The Made Man

[TonyZimmzy]

Salvatore's finally snapping . Don't think Guiseppe deserved that, but then again, maybe he did

 

Finally got around to reading the chapter with a few mins of spare time today keep goin.

[Sinful]

 

Hello! 

 

I'll admit that I have yet to read the enitre thing, so I'm not fully informed about the nature of the whole thing (or what the story is about/where it is going etc! ). At first glance, I thought it looked unimpressive and just like a lot of the other script-like stories on here, but I took a brief skim through some of it and to my surprise there is actually some good description in there, so I'm tempted to start at the beginning and read through what you've done so far.

 

What I'm getting at, though (this is a major gripe of mine), is the way a lot of it is presented in a script-like form as opposed to a narrative. It's fair enough if you are actually writing a script, but with the description and everything it leans more towards an actual narrative, so I think it would improve it a lot if you embedded the dialogue within the story as opposed to simply write it out as a script with description inbetween.

 

Just my opinion, of course, it's not a demand or anything! I'm pretty sure once I get into it I'll be able to manage reading it as it is anyway, but I just thought I'd mention it!

 

I'll probably take a look at it later anyways.

 

Note: it seems as though all I do sometimes is point out mistakes in things, namely the aforementioned script-dialogue gripe I have with stories. Sorry if it seems like it's all I do, I'm only offering advice and whatnot. Or maybe I just can't stand mixing script with narrative. Oh well, take it as you will.

Oh, hey, didn't notice your post here - even though you've posted here weeks ago.

I think I understand what you mean.

 

Instead of

 

 

-Ice? -whispered Carl Johnson to himself.

A black man’s head came out of the Stallion’s passenger window. Carl got up from the sidewalk and raised his left arm, waving.

 

I'd write

 

 

"Ice?" whispered Carl Johnson to himself as a black man’s head came out of the Stallion’s passenger window. He got up from the sidewalk and raised his left arm, waving.

 

You know, here in Brazil most books are translated like that (first quote), so I learned to write that way. Now that I managed to put my hands on a few paperbacks -such as Omerta by Mario Puzo - I'm learning that style. Now that I've started this fic like this, I'll just finish it using this style, but my next installments will be paperback style.

 

Of course, if that's what you mean. If not, please be more specific :x

Edited June 17, 2007 by Sinful

[Eminence]

Yeah, that's what I mean.

 

Strange, I never actually knew that - so there's something new I've learned! I can understand why you've done it then, and it's no real problem obviously, I've just always found it to be an annoying way of telling a story if you get me. I never knew that though so, very interesting.

 

I may just have to catch up on this eventually, hehe.

[Sinful]

Chapter XV - Newcomers

 

 

30th December, 1992

 

Newport, Stauton Island, Liberty City

 

-Alright, nigga, they stoppin’. -said D-Ice, pulling over half a mile away from where the mobster’s car had stopped. -Watcha gonna do?

-This sh*t’s gonna be beautiful. -said Carl Johnson, picturing his plan in his mind. -Like something taken out of a movie.

-Yeah, what is it? -asked Picasso.

-Do you have any silenced sh*t here?

-We don’t work with that kinda stuff in here. -Ice said. -No need for stealth crap.

-Oh, sh*t… It ain’t gonna work then… Unless… Do ya got blades?

-There’s a couple in the trunk. -Picasso stated. -Why?

-Grab’em. We gonna need stealth crap. -said Carl, looking at Ice.

-I dunno. -D-Ice said. -I think we should come back and get you checked out. Whadaya say, Picasso?

-What you say goes, D.

-Oh, sh*t, nigga, c’mon! -Carl exclaimed. -I ain’t that bad! Besides, the bullet went through and through. I mean, the water didn’t make it feel any better, but no harm done… For me, at least.

-Oh, what the f*ck. -Ice said. -Guess you can take care of yourself. So what’s the plan, tough guy?

-I get out, go around the block. You bust’em from the other way. Before you do it, I’ll distract’em, start dissin’ them or something. When they lookin’ at me, you get’em from behind. Slice their throats, ice cold killa style.

-Haha… -laughed Ice. -I like it, homie, I like it! You down, ‘casso?

-f*ck I’m down. -the painter said. -Let’s do it.

-Alright, I’ll go there. -Carl said. -When you see me comin’ around the block you show up, alright?

-Alright.

-One more thing: gimme yo’ jacket, just in case they’re the same guys from the shootout. -Ice took out his red jacket and handed it over to Carl, who wore it and left the car.

-Just don’t get blood all over it, huh?

-Heh, alright. -Carl said. -Pop the trunk.

Carl opened the trunk: three boxes full of spray cans, about fifty different colors available. He only needed one, though.

The Grove Street gang member grabbed a green spray can, closed the trunk and walked away.

 

Francis International Airport, Shoreside Vale, Liberty City

 

Miguel and Jose were entering a yellow, Admiral-like taxi in front of the Airport.

-Hey, I’m Ananda, welcome to Liberty City, the worst place in America, haha -said the Sikh driver, with a strong Indian accent, as the Latin gangsters entered the car.

-That’s what they say… -said Miguel.

