The Made Man

[Sinful]

 

When Carl Johnson robbed a mafia casino, he thought he could get away with it, suffering no harder consequences.

Salvatore Leone said Carl he wouldn't leave it alone, but he wouldn't listen.

He wouldn't believe Salvatore Leone, the leader of one of the three most powerful crime families in the East Coast of the United States.

 

He should have listened.

He should have believed.

Now he shall suffer the consequences of his act.

One by one, each side will lose its soldiers, its leaders, its brothers.

Grove Street Families, Varrios Los Aztecas, Southside Hoods, Leone Family.

Criminals killing each other in a war where there's no good side.

 

Crime does pay.

 

Jun 27 2007

I've started rewriting this fanfic for I have improved my writing skills (and mainly my English), and thought it needed a better treatment. Good thing for new readers.

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Index
Prologue	The Beginning
Chapter I	Souvenir
Chapter II	Gotcha!
Chapter III	Blings & Bitches
Chapter IV	Wu Zi Boo
Chapter V	War
Chapter VI	Infamita
Chapter VII	What about Joey?
Chapter VIII	Pendejo
Chapter IX	All Your Fault
Chapter X	Mayhem
Chapter XI	Run, Carl, Run!
Chapter XII	Enthusiasms
Chapter XIII	Still Alive?
Chapter XIV	Not Dead, Bitch
Chapter XV	Newcomers
Chapter XVI	Before the Rain...
Chapter XVII	Let it Be

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Prologue

 

 

The Four Dragons Casino, Las Venturas, San Andreas

 

Fall 1992

 

“We all good?” Carl Johnson asked while walking towards the unusual duo closing the backdoors of a blue armored truck. He wore a standard, black and white croupier outfit and had his short, kinky hair carefully combed backwards. He was the muscle in the job.

“Yeah, we’re good,” answered Wu Zi Mu, the Chinese Triad boss, one of Johnson’s newest and most loyal friends, their relationship the result of fine Eastern expertise and West Coast ghetto brutal force. He, who was living in his early-thirties, wore a respectable, deep black suit and matching sunglasses. He was the brain.

“Alright, I’ll see you at the backdoor,” Johnson said, looking at Zero, the computer nerd who was said to be able to blow up satellites by pressing buttons in his notebook. He, who wore his classic red cap, beige shirt and blue Bermuda shorts, along with his big, square-shaped glasses, was the tech-man. His eyes were widened, for what they were about to do would change their lives. Some for better, others for worse. “Let’s roll.”

 

Carl adjusted the radio’s headphone inside his right ear. A short buzz was heard, followed by Zero’s annoying voice saying:

“Carl, can you hear me OK?”

“Loud and clear,” confirmed the black gangster, walking towards his car: a metallic yellow coupé with aggressive curves, stolen by him the past week. He opened its door and went inside, wondering if anyone would suspect a croupier driving such a vehicle.

“OK, we’re en route in the armored truck,” Zero continued.

“OK, I’m gonna get a move on,” Carl said, turning the engine on and driving off. The Caligula’s Palace Casino and Hotel was not far away from there, and the sun was just falling. The Strip would be crowding with tourists and gamblers in just a few minutes.

 

After parking the car one block away from the Casino, in order not to be seen by any security guards, Carl opened the glove box and picked up a 9MM silencer-attached pistol, checking its clip. Seeing as it was full, he picked up an extra one and stashed it inside his back pocket while using the other hand to grab a green steel cylinder from the box: a gas grenade, a crucial item for their plan to work. He stashed it inside another pocket, reaching inside the glove box once more and picking up a plastic card. A small picture of a smirking blonde woman could be seen in it, along with the name “Millicent Perkins” written next to it. Perkins, the woman Carl had seduced for nearly two weeks, was now his accomplice in the whole operation by providing him with her casino staff card. He figured he would have to avoid Security guards from seeing her picture, putting it inside his white shirt’s pocket and concealing the pistol as well. As he was opening the door, he stopped and went back inside, reaching behind the passenger’s seat and picking up a pair of thick, green lens goggles. He put it in his left pocket and wondered if his full pockets would not look suspicious.

He then walked inside the Casino which, in contrast to outside’s typical heat, had a cool, welcoming breeze that made him more confident. All the blinking lights coming from the slot machines along with their catchy acute music and the blood red carpet gave him an unconsciously feeling that nothing could go wrong. Zero’s voice interrupted his momentary happiness.

“OK, this is it. Play it cool, Carl, play it cool,” he said, in an awkwardly safe tone.

“Hey, I’m cool!” assured Carl.

“Are you sure? You sound kind of edgy to me,” Zero said.

“I’m cool, OK?” Carl said, annoyed.

“OK, OK!” Zero said, trying to calm him down. “Now, make your way to the staff door.”

Carl obeyed, walking calmly towards it, glancing at the distracted gamblers and at the emotionless croupiers working there. He then remembered Salvatore Leone, the Italian Mafioso he was supposedly working for in the past month, making small jobs to gain his trust. He then thought of Leone’s face when he discovered through the security cameras he had been robbed by his own small time thug. Carl never actually trusted or was fond to Leone, for his true loyalty remained untouched while working first alongside with the Triad, going as far as getting a share of their recently opened casino. Salvatore Leone trusted him, and now he was going to betray him by robbing his casino. Carl pondered about it for a moment, wondering if he was doing something that went against his own moral code. He remembered the one hundred thousand dollars he would get from the job and sighed. He cleared any remorse out of his mind and continued. After all, it was just business. He took the staff card from his pocket and slid it through the door’s card reader.

“Ain’t seen you ‘round here before. You new?” asked a blond security guard nearby. Carl didn’t see him coming, and cursed himself for that. He should be more careful from now on. His brain formulated a quick excuse.

“Yeah, I’m err… Standing in for Jerry, he’s ill,” he said. Zero’s voice popped in his head.

“Who’s Jerry?”

“Shut up!” Carl said, nervous. Carl cursed himself once more.

“What?” said the security guard, raising his eyebrows and wondering why that stupid croupier was shouting at him for no reason. Another word and he would bring him outside to settle their differences.

“I… I think I got Jerry’s cough,” Carl excused himself, quickly passing trough the staff door to avoid conversation.

“Great,” Zero’s voice was heard. “Next step, the backup generator room. It’s down one level.” Carl pictured the team analyzing the map he had stolen from the Las Venturas Planning Department days ago. Everything was going just as planned. He walked rapidly down a short set of stairs and saw a black, bald security guard standing near the Generator Room’s door. With no time to plan, he decided to take a shot, walking slowly towards him and giving a quick, cordial smile. The guard looked at him expressionless. Carl went inside the room, walking far enough to make sure that the guard outside would not hear him talking.

“All right, I’m in the Generator Room,” he said.

“OK, the ventilation grills are on the back wall,” Zero answered. Carl walked deeper into the room and saw a ventilation grill attached to a wall. There was a hole where the other one was supposed to be. “Throw the gas down one of these.”

“You got it.” Carl reached for his back pocket and picked up the gas grenade. He pulled its fuse out and quickly threw it inside the hole. He heard nothing. Maybe because of the distance, maybe because nothing really happened. “We won’t know if that worked until we get down there!”

“Yeah, well, don’t worry about it,” Zero’s voice answered. “Right now we got a schedule to stick to. Head to the security door and use Millie’s swipe card!”

