GTA: Old Times

[Jam!]

That chapter was awesome! Tony is ultra bad ass lol.

[TonyZimmzy]

Chapter 84: The Age of Reason

 

January 10th, 1996: London, England [09:17am]

As daylight engulfs a small, empty room - with nothing but a sleeping bag, door and window - not even paint covering the walls, Alan slowly sits up from slumber to the ringing of his cell phone. He answers it and puts it to his ear, as he rubs his dry, sore eyes and begins to adjust to the burning winter sun.

 

Alan: The f*ck you want this early?

 

Charlie (OS): Need you to run an errand for me. Hope you're awake, sunshine, because this requires you be focused and alert. Have a vague memory of our little chat the other night with your boytoy Johnny?

 

Alan: Yeah.

 

Charlie (OS): Daniel's arranged a hit on my head. It's up to you to put an end to this, understand? Take down Daniel King, and you're off the hook.

 

Alan: Take down the largest druglord in all of London? You're makin' it sound like this is meant to be a challenge.

 

Charlie (OS): Cute. You'd best pray. Get over to Johnny's, get a piece and the details and move on him. I want him done before noon when the shipment goes out.

 

Alan: Wait, what? You've got men to back me up, right?

 

Charlie (OS): Absolutely not. I am not sending my men into this suicide mission. Give me freedom, or give me death; may luck be on both of our sides, Alan Wood.

 

Alan hears the click of the phone. He dumps the phone on the pillow and stands to his feet, stretching his arms, suited only in a pair of white CK briefs. He opens the door of the room and walks outside, where two drug-ravaged girls, wearing only bras and miniskirts lay, passed out from the night before. Alan treads over them and grabs a pair of scruffy dark blue jeans and quickly slips them on, along with a pair of trainers, once white but now a sickly shade of grey. He looks around and sees a torn red shirt hanging from the wall, along with an African-American man laying on the floor - a needle sticking from the vein of his left arm in his limp, shirtless body. He grabs the shirt from the hook on the wall and throws it on, then walks down a small flight of cramped brown stairs and out the front door, which was completely boarded up, and he begins moving.

 

 

January 10th, 1996: London, England [09:50am]

Johnny runs a towel over his sandy blonde hair and spits toothpaste into the sink. He runs his hand over the stubble on his face as he puts his toothbrush back in the cabinet. He hears a loud few knocks on the door and he exits the bathroom and walks through the cramped living room of the flat in only a towel, still dripping wet. An elegant dark-skinned woman in only revealing aqua-blue lingerie sifts into the arms of Johnny as he slows down and kisses her on the forehead.

 

Johnny: Whoever's at the door's gonna have to wait until after round number four?

 

Woman: (Smirks and bites Johnny's bottom lip) And five.

 

Johnny and the woman both smile and kiss, as Johnny runs his hands down her silky smooth back, squeezing hard on both her ass cheeks as he lifts her up.

 

Alan (OS): Johnny, open the f*ck up.

 

The smirk is quickly reverted from Johnny's face as he drops the woman on to the dark leather armchair. He quickens his pace towards the door and opens it up, seeing a haggard Alan standing with his arm leaning against the paine.

 

Alan: Come for the info and a piece.

 

Johnny: What're you talking about?

 

Alan: Charlie said I'm taking down Dan King today.

 

Johnny: What the f*ck, dude? (Reaches in and pulls the door to a close and walks out in to the hallway) You're looking at a man armed with a thousand guards.

 

Alan: So? I've been given an objective and I'm getting it done.

 

Johnny: Yeah, right. You'll get your brains splattered everywhere before you even get a chance to reload.

 

Alan grips Johnny by the jugular and slams the back of his head into the wall beside the door paine as Johnny struggles for breath.

 

Alan: It's not like anybody cares enough about me to stop me from doing this. I have nothing and no one left. If I die, nothing of value will be lost.

 

Alan releases the grip and Johnny begins coughing and bending down, trying to catch his breath. He spits on the floor and stands back up and re-opens the door and leads Alan inside the apartment.

 

Johnny: King owns a cocaine factory across the other side of town. It's off the corner of Marlow road, pretty much un-missable. Charlie must've picked today because he knows it's the shipment date. Those four guys are gonna put Charlie underground unless this goes away. When it does, they'll go back to backing him. Strange that, huh?

 

Alan: I blanked everything out after Marlow road. Just tell me, the transport?

 

Johnny: (Bends down under his sink cabinet and pulls out an automatic pistol) Lorries.

 

Alan: (Grabs the pistol and checks it over) And they go directly to King?

 

Johnny: I don't know. King might be there, if so your best chance is to take him out there, not when he's at home with a million man army. God's speed, bro.

 

Alan turns around and darts back through the living room as the dark-skinned woman cluelessly watches Alan take fast paces out of the flat wielding the pistol. Johnny walks back over to the woman and sits down, resting his head in his hands.

 

Johnny: That kid's gonna get himself killed for f*ck all.

 

 

January 10th, 1996: London, England [11:36am]

Alan arrives on the corner of Marlow road, firmly gripping the automatic pistol in his hand as sweat eminates from his scruffy black hair, due to a fusion of burning daylight and brisk air. Infront of him are seas of blank warehouses. The few pedestrians in this rough industrial area scatter in fear of the teen gunman as his cracked red eyes begin looking at the surroundings. A single white lorry turns the corner on to the road, followed by a string of more, and they slowly drive past him. He waits for the final one to pass by and he swiftly jumps up and grips ahold of the back of it, securing his footing and awaiting it to stop. Bending down, he smashes the handle of the pistol into the padlock keeping the shutters down. He grips it tightly and lifts it up, revealing brown boxes inside the lorry. He steps inside and quietly closes the shutters behind him, then shifts through the isle of boxes until he arrives at the seat behind the driver. Still holding the gun as a melee weapon, he awaits the lorry to park and the driver to turn the ignition off, then he cracks the base of the gun off the driver's head, putting him unconcious as he slumps over the wheel. Alan quickly moves into the front and drags the limp body into the boxes behind, then assumes position of the lorry and begins waiting. Upon seeing his target, Daniel King emerge from the warehouse, he recalls the words of Johnny, as King begins checking the backs of each lorry.

 

Alan: (Looks around) I've got a few seconds tops. Not too much security.

 

Desperately, Alan opens the door of the lorry and takes aim with the pistol at Daniel, with his back turned to the slick black object. Already cocked, Alan begins firing shots at Daniel's back, with each one hitting successfully. Daniel's arms are flung back as he's forced to arch his body foward; bullets penetrating through his black suit attire; searing through his flesh. As Alan finishes the clip off, Daniel falls to his knees, then head first into the back of the truck, as men scattered around the industrial area stand, shocked to silence as their boss lies dead on his knees. Alan glances around, as the men all begin reaching into their suit jackets, and he quickly gets back into the lorry, as bullets begin to hit it.

 

Alan: (Frantically trying to start up and move out) Worthless piece'a sh*t, come on!

 

Starting it, he quickly reverses and speeds away, as the thugs fire at the back of the lorry, then begin heading towards their own to pursue. As he looks back in the mirror, he sees the driver he put out cold rise up and shake his head.

 

Driver: What the f*ck happened? (Turns and faces Alan) And who the f*ck are you, kid?!

 

Alan: I don't need this sh*t right now. Just be quiet. I'm saving your ass.

 

Driver: Saving my ass?! What do I need saving from?! I work for Daniel f*ckin' King!

 

Alan: And "Daniel f*ckin' King" is laying dead with about eight holes in his back right now! So sit down and shut the f*ck up while I get us outta this mess!

 

Driver: sh*t! Whoever did that's gonna have some serious hell to pay, that's for sure, mate. Thanks.

 

Alan: Don't I know it...

 

 

January 10th, 1996: London, England [13:10pm]

Alan pulls the truck up at the foot of the stairs leading up to Charlie's door. Turning the ignition off, he proceeds to open the door as the driver, rubbing the back of his head follows him out. Flakes of dry blood scatter by his heels as Alan sluggishly drags his exhausted body up the flight of stairs. Arriving, he tenses his fist and slams it on the door thrice, until Charlie opens with a grin plastered on his face. He laughs, coughing as he extends his arms and gives Alan a hug.

 

Charlie: You just earned your wings, son. (Turns his attention to the driver) And who the f*ck is this?!

 

Charlie quickly reaches into his holster attatched to his waist and draws his revolver, swiftly aiming it at the driver's head, then pulling the trigger. Blood splatters on the back of Alan's neck as he shuts his eyes and shudders at the feeling of the warmth trickling down his neck.

 

Alan: Was there any need for that, asshole?

 

Alan pushes past Charlie with his eyes still closed, and head still hanging low.

 

Alan: I left my phone at that dump. I need to make a call.

 

As Alan walks through to the living room, he sees two men standing guard, firmly aiming pistols at a man on the suave couch, suited in a rough black attire with a dark blue shirt under the jacket. He has his hands behind his head and a smile on his face, resting easily.

 

Charlie: (Comes through) This kid said he knows you and wanted to speak to you. You know him?

 

Alan: What're you doing here, Tony?

 

The mobsters put their pistols down to their sides as Tony stands up and gives Alan a hug. Alan doesn't respond, and Tony pulls away.

 

Tony: What's wrong with you?

 

Alan: I asked what you were--

 

Charlie: (Laughs) Seems the background check came back on you, sonny. (Pulls the revolver from his holster and aims it at Tony's chest, pushing it firmly on his blue shirt) You're gonna do a little job for me, or I'm gonna turn you in. This understood? (Looks at Alan) Get outta here, kid. I'm done with you. (Turns his attention back to Tony) You, on the other hand, I'm just getting started wi--

 

Blood rips out through Charlie's throat as a thunderous echo shatters the now silent living room, as Alan stands, firmly holding his pistol directly on the back of Charlie's neck. He slowly falls foward, blood eminating like a waterfall from his neck; he crashes on to the glass table, as both guards now aim their pistols at Alan. Tony stands in disbelief as he looks at Alan's cold, blank stare fixated on the guards, aiming the 9mm at one of them. Tony quickly turns to face both guards and stand beside Alan, drawing his own 9mm pistol from behind his back.

 

Tony: You really just f*cked up, didn't you?

 

Alan: I did.

 

Tony: (Sighs) Just like old times...

 

Alan: You ready?

 

Tony: As ready as I'll ever be...

[Jam!]

Wow, awesome chapter. And Alan is pretty bad ass too...lol.

[TonyZimmzy]

This is the final chapter of Escape From Hell. All of this was meant to span out another 4-8 chapters, but I'm finishing things up. The story will come to a full close very soon. Forgive me if this feels like a very sloppy, rushed chapter - but I'm not tying the strings of the package with a ribbon anymore - that'll be saved for the re-write. Enjoy the last chapter before Pagan Assault for those left reading.

 

Chapter 85: Takedown

 

January 10th, 1996: London, England [13:23pm]

Alan steps over the bloody corpse of the driver at the foot of the mansion stairs. He throws his pistol on the floor as Tony rushes out the front door after him. He catches his foot on the body and tumbles over, cracking his elbow on the top step. Alan slows down and turns around, looking down at him. Dragging his feet back up the steps, slowly, he stands above Tony and offers a hand down.

 

Alan: I guess I owe you that much for helping me take out those two mobsters in there.

 

Tony: (Grips ahold of Alan's hand and pulls himself up, checking over his elbow) You don't owe me anything. Why're you acting like a prick? I thought we were meant to be friends. Friends help friends out.

 

Alan: (Shoves Tony back and begins walking back down the stairs) I don't need you to bail me out of sh*t all the time. I can handle this. (Turns back around) Don't you understand that yet?! After today, I could've got on a plane and gone back to Los Santos, a free man.

 

Tony: (Starts pacing after him) And how would you of got on a plane if you're the most wanted man in London right now?!

 

Alan: And what about the fact that I just stopped you from being killed in there?! This is why I didn't call you and let you know we were in prison; you f*ck everything up.

 

Tony: Oh, great, blame someone else instead of yourself. That's real mature, man. I didn't make you pull that trigger into that guy's neck in there.