-It’s not that bad. -said the driver, turning the engine on and speeding up. -Anyway, where to?

-Uh, about that… -said Jose.

-Look, kid, I don't have all day, so if you're not giving me a location, you better step out.

-Where's the cheapest place to stay around here?

-Wichita Gardens projects.

-Well, then let's get over there.

-It’s a good neighborhood, -said Ananda. -people are very warm there. Once you get there, they might just hug you. Just be careful, keep your wallet inside your pocket and maybe you won’t get mugged.

-Yeah well, thanks for the advice, ese. -said Jose. -So Miguel. -he said, switching to Spanish.

-What? -asked Miguel, also in Spanish.

-Boss told me to set you up well here in Liberty. Looks like he knows a Porto Rico guy named Burro or something, say he's gonna help you get started here. But first we gotta take care of Cesar's funeral, 'cause I'm pretty sure them Grove dudes won't do anything about it. -said Jose, expressing his despise for the Grove Street gang. After the death of their peaceful leader, the truce between the two gangs would most likely fall. -Putos: said that loved him but forget about him after he's dead.

-Oh… Well. -Miguel said, lost in the subject. Little did he know about Cesar and his former relationship with the Grove Street gang: all he heard were rumors. Something about him and the Grove leader’s sister dating. -How I’m supposed to start a business here by myself?

-Whadaya mean? As I said, Burro will help you out.

-I can’t work with Porto Rico people. They just give me creeps, man. -Miguel said. -I had a bad -a traumatizing experience with a Porto Rico malo a long time ago. I just can’t stand’em.

-Holmes… -Jose said, raising an eyebrow in disapproval. -Are you serious?

-Hell, I’m serious.

-In this case you’ll have to get your crew to move here. -Jose said. -I can persuade them, if you like. But you’ll still have to work with some of Burro’s crew. They’re the ones who are going to teach you how business work here.

-Whatever. -Miguel said, then raising his shoulders. -As long as I don’t stay alone with any of them.

-Maricón. -Jose laughed, sarcastically.

-Shut up, ese.

The Sikh taxi driver, Ananda, interrupted them. He had parked the car and was now looking back at the passengers. His small, bright orange turban on top of his head was now more visible. He also had a thin moustache under his nose, and his features were those from a twenty-year old young man.

-We’re here. -he said, waving at outside the car as if he were showing the neighborhood to the newcomers. -Wichita Projects.

-Good. -Jose said curtly. -How much it’ll be?

-Hmm… -Ananda checked the taximeter. -Seventeen dollars and sixty cents.

-Ah, mierda. -Jose exclaimed in his native language. -I’ve only got ten bucks.

-What you say? -asked the Sikh driver, clearly not understanding the Spanish spoken by the gangster.

-What you gonna do? -Miguel asked, also in Spanish, preventing the driver from finding out about their situation.

-I’ll be right back. -Jose said, now in English. -I don’t have enough money, but my friend who lives here is gonna pay for me. Miguel is going to stay here with you just in case.

-Be quick then. -Ananda said. -I don’t have all day, you know. Twenty bucks if you take too long! -he yelled as the Latin walked away. He then turned to Miguel, who was still on the backseat, staring at a now distant Jose. -I thought you were new in town.

-We are. -Miguel said shortly.

 

 

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

Note: Just in case you're thinking 'what the hell does Miguel and Jose's side-story has to do with the main plot? Well, two reasons I'm writing their arriving into Liberty:

1- They will be involved to the main plot real soon.

2- This is kind of a prologue to a short fanfic I'm gonna write sometime in the future.

 

And please, please comment this chapter

Edited June 21, 2007 by Sinful

[Broker Gangsta]

Good chapter but my favorite so far was the return of CJ in the last 1 and I hope we see more of CJ. But like I said great chapter.

[Sinful]

No one else is reading it?

[Serafim]

Nice chapter, Sinful. I wonder in which side Miguel is gonna be. Maybe the way he began* his "friendship" with Toni?

Edited June 26, 2007 by Serafim

[Sinful]

I'm probably gonna have a new chapter later today. I could post it earlier, but it seems I just can't take the file out of my dad's notebook. The fact that he went on a trip with the computer this morning doesn't hep much, if you know what I mean. So yeah, I'm just waiting for him to send me the file xD

It'll most likely be the penultimate chapter.

[Sinful]

I know I shouldn't be douple-posting, but what the hell.

 

 

I 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.

Edited June 28, 2007 by Sinful

[HawaiianHardHitter]

I read the first few chapters, and I gotta say that this story is one hell of a good read brah. I've always wanted to see the continuation of The Leone's and CJ's ordeal after CJ robbed Caligulas. I shall catch up with the recent chapters soon.

[Eminence]

Finally got round to reading it, so I've just checked out the new first chapter.

 

It's not bad, but it could still be improved upon a lot. In my opinion, there's too much dialogue - it's written as a narrative so it's obviously not a script, but it's still overflowing with a lot of speech. When this is broken up by description, it's often not very detailed - it's more or less just pointing out obvious things without going into any further detail, if you understand what I mean? So sometimes, it seems a little simple to read. Saying that, though, it's not too bad - the description is competent enough.