Carl headed trough a door inside the Generator Room to look for the security door. As he ran down a set of stairs, Zero’s voice appeared in his head.

“OK, good. I’ve hacked their emergency light protocols,” he said, and Carl prepared to have the lights turned off. “I’m going to blow the charges you planted at the dam.”

Carl remembered the day he stealthily infiltrated The Sherman Dam, near Las Venturas, and planted several explosives in their generators. The whole city, along with nearby small towns, was going to stay in the dark. He really could not care less.

“Here goes nothing!” said a nervous Zero. The lights went out, and Carl stopped walking. “Wow!” shouted Zero, excited as he could be. “I didn’t think that was going to work!

“I can’t see jack!” said Carl, leaning against a wall and reaching for his left pocket. He grabbed the night-vision goggles and put them on. The security door was just next to him, so he slid the staff card through the reader and opened it.

“Head down to the service bay!” Zero said. As he walked through a long corridor and passed by a soda machine, Carl noticed a bulletproof jacket hung on a wall. He took it and wore it. He finally reached an open space containing many shelves, which had many wood crates on them. A yellow forklift -not that he could tell it, everything looked green to him- was parked near a big rusty gate. “OK, we’ve got the power down, which mean the gate’s unlocked,” Zero said. “But now you’re going to have to raise it yourself.”

Carl ran to the forklift and turned its engine on. He had used one of those months before and knew exactly how it worked. After setting the forks right under the gate, he pulled a lever from the vehicle’s control panel and started to raise it. As he drove backwards, the blue armored truck busted inside the room.

“Well done, Carl!” Wu Zi Mu said, coming out of the front passenger’s seat. Another man, dressed in a janitor outfit and bearing a big moustache, left the driver’s seat. Two other men, bald and wearing suits matching Wu Zi Mu’s, left the back of the truck. They all carried MP5 sub machine guns. One of them, carrying two, threw one at Carl. “Now it’s time for us to do our part! Try to stay close. OK team, I’ve gone over the layout to this place so I know it back to front. Everybody follow me!” he said, walking forward and keeping his left arm spread out in front of him. He was pushed back as soon as he walked onto a wall. Wu Zi Mu, the Chinese Triad boss, was totally blind, and from the group, only Carl knew that. “Damn! These devious bastards have changed the layout!” he said. Carl wondered if he actually believed that or was just giving an excuse. The janitor, who suspected Wu Zi Mu just couldn’t see things well in the dark, said:

“Don’t worry, I’ll take the lead, boss.”

“Good idea,” Mu said. “Everybody, follow him!”

As the janitor walked through the same path Carl came from, gunshots were heard. Carl saw two men shooting randomly in the group’s direction. He knew he had the lead with the goggles, so he took his time when kneeling down and aiming at the assassins’ head. They fell dead to the floor, blood falling from the wounds in their foreheads. They kept their path, reaching a room and shooting several other blind Mafia thugs inside. When they cleared the next room, the janitor said:

“Not far now, keep alert.”

“Hey, I was just about to say that!” Wu Zi Mu said, annoyed. His leadership had been slightly defied.

“Sorry, boss,” the janitor excused.

“Not far now, everybody!” Mu said in a motivating tone.

“Stay alert!” the other Triad thug yelled.

“Oh, yeah, stay alert!” repeated Mu, who still kept his left hand ahead of him while going down a set of stairs. When they reached the safe room, one of the thugs took two remote mines from his pocket and started to set them. “OK, we’ll set the charges while you watch the door,” Wu Zi Mu said.

“OK, boss,” concurred the janitor, running back to the door and covering it for potential menaces. Carl followed him and did the same.

“Hurry it up, gentlemen, they know something’s wrong!” said Zero’s nervous voice on everyone’s radio. “Somebody else is in the system!”

“Hey, what’s the problem?” Carl asked, aiming his weapon at the path they came from.

“Somebody’s trying to bring the emergency generators back up!” Zero answered.

“OK,” Carl said, quickly formulating a plan. “I’ll head back up to the generator room and shut them down for good!” he then ran to one of the thugs, who handed him three extra mines along with a remote control containing only one red button.

After rushing through five sets of stairs, Carl finally reached the generator room’s floor. He was about to crouch and get an advantage point when two bullets hit him in the chest, being blocked by the bulletproof jacket. He fell back and quickly got back up, shooting all over the generator room, the two mobsters inside it going limp on the floor, blood coming out of their chests and heads. Carl then ran inside the room and placed the mines on top of each generator.

It was only after Carl was going down the first set of stairs that he pressed the button. An outrageously loud explosion noise was heard, and pieces of metal flew over his head. He continued his way down back to the safe room.

“Everybody take cover!” Carl heard when stepping back inside the room. He quickly threw himself back and tried to protect his head.

“Oh, sh*t, where do I go?” Wu Zi Mu yelled desperately, running away. “Where do I go?”

“Fire in the hole!” somebody yelled. Another explosion was heard, this one creating a constant buzz in Carl’s ears. He could see several dollar bills coming out of the smoke: Success.

“OK, people, load up the cash!” shouted Wu Zi Mu. The group ran through the recently blown up door and started to load bags with cash.

“Carl, you’ve got Mafia gorillas coming down to the vault and--” Zero’s voice said in the radio, pausing and then yelling. “Curse you Berkley, curse you!”

Carl reminded Zero’s technology archenemy, Berkley, who he had helped to fight against a few months in the past and wondered what he had to do with the current situation. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of gunshots coming from the safe door: three Mafia members had entered the vault room.

“OK, then, we about to have some company!” shouted Carl as he took cover behind a crane and started to shoot back, killing two of them easily in the dark. As he was about to shoot the last one, his bullet clip went dead. He threw the submachine gun away and picked the 9MM silenced pistol from his pocket, shooting the last mobster in the head. This one shot the roof as he fell dead on the floor. After this, two other mobsters came in, being shot at and killed by the group, who had already loaded up the cash on backpacks. They then left the vault room, and Wu Zi Mu said:

“OK, team, just how we practiced, two by two!” he then walked onto a wall. “Ow, f*ck! Scratch that! Everybody follow Carl!”

The group shot their way through the basement, killing multiple Mafia thugs on the process. When they finally reached the basement garage, Zero was there waiting for them. Two police bikes, stolen by Carl for the job a week ago, were also standing there. The armored car had its backdoors opened. “I’ve unloaded the police bikes,” he said. “Everybody in! You two, change into your police uniforms!” he shouted, pointing at the two Triad thugs. They both ran inside the truck and came out dressed in police outfits, jumping onto the motorbikes and turning them on. The janitor and Wu Zi Mu ran to the front seats of the truck and a few seconds later all of the vehicles were coming out of the building.

Carl ran to the service elevator: he was the team’s decoy. Zero’s voice came back on the radio.

“OK, CJ, you’re on your own now!”

“Time to show these motherf*ckers what’s happening!” Carl shouted.

“Carl, would you like me to talk you through to the roof?”

“Anything that helps, man!” Carl said. At that moment, the lights came back on, temporarily blinding Carl, who rapidly took the night vision goggles out. “Oh, what happened?”

“Damn you, Berkley, damn you!” shouted Zero on the radio.

“Ah, c’mon, man, talk to me!” Carl asked.

“Now head through the casino to the elevators on the far side,” instructed Zero. “Take the elevator all the way to the roof.”