 

Alan: You might aswell have. You might aswell of just put triggers to both our heads, because we're both f*cked now.

 

Alan steps back into the lorry and slams the door behind him, starting the engine up. Tony opens the door of the passenger side and climbs in as Alan pulls away.

 

Tony: What do you mean you could've called me from prison? That place has no phones hooked up. Man, why didn't anyone tell me you guys were in that sh*thole.

 

Alan: That f*cking asshole, backstabbing mother f*cker brung it in with him and wanted me to call you up to get us all out.

 

Tony: GT? He got sent all the way to Hell Mary's? I got him caught a few weeks ago.

 

Alan: He mentioned it. I guess it's because he was involved with the casino sh*t in Venturas aswell. Figured all us 'buddies' should be locked up in the same place.

 

Tony: You wanna start explaining sh*t a little more, or what?

 

Alan: (Stares blankly at Tony for a few moments as they park at a red light) I could ask you that same question. Back there, Charlie said he dug up dirt on you. That ain't true, you've been clean since you got on parole; nobody knew you were in on the casino other than Toreno, and I know Toreno wouldn't have a clue who this guy is.

 

Tony: (Slumps back in the chair) C'mon, figure it out. You don't get a parole after two months of a nine month sentence. (Stares back at Alan) I'm wanted in this place. Wanted for escaping, just like you.

 

Silence befalls between the two, as cars behind them begin sounding their horns as the light's turned green. Alan puts his foot down and resumes driving.

 

Tony: What do you wanna do?

 

Alan: I'm tired of running, man. It's time to stand my ground and fight whoever's left. I'm burnt out and have nothing left to lose. No family here, no roots or ties other than Jake - and I'm sure he'll be a lot better off if I'm underground. It's time to make it big or go out with a bang. Bribing enemies into your pocket should be a much easier game than running from them.

 

Tony: Then I'm gonna stay here and help you through this.

 

Alan: I appreciate the offer, but this is something I've gotta do on my own. I'm gonna have King's mobsters, Cohen's mobsters and Mercer's syndicate on me in an hour tops. I'm not coming back from this alive. Get out while you can.

 

After a brief silence, Tony's phone begins ringing. He takes it from his now bloodstained black suit jacket's inside pocket and answers, putting it to his left ear.

 

Tony: Woozie, got that info I asked for?

 

Woozie (OS): I've got it. An old friend - non Triad is living a peaceful life over in Pagan City, Rome. He said you both can lay low there. He's your best option.

 

Tony: Pagan City? Thanks. Talk to you soon, my friend.

 

Tony hangs the phone up and puts it away and turns to face Alan.

 

Tony: Take a left to the airport. We can go somewhere where nobody will look for us.

 

Alan: (Brakes harshly and squeezes into the turning) You don't give up, do you? You best not be wrong about this. Toss me your phone a minute, I've gotta make a call to the only friend I have in this town anymore.

 

Tony takes his phone back out and hands it to Alan, who begins dialing and looking at the road infront of him simultaneously.

 

Alan: Johnny, get to the back of the airport as fast as you can. No time to explain, just get here.

 

Alan hangs the phone up and tosses it onto Tony's lap.

 

 

January 10th, 1996: London, England [13:55pm]

The lorry pulls to a stop at the large fences behind the airport runways. Alan turns the ignition off and puts the handbrake on and climbs into the back of the truck and begins looking through the crates as Tony cluelessly follows behind him.

 

Tony: What're we doing back here?

 

Alan: Me and Jake learned the hardway last time we tried this that these fences are razor sharp. (Grabs ahold of a large felt sheet covering a box) This'll do nicely.

 

Tony: (Grips ahold of the crate and lifts the lid off) Dare I ask who this truck belonged too?

 

Alan: King. Why?

 

Tony: There's about fifty million quid's worth of cocaine back here. (Grabs ahold of his a few bags and sticks them in his suit jacket pockets) Already cut, grab some before we go.

 

Alan looks out of the windscreen and sees Johnny arrive in a black Premier. He turns around to Tony and grabs a plank of wood laying on the floor.

 

Tony: (Laughs) I wish I had more pockets in this suit.

 

Alan slams the plank of wood hard into the back of Tony's head, as his arms flop to his side and his body slumps over the crate full of cocaine. Two bags fall from his suit pocket, as does his pistol. Alan grabs ahold of his body and begins dragging him to the back of the lorry. He bends down and lifts the shutters up, as rain begins spitting down lightly in the clear sky. Johnny comes around to the back of the truck and steps back.

 

Johnny: The f*ck happened to this kid?

 

Alan: (Sighs) I don't know how much time I've left before they start coming. He's right, this is my fault and it's time I mended my wrongs. I take it in your trade you know how to pilot a helicopter.

 

Johnny: Of course. You know I flew over here from Vice myself... Why?

 

Alan: Fly this guy to...sh*t, where was it he said? Pagan City, I think. Ring any bells to you?

 

Johnny: Yeah. Got a few friends over there. It's in Rome. Never been myself, though...

 

Alan: Get him over there. (Slams the shutters closed as Johnny grabs ahold of Tony's unconcious body) Cohen and King are both done. I'm taking Mercer down before he finds out I took out his capo.

 

Johnny: You idiot, you killed Charlie? What're you gonna do? (Shakes his head) Just what're you gonna do?!

 

Alan: (Grabs ahold of Johnny's neck as his eyes buldge; and his veins turn to the verge of bursting at any moment, putting his face centimeters from Johnny's) What do you think I'm gonna do?!

 

Johnny: (Starts choking) Alan, Alan come on...

 

Alan: (Releases his grip) I'm taking over. (Looks at Tony) Tell him I said thanks for getting Mark out alive. Get him over there safely, alright?

 

Alan grips ahold of the felt sheet and climbs on top of the front of the truck, tossing it over the top of the wire. Johnny drags Tony's body over and he looks up at Alan.

 

Alan: Pass him here.

 

Johnny hoists him up and Alan grips ahold of his body and lifts him up onto his shoulders, then rolls him over the felt sheet on the fence. He tightly grips ahold of his shoulders and positions his feet above the tarmac and lets him drop. He hits the ground on his feet and falls into the fence. Alan slowly steps down and Johnny climbs up and then over the sheet. Alan gets back into the lorry and starts it up, reversing it and pulling away as Johnny grips ahold of Tony, dragging him towards a small plane in a hangar.

 

 

January 10th, 1996: London, England [14:28pm]

Black Premier's cover the outside of Charlie Cohen's estate as Alan pulls the lorry to a stop. Suited mobsters are entering and exiting the house, and a clean-up crew are disposing of the two dead mobsters and King's lorry driver, suited in rubber gloves and binbags covering their suits. Alan turns the ignition off and steps into the back of the lorry, picking up Tony's 9mm pistol and checking it over. He opens the shutters to the lorry and steps out.

 

Mobster: There he is!

 

Alan aims the pistol at the mobster and fires a single shot to his throat. The mobster falls backwards onto the hood of his car and slides down to the floor below.

 

Mobsters begin coming out of the mansion as more mobsters begin pulling up in black Majestic's.

 

Mobster: sh*t! King's mafia raiding the spot!

 

As King's mobsters begin exiting their cars, Cohen's existing mobsters begin exchanging fire with them, as Alan ducks behind a Premier briefly before running for the side of the mansion. He grips ahold of the white flowerpot holders nailed to the wall and begins scaling the building. He arrives on the second floor and shatters the window with the base of his gun and grips ahold of the paine. A shot is fired and Alan feels the bullet pierce through his arm as he screams, pulling himself inside. He rolls onto the wooden floor of Cohen's master bedroom, breathing heavily and gripping his right arm. He opens his eyes and in his line of vision under Charlie's queensize bed, uncased and already mantled, lay a rocket launcher. Alan pulls himself along on the floor with one hand and reaches under the bed, pulling it out and checking if it's loaded.

 

Alan: A single rocket.

 

Alan stands to his feet, slowly. He grips the handle of the rocket launcher tightly and lumps it on his shoulder. He bends down to one knee, placing the end of the launcher on the window paine and he presses the red button down and pulls the trigger and the force pushes him back. Shutting his eyes from the forced heat, he feels the entire building tremble and is deafened by the huge explosion. He opens his eyes to a vision of nothing but red and orange, until it dies down. He stands up, looking out of the window at the burning bodies and dismembered limbs scattered all over the pavement. Only a dozen men remain standing, almost unscathed.

 

Alan: You all right down there?

 

Mobster: (Coughing and breathing through the clouds of smoke) Y-Yeah.

 

Alan: Yeah, what?

 

Mobster: We're all right. What the f*ck happened? Where's Lou?!

 

Alan grips ahold of his pistol and firmly aims it at the mobster's head. Without blinking, he releases the trigger and a bullet penetrates the side of his head, as blood explodes to the floor below, before the mobster tumbles down, crashing onto his side. The other remaining mobsters all look up to Alan, coughing and barely able to breathe.

 

Alan: (Screams) I'm in charge now. King and Cohen are both dead. Understood?!

 

Alan looks at all the mobsters. They sheepishly look at each other, all unarmed, then back up at Alan. They slowly nod their heads in confused unison, rubbing their slight burns and wounds. Alan walks through from the bedroom and opposite the hall into Charlie's large built-in study-office. He tosses the pistol onto brown desk infront of the large leather chair of the same shade. He walks round, checking the wound on his arm once more, then crashes into the leather chair and exhales, smiling and closing his eyes.

[Oxidizer]

That's... No more EFH? EVER?!

 

I'm... excited for Pagan Assault and potential narrative-shaped goodness that may happen in the near future.

 

[Jam!]

Really nice chapter, it didn't feel rushed or sloppy at all.

Looking forward to Pagan Assault as well.

[TonyZimmzy]

 

Pagan Assault

 

 

Chapter 86: Take Cover, Run

 

January 12th, 1996: Pagan City, Rome [00:17am]

A silk black helicopter dances lightly over a helipad at a large, almost empty airport - with only a few broken down, engineless planes scattered around, almost as if it were abandoned years ago. Although just past midnight, the sky is still lit up by the shining stars - unfamiliar to the buzzing city of London. The helicopter sifts down, pushing the loose, dry dirt aside as it gently touches the ground. The propellars slow to a stop, and the door is opened up. Tony steps out, carefully placing his foot on the ground, gripping at the wound on the back of his head as the cool breeze blows his black suit jacket in the wind. Following behind him, Johnny emerges, holding a large mouse under his left eye.

 

Johnny: (Slams the helicopter door shut) You'd best hope this doesn't leave any scarring, dude. I've been offered modelling gigs.

 

Tony: One minute I'm in the back of a lorry, the next I wake up and see you infront of me. What did you expect me to do?

 

Johnny: Well, seeing as you reached into that gun holster on the inside of your suit jacket there, I was expecting you to do something worse.

 

Tony: Your lucky day that Alan must've took it off me. Now, where abouts are we? I need to get to...sh*t, where did I need to get to?

 

Johnny: (Takes out a carton of cigarettes) I dunno, but you're packing a lot of coke there, bro. Gotta be careful with that.

 

Tony: (Grabs the carton from Johnny's hand) I know. (Takes a cigarette out and pinches it between his lips then tosses the carton back at Johnny's chest, as they fall to the moist ground below. He takes out his cell phone and dials, putting it to his ear) Woozie, I'm in Pagan. How's sh*t back there? Jake and Mark all right?

 

Woozie (OS): They're fine. We're setting Mark up in your old position. Jake's out gambling, I think.

 

Tony: Good sh*t. Listen, where's that address?

 

Woozie (OS): It's at thirten-eighty-five Park Avenue, Valley. Don't be a stranger. How's Alan?

 

Tony: Wouldn't know. Seems he had his own idea on what he wanted to do with his life. (Sighs) He's made his choice. Later, Woozie. (Hangs up and slips the phone back into his suit jacket's inside pocket) C'mon, got an address we can go to.

