Grand Theft Auto: Family Loyalty

[VCRules86]

Chapter 11

 

 

 

A soft wind howls outside in the icy winter night as snow begins to fall and the bright lights of Star Junction illuminate the bleakness of the pitch black sky that looms above the city, the moon shining brightly in the sky. A man stands silently at a street corner, hands tucked deep into his pockets and an ashy orange glow accompanying the cigarette that protrudes from his thin and densely chapped lips. The wool overcoat that drops down to his knees provides sufficient enough warmth as the snow falls onto his shoulders and melts soflty into the snug material creating small wet spots on his coat. He takes the cigarette away from his mouth and exhales a thin cloud of cancerous gray smoke into the freezing air before inserting it back into place. Although he has been standing stationary for the past hour, no one has seemed to take notice of the aging man bundled up on the corner with both hands rubbing against his bright red cheeks as they succumb to the 20 degree temperatures tha envelop the area.`

 

2 hours ago the man had been sleeping soundly in his hotel room with the warmth of a blanket and several pillows to soothe him as the winter weather surged through the city outside his window. He had been enjoying the rest that came at the end of a very busy day in which several meeting were held with many different business associates about several different problems ranging from political issues to those that stemmed from overdue loanshark payments. Tiresome hours were spent driving to locations all over the sprawling metropolis that is known as Liberty City. After more than his fair share of business ventures for the day, Gregorio Espantoso was ready to slip into his silk pajamas and crawl into the king-sized mattress that awaited in his room at the Majestic Hotel. All of this was halted the very second his phone rang and he answered. The caller was his brother and bodyguard Ramon who had told him that an he had urgent news and that Gregorio must meet him on a street corner outside of a Burger Shot in Star Junction at 11:00pm.

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It is now midnight and Gregorio is becoming both increasingly impatient and annoyed at the lateness of his brother who is usually on time for appointments such as this. As Gregorio begins to contemplate hailing a taxi and going back to his hotel, he sees the unmistakable image of his brother's maroon Calvacade as it pulls up onto the curb beside him and Ramon motions for him to get in.

 

He climbs into the passenger seat of the massive SUV and is immediately met with the comfortable blowing of the vehicle's heater as Ramon begins to drive.

 

"Hello, I'm sorry I had to wake you." greets Ramon appologetically.

 

"It's okay, I'm sure you have a good reason for it." assures Gregorio as he flicks his cigarette butt into the Calvacade's built in ash tray.

 

"I'm afaid I do." replies Ramon gravely.

 

Gregorio looks at him confusedly, "What do you mean?:" he asks in a quizzical tone.

 

"Three hours ago, a group of warehouse workers discovered a suspicious trailer that hadn't been there earlier, with the recent boom in terrorist threats they allerted the police. When the cops got there they opened up the trailer and found Ubaldo's Huntley along with his, Alex's, and Willy McGeaver's dead bodies. They had all been shot to death." explains Ramon chokingly.

 

Gregorio sighs and shakes his head, he didn't ever have that much of a relationship with the Valdez brothers, Ubaldo and Alex, but Ramon was quite close to them. He places his hand on his brother's shoulder, "I'm sorry Ramon, I know you three were very close. It was the Gambettis I presume?"

 

Ramon nods and clears his throat, "The police aren't sure but I am, who else would have done this? I just want to find out exactly who did this and make them suffer." he say vengefully.

 

"Do we have any idea on the men who killed them." questions Gregorio.

 

"No, but I intend to ask around for any information regarding their deaths. I swear to God that whoever did this, I will take their f*cking heads clean off!" growls Ramon.

 

"I know, I promise you that someday you will have that oppurtunity. Start asking around and I'll organize a hit squad, even if the victims aren't the Valdez brothers' killers, tomorrow we retaliate."

[VCRules86]

Chapter 12

 

 

 

A silver Feroci roams leisurely through the streets of Algonquin, the early morning sun glistening brightly off of its recently polished hood. It's driver smiles relaxingly as he slows the vehicle to a stop at a red light. The driver drums on the steering wheel in rythym with the song playing on the radio, "American Girl" by Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers. As the light turns green the driver lightly plants his foot down on the gas pedal and continues on down the street pleasently observing the adjacent park as morning joggers and other workout enthusiasts pore into its area, the long and lanky trees casting gigantic shadows onto the street.

 

"It's a nice day today." says the driver to his passenger who sits tiredly in the back seat.

 

The passenger rubs his eyes and squints out of the window as the sunlight splashes through the window of the Feroci and illuminates the finely tailored features of his tan Perseus suit. "Too tired to f*cking notice, we almost there?" he mumbles grouchily.

 

The driver nods and turns down the radio, "Yes Mr. Roatana, we should be there very shortly."

 

Terry Roatana straightens up in his seat and loosens his tie, "Okay, and cut it out with the formalities Raci, ain't in no f*cking mood to hear you so cheery. It isn't like we're going to a theme park or some sh*t."

 

Nick Raci sighs and shakes his head, "Sorry Terry, by the way, have you heard yet?"

 

Terry coughs into his suit sleeve and yawns heavily, "Heard about what?"

 

"They found the Mexicans, McGeaver too." says Raci nervously, "What are we gonna do?"

 

Terry puts his head in his hands and swear beneath his breath, "f*ck, we'll figure something out, I'll talk to my guys in the LCPD."

 

Nick Raci nods and turns right onto a street lined with several expensive looking flats and townhouses, one of which belongs to Simon Kell, a very accomplished trial lawyer and attorney of Marvin Saltine who is a pharmecy clerk and a cooperating witness in a trial against a friend of one of the Gambetti's associates. The associate is a local police officer who has ties to the McReary Irish Mob with which the Gambettis have a very loose alliance with and owe a favor, the cop is a formal member of the McReary's but does a lot of contract work for the Gambettis and he was witnessed shooting a pimp who had tried to recruit the wife of Phil's nephew, the now deceased Frankie Gallo.

 

Nick stops the car in front of Kell's townhouse and kills the engine as Terry steps out of the vehicle. The two of them walk up the stairs and knock on the double doors which are made of expertly crafted mahogony. After a few seconds a man dressed in a light yellow sweater and blue sweatpants opens the door, a tall glass of lemonade in his right hand. This person is Simon Kell.

 

"Hello, may I help you?" he asks with a questioning smile.