As Carl was running to the elevator, something hit him in the chest and made him fall back. A Mafioso, carrying a sawn-off shotgun, was standing inside the elevator. He was aiming the barrel at Carl’s head when this punched the man’s crotch violently. He fell on the floor, moaning in pain. Carl got up and grabbed the shotgun from the man’s hands, running inside the elevator and pressing the “ROOF” button.

When he left the elevator, he was received by an incoming bullet from the air. Looking up, he noticed a LVPD helicopter flying by. He ran to the end of the roof and looked for the parachute that was supposed to be there while he tried to flee from the chopper’s bullets. Another police helicopter landed on a nearby casino’s roof and two SWAT agents came out of it shooting Carl. He then jumped out of the roof and pulled the parachute string down, activating it.

“I hate gravity!” Carl yelled. A bullet had penetrated the parachute and he started to fall quicker than expected. He rapidly realized he would not be able to reach the police helicopter landed nearby and escape. His chances of living had just gotten smaller.

His bulletproof jacket was heavily damaged, and would not stand much more bullets. After a few seconds, Carl landed the on top of a parked sedan. The helicopter light was still following him when he broke the car’s window and opened it from the inside. He got inside and in five seconds managed to hotwire the engine on. He closed the door and drove off heading to the desert’s abandoned airstrip.

The helicopter had ceased fire, and was now only following Carl Johnson with its searchlight. A few minutes later, when the airstrip began to take shape on the dark horizon, he had to make a decision or he would end up dying and giving out the location of their safe house. Carl knew he had to take a shot, no matter how desperate it would be.

 

“This is taking longer than I thought it would,” Anthony said, grabbing another Tik-Tak chocolate bar from the panel and eating it.

“Sure is,” Johnny said. The two policemen, both on the Leones payroll, were the first officers to arrive the casino after the city lights went out. After receiving a call from Salvatore Leone himself, their mission was to simply kill Carl Johnson. After they saw him leaving the city, they realized he was only a decoy leading them to the bigger fishes: the people that had the heist money. They figured that, if they could whack all of the robbers, Mr. Leone would be happy with them, maybe even sharing some of the money.

“Hey, look, he’s heading straight to that wall!” Johnny shouted. Anthony looked at the searchlight. Johnson’s car was speeding straight to a rock wall. They did not understand at first why did a giant light swallowed the when it hit the rock wall, but after seeing its parts flying all around the sand, they knew that Carl Johnson was no more. They looked at each other and laughed obnoxiously, flying back to the city to give Salvatore the good news.

 

Carl Johnson searched his pockets: it had to be there. He only had used two of them, so there would be one just waiting for him. After finding it, he placed it on the car’s accelerator pedal and jumped to the passenger’s seat while quickly looking at the speedometer. He would probably die, but would not be the victim of a police set up. He opened the door and threw himself out, covering his face with his arms, rolling and cutting himself on the merciless rocks on the floor. He looked at the car: it was almost there. He pressed the remote control’s button and the mine inside the car exploded beautifully in the night. A few seconds later the helicopter gave up and flew back to Las Venturas.

 

After five minutes of non-stop running, Carl Johnson reached the abandoned airstrip. He could see the armored truck and the two police bikes approaching him.

“Zero, where you hiding?” he yelled, looking around. Zero came out from behind the truck.

“I didn’t mean to tell Berkley, it just kinda came out… is all,” he said, regretfully. He didn’t have it coming when Carl’s hand bashed his cheek and made him fall on the ground. “Will you watch it, you idiot!”

Carl Johnson laughed quietly. He was happy, after all. His plan succeeded, no matter the rocks on the way. Everything went nice and easy, and from now on, he would live a long, quiet life.

 

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Chapter I - Souvenir

 

 

December, 1992

 

Sweet’s House, Los Santos, San Andreas

 

“Tempenny’s dead, and so is Pulaski and the Ballas… Grove kings!” Sweet Johnson cheered. The black gangster wore a green cap covering his short hair and a matching t-shirt with dark-blue jeans pants. He was celebrating with his brother Carl and drinking wine from a crystal glass. The latter wore a vibrating orange shirt, a golden necklace depicting a dollar sign and jeans pants.

“And don’t forget our cut in the casino, the guys at Vinewood and the shop in Fierro,” Carl reminded.

“Yeah… Even though Grove’s our home, it’s always good to have a backup…” Sweet sighed.

They were staring, expressionless and bored, outwards through the open window in the living room. “Damn, this sh*t sucks!” Sweet suddenly said, looking at his crystal goblet and throwing it away, breaking it onto a wall.

“Not your thing, huh?” Carl laughed. “Hey, what about a couple of beers over at the Green Bottle? You can call your girl and I’ll bring Denise over.”

“Aight, bro…” Sweet concurred, picking up the phone and dialing his girlfriend’s number.

 

Cipriani’s Italian Ristorante, Saint Mark’s, Liberty City

 

“And he dared to f*ck one of my employees to get a key card!” said Don Salvatore Leone, who had just gotten back from his casino in Las Venturas. He had a round face and many wrinkles were growing bigger in his forehead. He was not utterly fat, but was far away from being thin. His now completely white hair decayed on a weekly basis and he had a big, full grey moustache that got dirty with red sauce as he ate spaghetti. He wore a loose, pinstriped navy blue suit and sat by a table in his bodyguard’s mother’s restaurant, which had been closed for the public due to their meeting.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” the dark-haired employee asked. He had a square face, stern, and thick black hair. He bore a livid look in the meeting; he knew what was coming to him.

“And the insurance company won’t give the money because they think I’m lying… f*ckers. I’ll have to sell the Caligula’s. Some Avery Carrington guy is already making some proposals…” the Don said, ignoring his employee. “Damn, this pasta’s great.”

“But what about the thief?” Antonio Cipriani the bodyguard impatiently repeated. For the first time in five minutes his boss finally addressed him, serious and looking straight in his eyes.

“Toni, this is special,” he said. “Carl Johnson’s not some small time thug. The prick controls half San Andreas with the Triad. You’re my most valuable associate. I want you to take care of him yourself, for at the moment I don’t trust anyone else for this.”

“I see,” he shortly answered, pondering about the subject as silence fell upon them and the Don resumed his eating. He could die in such mission, he thought, but he could also die any other day of his life, body-guarding a man like his boss, the chief of one of the most powerful crime families in the United States. In his mind he pictured the possibilities of reward, none of those he intended to share with his employer: he saw himself in the future, in the same glory his father had had fitting the organization’s capo position. His mother would finally proud of him.

“So?” The Don asked in a matter-of-fact tone, noticing his bodyguard had finally finished considering the mission and was staring at him.

“I’ll do it,” he said, bowing his head. “When do you want this done by?

“Yesterday.”

 

The Green Bottle, Los Santos, San Andreas

 

“And then he said: ‘I got caught up in the money, the power…’” Carl said, telling his brother, excited, the story that had taken place between they and their treacherous friend’s last words barely a week ago.

“Damn…” said Sweet, looking down and shaking his head. “I never thought Smoke would do that, man…”

“Yeah… As he said, that’s what money does.”

The two brothers were sitting by a table inside the local bar, The Green Bottle; a few prostitutes stood outside on the street looking for costumers as the brothers talked to each other, waiting for their girlfriends to arrive.

“Anyway,” Sweet said, looking up to face Carl again and changing the subject. “When I was in the joint, I heard some news about Venturas,” his brother half-closed his eyes; he knew what was coming and was eager to tell the whole story to Sweet. The latter, realizing the movement, continued, now half-grinning. “Were you in that casino break-in?”