 

 

January 12th, 1996: Pagan City, Rome [02:35am]

A red and white checkered taxi pulls up to a large mansion on a court, with rows of mansions a few hundred yards beneath it. Tony hands the taxi driver some money and he and Johnny step out. The taxi pulls away as Johnny laughs, looking at the large houses glissening under the full moon. He rubs the back of his head and lightly slaps Tony's arm.

 

Johnny: Look at this beautiful view, bro. Wow. London and Vice look like sh*t compared to this place.

 

Tony: Vice, huh? I've been there before.

 

Johnny: Oh yeah? (Turns to face Tony) Business or pleasure?

 

Tony: Bit of both. Come on.

 

Tony leads Johnny down a marble walkway, and at the foot of the large driveway are four cars: a green Rancher, a dark red Infernus, a dark green Banshee and a silver Kuruma. Johnny runs his finger along the hood of the Banshee, grinning as he does so. Tony turns around and lightly slaps him on the chest.

 

Tony: They aren't yours, stop touchin' em. I have no idea who this guy is, so stop acting chummy with his cars.

 

Johnny: Calm the f*ck down, man. We're in paradise. Imagine this place in the day; fresh coconuts falling from trees and all sorts of crazy sh*t, I bet!

 

Tony: We ain't in Jamaica, idiot.

 

Tony slightly trips on the bridge leading to the stoop where the double doors stand, as Johnny bursts out laughing. Tony turns around with a straight face, soon wiping the smile from Johnny's. Stepping onto the peach-tinted stoop, Tony bangs on the light-brown double doors with force. After a few moments, a slightly fat, balding man with silver hair opens the door in a white bathrobe and dark red hawaiian swimming trunks - still wet. He looks at both men, who remain silent, then reaches onto a small table beside his door, grabbing an a91. caliber pistol and aiming it between Tony's eyes.

 

Tony: Wu Zi Mu sent us.

 

The man lowers his pistol from an emotionless Tony. He breathes a sigh of relief and smiles, throwing the gun back on the desk.

 

Johnny: You're Powel Merquiete, right?

 

Tony stares at Johnny as the man laughs and nods his head, shaking Johnny's hand.

 

Powel: It's been a long time since I've seen you, Vercetti! Must've been just a boy when I was in Vice with you and your uncle. Still got that goofy grin, just like Tommy and your old man.

 

Tony: Vercetti?!

 

Powel: And who might you be?

 

Johnny: This is Tony, a good friend to Wu Zi Mu and the Triads over in San Andreas. He's had a spot of bother and is looking to lay low for a bit.

 

Powel: You're welcome to stay as long as you like. (Looks over their shoulders and points) See that white house opposite the palm trees? You can stay in there.

 

Johnny: Thanks, sir.

 

Powel: Tell Tommy I said hello when you next speak to him.

 

Johnny: Might be a while; we haven't spoken since he got my father killed in that assassination back in December.

 

Beads of sweat begin eminating from Tony's forehead, running down his face and dripping onto the pale floor at the words being exchanged.

 

Powel: You all right, mate? You don't look so good.

 

Johnny: He's just had a very long adventure and needs rest. C'mon, kid. Let's catch some sleep.

 

Powel reaches onto the desk and grabs a ring of keys and hands them to Johnny and shuts the door. Tony slowly follows behind Johnny with an expressionless mask covering his face.

 

 

January 12th, 1996: London, England [13:44pm]

The rain heavily showers down, crashing into the broken window paine of the master bedroom in the now deceased Charie Cohen's estate. A middle aged man, smartly dressed pushes the door open, as Alan slowly sits up in the bed, with a large bandage covering his arm where he was shot. He rubs his eyes and checks the watch on his wrist as the man walks into the room and to the closet.

 

Man: I don't think you're gonna fit into Charlie's suits; you're a bit skinnier than he was. I'm Scott.

 

Alan: Alan Wood. (Stands up out of bed, stretching his arms) Feels like I've been asleep forever.

 

Scott: Well, Charlie had some meetings planned throughout the day today. I'm guessing you'll be sitting in on them instead?

 

Alan: (Scratches the back of his head and walks over to the closets) I hadn't thought of that. Nobody but our organization knows about Cohen's death yet, so let's just suggest he's away on business for now.

 

Scott: No disrespect, but I don't think you'll fool many people with that act - unless you put someone his partners would trust behind that chair in the study.

 

Alan: Are you suggesting I put you as the front of Cohen's operations?

 

Scott: I might be, yes.

 

Alan: If you can keep the heat down before the Mercer syndicate find out their capo's dead, then I'm all for this idea. Guess I'm gonna go shopping. Where's Charlie keep his credit cards at?

 

Scott: I would assume in that small cabinet by the bed. I'll go let everyone know what's going on. Just one final question before I get going...just how old're you?

 

Alan: I'm seventeen. Problem?

 

Scott: (Laughs) Not a one. See you soon... Boss.

 

 

January 12th, 1996: London, England [15:20pm]

Scott sits behind Cohen's desk in the 30's decorated study, a single glass of brandy infront of him as he straightens out his white shirt and tie. A female voice breathes through the static on the intercom sitting attatched to the end of the desk.

 

Voice (OS): The account holder of Mr. Cohen's shares is here for the meeting, Mr. Riddler.

 

Scott: (Reaches over the table and presses the button on the intercom) Send him in, Nancy. Push back the four-thirty to tomorrow. Mr. Wood is still absent.

 

Nancy (OS): Yes, sir.

 

Scott swivels in the large brown leather as he grips firmly ahold of the glass on the table and raises it to his lips, taking a small sip then opening a drawer in the desk and putting it away. Shutting it, the door opens and two smartly-dressed men step through. Scott's eyebrow raises as he reaches for the intercom button.

 

Scott: (Presses it, looking up at the men) Nancy...

 

The smaller, skinnier man withdraws a pistol from the inside of his black jacket and aims it at Scott, who puts his hands in the air and sits back in the chair.

 

Scott: All right, calm down boyos. What're you after? Who do you work for?

 

The broader, muscular man steps foward and straightens his jacket, licking his teeth with closed lips, then opening them, with a brief smile.

 

Man: Salvatore Leone sent us to take down Wood. Tell us where he or Charlie Cohen is.

 

Scott: Salvatore Leone? What the hell does he want with--

 

Without the sentence finishing, the man releases his finger on the trigger and a bullet pierces the chest of Scott. His body stutters and jolts briefly, as his eyes force to a close, and he slumps over the ring stained desk, which quickly begins soaking to dark red. Toni Cipriani turns and faces Angelo Munas, then raises his hands with a jaw hanging to the floor.

 

Toni: Kid, what the hell're you doing?

 

Angelo: What? He wasn't gonna give any names.

 

Toni: (Puts a hand over his face and pulls it down) Go and get the sh*t outta the car, stay in this office and wait for Wood or Cohen. If Wood enters, you take him out, if Cohen enters, you warn him. Is that understood?

 

Angelo: Loud and clear.

 

Toni walks around the desk and grips ahold of Scott's limp and lifeless body, as blood drains from the wound on his chest. He firmly holds under his arms and begins dragging him from the office. He looks up at Angelo once more, who is checking over his pistol. He shakes his head and exits the office, with a trail of blood between his black shoes.

[Oxidizer]

Niiice! I'm glad you're continuing their story after the escape, as this looks set to be pretty good. Though I got two questions for you: how many chapters of this are there, and when does Caine come into play?

 

Also, Johnny is a fine piece of ars...

[TonyZimmzy]

Damn right he is a fine piece of arse, bruv. Innit.

 

Only a few chapters left. Cramming it all into a big ending, which may be a clusterf*ck or an epic read of non-stop facerape. Time will tell.

 

Caine, probaly 88. Next chapter will focus on Alan/Angelo, and you'll see some vicious sh*t go down, involving being imprisoned and tortured.

[Oxidizer]

'Kin 'ell! That's the best news I've had in a while. You know I got precum right now, don't you? F*ck...

[Jam!]

Whoa... nice plot twists and stuff. The ending is gonna be epic!

[TonyZimmzy]

Chapter 87: Ravenous

 

January 12th, 1996: London, England [16:05pm]

Alan pulls up to the mansion in a dark blue Merrit. The tires crunch over the pebble driveway as it comes to a halt. He turns the ignition off, checking out his new dark green tinted shades and slick haircut in the small mirror hanging tightly from the roof of the car; his black hair is now styled and combed back, with smooth strings hugging the back of his neck. Stepping out of the car and slamming the door behind him, he straightens out his black jacket and loosens the dark green tie resting over a creamy white shirt. Taking strides, his matching trousers pinch tightly to his long legs, not moving in the chilling winter air. Rain trickles down from the gutters on the house as Alan avoids it, walking up the steps and arriving at his front door. Taking a pair of keys, he slides them into the lock and turns, pushing the door open and stepping inside; his body calmly adjusting to the new temperature. Pushing the door closed behind him, he soon becomes uneased at the silence of the buzzing Mafia-based mansion.

 

Alan: Scott?

 

Alan dumps the keys on the small straw stand at the side of the door, as a shadow quickly lunges from the opposite side. Toni Cipriani wraps his arms around Alan and grips his neck tightly. Alan begins to struggle, taking deep gasps as Toni wrestles him to the ground and begins slamming his forehead off the marble floor - shattering the thin-line designer glasses that covered his ice cold, burning green eyes. Soon, Alan is unconcious.

 

Toni: (Exhaling heavily) Angelo, get the f*ck down here.

 

The young Sicilian appears at the top of the staircase and begins walking down, holding on to the brown banister. Toni stands to his feet and puts his hands against his hips, pushing his black jacket back as he does. He looks up at Angelo, bleeding from the bottom lip.

 

Toni: Get him in the car and take him to the apartment.

 

Angelo: And what're you gonna do?

 

Toni: Go phone Sal and let him know we've got the kid. Now go on. sh*t, where's the alcohol in this place.

 

Angelo: There's a cupboard full up in the office, Ton'. Anything specific you want done with the kid?

 

Toni: (Stares a hole through Angelo's eyes) Take him there, kill him there, leave no evidence; the kid never existed, got it?

 

Angelo: Got it, Ton'.

 

Angelo grabs Alan by the ankles as Toni begins pacing up the stairs. He opens the door with one hand, then grips both ankles and begins dragging him out and down the stairs; a small trail of blood eminating from Alan's forehead is noticeable on first glance. He scrapes Alan's front along the stone-covered drive and round the corner to a black Sentinel. He opens the trunk and grips Alan by his now-blood stained new shirt and lifts him up, nearly popping the veins in his forehead at the force and weight. He lets Alan's body lifelessly sink into the trunk and he slams it shut with one hand, then moves round to the side of the car and opens the door, getting inside and putting the keys that sit on the dashboard into the ignition and starts it up. He pulls the car from the driveway and begins speeding down the street as neighbouring cars come to a halt in fear of colliding with it.

 

Angelo: (Stares up at the dark, hollow sky) Looks like a storms'a comin'...

 

 

January 12th, 1996: Pagan City, Rome [11:38am]

An antique nice personoo clock on the wall, high above the bed has been sounding since ten in the morning. Tony rubs his sore, blood shot eyes and slowly sits up, feeling his back creek and crack with every movement. He stretches and looks up at the clock with one eye closed. He straightens his hair down and stands up, completely naked, reaching on the small armchair beside the bed for his underwear and trousers. He puts them on - leaving the zip undone - and heads towards the master bathroom of the elegantly decorated bedroom, with cloudy white wallpaper, and framed photographs of oceans and beaches scattered around it, each in a direct line with the previous.

 

Johnny (OS): Tony, you awake in there yet?

 

Tony: Barely. Let me take a piss an' I'll be out in'a minute.

 

Johnny walks past Tony's bedroom and down the stairs, treading lightly on the baige carpet, feeling the wooden floor between his bare feet through the feather-thin carpet, dressed only in a silk white shirt and underwear. A knock on the door slightly startles him as he's only a few feet away. He walks over and pulls the door open, revealing a beautiful Italian woman with dark skin and a skin-tight white dress on the other side. Instinctively, his eyes focus solely on her near-gold-tanned theighs, where the dress finishes at. She lightly coughs, causing Johnny's eyes to slowly sift upward, pausing for a moment on her voluptuous chest; clearly too big for the dress she's wearing.

