The Liberty Connection

[Lethal Nizzle]

 

THE LIBERTY CONNECTION

PROLOGUE

 

Liberty City is home to a vast amount of people, with various sub-cultures and ethnical minorities contained within. All of these people are different; their physical appearance, their ethnic background and their personality set themselves apart from one another. Not one citizen is alike in Liberty City. Yet how did four people, picked at "random" by fate, find their lives intertwined at a single moment. They didn't know each other, and went into this moment thinking like it would be another day. At one point in the day they all meet, and the inexplicable happens. It's amazing how various people, or in this instance, "threads", weave into one another to create the fabric of society we live in today. This story is about one point in the lives of four were changed dramatically by fate.

 

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ONE

"The Speaker"

 

• Christopher “Prince Dub” Charleston brought his brown leather jacket tighter over his shoulders as the Liberty City rain slammed harder into the city. The smell that came with a previously hot piece of concrete suddenly being hit with water rose from the asphalt around him. Charleston's overly large beanie hat, which was aptly coloured in the Rastafari red, yellow and green protected a small amount of the black dreadlocks which sprouted from his head; the rest of the hair was in the open, and was starting to get wet. This was a far cry from the weather in the old country.

 

It was a short walk from Charleston's apartment in Schottler to the Homebrew Café, and these walks were simply a stroll from say point A to point B, with little else happening. Charleston had seen a lot on these walks; he had seen muggings, shootings and accidents. He had seen his “brethren” slain on these very streets by his sworn enemies; the cruel and brutal Russian Mafia. Charleston himself had never been involved in a gangland shooting, and wanted to keep it that way.

 

Charleston was a speaker, not a fighter. He warred with other people verbally, and in a non-threatening way. He was a preacher, a motivator and an icon in the small Jamaican community that resided in Schottler. He was a man among mindless thugs who would rather get high and fight.

 

Charleston came to a stop on the road he was walking along to briefly look up and down the street. After he was satisfied that no cars were near enough to do him damage he stepped out across the road. The rain began to pick up in rhythm and, with the help of the wind, hit with a little more ferociousness. Charleston was glad to make it under the shelter of the café, which had its omnipresent members standing guard outside. He took off his “aviator-style” sunglasses, which were no help in the current weather he was facing, and made for the café door.

 

As soon as his pearl-white hi-tops made contact with the floor inside the café an overwhelming barrage of smoke flew towards him. The repugnant substance also hung in the air as if it were air itself, but these people consumed this smoke as if it were air itself. Wasting little time Charleston headed for the bar, receiving pats on the back from the pool players he passed. When he reached the bar he sat himself upon a stool and ordered a drink.

 

“A Pride Brew please 'tender.” Charleston said, propping his head against his curled fist. The bartender bent down beneath the bar and retrieved the said lager. After seeing his drink placed on the bar Charleston left the change on the bar and turned on his stool.

 

The ever present smoke had began to take its effect on Charleston; the mix of cigarette and cannabis had began to make his eyes water, and his throat began to scratch. After downing a bit of the lager however, the tickling sensation subsided. A few seconds passed, then the door swung open and a small man walked in. He had a set of broad shoulders, and wore a black t-shirt, which nearly touched his kneecaps, with the Didier Sachs logo on the front in white. He also had dreadlocks, which were decorated with various coloured beads. It didn't take long for the man to see Charleston.

 

“Yo Dubby!” The short man waved a hand, and Charleston waved back lazily. Ronnie “Ducky” Marley made his way towards Charleston, gingerly sidestepping a stumbling drunkard. When he reached Charleston he gave him a hard slap on the shoulder and gave him large grin, revealing a small gold tooth, which stood out against the slightly yellow teeth surrounding it. “How ya been me friend?”

 

“Good, good. And you, me duck-faced breda?” Charleston grinned as Ducky's own smile faltered for a second. The nickname “Ducky” had come from his facial features, most prominently his mouth, which slightly resembled a duck's bill.

 

“How many a time I have to tell ya, call me Ron. How 'bout I call ya Christopher. How would ya feel?”