 

Terry nods and clears his throat, "I think so, I'd like to have a little bit of a chit with you, can I come in."

 

"Of course, welcome to my home." says Kell pleasently as he ushers them through the door and into his highly furnished living room, complete with a spotless white carpet and a 2 thousand dollar chandelier dangling from the ceiling. Kell offers Terry and Nick a seat and they oblige by making themselves comfortable on the elegant L couch placed in the center of the room. Kell sits down in a brown leather chair and pours them each a glass of brandy.

 

"So, what can I do for you gentlemen?" inquires Kell.

 

"Well, you're the attorney for a cooperating witness in an upcoming case against a man named Will Tyson." begins Terry taking a sip of his beverage, "You can say we are representatives of Mr. Tyson and his associates."

 

Although he has one of the most fiery tempers on the East Coast, Terry can be quite a smooth talker when the need arises. Even though his first thought is to kill his problems he also displays some sort of judgement in matters such as this, he isn't stupid and knows that things like these can't just be handled with a gun. Terry is a man with a burning fire pulsing through his veins but he is able to douse that fire when the situation calls for it. This is a trait even Ron Cadrio, Terry's biggest critic, has grown to admire.

 

Kell sighs and sets his glass down on the coffee table in front of him and leans back in his chair, "I see, what are you hear to discuss?"

 

"Friends of mine owe a favor to Mr. Tyson's associates and we are here to grant that favor." explains Terry.

 

"I see what you are aiming at." says Kell, "I am listening."

 

"If you are able to convince Mr. Saltine that testifying isn't the best idea, my friends will look very highly upon it and will be willing to compensate you for your efforts." says Terry enticingly.

 

Kell sits silently for a moment, pondering as to what he should do. "I will play ball but I want a specific favor from you and your people. I know your kind of people and your type of business, I have a very big problem that you could aid me with. You see, I am a very dedicated lawyer and will do anything to ensure the victory of my client and myself in court. Sometimes the things I do are less than legal and my previous incursions into these areas have brought me unwanted attention. A Districy Attorney in Alderney is trying to get me on jury tampering charges and he is getting close. If I help you I want a guarantee that this man will be dealt with, permanently."

 

Terry considers the offer for several seconds before replying, "I think that can be arranged, what's his name?"

 

Kell smiles and stands up from his chair, "Harlen Bassinger."

 

Terry stands with Nick at his side and extends his hand towards Kell, "Okay, I think we have an agreement."

 

The two shakes hands and both Terry and Nick leave Kell's residence and drive off in the Feroci.

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Nick stops the car at a red light. The engine idles softly as he waits patiently for it to turn green. As he waits a black Admiral pulls up beside the Feroci. The vehicle is rather unassuming save for its inhabitants. Four steely eyes men sit in the luxury sedan, their eyes locked on Nick and Terry in menacing stares. Nick glances over at the men and slwoly reaches for the gun he has hidden in his suit.

 

As he wraps his fingers around the cold handle of the 9mm pistol he witnesses a Desert Eagle poke out of the window of the Admiral.

 

He turns to Terry and screams, "Terry get down!" as he says this a bullet catches him in the ear and blood sprays out of the side of his head as he slumps down in his seat.Before he can even react Terry is pelted with several rounds of machine gun ammunition as the bullets rip through the side of the car and into his body, each round sending a vicious spike of burning pain through his body.

 

The assassins speed away from the scene leaving a horrific scene of spent shellcasings and a blood splattered Feroci, it's passengers riddled with bullets and hanging on to life by an extremely thin thread.

[VCRules86]

Chapter 13

 

 

Jerry sits quietly on a bench outside of his Algonquin apartment, head tilted back and eyes staring bleakly into cloudy sky, minutes earlier the sky had been clear and the sun was shining high in the sky. This was all before the ominous looking clouds had floated into place with the prescence of a chilling wind at their sides. Jerry had been watching the afternoon's Swingers' game when he had received a panicked phone call from Ron telling him that Terry and Nick Raci had been shot. He had been instructed to get dressed and meet Cadrio on the street outside of his apartment building. This is where he sits now, the icy wind stinging his face and numbing his fingers to the bone.

 

As he sits here awaiting the arrival of Ron he begins to lament his choice of a short-sleeve button up shirt and jeans for clothing as they are quite inadept at shielding him from the cold. Jerry cups both hands and puts them up to his mouth and blows heavily creating a small burst of warmth in his freezing cold palms. He stands up and begins pacing up and down the street with his shirt collar popped up around his neck and his hands plunged deep into his pockets like a young child sticking his arm into the cookie jar. As he walks, the image of Ron's Vigero comes into view followed by the distinct growling of its throaty V8 engine as it pulls to a stop beside him.

 

Ron opens the door for Jerry and motions for him to enter the muscle car, "Come on, we gotta get to the hospital."

 

Jerry climbs into the passenger seat and cracks his neck as Ron begins to drive off towards the hospital, "So what's the situation?"

 

"The cops found the car and bodies from the hit on the Mexicans, they retaliated on Terry and Nick earlier today." explains Ron in a grave tone, "They're both in surgery now, things ain't looking to good though."

 

Normally, Terry and Nick would be taken to an unnofficial family doctor to fix them up and not a hospital but their wasn't even the slightest oppurtunity for that in this case given the fact that A) they were all alone and in the middle of the street with hundreds of witnesses and B) the wounds were far too serious for a quick bandaging up. Backstreet doctors like that are only useful for minor injuries like a slug to the leg or a knife cut, not 30 machine gun rounds to the torso.

 

"Any idea on what the exact injuries are?" questions Jerry as Ron presses down harder on the gas pedal, the speedometer creeping up to around the 90 mile-per-hour mark.

 

"No, we'll have to figure that out when we get there, Phil, Bobby, and Silvio are meeting us there along with a few others." replies Ron with his eyes still glued to the road ahead of them.

 

"How long have they been in surgery?" asks Jerry.

 

"I think they've been under for a couple hours, it ain't gonna be a picnic to take out all of those bullets ." responds Ron turning the steering wheel to the right as they approach a turn.

 

"Damn, do you think they'll make it?" replies Jerry nervously.

 

Ron bites his lip and presses down harder on the gas pedal while wrapping his free hand around the shifter, "I don't know Jerry, things are looking very bad but I've seen people live through worse. We just have to wait and see."