 

Johnny: Baby, whatever you're selling, I'm buying.

 

Woman: That's cute, little boy. I'm Marci.

 

Johnny: Johnny Vercetti.

 

Marci: Marci Merquiete.

 

Johnny: (Gulps and swallows hard, standing back and letting her inside) My mistake. Sorry.

 

Marci: Don't let it happen again and we need not tell daddy.

 

Johnny: Right... Tony, get the f*ck down here.

 

Tony emerges from beyond eyesight at the top of the staircase, looking down at Marci as she looks back up at him and playfully smiles. Tony rests his hand on the cream banister - now burning from the sunlight covering it from the large windows all over all day. He arrives at the bottom and holds his hand out, as Marci shakes it.

 

Johnny: This is Powel's daughter.

 

Tony: Nice to meet you.

 

Marci: Likewise. Listen, my father's associate is highly interested in the cocaine you two have smuggled in from the United Kingdom. He's willing to purchase the lot in one transaction for a slightly reduced price.

 

Tony: Johnny, you just gonna blurt sh*t out behind my back from now on, or is this just a one-off?

 

Johnny: It's all good, chill. How much?

 

Marci: Five hundred.

 

Tony: That's funny, see, I thought he said a slightly reduced price. I know the sh*t we have is worth atleast two mill.

 

Marci: That stuff is so hot, nobody around here but him will touch it. He's no idiot, he knows going-ons. It's take it or leave it.

 

Tony: He got any assets to go with that? I'm looking to get into the property game; learnt a little about it from some friends in America.

 

Marci: I'll give him a phone call. Please, both of you, follow me over to daddy's house.

 

Marci leads Tony and Johnny from the house, as Johnny closes the door behind him. Both men begin sweating profuesly at the unfamiliar, scorching foreign heat. Johnny looks up at the cloudless sky and grins, then looks down at Tony.

 

Johnny: Things are going pretty nicely, I'd say.

 

Tony smiles and shields his eyes as he focuses on the street infront of him.

 

 

January 12th, 1996: London, England [20:39pm]

A door slamming jerks Alan's eyes open. The brief shimmer of light has been stolen away as he begins trying to focus on what happened. He hears keys rattle and plastic bags crunching under a heavy weight. He can feel himself sitting on a stale, cold metal fold-out chair; his hands are tied with a plastic suspender - like community police officers use to disable the drunk and disorderly. He attempts to free himself, but to no avail. His mouth is open, breathing heavily; he feels dry blood on his face when he attempts to move his head. A light is switched on, and Alan's eyes immediately tense shut from the bitter sensation. The footsteps on plastic bags becomes louder; he feels as if the sharp, crackling sound could pierce his eardrums at any minute. His eyes slowly open, and a yellow blur soon becomes clear.

 

Alan: Where...am...I?

 

A voice behind Alan begins lightly laughing. Alan looks around; the stale black walls are covered in plastic sheets from ceiling to floor; the floors are laminated with plastic bags and cellophane attatched to the chair he's seated upon; and a black dufflebag to his right on the floor, half-open.

 

Voice (OS): You really did yourselves no favours in pissing Salvatore Leone off, did you?

 

Alan: Leone? Not that fa**ot again. Jeez.

 

The man's laugh comes to an abrupt end. He lunges foward and open-palm smacks Alan in the back of the head at full force. Alan's flung foward, nearly from his seat and blood explodes from his nose. The sour, sickly taste of blood quickly runs down the back of his throat - all too familiar. Angelo slowly steps around on the plastic bags, walking infront of Alan. He extends his right hand, holding a small white tissue. He dabs the blood leaking from Alan's nose and mouth and smiles.

 

Angelo: You're making an awfully big mess. Is there no way you can get out of this? After all, you were able to escape such a well-guarded prison.

 

Angelo's phone begins ringing as he slowly pulls the tissue from Alan's face and the smile is cleared once again. He loosens his fingertips and lets the tissue lightly fall to the blood covered plastic below. Sliding the phone from his jacket pocket, he answers and puts it to his ear.

 

Angelo: You don't need to call and check up on me. I'm doing it now. I wanted him to wake up first.

 

With his left hand, he pulls an automatic from the belt on his waist and puts it firmly against the top of Alan's downed head. The sound of blood dripping onto the plastic like a tap forces Alan to pull his head up before he threw up. He looks into Angelo's eyes; the pistol firmly on his forehead now.

 

Toni (OS): Sal wants to know where Tony is. Don't kill the kid. You've gotta get him to spill the location as fast as you can. He said Toreno's going to take care of him.

 

Angelo: Got it.

 

Angelo hangs up and slips the phone gently back into the jacket. He released his grip on the gun and puts the safety lock on it, then throwing it on the floor in the corner.

 

Angelo: Tony Zimmzy. Where is he?

 

Alan sluggishly closes his mouth, swallowing through the foul taste of iron, then smirking.

 

Alan: Who?

 

Angelo slowly begins laughing, keeping an almost callous, straight face looking into the eyes of the person beneath him.

 

Angelo: I guess we're gonna have to do this the hard way then, huh?

 

Alan: I guess we are.

 

Both men share a brief laugh before Angelo walks over to the dufflebag on the floor. He bends down and unzips it fully, reaching in. Alan hears metal rubbing steel, and steel on metal, before Angelo pulls out a large, metal hammer - blunted on both ends. He walks behind Alan, who looks up at him. On the window paine sits a large bottle of brandy, and next to that, a large bottle of whiskey. He grabs the whiskey and begins downing it as if it were milk.

 

Alan: What? Can't do it sober?

 

Angelo downs half the entire bottle and exhales, laughing as he does so.

 

Angelo: For what I'm about to do, no man would want to be sober. You're gonna wish I'd pulled the trigger, kid.

 

Angelo slams the bottle back on the window paine; whiskey jerking out and landing on Angelo's white cufflinks, quickly staining them an olive-brown. He begins taking long, hard strides towards and around Alan. Tensing his face from the burning liquor in the back of his mouth, he stands over Alan with the blunt hammer raised high above his head.

 

Angelo: Let's see you escape from this.

Alan calmly looks up at Angelo, with the light firmly behind him, darkening the cold expression on his face. As the hammer comes swinging down, he tenses his mouth and eyes closed.

[Sergi]

Holy sh*t this is epic. Where do you get the energy to continue a story for 2 years? How long do you plan on this being 100 chapters?

[TonyZimmzy]

Holy sh*t this is epic. Where do you get the energy to continue a story for 2 years? How long do you plan on this being 100 chapters?

I don't think it'll make it to 100. It might, I set myself a guideline for what happens in each chapter, but sometimes (actually, most of the time) that goes out the window. I can see this ending at about 93/94. You never know...

 

We're not far from the end, though. A lot of bang & burn is gonna take place from here on. sh*t's gonna blow up.

 

Gonna start working the re-write in September. Nobody will be disappointed.

[Oxidizer]

E.P.I.C.

 

Talk about arresting your audience. What a cliffhanger! Is Alan's young head smooshed? Will he survive? I... I'm speechless, and want the next chapter NAO!

 

Very. Good. Job.

[Jam!]

Alan's about to get f*cked up, lol...

 

I agree about all the epicness, can't wait for the next chapter!

[Sergi]

Is the guy in this story the same guy from the 1st story? I mean aren't they both named Alan?

Edited August 19, 2008 by Sergi

[TonyZimmzy]

Is the guy in this story the same guy from the 1st story? I mean aren't they both named Alan?

No?

 

If you're referring to the Heart City story, it's just a coincidence that both protagonists have the last name 'Wood'. They're not related in any way.

 

In the re-write, a lot of names will be changed either slightly, majorly or removed entirely. The character with my name will be removed aswell, as I don't feel it's professional to write a story with you as a main character. This started 2, 3, 4 years ago and back then I could barely string a sentence together, so I was none the wiser.

 

Thanks for the comments and support. Hope you enjoy the next chapter, which will be filled with torture. I know Oxi will.

[Oxidizer]

 

Hope you enjoy the next chapter, which will be filled with torture. I know Oxi will.

No, I won't.

 

...I'll love it!

[TonyZimmzy]

Chapter 88: Reduced To This

 

January 12th, 1996: London, England [21:45pm]

The lone figure of a well-suited man exits through the stained brown door and closes it behind him. Two men, mid-conversation walk past him; the lack of light in the cramped, shallow hallway covers the blood stained on him, head-to-toe. Straightening his tie, he casually slips his hand into his suit jacket's pocket and pulls his cell phone out. Dialing, he puts it to his ear and begins pacing down a flight of stairs, shortly behind the two men.

 

Angelo: Heading out to find a store. Outta booze and he's unconcious. Sal said anything?

 

Toni (OS): (Sighs) Toreno sold Sal out; his man headed out to find and kill Tony early this morning. Tony's out of the equation now.

 

Angelo: Then what do you want me to do?

 

Toni (OS): See if you can get the location of his cousin before Toreno does.

 

Angelo hangs up and slides the phone neatly back into his pocket, as a silence befalls the staircase. The two men glance behind them at Angelo, seeing the dark red covering his shirt and neck. They both press themselves up against the graffiti-covered baige wall and let him pass. He shoves his way outside of the block of flats' front door and a downpour shatters into his body, draining the colour of Alan's blood to a dull pink.

 

 

January 12th, 1996: Pagan City, Rome [14:19pm]

Johnny pulls up to a large, dome-shaped building, with large reflective windows stretching from the entry doors right to the top, as the burning sunlight mirrors into everyone's vision, forcing them to shield their eyes as they step out of the car. Tony steps out from the passenger seat and closes the door of the Rancher. Marci and Powel both exit from the back, followed by Johnny from the driver's side after turning the engine off. Tony breathes in, looking up at the large complex, then turns his attention to Powel.

 

Tony: So this is the place he's throwing in for the coke? This is pretty amazing.

 

Powel: Don't be fooled until we take a step inside, Tony.

 

Powel extends his hand and nods his head, pushing Tony towards the door. He walks along the smooth, perfect concrete and pushes the dark blue double doors open by the silver handles and steps inside. His vision is flooded with run down shops, broken windows; splinters inching up from the wooden floor with rats scattering in and out of them.

 

Tony: Jesus. This place'll need some work - but I think I can turn it into a little earner.

 

Powel: I'll give him a call and let him know you'll take it. The other buyer hasn't stated a time or place, so this should be fairly easy for us, okay?

 

Tony: Sounds good.

 

Powel steps aside, letting his daughter and Johnny walk through. Upon seeing the inside, Johnny bursts out laughing, slapping his knee just to ease the pain his lungs are causing him. Tony turns to face him, smiling.

 

Tony: What's so funny? You're gonna help me clean this sh*t up.

 

Johnny: What?! f*ck that! I'm only out here for the babes, booze and money. Sh*t, I'll head back to sunny ol' London before I get aids from steppin' on some junkie's needle in this dump.

 

Tony: Fine, you aren't seein' a penny from this.

 

Johnny: You'll be lucky to make a penny, Tony.

 

Powel re-enters, putting his phone back in his pocket. He puts his brown shades on, matching the dark shade of hawaiian shirt he's sporting. He smiles in Tony's direction.

 

Powel: Right, we'll be heading to his house at three sharp tomorrow. I suggest you take these two out for a night on the town, sweetie.

 

Marci scoffs and shakes her head, walking back outside and towards the car. Powel laughs and shrugs.

 

Powel: Women, right?

 

Tony: Right.

 

Johnny: Agreed.

 

The three men share in a laugh before exiting the run-down shopping mall and closing the doors behind them.

 

 

January 12th, 1996: Pagan City, Rome [21:09pm]

As the pounding techno beat shimmers through the slightly open windows of the slick silver Sentinel, Marci easily reverses into a parking spot, as green and red strobes light up the brooding pink sky from the club infront of them. In the back seat, Johnny unbuckles his seatbelt, and in the front alongside Marci, Tony does the same. In a creamy baige suit and cornflower blue shirt underneath, Tony stretches his legs out of the door and stands up, breathing in the aroma of perfume and deodorant of male and female party-goers. In a dark teal suit and crimson red shirt, Johnny exits the car, smiling and taking in the sights of beautiful women outside of the club. Marci, in a silk silver dress slams her door shut and presses the lock button on her keys.