“Well, yeah, but I had help,” Carl answered with false modesty, smiling.

“Ain’t you worried the guy might come back for you?” Sweet asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Nah, he wouldn’t dare,” Carl answered, shaking his head and emptying his glass of beer.

 

Capital Autos, Harwood, Liberty City

 

Antonio Cipriani was selecting the men for the job in San Andreas. Ten black suit-dressed Leone thugs stood still, rigid, on the yard of the car shop. Although it was already dark, a few of them still wore sunglasses. Antonio just looked at those, sighed, and skipped them. He walked to one of them, looking nervous, and pointed his gun to the man’s head.

“What would you do,” he slowly started as the man looked horrified at the weapon nearly touching his nose. “If I said that I’m going to blow your brains out, with no reason at all?”

“But why, Mr. Cipriani,” begged the man, panicking. “WHY?”

“Get outta here, ass head.”

When the bodyguard was going to aim his pistol at the next candidate, the latter pulled his gun and touched Antonio’s head with it.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Antonio said, grinning. “Get in the car, pal.”

A few minutes and candidates later, Antonio had own group of hitmen inside two black sedans.

“Follow my lead,” he told the driver of one of the cars. He went inside the second car, filled with assassins just like the other, and told the driver to go to the airport.

 

Grove Street, Los Santos, San Andreas

 

“Man… What a night,” said Carl. He and Sweet were drunk and alone, sitting by the sidewalk their houses. As their girlfriends never arrived, they went to a strip club and it was past two in the morning when they came back from it (only because Carl was thrown out by security men after trying to kiss one of the dancers).

“Yeah…” mumbled Sweet.

“Hey, what ‘bout a race to Fierrosh?” suggested Carl.

“Sure about that?” Sweet asked, thoughtful. “I mean, we’ve drank a little…”

“Yeh, but we ain’t drunk!” Carl said, negating his obvious condition. “C’mon!

“Aw, what the f*ck, let’s do it, bro.”

Carl nodded as he walked to his stolen black coupé and turned it on. Sweet stumbled his way back to his seventies square, mid-sized, baby-blue car. The Johnson brothers left Grove Street, ramming their cars onto each other until they reached the freeway and stopped in the middle of nowhere to sleep.

 

Las Venturas International Airport, San Andreas

 

A black limousine parked in front of the airport, and a chauffeur in a matching uniform came out of the driver’s seat, smiling. Antonio Cipriani walked out of the airport main hall, holding nothing but an odd, square-shaped briefcase. The driver looked at and around him, searching for the other men he was supposed to drive.

“They’ll be waiting for me,” Antonio explained, perceiving the chauffeur’s action. He entered the car’s front seat along with the driver. “This won’t take long.”

“Yeh, ok,” the driver said, starting the engine and driving off. “I’m Roarke, by the way. So what’s the reason of your visit to Las Venturas, Mr. Cipriani?”

“Work, I’m actually going down to Los Santos but had to stop here to get my mother a little something.”

“And whadda tha’be?” asked the driver in his strong redneck accent. “Maybe I know where they sell it. I’ve been living here since I was nothing!”

“Actually, no,” Antonio coldly said, suddenly realizing that the conversation was going too far. “It’s a special gift, a souvenir of great sentimental meaning. Stop by the Visage.”

“Sure, Mister,” the chauffeur said and then went quiet: Mr. Cipriani was not a man to cross.

 

Some time later, the limousine stopped in the Visage Casino’s parking lot. Antonio told the driver to wait and then left the vehicle, bringing his square-shaped briefcase along. He walked slowly through one of the casino’s backdoors and found himself in the reception. He then directed to the check-in balcony and addressed one of the attendants.

“My name’s Toni Cipriani. I need to talk with Thomas Hanauer,” he said to the blonde woman.

“You can meet the manager in a couple of minutes, Mr. Cipriani.”

Some time later, a pale blond man in his fifties, wearing a dark brown suit, came out of an employee’s only door and walked to Toni.

“Hey, hey, how ya doin’, kid?” said the man, with a strong German accent. Even though Toni was almost thirty years old, many people called him ‘kid’; that annoyed him. He relaxed himself, that would be over in no time. “You are…?”

“Antonio Cipriani,” answered the associate, who was wearing an untied black suit with a white shirt. “You must’ve met my mother, Mrs--”

“Ah, yeah, Mrs. Cipriani, yeah! She and I were great friends!” the man said, happily. “Anyway, how can I help you?”

“I need to talk to you,” Antonio stated, and he glanced at the check-in attendant. “Somewhere more private.”

“Sure, step into office,” Thomas asked, smiling and leading Toni into an employees’ door. They went up through a set of grey iron stairs inside a small dark hall until they reached a wide room; dozens of small screens on a wall were transmitting from surveillance cameras inside the casino. There was a full set of sofas and couches facing a plasma TV on another side, and a dark mahogany desk stood on a distant wall.

“Nice surveillance system you got there. Are they all over the casino?” The Italian casually asked.

“Not everywhere, no… Take here, for example,” Thomas waved and looked around the room. “No cameras, complete privacy!

“Good. My mother sent me here to get her a souvenir; she told me you’d have it.”

“Is it something from the casino?” Thomas asked, walking to a minibar and opening it. “Can I get you something to drink? Some wine, whiskey… Beer, perhaps?”

“I’ll take the beer,” Antonio answered.

Thomas grabbed two cans of beer from the minibar and started to open them, his back turned to the mobster. He now wondered what the woman whom he had an argument with more than twenty years ago (a discussion that had its end with Thomas calling her a “mobster whore”) wanted with him now. Her son was here, and dressed like that, he was probably a mobster as well. A slight shiver ran through his neck at the thought of dying.

Antonio opened his briefcase. It was seemingly empty, except for the dark automatic pistol with a silencer attached to its barrel, and an apparently empty black bag.

“She wants your head, Mr. Hanauer,” Antonio coldly said.

“Was das bum--” the manager exclaimed, his sentence interrupted by a projectile penetrating through his skull and stopping inside his brain; he fell dead on the magnificent scarlet carpet, his matching blood mixing with it.

Antonio picked up the black bag from the briefcase and pulled out a long dagger from inside it. He sliced the manager’s throat with it and with a kick he broke his neck, completely separating the member from the body. The bodyguard grabbed the head and pushed it inside the black bag along with the bloody knife, putting everything cleanly back inside the square-shaped briefcase.

"Job done, mom," he muttered.

Edited September 23, 2007 by Sinful

[GSF_Membuh]

Great start to a cool story Sinful! I can't wait for more. Rated GOOD!

[Blackadder.]

 

Now, depending on how well this goes, I may finish it... Or not.

 

You said that for L.A.N.C.E! Nice start to a story! Rated good

[Serafim]

Nice start, sinful! It's funny how Toni makes meat of people like it's normal, hahahah! Hope you continue it, good rated!

[TonyZimmzy]

Toni's a f*ckin psychopath Rated good

[Gaja 90]

Nice oppening chapter Sinful

 

Rated good.

[Sinful]

Chapter II - Gotcha!

 

 

Antonio left the Visage Casino calmly, the city’s neon lights hitting his eyes carelessly. He put the square shaped briefcase into the trunk and got back inside the limousine.

“Got your mother’s souvenir?” asked the chauffeur.