 

I like the premise, though - it's very interesting. I quite liked the paragraph towards the end about slicing the head off - that was quite grisly! Also, I liked the little segment with Toni and the two goons near the start, where he chooses the guy who aims the gun at him - that was a nice touch.

 

I noticed a few grammatical mistakes though, where you're missing out a few small words. For example:

 

 

“Sure, come to office,”

 

This should be "come to my office", or the office - something along those lines.

 

 

“Sure about that? I mean, we’ve drank little…”

 

Here missing out the word "a" before "little" totally changes what he's saying. You've gone from him potentially saying "a little too much", for example, to simply saying "we've drank little" - which implies they aren't drunk.

 

 

Not bad, as I say - overall there's a bit too much dialogue for the story to flow well, and the description could do with going into a little more detail.

[Sinful]

Thanks for the review, I'll try to improve these areas. In fact, tomorrow I'll post a new chapter and so you can see if I've improved a little from the first chapter.

 

Hey, yours was the 100th reply.

[Sinful]

Delete this.

Edited June 29, 2007 by Sinful

[Sinful]

Chapter XVI - Before the Rain…

 

 

Jose opened the door and stepped out of the taxi, closing the door behind him. Immediately a freezing breeze penetrated his nostrils, making him sneeze loudly. As he realized he wasn’t wearing anything but a simple t-shirt, he remembered he hadn’t brought any extra clothes with him, and felt sorry for it.

It was almost night and there were few people walking on the street. The pavement had a white tone, painted by the now dirty snow. Passing between two cement fences, he walked deeper inside the block, his steps harder each time he hit the thick snow below him. He looked around, analyzing the environment around him. There were two averagely tall, rusty brown buildings at sight, with a big portion of their outside space covered with nearly unreadable, colorful graffitis, some of them purple, a few others red, most of them saying “Hoodz.”

Jose continued his path through the housing projects gardens, walking fast -but not running. He noticed someone: a young man, alone, leaned against one of the buildings, exhaling smoke from his mouth. A cold, unforgivable and unique Marijuana smell was identified by Jose’s brain. The man was wearing a cheap dark red hoody and a pair of light blue jeans pants. He appeared quite distracted, waving his head as if he were listening to music. Jose didn’t think twice.

The Latin gang member looked around once more, noticing a broken water pipe sticking out from the snow. He reached out for it and took it: cold steel, heavy enough to serve its purpose. He continued walking forward in the man’s direction, beginning to raise the pipe above his own head, preparing his attack. He would have to be precise: one wrong move and he could end up staining the snow with blood from his own. As the man waved his head, he noticed Jose coming in his direction. He panicked: took out his hands from the hoody’s pocket and leaned the right one for his back, trying to reach something.

The acute sound of thin steel hitting the man’s head echoed around the place, and the body went limp downwards, scattering snow all around it. Jose threw the pipe nearby onto the snow and crouched next to the body. With no gentility, he stripped the man, taking out his hoody and wearing it himself. After this, he checked the pockets and found a wallet, a few pieces of paper and a small, transparent plastic bag. Looking more closely at the last item, he realized the obvious: once again marijuana. He threw the plastic bag and the pieces of paper on the opposite direction from the pipe, the paper flying and landing all over the back of the man’s t-shirt. He opened the wallet and rushed through everything he didn’t need: fake driver’s license, parole officer’s card, a paper with a lipstick mark and a phone number. He finally found what he wanted, threw the walled near the body’s feet and put the three Andrew Jacksons inside the recently-stolen hoody’s pocket. He then went to see what the man was going to pull out of his back pocket. Touching with his hands around the body’s back, he felt something and pulled it out carefully. A nine millimeter handgun: light and efficient. Jose put it in the space between the front of his underwear and his jeans. He then got up, threatening to walk away, but crouched back down. He reached two of his right hand’s fingers to the man’s neck.

“Still beating,” he said, relieved and getting back up. “Good. One less puto for my body count.”

 

As Jose walked back to the car, his cell phone rang and he picked it up.

“Hello?” he said.

“Hey, Jose, Riaz here,” the kingpin’s voice answered in Spanish. “Just wanted you to know that I’m not gonna make it to the funeral. Whole lotta sh*t going on over here. Tomorrow I’m gonna meet with the mayor, it seems I’m gonna be a major contributor for his reelection campaign. In exchange the puto’s gonna eat out of my hand.”

 

Cedar Grove, Shoreside Vale, Liberty City

 

Carl Johnson was sitting on a chair at D-Ice’s mansion backyard without his shirt. A young white man, wearing a white surgical mask along with matching shirt and jeans, was sitting aside him, his chair turned to Carl’s right arm.

“You should’ve called me earlier,” the man said, looking at nearby standing D-Ice. “He could’ve got an infection.”

“Hey, it ain’t my fault,” D-Ice stated, raising his shoulders and pointing his head at Carl. “Blame him.”

The doctor opened his square, businessman briefcase, picking something from inside it and closing it again.

“C’mon, man, you’re not sticking that up my arm, are you?” Carl said, looking at the man in disbelief. He was holding a needle and a white string.