 

Johnny: So you said you actually have a VIP lounge of this place booked out every single night of every single year?

 

Marci: That's correct. It's a good life, Johnny.

 

They each cross the street together and approach the circular stairset leading up to the black front doors, crowded with bouncers in strictly black. One bouncer smiles upon seeing Marci and steps aside from the entrance door, as she smiles back, then tugs on the rough silver handle, and as the door is opened, Tony and Johnny are blasted by the pulse-jolting techno and surround sound. As they step inside, Johnny's eyes are glued to every woman he sees as he follows behind Tony and Marci.

 

Marci: You know, I knew you looked familiar, but it wasn't until I looked you up on the Internet did I find out just how familiar you were.

 

Tony directs himself away from Marci's side and walks down a crystal-like stairset and towards the dance floor, where cloudy white smoke shrouds all the revellers on the buzzing dance floor; multi-coloured lights under their feet give them enough vision along with the red and green strobes to keep dancing to the overwhelming music. Tony heads directly for the bar, as Marci watches on from the metallic bars on the walking area above. On the outside of the club, the bouncers are hugging their arms to their bodies tightly, as the wind picks up and rain begins to lightly spit. A black Regina pulls up at the foot of the stairs, as the bouncers begin looking at it.

 

Bouncer: (Yells) Hey, buddy, the parking lot is across the street. You can't park there.

 

The door opens as a man with sandy blonde hair and a gotee steps out. He's wearing a large black overcoat and has rectangular specs on, along with black boots and what appear to be black trousers, as the overcoat ends at the knee. He begins walking up the steps.

 

Bouncer: (Yells) Look, the business district is across the other side of town, nerd. Get your sh*t and get the f*ck outta here before we make you.

 

The man is blocked off by the bouncer as he looks up at him - clearly a foot and a half taller than him, aswell as two times as wide. The man who was at the right-hand-side of Mike Toreno doesn't flinch, and his stainless, acrylic cobalt blue eyes fixate solely on the bouncer's.

 

Bouncer: Unless you're on the list, you ain't getting in here, pal.

 

The man known only as Caine looks at the other three bouncers before focusing back on the one infront of him.

 

Caine: Check the list.

 

The bouncer reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a sheet of paper and then looks back down to the man infront of him.

 

Bouncer: Name?

 

Caine: You can just call me Angel Face.

 

Without the bouncer seeing or feeling any motion, the soft silenced barrell of a 9mm pistol is pressed firmly against his chest, and Toreno's personal hitman pulls the trigger twice, as the remaining bouncers begin charging for him. In a swift, calculated motion, he ducks a fist that flies towards him and shoots a bouncer in the back of the neck. Grabbing ahold of the bouncer before he falls, he uses the leverage to spin around and fire two shots into the two remaining bouncers' chests. He lets the bouncer he's holding fall to the ground, then pulls on the doors of the club and disappears into the darkness inside.

 

 

January 12th, 1996: London, England [22:28pm]

Swiging straight from the bottle of crystal vodka, Angelo's keys rattle as he shoves one in the lock of the door. Twisting it and taking a second mouthful of the now-half-empty bottle, he pushes his way into the darkened room, where his captive is tied to a chair, dripping with sweat and blood. Alan's head is hung low and his chin is close to his beating chest. His face is covered in swelling bruises, blood and gashes. Angelo takes his drenched black coat off, stumbling back slightly. Alan uses a remainder of strength to lift his head up and look at his tormentor.

 

Alan: Looks like a storm's brewing out there, huh?

 

Angelo passively walks past him, snarling at the question. Washing the sore at the back of his mouth once more with another swig from the bottle, he bends down, picking up a mousetrap from the cellophane-tarped floor. Walking back around to face Alan, whose head is hanging once again, he reaches down and grips ahold of Alan's nose, clenching it with his hand and pulling his head up, as Alan chokes and gasps for air from his blistered mouth.

 

Angelo: You've got a lot of sh*t to say, but never anything I want to hear.

 

As Alan stares up with hazy eyes, Angelo's calm state switches and he grabs ahold of Alan's cheeks with thumb and index finger, squeezing them inward.

 

Angelo: Tony's as good as dead. If you tell us where your cousin is, you have my word that you'll be spared.

 

Angelo eases the tension pressing on Alan's cheeks as he swallows hard, then attempts to muster a smile.

 

Alan: I don't have a cousin.

 

Angelo's grip is released, and as soon after, he grabs ahold of Alan's tongue with such force that the chair is pulled foward as Angelo yanks hard on it.

 

Angelo: You don't wanna talk? Then atleast now you'll have merit as to why you won't talk.

 

Alan's heart races as sweat fuses with the dry blood on his face, running down and onto Angelo's hand. Angelo presses the mousetrap easily on Alan's tongue. Alan desperately tries to move his head from side to side, slurring his cries as Angelo releases the clasp and the cold, jagged metal pierces into Alan's tongue, instantly drawing blood and forcing the nerves at the bottom to be torn against his bloodstained teeth. Angelo walks behind Alan and picks the bottle of vodka back up, as the blood running from Alan's mouth and hitting the plastic-wrapped floor mimics the rain crashing into the streets outside. Angelo puts the bottle's neck to his lips as his body trembles and shakes, hearing the splatters of blood on the lamination. He closes his eyes and tenses them shut as he begins downing mouthful after mouthful, blocking Alan's muffled and futile cries for help out.

Edited September 6, 2008 by TonyZimmzy

[Oxidizer]

All I can say is that it was definitely worth the short intermission.

 

You got the arrival of Caine, my favorite corporate killer, you got the fit-as-f*ck Johnny clubbing, and you got Angelo, a rather complex torture technician extracting some painful info from Alan. This has it all!

 

I can't wait for more and to see where this is going. 'Specially to know how Alan gets out of Angelo's vicious clutches.

 

Stellar job, Agent Zimmzy.

[Jam!]

Awesome chapter. I like how there was a lot of detail, just like a book.

[TonyZimmzy]

Chapter 89: Requiem

 

January 12th, 1996: London, England [22:47pm]

As thunder trembles through the darkened room, Angelo stumbles into the door, looking down at a bloodied Alan. Dropping the empty vodka bottle on the floor, he keeps himself held up by gripping the doorknob. The mousetrap has fallen to the floor, and a vary of tools and weapons sit on the shrink-tarped wooden floors - coated in and around Alan's blood. As Angelo pulls on the doorknob, a brief hint of light is soaked up into Alan's warped vision, accompanied by water leaking through the door and into the room; the shimmers of bulbs in the hallway tingle Alan's burning eyes, as he watches Angelo step out of the room.

 

Angelo: Let's see you break out of this one, Wood.

 

As Alan's vision darkens, he hears the door's closing bounce off the plastic-coated walls of the room. His heartbeat dulls and his arms become numb as he takes in a deep breath through the taste of iron emanating from his wide open mouth. Red slowly drips like a leaky tap from the severed nerves under his bloody tongue. The only light in the room keeping Alan's sight from turning black is shining reflectively off a small silver object near the door with every strike of lightning from the window behind him. As another roar of thunder rips through his ears, a jolt of lightning is followed slightly behind as Alan focuses on the shining object, revealing it to be Angelo's pair of keys. Alan looks down at the withered plastic and tape on the legs of the chair holding it to the ground from where Angelo clawed and ripped at Alan's tongue and he begins pushing his weight foward, bringing the chair on the front two legs. He shifts his weight to the right and pulls up the left leg, and the right leg collapses under the weight of Alan's body and he crashes down onto the blood soaked plastic. Pushing his lips firmly to the sheets of cellophane, he begins crawling along the floor; digging his teeth in and biting down to maintain a steady grip, inch-by-inch, he makes it over to the keys and exhales heavily, closing his eyes and resting his head beside them as his sweat and blood begin mixing with the cool water that's soaking in from under the door.

 

 

January 12th, 1996: Pagan City, Rome [21:32pm]

Slamming a bill on the counter of the bar, a glass is placed infront of Tony. The elegantly dressed blonde haired woman behind the bar picks the money up, giving a soft smile to Tony as she turns away. Grabbing the glass and downing the liquid inside in a single gulp, he sees a girl sit next to him at the crowded bar. Without making it too obvious, he begins staring at her; checking out her slim figure and long, silky brown hair. As she looks at him, he turns his head away as she playfully laughs and then taps him on the shoulder. Without turning back around, Tony stares up on the balcony with a shock of disbelief on his face. His lips slowly begin to part from being closed as he uses the weight of his right hand on the bar to push himself up, as he stands up, not moving his eyes.

 

Tony: What the f*ck?

 

Tony quickly looks to his left, seeing Johnny exiting the staircase and heading towards the buzzing dancefloor. As the dark haired beauty gives up on trying to get his attention, he shoots off and pushes through the dozens of revellers. He puts his right hand in the air, trying to signal for Johnny.

 

Tony: (Yells) Johnny, we've gotta get outta here!

 

Johnny: (Gently pushes past a male dancer and smiles upon seeing Tony) Finally feel like dancing, huh?

 

Tony pushes through a male and female dancing, knocking the man over and grips Johnny by the forearm, leaning in towards him, then looking back up at the balcony, seeing Caine staring from left to right, slowly inching his way towards the staircase.

 

Tony: We've gotta get outta here; that's Mike Toreno's personal hitman. I don't know how, but he's found me. Where's Marci?

 

Johnny: She's upstairs.

 

Tony: Come on.

 

Tony pulls Johnny through the dancefloor, shoving in and out of people as they both continue focusing on the man hovering the staircase above. Reaching a pillar, Tony rests his back up against it, then looks at Johnny.

 

Tony: I want you to walk up the staircase the second you see him walking down it, block him off and give me time to find a way out and up to the second floor and find her.

 

Johnny: And how long've I got until this 'hitman' puts a bullet in my brain?

 

Tony: Don't be silly, he won't risk doing something crazy like that infront of all these people.

 

A shot is fired and the entire dancefloor begins to panic, as the lit-up chandelier hung high above connected to the structures on the ceiling cracks and shardes of glass begin plumetting down, ripping through the flesh and clothes of men and women as the multi-coloured disco-like floor soon turns completely red. Caine stands on the top step of the case, with arm pointing upward and gun-in-hand.

 

Caine: (Yells) Until you come out, more and more people are about to die. The body count is on your head, Tony.

 

Johnny: I thought you said he wouldn't do something drastic!

 

Tony: The guy's a f*cking psychopath. Stay here.

 

As another shot is fired, a body slams hard into the stale, warm floor next to Johnny, as Tony begins running underneath the balcony. Caine puts his left foot foward and begins walking down the stairs. He stares down at Johnny, who stands calmly by the large silver pillar. He aims the gun at him, as the revellers rush past him in every direction.

 

Caine: You. (Looks around) I see everybody else running, but you. Tell me where Tony is.

 

Marci rushes towards Caine and shoves him. The force is enough to wobble his balance, but not enough to cause him to fall. Turning around, he swings his gun at her, striking her in the side of her head, knocking her down and twisting her arm on the stairs. As she screams in pain, he turns back to Johnny, who's now gone. Caine begins aiming at random revellers, firing shots with a straight face and pushing his left foot hard into Marci's ankle, keeping her in place.

 

Caine: Miss. Merquiete, I'm not through with you yet.

 

 

January 12th, 1996: London, England [23:28pm]

Blood claws to Alan's suit as the rain drenches his battered and now-scarred body. Free, and outside of his hellacious 'prison cell', he uses all the strength in his body to grip ahold of a metal guard rail, as cars pass by, splashing him with mucky, discoloured rain water that has been sitting, clogged on the edge of a curb for possibly hours. As the explosive gusts force Alan's movement to be weighted backwards, he arches foward continuously, trying to escape in the dark winter night. Dropping to one knee and desperately trying to catch his breath, he looks over his wounds. A glowing green in a shallow puddle catches his eye. Blinking hard, he turns his head to the left, hearing his neck crack as he looks across the busy road at a pharmacy. Crawling along the pavement and into the road, cars begin swerving to avoid his sluggish body. Headlights blinding him as he digs his nails into the rough gravel and pulls himself across the road. Inside the pharmacy, the clerk sees him on all fours, slowly heading towards the door.