 

Jerry sighs and shakes his head as Ron downshifts, "Jesus, that's f*cked up.

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When they arrive at the hospital they are met by Silvio, Bobby, Phil, and a couple of low level soldiers named Oscar Croti and Bernie Azzo as they come off of the elevator on the 4th floor. All of them are nervous wrecks, they sit together in the middle of the room smoking cigarette after cigarette while anxiously awaiting the surgeons that are operating on Terry and Nick. Silvio is the only one who doesn't like he's been dead for 5 hours.

 

"Hello, thank you for coming so quickly." greets the underboss dryly as Jerry and Ron sit down.

 

Ron nods and lights a cigarette, "No problem, any word yet from the surgeon?"

 

Silvio shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair, "No, the last time he spoke to us he said that they both had lost a lot of blood and could give out at any moment. We do not know anything other than that."

 

Phil clears his throat and enters the conversation, "The guy said Terry got hit 17 times, Nick took one in the ear and another 7 in the torso. The guy said he's surprised that they didn't die on the scene."

 

"Holy sh*t, what are we gonna do if Terry dies?" replies Ron in a grave tone. Although he hates having to bring it up, Ron knows there is a very important business aspect to Terry getting shot. If he does die what will happen to his businesses and who will be his successor? Terry Roatana dying would be a massive blow to the family both emotionally and financially.

 

 

Phil shrugs and stares blankly at the ceiling, "I don't know, I ain't worrying about that sh*t now. Things are so f*cked up that I need to think about one thing at a time, I feel like my f*cking head's gonna explode from all this sh*t. I got too much on my mind."

 

As the group of mobsters continues to converse, the surgeon walks through the double doors leading to the recovery and surgery rooms. His scrubs are stained with fresh blood and he is still wearing his laytex gloves which are nearly covered in red.

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"Gentlemen," begins the surgeon as everyone turns to face him, "Your friends are just out of surgery."

 

Phil is the first one to speak, "Are they okay."

 

The surgeon sighs and nods, "It took a long time to get the bullets out and stop the bleeding, one of them, Nick, almost died on the operating table."

 

"Can we see them?" asks Ron anxiously.

 

"Yes, they're awake and I told them they had company, room 217." replies the surgeon.

 

All of the Gambettis thank the surgeon for his efforts and go to see Terry and Nick. When they enter the room Nick is half asleep and Terry is laying there motionlessly staring bleakly at the plain white ceiling above, he looks about as healthy as a 90 year-old cancer victim.

 

"Terry?" says Silvio nudging him in his shoulder.

 

Terry looks at him and coughs softly, "Yeah, thanks for coming to see me. I'm touched." says Terry in a raspy and strained tone. Even with 17 bullet wounds and enough morphine to knock out an elephant in him, he still maintains his smartass demeanor without a hitch.

 

Silvio shakes his head and smirks, "You never quit, do you?"

 

Terry chuckles and shakes his head, "I guess not."

 

"Kinda sucks, I was hoping they rubbed out your dumb ass." laughs Ron sarcastically.

 

Terry musters up enough strength to give Ron the middle finger and everybody laughs loudly, "Even in this bed, I could still kick your ass Ron. You better not push me."

 

"I'm so scared." chuckles Cadrio with a grin.

 

Phil and Silvio talk with Terry for a little longer before departing while Ron, Jerry, and Bobby stay with Terry and continue to converse wih him for a few more hours.

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Ron and Bobby stand up from their bedside chairs and turn to exit, "Alright Terry, we'll be back tomorrow to see you? We're turning in for the night." says Ron putting on his coat.

 

Terry nods and closes his eyes, he's tired and needs his sleep.

 

"Hey Jerry, you mind doing us a favor?" asks Ron, "Would you stay with them tonight, just in case?"

 

"Yeah, I don't mind." obliges Jerry.

 

Ron thanks him and, on his way out, hands Jerry a Glock 17 so if that any Mexican hitmen show up to finish Terry and Nick off, he'd be ready. Jerry sits a chair up beside the door and checks his watch, it's just past 11 o'clock at night. He sits there for several hours with not a thing to do, there's a TV in the room but Jerry doesn't want to risk waking Terry or Nick. As he leans back in his chair and closes his eyes, a voice comes out of nowhere.

 

"Jerry?"

 

His eyes snap open and he grabs for the pistol, startled by the voice, "What the f*ck?"

 

"Jerry, it's me." says the voice.

 

Jerry turns to see Nick sitting up in his bed, "Calm down, it's just me."

 

Jerry clutches his chest and sighs in relief, "Oh Jesus Christ, you scared the sh*t out of me."

 

Nick laughs softly as Jerry walks over to his bed, "Sorry, didn't mean to make you piss your pants."

 

Jerry tucks the Glock back into his wasteband and nods, " Thanks for being so considerate."

 

"You're welcome."

 

"You were out for quite a while." remarks Jerry.

 

"I know, doctor said my heart stopped for 30 seconds while I was getting operated on, I can't believe I made it. I took a bullet to the ear and survived, how lucky is that?"

 

"Pretty lucky." says Jerry.

 

"Almost like I was Irish." chuckles Raci.

 

"Almost." agrees Jerry.

 

"It happened so fast, before I knew what hit me there was blood everywhere and my entire body just stung like I'd beem hit by lightning, the only thing I can really remember is seeing that hand cannon poke out the window and me yelling at Terry to get down." remembers Nick, "It like it was insane."

 

Jerry nods and stands up, "I'm sure it was. Listen, you should get some sleep, we can talk in the morning."

 

"Okay, g'night Jerry."

 

Terry and Nick were lucky today. Many men have succumbed to injuries much less than what they have and they know it. What unfolded on this day is nothing short of a miracle.

[VCRules86]

Chapter 14

 

The sun rises slowly and climbs up onto its perch high above the marvelous sky scrapers that cover the landscape of Algonquin. The calming scent of the early morning air drifts upwards and flutters through the open window beside Nick's hospital bed, the soft breeze sends a mild chill throughout the dully ordained room. Nick slowly opens his eyes and glances at Jerry who is still awake, seated in the same chair, with heavy bags beneath his eyes and the appearence of a 2 week old corpse.

 

"Good morning." yawns Nick as he stretches his arms.

 

Jerry grunts and cracks his neck uncomfortably, "Likewise."