“Yes,” Antonio answered. “We can now go to Los Santos treat business.”

“Where to?” the chauffeur asked.

“Back to the airport.”

 

When they arrived at the airport, the Leone Family owned Shamal was still there, along with the pilot, waiting for them. The Leone associates, along with Toni, flew south to Los Santos.

 

Dillimore, San Andreas

 

“Hey, CJ, what happened?” Sweet asked, yelling, after waking up inside his blue Greenwood. The brothers had their cars parked on the grass near the road leading to the city entrance, and there were a few locals looking at the strange visitors.

“Ah? What?” Carl said, suddenly waking up and looking around from inside his black Turismo. “The f*ck we doin’ here?”

“I think we drank a lil’ too much,” Sweet said, putting his right hand in front of his face and checking his breath. “Yeah, definitely.”

“We’re in the middle of f*ckin’ nowhere!” Carl exclaimed. “And my car’s trashed!” he said, leaning harder against his seat and kicking out the rest of his destroyed windshield.

“Well, mine ain’t too well either,” Sweet said, looking at his hood, which was no more.

“Shut up… Let’s get back to the Grove,” Carl said, turning his sport car back on, followed by his brother. They drove back to their home street, careful not to be noticed by any police cars.

 

“Hey, Sweet, ain’t it payday?” Carl asked, parking his car in front of Sweet’s house and leaving it, walking to the sidewalk and sitting.

“Guess so,” Sweet concurred. “We oughta check out Bear. Just wait a min,” Sweet said, leaving his Greenwood and rushing inside his house. Almost a minute later he came back out, holding a pair of MP5 sub-machine guns. He threw one at Carl. “You never know.”

“Amen for that,” Carl said, grabbing the MP5 in the air. “You going in the Wood?” he looked at the trashed car. Sweet looked at its lack of a hood and shook his head negatively.

 

Carl drove their way to Glen Park and parked the car in front of B-Dup’s former house. “Bear’s still taking care of the place, right?”

“Well, unless he won the lottery and moved to Liberty City, yes, CJ,” Sweet said, sarcastically. The Johnson brothers left the car with the MP5 sub-machine guns hidden under their shirts. Sweet knocked on the door. “Bear! Hey Big Bear! Wake up!”

“Sweet? Huh… I ain’t got no money today!” Big Bear’s hoarse voice answered. He sounded scared and hesitantly. “Bad week!”

Carl and Sweet looked at each other. They both had seen him carrying a shipment from the docks a few days later. “He can’t be serious,” Carl said.

“He’s not, he’s got the money,” Sweet said. “But why the f*ck he’s lying?” Big Bear, the Grove Street gang lieutenant, had just been rehired after one full month on rehabilitation because of his cocaine addiction issues. “He wouldn’t dare go back to coke,” Sweet said, and Carl raised an eyebrow in doubt. Both brothers realized he could have got back to his old vice. Sweet stepped back and kicked Bear house’s front door down.

“I told you, Sweet, I ain’t got no money this week, man!” shouted Bear, sitting on a trashed beige couch, embracing his own head up, protecting himself against a possible attack. Carl grabbed him by the shirt and raised Bear above his head.

“What happened, Bear?” Carl asked harshly. “What you hiding?”

“Alright, ok, don’t hurt me!” Bear begged. He then whispered. “Some Ballas got here and took the money… They was gonna blast me, man!” he pointed at the kitchen with his head. The Johnson brothers understood the message and looked at the closed kitchen door. Carl let Bear go and walked to the kitchen, step by step, carefully not to alarm the invaders. Counting to three, Sweet kicked the kitchen door down in a second, Carl behind him shooting all over the kitchen. Bullets hit the ceiling, sparkling wood all over the room: the two Ballas gang member’s bodies fell limp on the floor, their blood trickling all over it.

“Now where’s the money, Bear?” Sweet shouted.

“One of them said something about a Roboi’s food mart by the city hall,” Bear said, nervous. “Then they left these two make sure I wouldn’t say anything!”

“Hide the bodies,” Sweet said. He and Carl ran back to the Turismo parked outside, the second driving them to the City Hall.

 

Carl parked the black car in front of the Roboi’s 24/7 Food Mart. A white Virgo was parked on an alleyway right next to it. The brothers left the car, holding their MP5s and walked into the alleyway. As they turned left on the apparently empty alleyway, the Johnson brothers had a surprise.

 

In the morning of that same day, the Leone silver Shamal jet landed on the Los Santos International Airport. And after its passengers, who slept during the entire trip, wake up, their baggage was quickly moved from the plane into two rented black Sentinel sedans.

“Glen Park, and step on it,” Antonio instructed the local, hired driver, after getting in the car and sitting on the front passenger’s seat. Once they got there, Antonio left the car and started to put his plan on action. Even though he had been in Los Santos only two times in his entire life, he knew how the gangbanging scene worked there. He walked to a young black man wearing a purple jacket and black jeans pants who was leaning on a pole. “Hey, you,” he said.

“What you want, bitch?” harshly asked the gangster, analyzing Cipriani’s uncommon clothes.

“Watch your mouth, asshead,” Antonio said, moving his suit and revealing a 9MM pistol concealed inside its inner pocket. “Do you wanna get five hundred bucks?”

 

“Oh, f*ck,” whispered Sweet to himself, still holding his gun up. There were around eight men in black suits pointing shotguns and M4s at the brothers.

“Drop the guns,” Antonio Cipriani ordered. The Johnsons threw their MP5 sub-machine guns on the cement floor. “Now hands up,” and the duo obeyed. “Cuff them,” he said, now looking at one of his subordinates.

“You work for Salvatore, right?” Carl deduced, analyzing his expensive suit, the kind which Leone thugs wore in Liberty City.

“My name is Antonio Cipriani,” he said while one of the associates handcuffed Carl and another did the same with Sweet. “And yes, I work for the Leone Family. I’ll get straight to it. Where is the money, Johnson?

“Yo, I don’t know ‘bout any money, homie,” Carl said, shaking his head.

“Homie?” rhetorically asked Antonio, walking at Johnson and drawing his pistol from his suit inner pocket. Carl’s eyes widened and he shook his head, quietly begging for his life. The Italian held the gun from its barrel and, as if it were a baseball bat, he hit Carl’s jaw. A breaking sound was heard, and blood came out of the gangster’s mouth. He spitted out a tooth and coughed. “Don’t play dumb with me, Johnson. Now where is the money?”

“Four Dragons,” he said, spitting more blood.

“Good,” Antonio said. He then held the 9MM from its butt and aimed at Sweet. He was about to pull the trigger when Carl interrupted him.

“NO!” he shouted. “He’s my brother, man, please! I’ll give you the money, but don’t blast him!” he begged.

“Fine,” Antonio said, concealing the gun back in his pocket. “But you better don’t try and pull out any tricks on me, boy,” he said, aiming his gun at Carl’s head and shooting. The bullet passed right above it, missing for a few inches. “Or I’ll shoot lower.”

 

------------------------------------------------

Enjoy.

Happy new year ;D

Edited July 2, 2007 by Sinful

[thatsoccerguy]

Very good. In fact, it's so good, you get text cookies.

 

[/cookie][/cookie][/cookie]. Enjoy!

 

-thatsoccerguy

[Serafim]

Nice chapter, Sinful. But I think it's going too fast

[TonyZimmzy]

I feel sorry for CJ, having to face-up against someone like Toni Cipriani

[Warrior_Boi]

I agree with Tony Z. Anyways good story! Rated good.