“I can cut it off if you wish,” the medic said, sarcastically. “Or maybe I should bring you to a hospital, but I don’t think you’d like to explain the source of this wound.”

“Just go ahead-- Ouch!” Carl yelled as the doctor penetrated his open skin with the needle. “Take it easy, man!”

“Don’t be a pussy, Carl, you’re embarrassing me!” D-Ice said, having a brief laugh. “Hey, just so you know, I’ve took care of all the paperwork for Cesar’s funeral.”

“Good, thanks man,” Carl said. “Did anyone ask any questions?”

“Nah, and I know the funeral dude, he can keep a secret,” D-Ice assured. “So that won’t be a problem. Only thing left is the day: when do you want it to happen?”

“Soon as,” Carl started to say, being interrupted by the doctor’s needle piercing his skin once more, closing the wound and making the young gangster moan in pain. “Hey, watch out with that thing!”

“Stop crying, you little sissy,” said the doctor, now cutting the string. “It’s already over,” he looked at Hoodz gang leader as he put his instruments back in the briefcase and closed it. “And you owe me a hundred bucks.”

“Hundred bucks?” D-Ice exclaimed. “sh*t… Come on in, I’ll write you a check,” as he walked back inside the house, he turned to Carl and gave him a friendly slap on the left shoulder. “About the funeral, I’mma give the guy a call, make sure it happens in January the first. So just call whoever you need to call and tell’em the funeral will be at the Stauton’s church.”

“Alright,” Carl said shortly, and D-Ice walked back inside. “Hey D.”

“Yeah?” He turned back and looked at Carl.

“Thanks man. Really,” Carl nodded. “Appreciate it.”

“No problem, homie,” D-Ice said, grinning. “That’s what brothers do: help each other out.” And he walked back inside the house.

 

The doorbell rung. The doctor was already gone, and Carl was sitting on the couch, unexcited, watching “LCPD Black” on TV. Kendl was sleeping on another couch nearby. She wasn’t making any progress on recovering from the death of her brother, and her fiancée’s one didn’t help on it much either. Although the immediate shock from the attack had already passed, she still blamed Carl for all of the killing that struck her family recently and was on her way to depression.

“Man, these cop shows are so untrue,” Carl commented aloud while D-Ice went over to answer the door. “I mean, how come a cop refuses bribery like that? That’s just silly, we all know cops are the worst kind of thugs around.”

“Yeah, whatever, Carl,” D-Ice mumbled as he opened the door. “Oh, you,” he briefly said. Jose Cárdenas and an unknown bald young man were standing on the house’s verandah. “Jose, right?”

“Si,” Jose answered. “This is a friend of mine, Miguel. Miguel, this is D-Nice,” he said, waving at one and then at the other.

“Ice,” corrected the Hoodz gangster. “D-Ice.”

“That’s what I said,” Jose stated.

“No, you said--,” D-Ice started, interrupted by Jose.

“Screw that. I’m just here to claim Cesar's body,” he said. “Where’s the Johnson boy?” Carl, who was listening the conversation from the couch, got up and slowly walked to the door. “Ain’t you gonna ask us to come in?”

“It ain’t my house,” Carl said, scornfully. D-Ice left them and walked inside the house, indicating that he wouldn’t bother being polite with them; an act that started the future rivalry between the two factions. “Spit it out.”

“Where’s Cesar body?” Jose asked.

“Safe,” Carl answered. “I was gonna call you tomorrow, the funeral will be in two days, in New Year’s Eve.”

“Where?” Jose asked again.

“Stauton Church,” Carl answered dryly. “And who are you?” he turned his head to Miguel.

“I’m Miguel,” the Latin answered shortly, providing Carl with no further information about his goals in the city.

 

31st December, 1992

 

Saint Mark’s, Portland, Liberty City

 

Sergio Lampone and Antonio were on the front seats of the capo’s Admiral, Cipriani driving, along with Salvatore and Joey Leone on the backseat. After Giuseppe’s death, whose body was hidden in the trunk of a stolen car and dumped on the oil slicked sea surrounding the city by Cipriani, Leonardo was brought back to his small apartment in Stauton by the same man. They were returning to the Don’s house for the first time after the attack orchestrated by Carl Johnson, with the help of the Southside Hoodz and the Triad more than a week ago.

“You sure it’s safe to come back here already?” Joey asked. “I mean, who knows if they ain’t still around somewhere?

“I’m pretty sure they won’t be coming back here after what happened,” Antonio said, referring to the massive pursuit that led on the then assumed death of Carl Johnson. “They’re just a bunch o’ pussies.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Sergio opined, leaving the now parked car. “The boy must’ve a lotta balls, I’ll give you that. I mean, coming here with only a handful of thugs, that’s just not normal.”

“You’re right,” Salvatore said. “He’s not normal, he’s a f*ckin’ maniac.” The group walked together inside the house. Everything was still destroyed from the attack. The living room’s sofas were ripped apart, their fillings thrown all around the place creating an illusion of snow. All the windows were broken, and the bar had most of its expensive bottles broken. The coffee table and even the luster were broken. Pieces of glass were mixed to snow that got inside the room on the floor. Fausto Trivelli’s body had been removed by one of the Soldatos, and only his blood pool was in the same place. “Look what they’ve done to my house,” he said. “The son of a bitch had the guts to come to my own house! How the hell am I supposed to live here?”