 

"You didn't sleep?" asks Nick as Jerry stands up from his seat and lumbers tiredly over to his bedside.

 

Jerry shakes his head and rubs both eyes, "No, I had to keep an eye on you."

 

"I'm that important?" smiles Nick

 

"I guess so." shrugs

 

Jerry stands up from his seat and stretches with a strainful groan. He lumbers over to the window and pulls apart the shades and winces reflexingly as the light splashes through the window and into the room. He walks back over to Nick's bedside and sits back down. As the two continue to talk, Nick notices Ron standing at the door with Ed Helegredo behind him.

 

Nick motions for them to come in and they walk up behind Jerry, "How you 2 doing?" he asks placing a hand on Jerry's shoulder.

 

Jerry turns to face Ron, his eyes hafl closed and bloodshot, "I think I'm the one who belongs in a hospital bed."

 

Ron snickers and nods, "You look like it. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you'd been shot 10 times and were about to drop dead from blood loss."

 

"Don't you think that's being a bit generous, Ron?" quips Nick with a chuckle.

 

Jerry shakes his hand and reaches for his Glock, "I oughta shoot both of you right here and now."

 

Ron playfully punches him in the shoulder, "It'd be the perfect place for it, we're right down the hall from the f*cking surgery room."

 

"That's where your wrong." explains Jerry, "Why perform surgery on a couple of dead men?"

 

Ron grins and nods in agreement as he lifts the small black fedora from his head, "Good point, can't argue with that." he says, "Listen, you and I have a job to do, you're gonna come with me and I'm leave Ed to look after these 2."

 

Jerry clears his throat and buttons his suit, "Sure, what's the job?"

 

"We'll talk about that in the car." assures Ron as they exit the room while saying there goodbyes to Nick.

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Jerry and Ron along the lengthy corridors of the hospital towards the elevators. Jerry glances at the patients in the other rooms as he passes by. He feels a sense of pity deep down in his stomach as he stride along observing these poor souls who obviously would rather die than be pampered and waited on like some pathetic and hopeless animal. Their families huddle around them with tears in their eyes praying to God for some sort of miracle that the operations and medicine clearly aren't providing. He swallows hard and turns his head away and stares straight ahead trying his best to ignore the sorrows around him as the dull stench of drugs and other forms of medicine radiate throughout the hallway. Jerry begins to turn pale and he staggers his way over to a trashcan and collapses in front of it, he vomits into the can as Ron rushes over to aid him.

 

"Jesus Christ, Jerry! Oh you okay!?' shouts Ron as he helps Jerry to his feet.

 

Jerry stumbles backwards and leans up against the wall as he wipes his mouth, "Yeah." he says as he gapss for air.

 

"My God, are you sure!?" asks Ron places his hand on Jerry's shoulder, "You want me to take you home?"

 

Jerry swallows hard and shakes his head, "No, I'm fine. I just a little virus I think."

 

Ron nods uneasingly, "Alright, if you say so,"

 

As they finish their walk to the elevator, Jerry thinks to himself, Why am I doing this?

 

He lives his life on the wrong side of morality and he is always walking a tight-rope on the line that represents life and death. Those people back there, those poor and degraded people who's lives are being cut short by the unfortunate dangers of this world. Jerry is struggling not to break down from the thought that his life, his job, has lead him down a path where he has a great chance to wind up like those doomed souls lying in the hospital beds with their loved ones crying for a miracle although they know full well that such things don't happen that way, they never have. Jerry doesn't want that, he doesn't wish to end up spending 20 hours on an operating table and spend the rest of his days lying there like a lifeless stone while all of his friends crowd around him and wish for his recovery while in denial of the fact that he's going to die.

 

He has seen that happen before and in the Mafia.............................one is a perfect prospect to wind up like that.

[VCRules86]

Chapter 15

 

 

As Ron drives weaves skillfully through the dense morning traffic, he glances over at Jerry who has his head leaned up against the window, "What was that back there?"

 

Jerry looks over to him and shrugs, "I don't know, it's just that seeing all of those people back there, they look like sick dogs. In our....life....it's easy to wind up like that."

 

Ron nods in understanding, "It's a rough job, not everyone can handle it. I break down myself sometimes, you just gotta put those thoughts outta your head and focus on your work."

 

Jerry nods half-heartedly and coughs, "I guess."

 

The primary reason behind Jerry's background is less obvious than he claims, it all stems from childhood expectations. Jerry was born in Little Italy in Algonquin and used to be surrounded by the wiseguys who used to hang out on street corners in bars, they were everywhere. Some of Jerry's best friends growing up were the sons and nephews of mobsters and as he got older, he was friends with the gangsters themselves. He held nothing against them but never in a million years pictured himself wokring with them come adulthood. His family always said he had the makings of someone special like a cop or doctor, not a Mafia hitman.

 

Jerry enjoys his life as a gangster for the most part, it has its perks, but the his thought that he could've done more and didn't have to be like this had he made better choices, that is what gets to him sometimes. He knows that he didn't have to do so many horrible things and participate in such violent acts to get where he is today, he could've gotten here some other way.

 

He can't help but break down when he thinks about the risks that his job involves and it eats at him even more knowing that things didn't have to be this way. Nonetheless, he is content with his job and with his life but the high expectations that he and others had for him are no picnic to to think about.

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"What's on the agenda today?" enquires Jerry with a yawn.

 

"When we was in there talking to Terry last night, he brought up that lawyer, Kell." answers Ron.

 

Jerry rubs his eyes and cranes his head to the left cracking his neck, "What about him?"

 

Ron sighs and proceeds to explain the situation at hand, " Well, as you know, one of the Irish guys got nabbed for shooting some pimp after he tried to whore out Frankie's wife. He killed him as a favor to us and a witness fingered him as the shooter so now we owe the Irishmen after what happened so we're trying to get this guy off. The problem is that the only way Kell will tell his boy not to testify is if we knock off some D.A in Alderney, Harlen Bassinger."

 

"Sounds complicated." says Jerry with a tired sigh.

 

Ron smirks and clicks his tongue, "Odds are that it's gonna be."

 

"We are we going?" asks Jerry with a questioning look.

 

Ron checks his watch and then takes out his cell phone and dials a number, "We gotta meet with one of the Irishmen, tell him what's up."