[Blackadder.]

I agree with Serafim, it is going alittle too quick Cookie anyway

[thatsoccerguy]

Hey, next chapter, space between the lines to make it easier to read. Just some advice, you don't have to use it.

 

-thatsoccerguy

[Sinful]

Hey, next chapter, space between the lines to make it easier to read. Just some advice, you don't have to use it.

 

-thatsoccerguy

Nah, don't think so.

I would do that if I wrote the fic like a movie script, but since I'm writing it like a book, no.

Thanks for the suggestion anyway

[Blackadder.]

When can we expect the next chapter?

[Sinful]

In twelve hours.

I have to say it like that, 'coz our GMT are different, lol.

[Blackadder.]

Stupid Timezones Well, now we play the waiting game

[Archaon, Lord of End Times]

Very good job, Sinful. I have one minor complaint, though. You say Toni is a Soldato in the story but one cannot be a Soldato unless made and Toni was not made until 1998 in the one LCS mission. So he would be an Associate at this time. Though he could be an unofficial Soldato at this time. Sorry for splitting hairs. Very well done.

 

/rated good

Edited January 1, 2007 by Archaon, Lord of End Times

[Sinful]

Very good job, Sinful. I have one minor complaint, though. You say Toni is a Soldato in the story but one cannot be a Soldato unless made and Toni was not made until 1998 in the one LCS mission. So he would be an Associate at this time. Though he could be an unofficial Soldato at this time. Sorry for splitting hairs. Very well done.

 

/rated good

Thanks, Archaon.

As for the Soldato thing, I was worried if it was wrong, thanks for the correction.

Fixing.

[Sinful]

Chapter III - Blings & Bitches

 

 

Toni grabbed his silenced pistol -the same used in Thomas Hanauer’s murder- and held it against Carl’s back. They walked to the Administration office and got in. Carl went to a wood closet and opened it while Toni watched the door and aimed his gun at CJ.

-What’s taking you so long? -asked Toni.

-Nothing! -said Carl, grabbing the safe key card from the casino and pressing an red “Alert” button.

 

Surveillance Room, Four Dragons Casino, Las Venturas

 

Eike Magnus was interested in the boobs of an excited blonde gambler on Blackjack table 7.

-Yeah, baby… Bounce… -said the casino surveillance technician, pressing the zoom button. His fun was interrupted by an alarm on one of the screens. The alarm button had been pressed in the Administration room. Eike grabbed his radio and said:

-Alert on Admin room, get there ASAP everyone!

In a few seconds, three of the twenty security guards on the shift ran from the casino’s crowd to the Administration room. Nothing could be heard.

-Alright, look. -said Henry, one of the guards, looking at the other two, who grabbed their 9MM. -On three. One, two--

He was interrupted by the sound of the Administration door being crushed by the weight of Carl’s body being thrown outside the room, taking two of the guards down.

 

-What the hell are you doing there? -asked Toni, coming closer to Carl. There was a red alarm button right next to his hand. -Oh, you son of a bitch! -Toni hit Carl with the back of his pistol, making him pass out. He could hear footsteps outside the room, probably security guard’s. He couldn’t kill Carl, because he needed him to get the money. The guards would get in the room in seconds, shooting everywhere, maybe even Carl. So he grabbed Carl’s body and threw it on the door, crushing it. Two of the guards have felt on the floor, hit by the door. Another one was aiming a 9MM to Toni, who shot him in the head, making him fall back near Carl, who have just woke up.

-I want him dead! -said him, getting up. -Take him down!

The security guards got up and ran to Cipriani. The Italian have just got out from the casino and was getting inside the Sentinel XS. The guards tried to shoot the car, but had no success.

 

-What happened, Toni? -asked one of the thugs inside the car.

-The son of a bitch pressed the alarm! I never thought he was so stupid. Let’s get to the Caligula’s.

-Hey, man, what are you gonna do? -asked Sweet.

-Shut up, dumbass. You stupid brother f*cked things up. Now we’ll show him what happens.

 

Rooftop, Caligula’s Casino, The Strip, Las Venturas

 

Sweet was dragged out of the car to the casino’s rooftop. A black Maverick was there.

-Man you crazy?! I ain’t gonna fly, I can’t fly for sh*t!- yelled Sweet, desperate.

-Now look who’s afraid to fly. -said Toni, grabbing a black sky mask from inside the chopper. -Don’t worry, you won’t see a thing. -he put the mask in Sweet’s face and kicking him inside the Maverick. A Leone thug got in and turned the engine on, taking off.

-Your time’s over, Sean Johnson. -said Toni.

 

Carl Johnson couldn’t believe what the news channels were saying after the failure of the casino guards.

“Las Venturas is in shock today, with the frightening death of Sean Johnson, the gang banger. We were able to obtain a record from the event, that took place in front of the Four Dragons Hotel and Casino, in Las Venturas.”

A low quality video appeared on the screen. A black helicopter was flying really low on the Street in front of the Four Dragons casino. Dozens of people were pointing and looking at it, while cars were parking on the street to look closer. The body from a black man wearing a dark green shirt, jeans pants, and a sky mask on the face was threw out of the plane hung by a rope and staying there for a few seconds until the rope got cut out and the body fell on the street, and the Maverick flew away.

“Sean Johnson was being investigated by the FBI about the organized crime in Los Santos. He was assumed to be the leader of the so called “Grove Street Families” street gang, who took responsibility by many crimes in past. More later, in SAN.”

 

-Sons of bitches mobsters are gonna pay. Nobody mess with the Johnson bros and get away with it. Salvatore Leone’s gonna DIE! -yelled CJ, kicking the TV screen and breaking it. He grabbed his address book and the cell phone, dialing the number identified as “D-Ice”.

-Hello? I wanna talk to D-Ice. -said Carl. -Yeah, tell him it’s CJ.

 

Cedar Grove, Shoreside Vale, Liberty City

 

D-Ice had the life any black guy from the ghetto could ask for: women, fast cars, parties, a mansion in Cedar Grove, and loads of money, plus the control of the biggest gang in Shoreside Vale: the “South Side Hoodz”. He had just woke in his king-size bed, thinking about what he was going to do that day while drinking beer from a crystal goblet. Maybe, after collecting the protection money from the bars and sex clubs, he could give the final order to execute the robbery in the small casino in Stauton…

His thoughts were interrupted by one of his employees yelling something about help and Los Santos. But D-Ice don’t know anyone in Los Santos, there are only enemies there. Enemies like the thugs invading Shoreside, the Purple Nines. All small time thugs from the Ballas gang in Los Santos, running after being defeated by that other gang, Grove Street something. He knew someone in that gang… Carl Johnson. Yes, “CJ”, who he protected and worked with for five years, until the day he had to get back to San Andreas after the death of his mother. But why Carl was calling now? After a whole year without news? There was only one way to find out. The employee -a black girl in the twenties with a French maid uniform- was holding the wireless phone aside his bed. He picked it up.

-D? That you? -asked Carl’s voice, sounding the same as the day he left.

-Hey, Carl my man! Long time no see… Ah… How’s things going on west coast?

-D… Many sh*t happened this year, but I don’t have time to talk, I need your help.

-Alright but… How the hell would I help you? -asked D-Ice. -You know I just work on Liberty!