“I’m gonna call my maid over here,” Lampone said, not as an offer, but as something he should do without having to be asked. “The fat bitch cleans a house like nobody does.”

“I’ll start cleaning that blood over there,” Antonio said, walking over to it. “Do you know who died here?”

“Fausto Trivelli,” Lampone answered, scratching his shoe against the floor in an attempt to take the pieces of glass out of it. “He was supposed to watch the house.”

“Great job he did,” Salvatore said in a rancid tone. He walked over to one of the destroyed couches and sat on it. “I’m gonna have to buy new furniture.”

“I heard their funeral will be at New Year’s eve,” Joey said, walking over to another couch and sitting as well. Salvatore and Sergio looked at him puzzled, wondering how he got such information. “Well, you know, Carl got shot by one of your men,” he said, using the second person to refer to the employer to the mobster who shot Johnson. He still denied becoming one of his father’s goons. “But he wouldn’t go to a hospital, otherwise he knew they’d have to call the police and all… So he had to call a private doctor to get him fixed up. But turned out he called a friend of one of my friends; words come in, words come out, he told him about a funeral for a guy named Cesar at the Stauton’s church. My friend, who just in case you’re wondering, works for you, knew about the whole situation we’re going through and decided to give me a call. When he told me all this, all I had to do was connect the dots,” Joey finished, looking at them and smirking, proud of his own intelligence.

“And you didn’t say it earlier because…?” Salvatore asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Nobody asked me,” Joey simply answered.

“How do you wanna do it, boss?” asked Antonio, who was toweling the blood out of the floor with a destroyed white t-shirt he found at the bedroom.

“Well, if the funeral is such a secret, it’ll probably be something small, just a quick burial behind the church. We probably won’t see many people there, and that means less security for them,” Salvatore started, formulating his Machiavellian plan inside his imagination. “We won’t need an army. In fact, I want only a handful of people to do this. That includes you, Sergio,” he looked at the capo regime, who smiled in approval. He couldn’t wait to go on battle once more after years inactive. “Along with Toni and three other guys.”

“I wanna be in it, pop,” Joey said.

“Fine,” the Don said. “But be careful: I need someone to run this business after I’m dead,” he played, grinning. “In this case, it might not be such a good idea to bring those Sicilian guys of yours, Sergio. They might just screw up the job. Bring that Redi kid with you, Joey, I like him. That other boy Leonardo might be a nice choice as well, bring him with you,” he said, now looking at Sergio. “Leave no witnesses, but stick with the etiquette, gentlemen. I don’t want any kid’s or woman’s blood on my hands…”

“But how do we prevent retaliation?” Lampone asked.

“This Johnson kid doesn’t have any true friends where he came from,” Salvatore answered. “His little street gang won’t take any steps ahead of it, they’ll probably just stay there and pretend nothing happened. The only friend Johnson had was his brother, and Antonio here took care of him for us,” he said, proudly looking at his employee. “By the way, if you can, try not to kill Carl at the church. I’d like to have the pleasure of doing this myself.”

 

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

"And remember kids, feedback is appreciated."

Edited June 29, 2007 by Sinful

[Serafim]

Nice chapter, the final match is coming. Equip them with grenade lauchers and flamethrowers, and let them hunt each other down!

 

Serafim coughs a lot

 

Hope it'll rock

[Broker Gangsta]

Decent chapter. It's not my favorite but it's good. It seems to lead up to an epic showdown between CJ, D-Ice and the Leones. CJ better live or else I'm gonna stop reading.

[Sinful]

Thanks guys.

 

I'm writing the new chapter and after a few more comments I'll post it.

[Broker Gangsta]

Come on Sinful post the chapter already. I'm anticipating this sh*t so much I might just have lol

[Sinful]

Ok, I'm putting a lot of work on this new chapter, so it'll probably take a little while more. For now have the new chapter two. Check the link for it on the first post.

[GTAGangsta58]

Nice....I hope there will be a really good showdown....

 

 

EDIT: It has been like 15 days, plz, if u get on post another Chapter I'm really interested in this story.

Edited July 17, 2007 by GTAGangsta58

[Sinful]

Posted a prologue (check first post). I think I'll have the last chapter this week.

Edited August 11, 2007 by Sinful

[Ryunday]

Geat story man good work.

[Sinful]

Geat story man good work.

Well, thank you

It's always good to know one's readers.

What did you read so far?

 

Anyway, I'm at school right now, but as soon as I get home I'll write the last pages of the last chapter. I had finished around four pages of it, but I didn't feel it was good so I erased most of it. Meh

 

I'm also going to fix something on the Prologue, as it seems there's a blank where I should've explained why Carl didn't die in the explosion...

[Ryunday]

Geat story man  good work.

Well, thank you

It's always good to know one's readers.

What did you read so far?

I have read the Prologue and a couple of chapters, and again great story have a cookie

[Sinful]

Geat story man  good work.

Well, thank you

It's always good to know one's readers.

What did you read so far?