 

After several rings of the cell phone, somebody answers, "Hello?" says the voice on the other line, the person speaks in a slurred tone. He's either very drunk or very tired, possibly both.

 

"Hey Packie," greets Ron, "We need to meet up, something to do with Tyson."

 

Packie mutters something beneath his breath and shouts something to an unknown person he's with, "Fine, where do you want me to meet you?"

 

Ron ponders the question for a moment before replying, "69th street diner in Hove, be there in half an hour."

 

Ron hangs up the phone and shoves back into his pocket, "Have you ever met Packie?"

 

Jerry shakes his head, "No, I've just heard about him a couple times."

 

"Yeah, Packie's a tough kid, for an Irishman. I used to know his uncle Liam who took over when his pop died. Those guys used to run Purgatory back in the day, none of the families could touch them because they had the whole f*cking city in their pocket. The only reason they got taken down was because some guy in their crew was pissed at Liam for f*cking his wife and ratted them all out to the Feds. Packie's dad died in jail and Liam took over but the families had him knocked off two days after he got out of the joint, he had served 7 years for conspiracy. Nowadays, their whole family is f*cked up, they're just a bunch of thugs. Packie's a cokehead, Gerry's serving 25-to-life, Francis the cop got killed by some f*ck with a rifle, and Derrick got executed in Ireland for killing two limey soldiers with the IRA." explains Ron as he shifts gears.

 

"That's some history." says Jerry, "If they're so f*cked up, how come we work with them?"

 

Ron shrugs and responds, "They may be be a bunch of low-lifes but they can do a good piece of work and they don't ask for much."

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The 69th street diner is a cozy little eatery in the heart of Hove Beach, a prodominantly Russian and Eastern-European burrough. Crime is relatively low in the area, mostly because that no one wants to be stirring sh*t up in the Russian Bratva's territory. These guys are hardcore, most of them are former Spetznaz or ex-KGB agents who have gravited towards the criminal lifestyle. The Russian have a monopoly on all of the rackets in the area, controlling all of the illegal activity that happens in Hove Beach. A small gang of Albanians used to operate here but they were eventually killed off by the cousin of a loanshark victim, nobody asked any questions because the Russians were actually more than thankful to be rid of the competition. The Bratva, ran by Kenny Petrovic, isn't the menace to civilian society that most gangsters are but if you raise arms against them or say something to the wrong people, you are a likely candidate to wind up in the trunk of a car in a parking lot somewhere.

 

Ron and Jerry stroll into the Diner to be met by the working class drones seated all around the venue. Middle-aged men sit quietly reading today's paper and sipping coffee while tired-eyed waitresses lumber about catering to the needs of these men, the dull operations of their profession draining what little energy they have. Jerry and Ron sit at a cozy booth in the far corner of the diner as the sound of breakfast meats sizzling on the grill fills their ears. One of the waitresses, who's name tag reads 'Becky', approaches them and sets down two menues on the table.

 

"Hello, my name's Becky and I'll be serving you today." she mumbles boredly as they flick through the menues, "Can I get you some coffee.?"

 

Ron nods and smiles politely, "Yes please."

 

"How do you like it?" asks Becky as she motions for the girl behind the counter to start brewing a fresh pot.

 

"Lots of sugar, lots of cream." responds Ron, "Same for him as well." he adds pointing to Jerry.

 

As the waitress leaves to fetch the coffee, a beat looking man stumbles into the diner. His head is shaved down to the scalp and he sports a short sleave shirt and jeans, he wanders over to Jerry and Ron's table and sits down next to Jerry, "Hello my Italian friends." greets Patrick McReary in a sarcastic tone.

 

"Hi Packie." replies Ron, "You look like sh*t, what were you up to last night?"

 

Packie snickers and smiles fondly, "I had two girls from Broker, Russian broads. All night at an apartment I rent out in Dukes. Two hot chicks and a big f*cking bowl of coke next to the bed, what a night."

 

"Jesus Christ," exclaims Ron in amazement, "I'd be ashamed if I were your mother."

 

Packie shrugs, "I don't care, I wanna have some fun once in a while! What am I gonna do, stay at home with my ma my whole life?"

 

"I wouldn't be opposed to it, she'd probably straighten your ass out." jokes Ron.

 

Packie scoffs and waves his hand in dismissal, "f*ck, my ma is just as crooked as the rest of us. When my pop when down, she ran the whole f*cking thing!"

 

Ron laughs in amusement, "Is that so? She probably made a better boss than your coked up ass!"

 

"f*ck you." mumbles Packie as the waitress returns with the coffee, "Why am I here, you said it was about Will."

 

"Yeah." begins Ron, "We have a situation on our hands. We talked to Kell and he said he'd tell his boy not to testify, for a price. There is some Alderney D.A who's building up a case against him, jury tampering. Kell says that if we off this guy, he'll help. I've already gotten an okay from my boss. I just brought you here to bring you up to speed."

 

Packie snickers and yawns, "Well, seeing how it's of my concern that this D.A winds up taking a nice dirt nap, I think I'll come along.

 

Ron glances at Jerry and then back at Packie, "I don't know, me and Jerry here have it covered."

 

Packie glances over at Jerry, "Oh, that is what this dude's name is, Jerry? I don't care if you and Jerry have it covered, I wanna come."

 

Ron sighs reluctantly, "Fine, you have a gun?"

 

Packie lifts up his shirt to show a Beretta tightly nestled in his wasteband, "You know it."

 

"Okay, let's get going." says Ron as he stands up from the table.

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Packie squuezes into the backseat of Ron's car as Jerry lifts the front seat forward so that he can get in. Ron fires up the vehicle and waits for it to warmup as the powerful V8 growls intimidatingly. Ron shifts into first gear and they head off towards Alderney, ready to put this D.A into the ground. Jerry checks the Glock in his wasteband and makes sure that the safety is off and that there is a round in the chamber. Packie cocks the hammer on his Beretta as the silver frame of the weapon glistens slightly in the morning sun.

 

"We know where this dude is?" questions Packie as he sets the pistol down on the seat next to him.

 

"We got a good idea of where we can find the guy." replies Ron, "It shouldn't be too hard to get him."