 

“To be 'onest Ducky I would not mind a bit.” Charleston smiled as Ducky gave his ribs a dig, before he ordered a Pride Brew for himself. “So, Ducky, what bring ya down to Hove Beach this fine mornin'?”

 

“Business prospec's my frien'. One of the posse have tol' I and I that a deal be going down in BOABO, in fe dockyards in a few hours.” Ducky took a quick sip of the lager before starting again. “ The dealer's some ex-Russian Mafia cat; now I asked me friend if we could trust 'im, and he seem to check out.”

 

“Mafia.. I'm not likin' this Ducky. Y'know how feisty dem bastards be. Plus they're de very guys we be fightin' for so long and 'ting.”

 

“Ah know, ah know. That's why I bringing back-up, just in case 'tings do get feisty.” Ducky let out a loud and prolonged belch, which came to an abrupt halt when Charleston cut across.

 

“I your backup? I think ya know I hold a piece as if I and I brain-dead.”

 

“Ah know, me breda. Ya need to chill. I be takin' you because you need fe experience. You been rollin' with da Posse for a long time, and you have not seen battle?”

 

Charleston took a swig from the lager; the fumes around him were beginning to get to him, and his eyes began to sting. “I prefer to figh' with words, not god complexes like de pieces you hold.”

 

Without warning Ducky leaned towards Charleston and gripped both of his shoulders. Charleston was left staring into the dull, grey orbs that were Ducky's eyes. Ducky wore an expression that was in limbo between concern and annoyance. After a few tense moments, Ducky spoke.

 

“You're coming wit' me Dub. Ya not fightin', you can be a lookout if ya wan'. I bring a dozen brethren, armed to fe teeth if all goes to sh*t. You will be safe, me breda. I promise.” Ducky let go of Dub's shoulders and moved back, gripping his brew and finishing the half of the liquid that was left in one swig.

 

“Wait, Ducky. What be this Russian sellin'?” Charleston looked on as Ducky turned, a puzzled expression on his face.

 

“What else me friend? He be sellin' green, said he hijacked a shipment from de Baltic or som' sh*t like dat.”

 

Charleston bowed his head for a moment, taking in all of what just happened. A drugs deal was going down with an ex-Russian Mafia, who was selling weed? This didn't add up; all the Russians were ever interested in was vodka, cocaine and property rackets; since when did they delve into weed? “A'ight me frien'.. when this deal going down?”

 

“Noon, Dubby. I swing by ya place at quarter to the hour.. Cayuga Avenue, right?”

 

“Yeah, but listen-”

 

Ducky cut off his friend, not knowing that he had done. “Righteous me breda. I be seein' you in a while and 'ting. One love.”

_____________________

Finally I've got this ball rolling. This is the GTA "snapshots" project I was on about in Writer's Ideas; I took onboard the idea of linking all of the different stories into one climax, Pulp Fiction-esque. Props to Chunk, who came up with the story name!

[Chunk]

I must say Niall, this is pretty great. You set the scene well and it kept me gripped. I'm looking forward to where this goes, good job.

[Rhoda]

Very well laid out, I look forward to seeing what connections we'll encounter with your characters and existing ones also. It flows well and the description is top notch; there isn't so much that we focus on the environment more than the characters, which is always a good sign in a character-driven narrative such as this.

 

If I could point something out though, and far be it from me to criticize so early on in your work, but this is something that stood out for me:

 

 

Charleston came to a stop on the road he was walking along to briefly look up and down the street. After he was satisfied that no cars were near enough to do him damage he stepped out across the road.

It may just be me, but I think that sentence highlighted is a little over-analytical. I don't want to criticize this at all, it's great work, but something tells me we could've done with a watered-down version of that, maybe a comment on the traffic itself rather than stating the road was clear of vehicles that could do him damage. It may just be personal tastes, but it's just something I picked up. I await more of this Niall, I'm glad you're back.

[Lethal Nizzle]

Cheers Matt. Thanks again for the title.

 

Thanks Craig. Yeah it's good to be back in the game. I'm writing the next chapter as we speak, and the next one revolves around the dealer himself. Should be up by the end of the week.

[The Unvirginiser]

Your writing really is coming along, loved the way you set this out too. Keep this up, it's a big improvement on your previous work.