I have read the Prologue and a couple of chapters, and again great story have a cookie

Oh, nice.

Btw, added the missing paragraph for the Prologue, check it out if you like.

Right near the end.

[Ryunday]

Yeah I will read it know.

[Sinful]

Chapter XVII - Let it Be

 

 

1st December, 1993

 

Wichita Gardens Project Homes, Shoreside Vale, Liberty City

 

Jose and Miguel came out of the second’s recently rented apartment, after two days spent furnishing the house. After two days spent furnishing the house, and walked towards the elevator. Their gang's departed leader's funeral was to happen within only a few hours from then, and Jose wouldn’t want to miss his flight back to Los Santos booked to just after the event. Miguel pressed L for lobby. “Did you call a cab?” he asked.

“No,” Jose simply answered, and his fellow gang member raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “We already spent too much money in your house,” he explained as Miguel shook his head and looked up. “When you start working maybe you can call a cab,” he finished. The duo walked out of the dark, dirty building onto the polluted snow covering the pavement outside. Jose zipped his stolen, dark red jacket up and put his hands on the pockets. A freezing, weak breeze hit Miguel in the face.

“You only say that ‘cause you got that jacket,” Miguel complained, crossing his arms and trying to get warm. He was only wearing a white and grey Hawaiian shirt with blue jeans. They walked all the way to the airport and down the subway, mugging a man on the way over his jacket.

 

Carl Johnson walked out of D-Ice’s house. He wore a black suit he borrowed from the host, who wore the same outfit. The last waited inside a shiny red Sultan, sitting impatiently at the front passenger’s seat. Another gang member, Berkeley, turned the sedan’s engine on as Kendl, wearing a simple black, thick silk dress, walked rapidly out of the house. Carl aided his sister by opening the door of the car for her to get inside. He ran to the other side and went inside as well. Berkeley drove off, first heading north at the Cochrane Dam, ready to take the bridge to Stauton within a few minutes. They barely spoke during the trip, the only exception being Berkeley asking if they were late and receiving a negative answer. D-Ice looked anxious, unconsciously looking at the mirror and cleaning sweat off of his forehead along the way. Carl figured his friend was not familiar with burials, unlike himself.

“I still don’t understand why we can’t have a wake and a proper funeral,” said Kendl, lamenting. “Why do we have to go straight to the burial?”

“We gotta get back to LS to take care of Sweet’s,” Carl answered, setting his priorities to the sister. “Woozie wouldn’t be able to hide him with all those cameras and stuff. The police probably got him inside a drawer just waiting for us.”

The grey Cathedral, with its Gothic style of two parallel towers and stained glass windows facing the street began to take shape on the horizon. Small graffiti could be spotted around it.

Liberty was a city of no faith. The rising crime in the streets of the metropolis sucked out all of the citizens’ hope, who would rather just stay inside their houses and watch comedy sitcoms instead of attending Sunday morning’s cult. That as a fact, its only Christian church, the Cathedral of Liberty City, could just be equivalent, abandoned as it was; only three friars remained there along with the priest, the rest of those having moved out to calmer towns. The three friars were out in that cold Friday, visiting their families and secretly drinking alcohol in some of the filthiest bars around town. Berkeley parked the red sedan along a dark green hatch-type Blista model. A middle-aged, grey-haired priest, wearing a full collar black shirt and a matching cassock, waited patiently leaning on it. The passengers left their seats and stepped out on the pavement in front of the building. Kendl glared at it, unconscious, as Berkeley stood behind D-Ice, analyzing the locale. A 9MM pistol was concealed inside his inner suit pocket. The gang member followed his employer along with Johnson, who walked to the priest.

“Hi, I’m Carl Johnson. This is Darryl Stingley and Berkeley Jackson,” Carl said, introducing the men aside him.

“Hey, you’re Ray, right?” Asked D-Ice. “We spoke on the phone.”

“Yes, we did,” the priest confirmed. “Shall we start the ceremony right away?”

“Not yet,” Carl rushed to answer. “I’m waiting a couple of, huh… Friends,” he said, uncertain on how to call the two Latin gangsters meant to be there in a few minutes.

 

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,” the priest preached. It was sunset, and the cold breeze flowing around the city was an evident sign of soon-to-come snow. Carl Johnson missed home; he missed the old days with now deceased Sweet. He could not wait to go back home and forget everything; to finally drop his vendetta against Salvatore Leone, for too much innocent blood had been shed. The priest, Carl, Kendl, D-Ice, Berkeley, Miguel and Jose were standing around Cesar’s dark, cedar-built coffin. Two employees from the funeral home, dressed in black jackets and matching sweat pants, were leaning on graves around the yard, waiting for the priest’s job to finish and for theirs to start. Dirty, rusty shovels were held by them. Carl hugged his sister, who wept uncontrollably, trying to comfort her. D-Ice and Berkeley looked down respectfully; the first still sweating occasionally. Miguel kept staring at his deceased boss’ dead body, bored; Vialpando was past, he thought, and he had to take care of his own future. Miguel kept a serious expression, reflecting about the few good moments he had with Cesar Vialpando. He would miss him, after all.

“Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus,” the priest proceeded.