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The three gangsters sit in an anticipation outside of the Alderney District Attorney's office as the bright sun quiety dissappears behind a thick plethora of grayish clouds, a soft rain begins to fall as several pedestrians glance up at the sky in bewidlerment at the sudden change of weather. Jerry sits silently in the Vigero's passenger seat next Ron as he slowly chews on a toothpick. They have been sitting here for a long time without a single glimpse of Harlen Bassinger. Ron stares out of the window watching the passing civilians to pass the time, there isn't really much else to do. Packie lies across the backseat of the car, in a deep sleep.

 

The D.A's office is well kept and holds the appearance that belongs in Star Junction Algonquin rather than the slummy streets of Alderney, where the drug dealers are more common then the drug stores. As a single man dressed in a trench coat exits the building, the attention of everyone in the vigero perks up.

 

"That's his bodyguard." exclaims Ron.

 

Bassinger's bodyguard looks to be middle-aged, probably 35-40. He has a large physique, more muscular than fat and sports a thing goatee with a curly black hair that goes down to the bottom of his neck. His skin is light brown, the bodyguard is probably of some sort of Hispanic descent. Following this man is a pudgy looking gentleman garbed in a beige suit jacket with tan pants. His hair is thinning leaving only a few strands of gray parted to the left side, this person is Harlen Bassinger.

 

"There he is, the fat f*ck." says Ron as he wraps both hands around a Beretta M12 machine pistol.

 

"How's this gonna go down?" asks Packie as he rises from his stupor.

 

Ron turns to him, "You and Jerry go over there and blow his f*cking brains out while I wait here in case any cops come snooping around or if this prick gets a little too far away from you."

 

Jerry and Packie nod and exit the car, both of their pistols concealed beneath their clothing. Jerry's hands sweat profusely as he and the drug-addled Irishman, McReary, approach the Bassinger and his bodyguard who are completely unaware of that the two men dashing across the street are there to murder them. If Bassinger's bodyguard has any brains he would be able to deduce what is about to happen.

 

Packie grabs his Beretta from his wasteband and is the first to fire as the 9mm piece of lead explodes out of the barrel with a small flash. The bullet hits the bodyguard square in the back and he tumbles to the hard cement sidewalk with a scream of pain as Bassinger looks on in shock. He quickly snaps out of his shate of shock and rushed off down the street while screaming, "Help! They're gonna kill me!"

 

Jerry raises his Glock with two hands and drops the D.A with a bullet to the back of the kneecap. Harlen Bassinger stumbles on for a few feet before collapsing in the street.

 

"Help! Please! Don't let them kill me!" he sobs at the innocent bystanders who stand around the scene staring at the wounded Harlen, too engaged in what they are seeing to even hear what the man is screaming at them.

 

Packie sprints up behind Bassinger and shoves his pistol in the back of Harlen's neck, "Shut the f*ck up, fat man!" he hisses as he pulls the trigger, effectively ending both the career and life of District Attorney Harlen Bassinger. While Packie and Jerry rush back to the car, two policemen dash around the corner with their weapons drawn. They have the two dead to rights and could easily shoot them down but they fail to noticed Ron who quickly kills them with a blast from his M12.

 

"Get us the f*ck outta here!" shouts Packie as he dives into the car with Jerry right behind him.

 

Ron slams his foot down on the gas pedal and all three of them are pinned back in their seats as the car shoots of down the street leaving a 20-foot stretch of tire marks and smoke behind them.

[VCRules86]

Chapter 16

 

2 days after the murder of Bassinger and here sits the baggy-eyed and noticeably tired Jerry Scaglietti, waiting patiently in the lobby of his apartment building for the arrival of Ron who has some important information. He buttons up his brown suit jacket and tugs his sagging gray pants up around his waist as a soft bit of sunlight shines through the stained glass windows adorning the entrance to the building. As he trudged over to a vending machine for a bottle of water, Ron enters the lobby clothed in a black dress shirt and matching pants.

 

"Hey, Jerry. We need to talk, it's important." says Ron as the two sit down on the couch beside the check-in counter.

 

"What is it?" asks Jerry curiously.

 

"Things are f*cked up, the cops picked up Packie last night. Some witness to the Bassinger hit decided to speak up." explains Cadrio.

 

Jerry bites his lower lip in nervousness, "f*ck."

 

Sensing his worry, Ron quickly assures him, "He could only indentify Packie, he couldn't pick you out. That ain't the biggest problem we have though."

 

"What is?" replies Jerry.

 

"Both Phil and Silvio don't want us anywhere near this. They don't want us stepping in to help Packie at the risk of the L.C.P.D figuring out that we were in on the hit. The big picture is that McReary is gonna be f*cking fuming when we let him go down and he's gonna want us dead, knowing him. We have our hands tied right now and another war is the last goddamned thing we need."

 

Jerry shakes his head, "This is a tough f*cking spot."

 

"Tell me about it." agrees Ron, "I talked it over with Phil and Silvio and we have a plan, it's risky though. We're gonna try to convince the rest of Packie's crew that it's in their best interest to join up with us. We're gonna talk to the higher-ups and try to get them onboard. If we can do that, Packie ain't gonna have no one to do his dirty work for him. If we can get these guys and their soldiers, anybody left on Packie's side wouldn't last a second."

 

"What if they say no?" asks Jerry with concern.

 

"That's a risk we're gonna have to take." sighs Ron, "If we get these guys on our side, we'll knock off anyone who's opposed and then we'll get rid of Packie."

 

"How we gonna get to Packie?" questions Jerry.

 

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, but for now, we've got other sh*t to worry about."

 

"Okay, thanks for the heads up." says Jerry as he and Ron stand up from their seats, "I have to go, gotta meet up with Yusmiero."

 

Ron nods and pats Jerry on the back, "Alright, I'll see you later kid."

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Jerry stands outside the door of Yusmiero's apartment building in Algonquin. Yusmiero had told Jerry to meet him here. Jerry knocks on the door and is met with a few seconds of silence before a voice calls out, "Who is it?"

 

"It's me." replies Jerry as an eye appears in the door's peephole.

 

"Oh, come on in man." says Yusmiero with a smile as he opens the door.

 

Jerry is led into the kitchen where a hispanic sits admiring a large amount of guns laid down on the table.

 

"Jerry, this is Carmen. She's with NDDD." says Yusmiero as the woman looks up from the weaponry.

 

Jerry extends his hand and he and Carmen shake hands, "Nice to meet you." he says.

 

Carmen is about Yusmiero's age, mid-20s and has long brown hair that's tied into a pony tail. She's wearing dark blue sweatpants and a red jacket.

