed through the halls of the hospital. Blade yelled to doctors to get out the way. We brought Jaw into the E.R. and placed him on a bed. Surprisingly Blade knew where the E.R. was. 5 doctors immediately rushed to Jaw and began working. One doctor ushered us out of the room.

 

We sat in the waiting room for a long time until a doctor came out and said, “He’ll be fine in about 3 days. We are taking a bullet out of his body right now so you might want to come back tomorrow to visit.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Blade said.

 

We got up and stepped outside.

 

“What a wild day.” I said.

 

“Ah this sh*t isn’t that bad. You gotta remember that we go through sh*t like this almost every day.”

 

Blade was given us a ride home in the Rumpo. He mentioned about dumping this thing later because it was scrap. We were almost to my apartment when Blade spoke up.

 

“Hey James. I’ve decided on your OG name. How about Ghost.”

 

I liked it. I nodded my head in approval and responded. Apparently Haze liked it to and commented on it and smiled. He pulled into my lot and dropped me off. He told me that we will be working on some organized sh*t tomorrow. As I walked to my Apartment I remembered how Blade as a kid always believed in self-improvement. He hasn’t changed much on that aspect. I stepped into the apartment, it was dead quiet. I went to bed because it had been a tough day. I went to sleep with the thought in my head that my homies always got my back.

 

 

End

Chapter 1

 

 

 

 

I hope that isn't alot of dialogue.