 

Clerk: (Runs out from behind the counter and out into the storm, screaming) Kid, what the hell happened?! You can't be out in this storm; it's dangerous!

 

The clerk helps Alan up to his feet, then begins dragging his limp body into the store. Closing the door behind him, he props Alan's body on the chair beside it.

 

Clerk: Son, tell me what...

 

The clerk's face turns pale upon realizing who the teenager in his store is. Forcing the saliva in his mouth down his throat, he quickly reaches for the telephone on the counter next to the register.

 

Alan: I wouldn't do that.

 

Alan's words slurring slightly, the clerk turns around to see Alan holding a small piece of jagged metal in his left hand. The clerk slowly pulls his reach away from the phone and backs away from it. Alan's knees tremble as he stands up.

 

Alan: I'm gonna need you to take a look at these wounds, and then give me exactly what I need to get healthy again. Got it?

 

The clerk silently mouths a 'yes', slowly nodding his head, isolated by fear.

 

 

January 12th, 1996: Pagan City, Rome [22:26pm]

Caine boots the back door of the club open, as sirens begin erupting a few miles away. Gripping in his left hand he holds a pistol, and in his right, Marci by the back of her head as she screams, ripping at the skin of the assassin's hand that clasps her hair. He smiles as he sees a green Rancher pull up. Aiming the gun towards the vehicle, the door opens up, and Powel slowly exits out with his hands in the air from the driver's side. Caine tenses his arm and shoves Marci to the floor below, then cocks the gun, aiming it down at the back of her head as she breathes the dirt in from the ground.

 

Powel: (Yells) Let her go! She's done no harm to you! It's Tony you want!

 

Caine: (Smiles) It's always nice to have contacts in the right places, Mr. Merquiete. You know what you have to do.

 

Powel nods his head, inching closer to Caine and his daughter, as Caine pulls a cloth and a pair of thin leather gloves from inside of his jacket, and begins rubbing the gun clean. Popping its clip out, he puts it in the coat's pocket, then throws the empty gun over to Powel. Scrapping along the rough floor of the alley, it stops by his feet. He bends down, picking the gun up, rubbing it all over.

 

Caine: Good. (Pulls a glove on, tightly) Just as we agreed on the phone. Toss it back over.

 

Powel throws the gun back over, as Caine catches it in his disguised hands. Pulling the clip back out of his pocket, he reloads the gun.

 

Caine: Viciously slaying dozens and dozens of somewhat-innocent men and women in a nightclub, then killing his only daughter. The weight of that then forced him to take his own life before being caught.

 

Powel: (Screams) Wait a minute, you said you'd let her go!

 

Caine: I'm very good at what I do, Mr. Merquiete.

 

As Caine shoves the clip back in the base of the pistol, the Rancher's tires begin burning a hole in the floor, then speeding foward with an immense reverberation. As Powel grabs ahold of his daughter, Caine looks up at the heavy-set car coming right for them. Aiming the gun at the windscreen of the car, he fires directly above the wheel and through the windscreen. Powel grips Marci tightly and throws her out of the way, as Caine shoves Powel backwards and into the Rancher. Powel's body is flung over the hood, as the Rancher then strikes into Caine's body aswell. Both men are thrown over the top of the car, as it swerves towards the fire exit double doors before crashing. Marci, coughing violently, looks over at her father, who lies beside her with his eyes wide open and blood seaping from his ear. A lone figure slowly walks down the dimly-lit alleyway, as sirens close in all around the area now. Marci looks over to the Rancher, seeing the driver's door open, and Johnny's body hanging out; the bone in his neck ripped through the skin, and blood running from his fingertips which hover gently above the ground, with a single bullet wound in the back of his head. As the tall, dark figure draws closer to her, she turns her head to Caine, who is trying to stand to his feet, but can't muster the strength to hold himself up. The lone figure stops above Caine and looks down at him. The darkened silhouette of the tall, well-dressed man extending his arm foward is seen, with a silver automatic 9mm pistol glaring from the sickly yellow streetlights in his hand. A single shot echoes off the walls of the alley, as Caine's body goes limp. The figure turns to Marci and extends his hand, as she slowly stands up and grips ahold of it tightly, squeezing it with all her might.

[Oxidizer]

Phenomenal. Simply just.

 

Caine's coming into play was one of the awesomest entrances ever. Epic! I'm speechless. Apart from to say that the Alan/Angelo stuff is some of my favorite stuff.

[Jam!]

Caine is was awesome. And I see Alan's finally free. This story is still greatness.

[TonyZimmzy]

This is the build-up to the final chapter, which will be rather...umm...large. The next chapter posted shall be the last chapter. So enjoy, and thanks.

 

-

 

Chapter 90: Fire/Water

 

January 12th, 1996: Pagan City, Rome [23:20pm]

Marci Merqueite shivers and trembles on the cold leather armchair of her now-deceased father's living room. Infront of her on the table is an empty shot glass, and behind her, Tony eases his aching muscles and slips his suit jacket off, letting it fall to the floor. Reaching over a silver automatic on the table, he grabs a bottle of whiskey and unscrews the lid. Sighing, he turns around and leans over an uneasy Marci, tipping the bottle and placing the neck on the edge of the glass, as the whiskey crashes into the bottom, hitting the sides until it's full.

 

Marci: Leave the bottle.

 

Marci looks down at her legs which are pinched tightly together to keep herself warmer. Tony puts the bottle on the glass table and sits on the arm of the chair, rubbing her back. Looking out the large-stretch window to the glowing orange moon outside, his eyes water as he begins to speak.

 

Tony: I really wish I could rewind time. Rewind it back to May of last year, when things all turned to sh*t. If not that, I wish I could rewind it back to September. Or even December. I wish I could've saved my best friend. I wish I could've saved Johnny tonight, aswell as your father. Their deaths are all my fault; it was my plan. I am truly sorry.

 

Marci stays silent, as Tony gently caresses her shoulder before pulling away and standing up. Putting his hands in his pockets and looking down at the floor, he slowly walks out from the living room, leaving Marci with tears and mascara streaming down her soft, silky cheeks.

 

Tony: It's time to make right from everything that's gone wrong...

 

 

January 12th, 1996: London, England [23:33pm]

Angelo stands alone in the makeshift prison cell where his captive has vanished, leaving speckles of blood trailing towards and outside the front door. Smashing the full bottle of vodka in his hands against the wall and shredding the skin on his palm, he grits his teeth and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket with his clean hand. Dialing and putting it to his ear, he gets a response quickly.

 

Angelo: Toni, he got out. I don't know how the f*ck he could've got out, but he did.

 

Toni (OS): sh*t. I ask you to do one simple f*cking thing, Angelo. Get over to his mansion and I'll meet you there. Find him and kill him; it's time we wrapped things up here.

 

Angelo: Got it.

 

Exhausting the motion of putting his phone away yet again after a call with Toni, he storms out of the room, leaving the door wide open and reaches behind his back, pulling out a slick black 9mm automatic pistol and gripping it tightly as he charges down the murky staircase.

 

 

January 13th, 1996: London, England [00:51am]

Sharply skidding the tires of the black Sentinel across the smooth tarmac, Angelo switches the ignition off and steps out of the car, seeing Toni's Sentinel pulling up, hammered by the rain. Infront of them both lies Alan's vacant mansion. Toni steps out of his car and walks over to Angelo as the dark storm rages above them in the sky. The brutal wind blows Toni's gray suit jacket as he walks across the road and stops infront of Angelo, holding a black briefcase in his right hand at his side.

 

Angelo: Place looks deserted. Plan of action?

 

Toni: If he really were in there, do you think he'd have the lights on? It's time to wrap things up and get to Los Santos and begin looking for the others. Here. (Passes the briefcase to Angelo and begins walking back towards his car) Take care of the house and I'll meet you at the airport in just over an hour.

 

Angelo watches as Toni marches through the rain which shatters down on his body and back to his car. Walking towards cover under a nearby tree, he unclips the briefcase and looks inside, revealing several grenades. Looking back in Toni's direction, he watches as the Sentinel pulls away and begins driving down the street. Angelo clips the briefcase back up and begins taking strides through the heavy rain and up to the foot of Alan's mansion, scanning it over with his eyes as he stands in place. Hearing the ring of his phone barely over the rain clattering down all around him, he takes it out and puts it to his ear once again.

 

Angelo: What now, Toni?

 

Voice (OS): You know who this is?

 

Angelo pauses for a moment, turning away from the mansion and looking down at the ground. His gums swolen from the alcohol, his vision still fresh to the wounds he vendered to his captive - and the voice to that captive still ringing in his ears before the phone call.

 

Angelo: Where are you, Alan? We're going to end this before sun-up either way.

 

Alan (OS): You're right, this is ending. Just like Sal and Toreno's little games they're playing. This all ends January 13th, 1996. Judgment Day.

 

Angelo: The location, you good-for-nothing piece'a sh*t! Giuro su mia madre ceneri! Now!

 

Alan (OS): Yellow Box, Industrial Way. Three hours, Angelo Munas.

 

Angelo: You think you're smarter than me?! Is that what you think?! Answer me, you f*cking peasant!

 

The crumpled static bearing Alan's words dies as silence befalls Angelo's ears. The rain to his senses have stopped. All he has in them are his chance to put an end to this and earn ranks of Capo in the Leone family mafia. Quickly unlatching the briefcase, he pulls out a grenade and yanks the pin out with his gritted-together teeth and launches it directly into an open window above and then drops the briefcase on the floor, letting the grenades pour out and roll across the mucky, soaked pavement. As half the entire estate is blown out, Angelo walks away from the deafening blast and towards his Sentinel. Getting in and quickly pulling away, he takes out his phone and dials.

 

 

January 13th, 1996: London, England [04:05am]

Towering heavily over his small-in-comparison body, the magnitude of the large, desolate-looking warehouse is enough to send chills down Angelo's spine. With the rain ceasing, and the wind picking up a brutal force, he locks his car door and quickly jogs towards the entrance door of Yellow Box. Pushing through the doors labelled with 'NO ENTRY' and 'DANGER!' signs, he's engulfed with the stench of urine, feces and the stale backdraft that only a hospital ward can administer. Putting the loaded 9mm pistol infront of his drenched black suit, he steps further into the warehouse. The only sound within is the claws of rats' feet scattering the stale, hard concrete.

 

Angelo: This definitely suits a piece'a sh*t like you, Wood. You a coward? Show yourself.

 

Alan (OS): This place has a lot of memories buried in it, Munas. There're two reasons I chose this place over anywhere else to do this. Wish to hear them?

 

Angelo: No.

 

Alan (OS): The first reason is that I know this entire building by eye and memory; this is my father's building before he was killed last May.

 

Angelo: Big f*ckin' deal. Come on already. At least I got the guts to do this face to face.

 

Alan (OS): And the second reason...

 

Alan's voice lingers behind Angelo's ear. Sharply turning around and aiming the gun infront of him, he sees nothing but the door in which he entered from a few moments ago.

 

Alan (OS): Because I've used this method before.

 

The voice flutters behind Angelo of where he was staring at before turning around. Turning around as quickly as possible, he hears the clang of metal on metal, and his face is tarped by boiling hot steam stemming from the boiler which Alan just turned on. His scream so violent and short-lived, Angelo's now-faceless body thuds against the floor and his gun slides across the smooth concrete; his skull the only thing visable on eye-contact with the once-feared solider of the Leone crime syndicate. Alan slowly walks out from behind the boiler, bandaged and weakened, he bends down and grips ahold of Angelo's burning red neck and leans foward, staring into the empty eye sockets as he shivers - not by the fear or inhumanity of what he's just done, but of the cold water that still clings to his body and clothes in the burning-like-fire room. Angelo's phone begins ringing. Reaching into his jacket's pocket, Alan pulls it out and answers it.