 

"Yusmiero, this your mob friend you been talkin' about?" she asks.

 

Yusmiero nods, "Yeah, this is him. He's coming along today, we could use the help."

 

"He ain't no pussy is he, can he handle himself?" asks Carmen, she's got a quite a mouth on her.

 

"He can take care of himself, don't worry." ensures Yusmiero slightly embarrased by her comments, "Sorry about her man."

 

Jerry chuckles and wave shis hand dismissively, "No problem."

 

Yusmiero picks up a P90 and aims down the sights, "Grab a piece Jerry."

 

Jerry goes over the offerings on the table before grabbing a .44 Automag and two clips of ammunition. He slides the massive handgun into his wasteband and puts the ammo in his pocket. Carmen is something of a gun nut so she arms herself with the most brutal weapon the table, a hugely powerful AA12 fully automatic shotgun. She cradles the weapon in her arms and followsYusmiero and Jerry out of the door into the hall. They pile into the elevator and ride it down to the bottom floor.

 

Parralel parked in the street across from the building is Yusmiero's rusted and primered Manana, the vehicle looking just as worn and beaten as ever. Jerry rides up front while Carmen crawls into the back and Yusmiero slides into the driver's seat. He twists the key several times before the weathered slant 6 motor comes alive with a sputter and a cough of black smoke from the muffler. He puts the car into drive and peels out into the street.

 

"You have got to get a better car." chuckles Jerry in his typical insulting of the car.

 

Yusmiero mutters shakes his head as he flicks through the stations on the car's ancient AM radio, "Why do you hate my car so much?"

 

"It's a piece of junk." says Jerry with a smirk, "The thing's more pathetic than your baseball skills."

 

"Oh f*ck you." retorts Yusmiero as he elbows Jerry in the ribs, "At least I actually played professionally unlike your sorry ass!"

 

Jerry laughs out loud, "By professionally, do you mean playing minor-league ball for 5 years while barely hitting .220?"

 

Yusmiero gives Jerry a one-fingered salute, "Bite me, f*cking puta."

 

"Nevermind your failed career, what is the problem we're gonna be dealing with?" asks Jerry changing the subject.

 

"Some White Supremecist maricons moved in and built a meth lab in an abandoned shop on our turf. We went in there and asked for our cut but they told us to screw off, the three of us is gonna try to convince them to go along." replies Yusmiero.

 

"If it's that simple, why do you need me? Can't you just grab one of your other buddies and do this?" asks Jerry.

 

"I want you there because you have connections, if you throw your weight around a little bit so they can see who you are, maybe they'll see some sense." explains Yusmiero.

 

Jerry nods, "Okay, no guarantees. It's not like I'm a boss or anything, I'm just an associate."

 

Yusmiero chuckles lightly, "Man, these guys are so low on the ladder that someone like you would scare them sh*tless."

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Yusmiero pulls the car up beside the downtrodden. The front windows are blocked by large sheets of plywood, placed there so than no one can see the operation going on inside. Jerry and Carmen exit the car while Yusmiero pulls into an alley behind the building to block off the back door. The train tracks hover overhead, casting a large shadow over the area. Jerry pulls the massive .44 Automag from his wasteband and tugs on the slide. He clicks off the safety and aims the weapon forward with both hands as he and Carmen inch towards the door, Yusmiero jogs out from the alley with his weapon and joins them. As they near the door, they can hear the discordant sounds of conversation and the drugs being made.

 

In a sudden burst of adrenaline, Yusmiero charges forward and kicks down the door. The three of them rush in and train their weapons on the unsuspecting drug makers. Carmen raises her shotgun and fires a round into the ceiling.

 

"Everybody on the ground!"

 

All of the white supremecists hit the floor except for one. He is a portly man with a shaven head and a long brown beard stretching to his bare chest which proudly displays a large swastika tattoo accompanied by the SS thunderbolts on each side, "Who the f*ck are you!?" he snarls.

 

Carmen clubs him in the stomach with the butt of her AA12 and he drops onto one knee, "Shut up!"

 

Yusmiero steps forward as Carmen and Jerry keep their eyes on the other drug makers, "Listen up, you inbred racist f*cker. We're getting a piece of this action from now on. You told us to screw off already, we don't like it when people say no."

 

"f*ck you! I ain't working for no spick!" hisses the man defiantly.

 

Yusmiero grits his teeth and viciously knees the man in the temple, the racist's head snaps sideways and his whole body slams onto the floor. Yusmiero pins his machine gun to the man's back and holds his face against the dust-caked floor, "Don't f*ck with me puta! I'll blow you to f*cking hell!"

 

Yusmiero lifts the man's head up off the ground and forcefully aims it towards Jerry, “You see that guy? He’s the f*cking Mafia asshole. If you refuse one more time, his friends will f*ck your ass like you would never f*cking believe!” he threatens.

 

“Screw him!” growls the supremecist, “I’m not afraid of some dago greaseballs!”

 

“You sure about that?” asks Carmen as Jerry levels the .44 at him, “He don’t look like a cat to mess with.”

 

The defiant leader of the racist gang stares down the barrel of the intimidating handgun, a single bead of nervous sweat running down his forehead as blood trickles down from the cut in his temple, “You gonna shoot me, guinea!?”

 

Jerry isn’t easily angered but people like this guy always got his blood boiling. He’s been around this kind of hatred before and it makes him sick, the fact that someone can hate another person just because they have cultural differences is something that disgusts him. He stares coldly at the fearless scumbag in front of him. Jerry swallows hard and pulls the trigger on his gun. The shot is extremely loud and sends a ringing sensation through both ears.

 

With a scream of pain and a swift explosion of blood, the man’s right index finger flies through the air as the bullet makes contact with his hand. He grabs at the bloody stump of a finger as he grinds his teeth trying not to cry as the horrendous pain surges through his hand.

 

Yusmiero plants his P90 on another one of the man's fingers, "Are you gonna cooperate or are you gonna lose another finger?"

 

The man looks up at Yusmiero and manages a grim smile, "I'll play along for now, but I'm telling you now you smug spick bastard, we'll get you for this."

 

Yusmiero nods as he takes the P90 off of the guy's finger, "I'll be looking forward to it, f*cking punk."