D-Ice looked up: the two funeral home employees were on the ground, still. He gave Berkeley a quick lap on the shoulder. Berkeley drew his 9MM pistol out of his pocket. Carl looked at him puzzled. He then turned his attention to the priest, who appeared to have a black shadow behind him. Carl grabbed his sister and threw her to the floor in an attempt to protect her; then reaching to his pocket -only to find out he did not bring his handgun along with him. D-Ice and Berkeley should handle the situation, he thought.

Miguel and Jose drew their pistols out and fired them at the attackers; all of those dressed in black, white-striped outfits and matching ski masks. One of them, coming from behind one of the dead funeral home men, threw a bloody knife away and drew a hand pistol from his pocket; he then fell onto the grass, pierced by one of Miguel’s bullets. Jose fired his: another attacker down; double shots to the head. Carl Johnson could do nothing but throw himself onto the ground and try not to get shot. As he did that, the priest’s body fell onto him. He could feel the priest’s warm blood shedding through his clean tailor suit. Kendl screamed desperately as Miguel ran away from the scene.

Jose’s body fell down as well, his nervous expression disappearing from his face as his eyes went dead and blood came out of his mouth. It was a despiteful scene to watch, Kendl thought; a man chocking on his own blood and dying. She passed out in tears.

Although Berkeley fell down as well, D-Ice was still standing and, for much of Carl’s surprise, his gun was not pointed at the attackers. Carl figured he had given up.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” D-Ice said quietly. “Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

The two remaining attackers had their MP5 submachine guns pointed at a questioningly-looking Carl.

“Get up, Johnson,” ordered one of the attackers. Carl obeyed; hands up. It took him about ten seconds of silence to realize the frightening reality: D-Ice had betrayed him.

“You sold me out,” Johnson said, looking straight in D-Ice’s eyes. The look of disappointment in Carl’s eyes horrified D-Ice.

“My friends died,” he said in answer. “’Cause of you, Carl. ‘Cause of you, now I have women crying, saying I took their men. Except it wasn’t me, it was you.” His eyes were terrifyingly widened. “I’m not sorry.”

Carl Johnson looked down in shame: his friend was right. Although he did not want to die, he, first of all, understood D-Ice’s reasons. He only made one wish:

“Don’t kill Kendl,” he said, almost like an ultimate order. D-Ice looked at one of the attackers questioningly.

“No need to,” the assassin said. “She passed out anyway.”

“Yeah,” the other said. “Now get a move on.” He waved his gun to the path leading to the exit of the graveyard. Snow started to fall softly. One of the attackers started to walk away and Carl followed him. D-Ice mentioned to do the same but the other killer pointed his gun defiantly at him. “Don’t,” he said. “Your job’s done, and you won’t wanna see what’s next.” D-Ice looked down in consent as the man in black walked away. He glanced at Kendl’s passed out body. Although he would have to explain very carefully why he survived and Carl vanished, he decided he would take care of her, for Carl would not want her sister to be alone.

 

The taller attacker opened the back doors of the van and the other one quickly pushed Carl Johnson inside with his gun. Facing the shock of a betrayal, he did not say a word until the car was turned on by the driver.

“Ok, go, Sergio,” one of the attackers said, taking his ski mask off. Carl was not surprised when he recognized the man as Antonio Cipriani, the Italian mobster that kidnapped him weeks ago and murdered his brother. The driver, a fat man in his fifties, looked back to the passengers and straight into Carl’s eyes.

“Hey there, kid,” he said. “I’m Lampone. But you can call me Sergio.” Carl stared back at him in silence. “Oh, c’mon, don’t be so harsh on yourself, will you?” he said, turning the engine on and driving off. “It’s not your fault we’re so good. Hey Joey, where’s Leonardo and Redi?”

“Them Latino bitches took’em down,” said the other attacker, now confirmed by Carl as being Salvatore’s son Joey Leone, also taking his ski mask off and looking at him. “Hope this isn’t a surprise to you.”

“Not at all,” Carl answered, glancing at Joey’s eyes.

“Heh,” he laughed. “You know, we might let you live… If you tell us where the money is.”

“It’s all over Venturas by now,” Carl answered, smirking playfully. The idea of death had already penetrated his mind and he barely feared his attackers. He knew he was going to die, so there would be no reason for him to act like a submissive coward. “Maybe if you mug a few thousand people you might get it back.”

“Very funny,” Cipriani said seriously. “Joey, did you get that bald-headed c*nt?”

“Couldn’t,” he answered. “The bastard got outta there way too fast. sh*t, pop ain’t gonna be happy with this.”

“He doesn’t really need to know,” Sergio suggested. “Unless we tell him, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not lying to the Don,” Antonio stated.

“Cut the crap, Toni,” Joey said. “We ain’t telling him, and I hope you do the same.”

Antonio shook his head and looked down in disapproval.

“At least we managed to waste the rest,” Joey said.

“Did you guys put down his sister?” Sergio asked.

“No,” Antonio answered. “The Don said no women. Though we did knock down the priest.”

“Good. What about that Ice guy?” Sergio answered. “I still can’t believe he dared going to Sal’s place last night. Big balls, I’ll give you that.”