-That’s why I’m calling you, dude…

-Alright, CJ, but what’s the matter? Somebody’s dead or what? -asked Ice, with a sarcastic tone in his voice.

-Sweet, man.

-Sweet?

-Sweet, my bro.

-I think I remember him. What happened?

-He’s dead!

-Who did it? The Ballas? ‘Cause if it’s the Ballas, I can’t help you, I’m having the--

-The Mob.

-Mob?!

-The Mob! Why do I have to repeat everything?

-Liberty Mob? You mean the Forellis, Sindaccos and sh*t?

-The Leones killed him. They have a casino here… Me and my boys ripped them off and they got pissed, if you know what I mean.

-Yeah, I think I do. Anyway… I can’t help you man… I only operate in Shoreside… Besides, I ain’t messing with the Mob!

-D… For the past, man…

-sh*t, Carl… Oh f*ck it. When you’re coming here?

-I’ll call you when I get there.

-Alright, CJ.

-Hey D.

-What?

-Thanks man, appreciate it.

-sh*t, don’t go all emotional on me! Damn nigga!

-Aight, aight… See ya, D.

-See ya, CJ. -said Ice, turning the phone off. Great. Now CJ was back from nowhere and asking him to mess with the Leone Mob. That wasn’t right. Even though CJ was a great friend, he was asking too much. D-Ice would work out, he always did.

A few hours later, Carl called his phone, telling he was going to land on Liberty in a few minutes. D-Ice left his Mansion, got in his custom red limo -which he bought from some English guy in Vice City. Apparently the limo belonged to the rock band “Love Fist”- and left Cedar Grove, being followed by two black Sultans -each one with four gang members heavily armed-, driving off to the Francis International Airport.

 

Administration Room, Four Dragons Casino, Las Venturas

 

Carl Johnson was out of his mind. All he could think of was finishing his vendetta against the entire Leone family for the death of his brother. He ran to the Casino’s basement -also used as a weapons storehouse for the Triad-, taking dozens of gamblers in the way. He planned to go to Liberty City by himself, meet with D-Ice’s gang, get to Portland, and kill all Leones in the way. One of the Triad’s associates was guarding the basement door when Carl got there.

-Open up. -he said.

-Why? -asked the associate.

-Just open this sh*t! I’m Carl f*cking Johnson, do what I say!

-I know who you are, I just wanna know what do you want in here!

-Oh, you wanna know? Ok! I’m taking guns, fly to Liberty City, and make a massacre! What about that?

-Mr. Johnson, are you ok?

-Do I look ok, sh*t head? NO! So piss off!

-Mr. Johnson, I’d like you to come with me.

-Come with you? Oh what the f*ck! -said Carl, punching the Triad associate in the nose, taking him down. -Is that enough for you, dumbass? -he said, kicking the door and getting in the basement.

 

-Is that enough for you, dumbass? -said Carl, after punching the Triad associate Chow Yun Fat, making him fall on the floor, the nose bleeding.

-His outta his mind! -said Chow, getting up and running to Wu Zi Mu’s private living room.

-So, are you still gonna count cards? -asked Wu Zi Mu. A white man, appearing forty to fifty years old, wearing a blue shirt and black pants. His nose was bleeding after Mu spank him multiple times.

-No! I won’t! Please! Don’t hurt me anymore! I’ll leave! -said the man.

-Oh that’s good, because--

Chow ran inside the room.

-Wu Zi Mu! We have a problem! -shouted him.

-Speak.

-It’s Carl! He’s out of his mind! The Leones--

-Wait. Get outta my casino, you pig. -said Wu Zi Mu, looking at the card counter, who ran outside the room. -Speak.

-The Leones killed Carl’s brother!

-Why?

-I dunno! All I know is that Carl lost his mind and is going to Liberty City right now to kill all the Leones in his way!

-But that’s a suicide mission!

-That’s why I came here to tell you.

--------------------------------------------------

Hope ya'll bling bitches like it.

LOL.

Edited January 9, 2007 by Sinful

[Serafim]

Nice chapter, Sinful! (bread?) for you lol

[Sinful]

I'll travel tomorrow, and I'll be back in 5 days.

'til there, no new chapters

[aaronlindu]

nice, very nice (:

[Sinful]

2 comments?

Is that it?

[Sinful]

Damn server (1).

Edited January 7, 2007 by Sinful

[Sinful]

Damn server (2).

Edited January 7, 2007 by Sinful

[Sinful]

Damn server (3).

Edited January 7, 2007 by Sinful

[TonyZimmzy]

Lol @ quadroople post

 

Nice chap, sinny

[Sinful]

Chapter IV - Wu Zi Boo

 

 

Four Dragons Casino, Las Venturas, San Andreas

 

-So, what are you gonna do to help him? -asked Kendl Johnson, sitting on one of the chairs on Wu Zi Mu’s living room, wearing a pink baby-doll shirt and white jeans pants.

-What am I gonna do? What do you mean? -said Mu, sitting on armchair behind the desk. Two other Triad thugs, including Chow, were standing near the office door.

-What do YOU mean? He’s your partner! You gotta help him!

-There’s nothing I can do! I only operate in San Andreas now. Plus, all my businesses are legal, I can’t deal with the… The mob.

-Can’t deal? Carl helped you all the way here, you jap son of a bitch!

-He’s a grown up man! He’s my business partner, that’s all. If he wanna go to Liberty City and shoot everyone, it’s not my problem!

-Not your problem? Well thank you for your help! If Carl gets out of this one alive, you’ll die! -said Kendl, getting up from the chair and walking outside the room.

-Wait! Kendl! Wait. -said Mu, and Kendl got back inside the room.

-What?

-I have associates in Liberty. Perhaps they can help your brother.

Kendl walked back to the room and lied on a black leather couch.

-So?

-I’ll give them a call. I can’t promise you anything, we’re not exactly best friends.

-Yeah, right.

Wu Zi Mu grabbed the wireless phone from the desk and dialed one of the Triad’s emergency numbers. A young male voice with a strong Chinese accent answered it.

-I wanna talk to Hong Xiuquan. -said Mu.

-Who? -said the voice.

-Wu Zi Mu. San Andreas organization. This was supposed to be an emergency number!

-I know. -said the Chinese on the phone. His English wasn’t good, and he was speaking slowly. -It’s just security. Wait a minute.

A few seconds later, a strong male voice answered.

-Wu Zi Mu. -said the man, pronouncing “Wu Zi Mu” as one word. -Whad’Ya want?

-There’s a problem. A very valuable associate of mine is in Liberty and I have reason to believe he’s in great danger.

-So what?

-I would like to ask you to help him. As a favor.

-Who is he?

-Carl Johnson. He’s in Portland, I think, saying he’s gonna try to kill Salvatore Leone.

-And you want me to help him kill a mob leader?!

-No. I want you to protect him.

 

 

Salvatore Leone’s Gentleman’s Club, Beach, Portland, Liberty City

 

-Then the guy threw some cards outta the window and said: “I give up!” -said Joe, the Leone Soldato, sitting on the living room’s brown leather couch and drinking beer.

-Then what did you do? -asked the Leone Associate, Fausto.

-I blew his brains out! The guy was f*ckin’ nuts! -said Joe, laughing.

-Hahahaha!

A black limo parked in front of the house. An old man, wearing a tight blue suit and with a rose on the pocket, got out and entered the house.