 

Toni (OS): You kill the kid?

 

Alan: The kid killed him.

 

Alan tosses the phone across the large warehouse with such force that it reaches the wall a hundred meters away and shatters upon impact. His own phone begins to ring. Reaching into his scuffed jacket's pocket, he takes it out and answers it.

 

Alan: I'm a little busy at the moment.

 

Voice (OS): You're gonna want to hear what I've got to say, Alan...

[Oxidizer]

What a brutal series of deaths this story's offered in the last two chapters; I forgot to mention Johnny and Caine's demise last time. And now Angelo! That was sick.

 

I'm hyped for the final chapter and I'm intrigued and dreading what's in store. A bad storm is coming...

 

[Jam!]

Another great chapter. Alan is one mean mofo: that's crazy how he shivered because he was cold and not because he just melted Angelo's face off. Can't wait for the final chapter.

[TonyZimmzy]

And on this exact date two years ago, I started posting this story. And on this exact date four years ago, I started writing the even rougher version of it. Happy Birthday to this story, and with that note, it's time to lay it to rest. This is the last chapter before I begin writing the final version. Thanks to all who've enjoyed it, and hopefully you enjoy the new version I write soon. OVER & OUT.

 

-

 

Chapter 91: Gangster

 

January 13th, 1996: Pagan City, Rome [09:32am]

The sun in the open sky hangs high above Pagan City International. Pushing his way through the glass double doors and stepping through a metal detector, Alan's still-fresh wounds burn up in the intense Italian heat. Dressed in a baggy brown long sleeve T-shirt and dark jeans, he looks around briefly before locking his eyes to his left. Across the road from him and leaning on a metal fishnet fence is Tony, with his arms folded in a tight white T-shirt; the immense sweat emanating from his entire body causing it to see right through to a thick white vest on underneath. Suited in almost the exact same jeans, only lighter, he pushes off of the fence and the two embrace a hug. Only separated for less than two days, for each man those hours felt an eternity.

 

Alan: (Pulls away) So you're definitely certain the son of a bitch is here in Pagan City?

 

Tony: (Begins walking across the street with Alan shortly behind him) Oh, I'm certain. Last night I found out from an associate of mine that he's here in Pagan City and is only using his stay as a transition while his way off the map for good is set up. He leaves today after one meeting where all he has to do is sign a single document.

 

Alan: And how do you know all of this? I thought you came over here to get away from this.

 

Tony: (Stops in his tracks, just before arriving at a taxi rink and turns back to Alan) It's time we made this right. We've lost so many friends, innocent people and things that can never be brought back. And it's all because of him.

 

Alan: We take GT down today.

 

Tony gives a straight-faced, solid nod to Alan before gripping ahold of a taxi's back door and stepping inside, with Alan following behind.

 

 

January 13th, 1996: Pagan City, Rome [10:58am]

Stepping through the automatic doors to a building, Tony and Alan both stand at the entrance. In front of them are men and women, dressed mostly formal but a few casual like themselves. The room is large in width at the front and stretches back, with a fountain to their left and receptionist desk ahead. Tony stares down at the fountain for a few moments before glancing over at the desk a few meters foward.

 

Tony: Just let me handle the talking. Wait here; we aren't stopping anyway.

 

Taking a few short strides on the speckless marble floor, he stares down at the receptionist, who has a headset tightly pushing her fiery red hair down over her head. After finishing talking into the small foam microphone in front of her mouth she looks up at Tony and places her arms neatly on the sand coloured desk.

 

Tony: I'm inquiring about the room my associate phoned up about earlier this morning. Room 312, under the name Merquiete.

 

Receptionist: Ah, yes, the one overlooking the Hammersmith Stadium. Going to be an amazing show there tonight. So, are you planning to admire it from afar?

 

Tony: That depends who I'm with. (Places his forarms on the hi-top counter and leans foward, smiling) What time do you finish work today?

 

Receptionist: I finish at seven; it's a double shift. Are you ... asking me to come up to the room and view it with you?

 

Tony: That depends. I'm on a rather busy schedule for this evening. How about you come upto the room at say, six forty-five? You might be in for a nice suprise. It all depends if you'd risk leaving fifteen minutes prior to finishing.

 

Receptionist: I've always wanted to live dangerously. (Smiles) Here are your keys to the room and your keys to access the parking facility. I'll see you later tonight, sugar.

 

Tony smiles as he takes the two keycards from her palm, leaving his hand resting on hers for a few moments afterwards; piercing her deep brown eyes with his oceanic blues'. Turning around, he walks back over to Alan and takes his phone out of his pocket.

 

Tony: Time to get moving. (Dials as the doors open up for them and they both walk outside) Marci, I've got the room. You'll have a fifteen minute window to get it set up before the receptionist leaves her post for too long.

 

Marci (OS): You expect me to get something like that in there in fifteen minutes? You're outta your mind. All I can do is try, Tony.

 

Tony: And the car?

 

Marci (OS): Level two of the parking lot. Keys are in the trash directly behind it. Remember, he catches his flight at eight, and he won't be hanging around.

 

Tony: I know. I've got it taken care of. Trust me.

 

Tony hangs the phone up as he picks his pace up. Alan jogs along the pavement to catch up and begins walking alongside Tony. Stopping infront of a large steel garage, Tony puts the plain white card against a slot on the wall. A blip flashes green and the garage opens up.

 

Alan: (Follows Tony inside) So you gonna fill me in on the details or what, then? You haven't told me sh*t and I'm starting to think this is all a waste of time.

 

Tony: Gary is transfering $875,000 to an account somewhere in Switzerland. If that happens, he's as good as gone forever. We will never, ever have another chance like this. Marci, my associate is a personal accountant, and luck would have it that she has a reputation for dealing with under-the-table transfers, so Taylor came to her. Everything thus far is going to plan. A little luck and faith will get us to where we need to be at seven tonight.

 

Alan: Excuse me for not having much faith in this plan or God lately, but for the past six days I've been sent to an above-supermax level prison in London where I've nearly lost my life, spent the second worst day of my life in that place and thought I was going to die from exhaustion, then after getting out I had to stay out by running errands for a whacko mobboss who had so many enemies that then came after me. I was tortured to near-death not even a full day ago and I feel as if I'm going to pass out at any moment. The only person who kept me sane was Johnny. Where is Johnny anyway?

 

Reaching into the trashbag, Tony grabs the keys and walks over to a black Washington. Putting the key in the lock, Alan grabs him and looks him in the eye.

 

Alan: Where's Johnny at?

 

Tony: Johnny died last night after Toreno's assassin cornered us. It makes me sick to say this, but it was my fault he died.

 

Tony opens the door up and Alan stands shocked for a moment. Gravity pulls his jaw wide open and he puts his hands on his head and turns around, facing the dull, concrete wall. Tony closes the door and puts his hands on his sides and bites down on his bottom lip, staring down at the ground.

 

Tony: A lot of bad stuff's happened that needs to be put right. The past can't be erased but it'll get easier as time goes on.

 

Alan: We're here right now because some son of a bitch murdered my parents and I had to go live in Los Santos. If I never came here, we never would've met GT, or Leone, or Toreno. What're we supposed to do about Toreno and Leone after this?

 

Tony: (Opens the door back up as Alan turns around, putting his hands down at his sides) They'll get theirs in time. Everyone gets theirs in time, bro. We've lost so much, we can't afford to lose ourselves or each other now. You said it yourself earlier, 'let's take GT down'. Are you in?

 

Alan: (Walks around the opposite side of the car and opens the door, looking over the roof at Tony) I'm in. This one's for Johnny.

 

 

January 13th, 1996: Pagan City, Rome [12:14pm]

Coming off of the busy afternoon motorway, Tony lets the car easily roll down a slight hill and towards the town market. Vibrant with peasant workers and flea markets ahead, he signals the indicator right and turns. On the left there are cars along a large strip of land, all priced and labelled, with a large building behind them. Tony stops the car and looks at Alan as his phone rings.

 

Tony: Okay, you remember what you've gotta do, right? Distract the rental seller long enough for me to pull the ol' switcheroo. (Takes out his phone and answers it) What is it, Marci?

 

Marci (OS): Not good news is what. GT's on the move and he's pushing the signing up for 14:00 sharp.

 

Tony: What? Stall him, tell him you have other clients, anything. We're not ready yet.

 

Marci (OS): He's on his way over to the Empire suite right now. There's nothing I can do. He said his flight's been moved down to 15:10. I'm sorry, Tony.

 

Tony: Right, I need you to set the room up now then. I'm gonna leave my friend in charge of this, I'm heading back over there now. I just hope I'm not too late.

 

Marci (OS): How're you meant to pull this off in under two hours?

 

Tony: (Stares over at Alan) Sometimes you've just gotta have a little faith and prayer. (Puts the phone away) Change of plans, I'm gonna have to leave you to think of a way to get this car in there and get out with the other one. (Presses a button on the mile-counter) I'm gonna have to hope that this works now.

 

Alan: What am I supposed to do? How am I meant to get this car in there and get out with the other one?

 

Tony: You planned a prison break in under twenty-four hours, you can get this in there in under thirty minutes. Meet me at this address. (Hands Alan a note then gets out) Good luck.

 

As a taxi sluggishly pulls its way through the busy street, Tony runs around the front of the Washington and pulls out a 9mm pistol from behind his waist tucked into his jeans and aims it at the driver, who stops the car. Ripping the door open, he grabs the driver as men and women from the rental dealership begin running towards him. Alan watches them scatter from the building and he puts his foot on the pedal.

 

 

January 13th, 1996: Pagan City, Rome [12:46pm]

Skidding the hijacked taxi to a hault on the smooth tarmac infront of the Rufford Arms hotel, Marci watches from outside of the building as Tony steps out and slams the door shut. Sirens are heard a few miles away as she walks over to him, carrying a large black bag in her right hand by its strap. He tucks the pistol behind his back once again and breathes heavily as he smiles at Marci.

 

Tony: Plenty of time. (Walks past her and inside the hotel's automatic doors once again) Hey.

 

The receptionist looks up as Tony quickly walks over. She smiles and hangs her telephone conversation up instantly and leans foward, pushing her chest up in her low-cut, revealing turquoise blouse as much as possible.

 

Receptionist: To what do I owe the pleasure?

 

Tony: I was thinking, maybe I could get to know you a little better by taking you out for lunch. I'm guessing it must be around one, right?

 

Receptionist: Sorry, hun. Just got back from lunch. Now I'm working all the way through. But if you want to get to know me better, how about you meet me in the storage closet around the corner in two minutes?

 

The receptionist licks her smooth rose-covered lips and stares Tony in the eye, leaving her mouth open slightly as Tony smiles and begins walking past the desk and towards the closet. Outside, Marci watches through the glass automatic doors as the receptionist stands up from her desk and walks towards the closet which Tony just entered into. Quickly stepping on the large green pad which looks to be cemented into the floor, the doors open up and she runs inside, gripping tightly at the large black bag.

 

 

January 13th, 1996: Pagan City, Rome [13:35pm]

Three sets of black Washingtons pull up outside of a large hotel building. Inside the first Washington, two well-dressed African-American men step out, buttoning their suit jackets as they do so. In the one furthest behind, two well-dressed African-American men step out, these two wearing sunglasses matching their seemless black suits and white shirts without ties. One casually-dressed African-American steps out from the back, holding firmly in his hands a Mac10 semi-automatic pistol. Inside of the middle car, a large well-suited African-American steps out from the driver's side and buttons up his suit jacket before opening the back door. Stepping out in a creamy-baige suit jacket, with a black under shirt and light jeans is Gary 'GT' Taylor. Being escorted around by his hired security, he stops infront of the automatic doors and places his feet on the green pad as they open up. The casually-dressed man stops GT before going in.

 

GT: 'Sup, Kabel?

Kabel: Lettin' ya' know that me 'n Alpha gonna wait out here while you handle yo' business up there, aiight?

 

GT: Ye', s'cool. C'mon.