“Big balls my ass,” Joey said, sitting back on his seat and relaxing. “The guy was pissing himself.”

Carl looked up: Antonio was sitting in front of him, leaning against the van’s back doors. Joey was sitting next to him, his MP5 sub machine gun sticking out of his pocket. In a matter of three seconds, he got up, violently pulled out Joey’s weapon out of his pocket and aimed it at the driver, who felt the gun barrel on his head and ducked onto the steering wheel, activating the van’s horn. As Carl was about to pull the fatal trigger, something knocked him on the head. He fell unconscious and harmless on Joey’s lap.

“Nice hit,” Joey said, looking at Antonio, who held a steel pipe he grabbed from the floor the moment he saw Carl moving.

“You were supposed to cuff him,” Antonio said angrily. The car was starting to speed down. They were inside a small alleyway Sergio was using as a shortcut to the Callahan Bridge connecting Stauton to Portland.

“Hey, I didn’t know he was going to try something that stupid!” Joey said. “C’mon, Sergio, get a move on!”

The car did not move, nor did the driver. Joey pushed Carl out of his lap and onto the floor as Antonio grabbed a pair of handcuffs and bonded Carl’s hands behind his back. Joey reached for the front seat and slapped Sergio on the head. As he did not move, Joey reached his middle fingers for his neck.

“Aw, f*ck,” he said slowly.

“What is it now?” Antonio asked unworried.

“I think Sergio had a heart attack.”

 

The rusty grey truck rushed trough the dirt driveway leading to Salvatore Leone’s residence and then stopped; dust rose as the tires froze their movement.

Don Salvatore Leone was dressed in one of his classic black suits; a red tie glowed in the middle of it. He did not smile or showed any emotions until the backdoors of the van were opened and Antonio Cipriani smiled his respectful smile to him. Carl Johnson laid beneath the bodyguard, who kneeled triumphal on him. The African-American criminal had his dark eyes open, his defying look hitting Salvatore’s eyes aggressively. The Don did not bother at all with such affront, for Johnson had finally been defeated and all that waited him was his imminent death.

As Antonio pushed Carl out of the car, Joey opened the driver’s door and walked towards his father.

“Once and for all, what were the losses, John?” the Don asked serious, scratching his grey moustache.

“Well, pop,” started Joey, acquiring a grief expression. “Leonardo and Redi didn’t make it through and…” he shook his head and looked down, worried. He knew his father and Sergio Lampone were great friends, and giving the Don such news was an extremely difficult task. As the Don looked severely at him, his eyes demanding further explanation, Joey continued. “Sergio… He had a heart attack, pop.”

Don Salvatore Leone’s expression in response to such news was striking. He closed his eyes and leaned his head down facing ground. He stood still, quiet for about five seconds before restoring himself and saying:

“Fair enough. Now if you could follow me, gentlemen, I made a few special arrangements for our meeting.” The Don straightened his head and started to walk towards his house. Joey concealed his MP5 under his black sweat jacket and put his hands inside his pockets, calm, as he started to follow his father. Antonio Cipriani held the handcuffed arms of Johnson aggressively, pushing him through the way while holding the loaded sub machine gun behind the his back. Following Salvatore, they passed the house, walking straight to the garden backyard. Cipriani pushed Carl to the edge of the cliff and left him standing there while gun pointing. Joey did the same.

“Very well, then,” Salvatore started, drawing a discreet, black 9MM pistol from inside his suit. “Any last words?”

“Why?” Carl simply asked, his eyebrows rose.

“Well,” the Don laughed briefly. “It’s business, Carl, you should know better than that.

“But why’d you kill my brother?”

“Why’d steal from me?” Salvatore replied, shrugging.

“Just business,” Carl replied quickly, forcing a smirk.

Salvatore aimed his weapon down and pulled the trigger rapidly twice.

The pain Johnson felt was unbearable; he fell to his bloody, mutilated knees and then hit his face onto the cold grass, groaning in pain. The Don looked scornfully at him, incapable of showing any pity.

Salvatore Leone kicked Carl Johnson’s body towards the cliff. He fell, a single loud scream heard before he knocked his head onto one of the wet rocks, dying instantly; his eyes still wide open when his limp corpse hit the cold, dark waters of Liberty City.

The trio watched as Johnson’s body sunk deeper in the water, never to be seen again.

 

 

THE END

Edited August 26, 2007 by Sinful

[Sinful]

Four days passed and no replies?

[TonyZimmzy]

That chapter had me f*ckin mesmorized! I'm glad I followed this story for so long, unbelievable! I thought CJ might of narrowly escaped, but I suppose that wasn't a part of the story, being Toni's story and all

 

What's the next story you're gonna write then? If you've decided yet, cos I'll be following.

[Sinful]

Thanks, appreciate your comment!

Well, I don't think it was really Toni's story, even though he was the one in the main banner. In my opinion it was more Carl/D-Ice/Miguel/Jose/Salvatore/Joey/Sergio/Toni's story. Although many small-time characters had their own moments on the limelight (such as Joe and Leonardo).

 

About next projects, I think I'm going to write a oneshot about Miguel and Liberty City. More to clear up things in this fic that need explanation.