-What the f*ck are you doing here? -yelled the man, looking at the thugs.

-I’m sorry, Mr. Leone, we were just waiting for you. -said Joe. -That guy Toni wanna talk to you, it looks like--

-Shut up. -said Salvatore. -Where is he?

-He’s in your office.

-My office? What is this? Some kind of country club?! Invading my house… Get outta here, you two.

-Alright, Mr. Leone. -said Joe. The two thugs got up and left the house.

-Dumbasses. -said Salvatore, getting in his office. Toni was there, sitting on the chair in front of the desk, looking at the lighthouse through the window. The Don walked all the way to his own expensive black chair and sat down. -So?

-So what?

-How’d it go?

-There might be a problem, Don Leone.

-Problem? You know, ain’t dumb! I watch the f*ckin’ news, kid! What the f*ck happened?

-We got there, everything was fine, I had the thief and his brother. Then me and Johnson were on the casino, the son of a bitch pulled the alarm!

-Then?

-Then what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t kill him, ‘cause we need the money!

-Money? What do you think? That I’m poor? Is that it?! You shoulda kill the son of a bitch!

-I’m sorry, Don Leone. I failed.

-You failed. You know, in the ol’days, you’d be dead by now. But as I am a good Don, I don’t believe killing you will make anything better! So I’ll give one chance. ONE CHANCE! To make things right. At least you killed his brother.

-Yeah… You liked it? It was like in that movie--

-Shut up! Here’s what you gonna do--

The Leone Soldato, Joe, opened the door.

-What the f*ck do you want? -said Salvatore. -I’m having a meeting here, talking business! This better be good, no, this better be REAL good.

-Mr. Leone! -said Joe. -We’re at war!

 

Francis International Airport, Shoreside Vale, Liberty City

 

-That’s my homie, CJ! -said D-Ice, opening his arms to hug Carl, who have just left the Airport hall. All of the Hoodz thugs were looking around, prepared to shoot anyone with a gun.

-‘Sup, D-Ice? -said Carl, hugging Ice.

-Hell yeah! I said you could count on me! C’mon lets get in the car. -said Ice. He was wearing a Cox team t-shirt and jeans pants, as well as lots of jewelry on the neck.

Carl, who was wearing a white formal suit, got in the custom red limo with Ice.

-So, what are you planning to do? -asked Ice.

-First, we gotta get some heat--

-Heat? Homie, what the f*ck? Whadaya think, I’m some kind of poor G? sh*t, we’ve all we need.

-Haha… Aight, D. We gotta get to Portland, waste some Leone f*cks!

-Alright, but look. You and I, we don’t need to BE there. I got dozens of guys who can do this for you.

-I dunno ‘bout you, but I wanna kill these motherf*ckers myself!

-Hehe… That’s my homie! sh*t, what the f*ck, let’s go. And Carl…

-What?

-I’m sorry for you bro. Even though I didn’t know him, you talked ‘bout him like was a good guy.

-Yeah. They took this from me. They’re f*cking with my family. Well, let’s mess with THEIR family!

-That’s my homie!

-sh*t, all you can say is that?!

 

Administration room, Yo Ma’s Chinese restaurant, Chinatown, Portland, Liberty City

 

-No. I want you to protect him. -said Wu Zi Mu on the phone.

-Protect him? And where is he? -asked Hong Xiuquan, the Liberty’s Triad Shan Chu.

-I dunno. But one thing’s right, you’ll find him wherever there’s Leone thugs.

-Good, I know just the place.

-Thanks, Xiuquan, I owe you one.

-You owe a lot more than just one, Wu Zi Boo. -said Xiuquan, laughing.

-See you. -said Mu, hanging up.

-Tsui! -yelled Xiuquan, and a young Chinese man -the same who answered Wu Zi Mu’s phone call- got in the room.

-Yes, Shan Chu.

-You’re my best Hung Kwan. And I got a job for you. You’ll got to Mark’s Bistro. Soon, a black man we’ll be there--

-How can I know who is he?

-Don’t interrupt me! He’ll start a riot against mobsters or something. I want you to protect him. Take as many Say Gou Zai you want. Go. And good luck.

Tsui Hark made a reverence and left the room.

 

Two dark blue Kurumas were parked near the Saint Mark’s Bistro. Tsui Hark and three other Triad Say Gou Zai were inside the car.

-sh*t, how long it’ll take? -said Hark in Chinese.

-How would I know? -said one of the thugs.

-It’s a rhetorical question, dumbass!

-Oh… Sorry.

About a half hour later, a modified red limo, followed by two black Sultans, parked in the other side of the street. Four black men with black and red jackets got out of the Sultans. Another two left the front seat of the limo. A few seconds later, another man, wearing a white suit, left the passenger’s seat, followed by another, wearing some kind of red and white t-shirt with a cock picture in the back and jeans pants. All of them were holding Uzis -except for the two in the limo’s passenger seat, who were carrying M4s.

-I think that’s them. -said Hark, still in Chinese. -Come on, let’s talk to them.

-Talk? And how do we know they won’t shoot us?! -asked one of the Say Gou Zai.

-Only one way to find that out.

The four Triad gang members left the Kuruma, followed by the other group from the other car. All of them had Uzis hidden under their clothes.

-Hey, you, white-suit! -said Hark, trying to be as clear as his poor English could afford.

-Who are you? -asked the man in the white suit. The other one in the Cox t-shirt whispered something in his ear. -Oh… What do you want?

-We were sent by a friend of yours. -said Hark. -Wu Zi Mu.

 

The Love Fist limo parked near the Saint Mark’s Bistro. All of the thugs got out of the Sultans, followed by the thugs in the limo’s front seat. They were all carrying Uzi SMGs.

-Aight, homie, this is it. -said D-Ice, opening a big black box near the TV in front of them. He took two body armors and two M4s machine guns.

-sh*t! That’s heavy stuff!

-Hell yeah, I ain’t getting killed in this sh*t!

-f*ck yeah, let’s go.

The two gangsters left the limo. Carl noticed eight men, appearing to be Asian, walking to them. One of them was wearing a black suit, and the rest was wearing blue uniforms with a red dragon symbol in the back.

-Hey, D, what the f*ck’s that?! -said Carl.

-Hey, you, white-suit! -said the man in the black suit.

The Chinese group stopped in front of the Hoodz thugs, who were carrying their Uzis, prepared to attack.

-Who are you? -asked Carl.

-They’re Triads. -whispered D-Ice in Carl’s ear.

-Oh… What do you want? -asked Carl, looking at the man in the black suit.

-We were sent by a friend of yours. -he said. -Wu Zi Mu.

-Woozie? sh*t.

-We’re here to help you.

-Well, I would advise you guys to get outta here, ‘cause things are gonna get nasty!

-Out of question.

-Hey, what the f*ck, appreciate it!

-Alright, enough of chit-chat. -said Ice. -C’mon, bitches.

The group of eighteen gang bangers walked to a mob thug, wearing a black suit, sunglasses, and a scarlet tie. He was sitting in a small stair in front of a house, smoking.

-Hey you! -yelled Carl, aiming his M4 to the thug. -Greetings from Carl Johnson, biatch!

-What the-- -said the mobster. His body, covered with blood and bullets, fell in the house’s door.

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Boohoo

 

edit: index and image added on 1st post.

Edited May 30, 2007 by Sinful

[Serafim]

Nice chapter, Sinful! There we go with Saint Mark's wars again