 

GT leads the way of two of the well-dressed men without the glasses, and the large man who drove his car here. Taking long strides through the lobby and clearly making all the guests and visitors uneasy by their presence, they stop at a stainless steel elevator door. GT presses the button and they immediately split down the middle and open up. Stepping inside along with his armed guards, he presses a button and they close. GT turns to face his driver and looks up at him, towering over GT, who is abnormally large himself.

 

GT: I can tell this ho' wants'a piece'a me, so if you hear sum' screamin' in there, you know it ain't me in any pain, aiight?

 

The driver bellows a deep laugh as GT chuckles and the doors open. Walking down the long stretch hallway which is decorated to resemble that of the Roosevelt Hotel in New York, he admires the oil-paintings of Italy-landscape on the walls as he passes from door to door. Stopping infront of the door directly at the end of the hall, labeled SUITE FOUR above the door on a golden plaque. He reaches into his $3600 jacket pocket and pulls out a bronze key, and fits it directly into the suite's door and turns it. He turns around to see his entourage standing with their arms in military fashion and their backs turned to him. Smirking, he walks inside and closes the door behind him, then puts the key back in the door and relocks it. The click of a hammer being pulled back and the cool steel end of the loaded barel of a gun is pressed against the back of GT's smooth shaven head, as the smile is erased from his face, replaced by a shiver running from head-to-toe, and a lump in his throat.

 

Alan: (Whispers) One yelp to your boys outside and I pull the trigger and blow your head off. I could care less if they shoot through the door and kill me in the process. You even slight a sound right now and I'm gonna put a bullet in you.

 

GT puts his hands up as Alan takes a few steps back, revealing a wooden chair set up in the middle of the richly-decorated living room. Using the gun as a pointer, he motions for GT to sit on it. Carefully circling away from each other, GT arrives at the chair and sits down as Alan leans against the sanded down wooden door.

 

GT: I'd say long time no see, but that's not true now, is it? Though I didn't expect ya'll to track me down 'dis quickly, gotta say. What're you waitin' fo' 'den? You gotta come tie me to 'dis chair, little man.

 

Alan smiles and keeps his hand gripped on the gun tightly, index finger teasing the trigger. He looks over GT's head and Tony and Marci emerge from behind him. He turns around, sighing at the sheer sight of Tony. Rolling his eyes, he slumps down in the chair as Tony pulls out a roll of duct tape.

 

GT: Aiight, ya' got me. What you want?

 

Tony grips ahold of GT's large left hand and places it firmly against the wooden chair and begins wrapping lines of the tape around it.

 

Tony: It's simple, really. All you've gotta do is sign over your disappearance money to Marci. You do that, and we'll let you go. Simple.

 

Alan lowers the gun slightly and squints his eyes in disbelief and anger at Tony, walking slowly further towards GT.

 

Alan: You mean to tell me this whole time it was just about money? What about all the things this piece'a sh*t has done to you and me. Killing Nate, and remember Mark's brother? Do you even remember his name?

 

Tony: Ease up and have a little faith, Alan.

 

GT: (Laughs) Yo' boy is a lot smarter than you, Wood. Crack this man a bottle of the finest, 'cause he's 'bout to inherit $875,000. Gimme tha' paper.

 

Alan shakes his head and tosses the gun on the white leather couch across from his right. He puts his hands on his hips and looks up at the plain white ceiling, as Marci hands over the documents to GT. Placing it on his knee, Tony hands him a pen and he flicks it open and puts his signature on it, then smiles.

 

GT: We all good, right? I can jus' walk outta here now, yeah? 'Cause you need me alive for this to work, remember.

 

Tony: That's right. But first you're going to tell your boys outside that you and Miss Merquiete are going to have some alone time and that they should wait outside with the others.

 

GT: Not trustin' me? C'mon, jus' let me go 'n you can walk away a rich bitch, aiight?

 

Tony: Forgive me if it's a little hard for me to take your word on anything. Tell 'em to go downstairs, now.

 

GT: (Yells) Ay, boys, me 'n this piec'a ass gonna be a while, go wait down with Kabel 'n the others. Be down in a half.

 

Footsteps are heard echoing outside and they get lighter with each one. GT breathes heavily, feeling alone and exposed as Tony pulls out a penknife and cuts the tape from his wrist. Alan picks the gun back up and points it directly at GT, who steps back, nearly tripping over the chair.

 

Alan: I came here today to end your life for all the pain and suffering you've done to mine.

 

Tony: Alan, put the gun down and let him walk. Me and you need to have a little chat. Gary, I take it you trust me enough to honour my commitment in our deal here, so when I leave this suite, I don't expect to be under fire from your men.

 

GT: You got my word, Tony. Me 'n you ain't always seen eye ta' eye, but I respect you.

 

GT eases his way around Alan and to the door. Unlocking it he goes outside and locks the door back up and begins charging for the elevator, as Alan grabs the doorknob and attempts to pull it open, to no avail.

 

Alan: Are you happy?! Now we're gonna f*ckin' die and he's gonna get away!

 

Tony: No he's not. We've got less than an hour to get over to the Rufford Arms hotel and get back up in that room. Marci, you get everything set up and get everything I hid in the fountain?

 

Marci: Everything is a go. Come on. (Looks at Alan as she leads both men foward) My father trusted little to no men, for obvious reason as he was killed last night, so he installed a personal elevator in this suite which will take us downstairs and out the back door.

 

Shots are fired into the front door as Marci lifts a painting up on the wall and flicks a switch underneath. She runs across the room as Tony and Alan follow and opens up a closet door. Inside of it is an elevator. She presses the button and then closes the closet door and it begins moving downward as Alan looks at Tony.

 

Alan: You sure we've got this and you're not just stalling now?

 

Tony: Trust me, Alan. I swear to you. Marci, get the stuff filed as quickly as possible. GT's dying today.

 

 

January 13th, 1996: Pagan City, Rome [14:24pm]

Speeding in and out of traffic, GT's in the back seat of the black Washington on his cell phone. Sirens are coming in from every direction as GT guides his driver through the quickest routes to the airport. As they near the sound of a jet taking off, GT's driver slams the brakes on as he sees a huge police roadblock infront of the long road to the airport. GT leans out the window and looks upahead as the other Washingtons pull up and stop behind it.

 

GT: Mother f*ckers called the cops on me. Un-f*ckin'-believable. This is tha' only way into that airport, so f*ck this gig. Got a cuz' who'll let me lay low. Drive.

 

As his driver reverses the car and begins driving the opposite way, the other cars follow.

 

GT: Where'd that bitch say she was stayin' at? I ain't 'bout to lose my only ticket outta here an' my f*ckin' green aswell. S'time to take these niggas down.

 

GT reaches foward and opens up the fitted slot between the driver's seat and front passenger seat where the gearshift is. Leaning over and digging his hand inside, he rummages around and screams, stamping his foot into the floor.

 

GT: There was a f*ckin' glock up in here earlier, where the f*ck's it at now?! And why you slowin' down?

 

Driver: Yo, I dunno. Car's just slowin' down. (Slams the steering wheel and taps the accelerate pedal) No idea, boss.

 

As the two other Washingtons pull up next to it, the passenger seat glass is pierced and shattered as a bullet penetrates directly through the driver's head. GT yells and grabs his head, ducking down as more shots are fired from somewhere above, taking out the guards in the other cars. Pedestrians scream and panic as they scatter from the scene, directly outside of the Hammersmith Stadium. Across from the street and three stories above in an open window of Room 312, Tony stands infront of a well-placed .50 Caliber machine gun perched on the wooden sill.

 

Tony: (Takes out his cell phone and dials, getting a response quickly) Move!

 

A black van speeds around the corner, skidding and nearly tipping on its side as it straightens out and slams to a hault behind GT's car. Three well-dressed men in ski-masks step out of the van, armed with Mac10 automatic machine guns. They charge around the side of GT's car and one man rips the door open and grabs him by the collar of his jacket and pulling him out of the car. The smallest of the three throw a black bag over his head and all three begin beating him with their guns until he falls to the ground.

 

 

January 13th, 1996: Pagan City, Rome [15:39pm]

GT's eyes sear at the burning daylight as one of the masked men take the bag off of his head. Coughing violently with blood running from his head down to his chin and dripping onto his jacket, he attempts to move but his hands are duct taped to a wooden chair -- both this time, behind his back. As a plane's engine slowly gets louder and louder on the open airfield, it drowns out the sirens of police and ambulances in the distance. GT's eyes finally adjust and with every ounce of strength he holds his head up, tasting iron in the back of his throat with every breath he takes in and pushes out. In front of him directly, Tony stands with his arms folded over his chest. To his right, Alan stands with his hands in his pocket; both men staring down at him with cold, heavy eyes and emotionless faces. Behind them in the distance, two of the masked men approach and stop next to Tony and Alan. Both removing their masks, GT stares up at Jake and Mark, who're both causing the same uneasy feeling in GT's stomach as Tony and Alan.

 

GT: So this is how it ends, huh?

 

GT uses his tongue to dislodge a loose tooth. Spitting it out along with a flurry of blood all over the floor, he laughs and attempts to rip through the tape bounding him to the wooden chair, screaming.

 

GT: You can't just f*ckin' kill me! I'm a f*ckin' gangster. I'm THE GANGSTER. f*ck each an' every one'a you pieces'a sh*t. You ain't sh*t.

 

Behind him, the final masked man leans over GT and rests his hand on his shoulder, pushing down firmly and balancing his weight on him. Removing the mask, he smiles at GT and slaps him on the back of the head.

 

GT: An' f*ck you, too. f*ckin' ghetto nigga bitch, you ain' got tha' sh*t it takes to get outta tha' Grove. You always were an' always will be a 'lil bitch, CJ.

 

CJ laughs and slaps GT on the back of the head with enough force to wobble the chair. As GT winces in pain, CJ walks around along with everyone else, and they all look down at him, under the cloudless sky on January 13th, 1996: a day that will bring justice to their friends and families lost. As the engine of the plane gets louder and closer, Tony looks at Alan and then reaches behind his back, pulling out the same stainless steel pistol he used last night to gun down Toreno's hitman from his waistband. Holding it by the barel, he places it infront of Alan, who takes it by the brown gripped handle and with his free hand cocks it and puts it directly in front of GT's face, square between his eyebrows. Sweat escapes GT's head and entwines with his blood as Alan looks into his broken brown eyes, wrecked with terror in his final moments -- and telling no tales of fighting anymore. He has given up. As the plane just a few hundred meters behind them takes off, the ground shakes and trembles as Alan squeezes hard on the trigger. Soundless. Blood lashes out from GT's forehead as the bullet lunges out of the barel and through him, as if it were made for this very moment in time. Piercing through his flesh and bone, GT's neck snaps backwards over the header of the chair by the brute force. The only thing hearable to them - and within hundreds of meters - the plane taking off above their heads. GT's body goes limp, and his beaten eyes roll to a steady close as he exhales his final breath. Alan lowers the smoking pistol to his side and turns to face Tony.

 

CJ: Eitha' of you need'a catch'a flight back to tha' Grove?

 

Alan slowly shakes his head, looking back at GT's lifeless body as blood spills and drips to the concrete below. Him and Tony begin walking away as CJ, Jake and Mark look on.

 

Alan: Where to now? Not like either of us can go back to London.

 

Tony: Seeing as we're $850,000 richer now, I'd say we can basically go anywhere.

 

Alan: I thought he had to be alive to get the money?

 

Tony: Marci's a miracle worker, what can I say? I'm thinking a vacation's in the works. Beer, sun, and fun. I think we've earned it after all the sh*t I went through.

 

Alan: You went through? You don't know the meaning of the word 'sh*t'. Try having a mousetrap rip through your tongue.

 

Tony: Fine, you're right, I don't. I'm glad, too.

 

Alan and Tony both share a laugh as they walk along the rugged concrete of the airport's runway, battered over time by aircraft coming and going. Both stop and look back at Mark, Jake and CJ. They both smile and look at each other, then continue walking to the forever-coming and always-familiar sound of sirens closing in from the distance.

[Oxidizer]

E.P.I.C.

 

One, happy birthday to this! And two, gimme that narrative! I'm blown away.

 

That is all.