 

Jerry, Yusmiero, and Carmen exit the building confident that the white supremecists won't be a problem anymore. They climb back into Yusmiero's car and drive off down the road.

 

"I hope those punks know not to f*ck around with us anymore." says Yusmiero.

 

"Oh, they won't. They don't have the balls." ensures Carmen with a smile.

 

Jerry," says Yusmiero, "thanks for coming along today man. I appreciate it."

 

"No problem." replies Jerry, "I'm happy to help."

[VCRules86]

Chapter 17

 

 

A soft rain comes down outside as Jerry sits quietly at the counter of a bar in Algonquin. It's Friday night and the place is slowly starting to fill up with thirst patrons aching to get away from the rigors of their every day lives. A tired slew of middle-aged men sit around the establishment downing bottle after bottle of ice cold beer, slowly drowning their troubles and worries in a flurry of alcohol. The world is a rough place and a lot of people need a place like this bar to escape from it all, even if it's only for a few hours.

 

Jerry slowly drinks from his bottle of lager as the soft melancholic tones of "The River" emit from the bar's jukebox with a few men singing along to the music. Jerry checks his watch and stands up from his seat, the rain begins to pick up outside. He Places a 5 dollar bill on the counter to pay for his beer and heads out into the dreary night as thunder begins to crack in the distance.

 

As he trudges along down the sidewalk, his phone begins to ring. He takes cover beneath an awning to shield himself from the rain and takes the phone out of his pocket. It's Paolo.

 

"Hey," begins Paolo, "Where are you?"

 

Jerry yawns and clears his throat, "I'm outside of Lucky Winkle's."

 

"I'm gonna come pick you up. I've got some business I need you to help me with." says Paolo.

 

Jerry sighs and curses under his breath. He finally gets a day to himself where he doesn't have to worry about this stuff and then out of nowhere he's dragged back down into the hole. He just wants to go home and get some sleep but in an instant he's being forced back into action at 11 o'clock on a Friday. Sometimes he just wants to give up the Mafia life altogether.

 

Jerry puts his phone away and trudges on down the sidewalk towards a sheltered bus stop on a corner down the street from the bar. Already sitting there is a young woman with straight reddish hair. She sits silently reading from a magazine as Jerry sits down next to her. She's attractive and wearing a tan jacket with jeans, this look is accompanied by a light red lipstick and two small diamond earrings.

 

"Nice day." she says with a slight chuckle as Jerry takes off his rain-drenced jacket.

 

"Tell me about it." he responds.

 

"You waiting for the bus?" she asks.

 

Jerry shakes his head, "No, a friend's coming to pick me up."

 

"Going out for a night on the town?" questions the girl with a smile.

 

"Yeah, I guess you could say that." replies Jerry with a smirk.

 

"I'm Tracy." says the woman as he reaches over to shake his hand.

 

"Jerry."

 

They begin to talk for quite some time, Tracy revealed that she is from Minnesota and is studying to become a forensic analyst. She said that she's going to Liberty City University and lives in a small house in Alderney. Jerry's really taken a liking to her in the past few minutes, something he rarely does with women. As they continue to speak, the bright high-beams of Paolo's Oracle come into view and the luxury sedan rolls to a stop beside them.

 

"Hey Jerry, let's get going." says Paolo from the driver's seat of his vehicle.

 

Jerry says goodbye to Tracy and walks towards the car. As he opens the door, Tracy taps him on the back and he turns around, in her hand is a small slip of paper.

 

"Call me." she says with a smile as she hands the card to Jerry.

 

Jerry nods and tucks the card into his pocket, "I'll do that."

 

He climbs into the car and waves as Paolo drives off.

 

"And who might that be?" asks Paolo with a chuckle.

 

"She was waiting for the bus and we just started talking." replies Jerry simply.

 

"Really, what's her name?" questions Paolo.

 

"Tracy."

 

"Look at you, the quiet and timid little Jerry Scaglietti managed to get a girl's number." teases Paolo.

 

"Bite me." responds Jerry with a slight grin.

 

"Why? You got a girlfriend to do that sh*t now." jokes Paolo as he begins to laugh.

 

"Jesus, you're an asshole, you know that? I just met her half an hour ago, for all I know she's a guy." says Jerry.

 

"Oh come on, I'm just messing with you. I'm proud, my little boy's finally grown up." replies Paolo.

 

Jerry just shakes his head and tries to hold back the laughter, "Why do I associate with a jerkoff like you?"

 

"Because I'm the best you can get as far as friends go." replies Paolo with a grin.

 

"I'm sure I could do better, anyway, why am I here?" says Jerry.

 

Paolo points towards the backseat which is supporting 4 large briefcases, "Those guns we ordered came in. Phil put me in charge of overseeing them. You and I are supposed to pay the suppliers and then cover the trucks on our way to the warehouse."

 

Jerry nods in understanding, "Okay, seems simple. Who else is gonna be there?"

 

"It's gonna be you, me, Ed Helegredo, and a couple of new guys are gonna be driving the trucks." replies Paolo.

 

"Where's this going down?" questions Jerry.

 

Paolo, unsure about the location himself, pulls out a small slip of paper from his pocket and observes it briefly, "That old casino in Alderney, the old run down place by the ocean."

 

"We ain't that far then."

 

"No we're not, we'll be there in about 5 minutes.

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The moon glows dimly in the sky as the small group of mobsters congregrate around the dilapidated casino before them. The rain splashes onto the ground with a rythmless patter as all of the gangsters remain in their vehicles to sheild themselves from the harshness of the weather. Ed and one of the new recruits are seated behind Jerry and Paolo with the briefcases full of cash resting on their laps.

 

The new crew member is a young Jewish kid from South Broker, Harvey Schtall. Harvey is a 21 year-old who moved to Liberty from Carcer City at age 11 and was first hanging out with wiseguys by the time he was 17. His uncle was an accountant for the Mob in Vice City before he was killed in 2002. Harvey first joined up with the Ancelottis in Alderney but following an incident where he beat up the two sons of a rival family capo at a movie theater and was kicked out of the family. For three years he bounced around locations all over Broker and Dukes doing loanshark collections for various people.Just last week he met Bobby Aldo at a bar and the two hit it off, Aldo vouched for Harvey and now the young man is working this job to get his feet wet with the Gambettis.

 

"It's nice to meet you Harvey, I'm Paolo." says Paolo as he shakes hands with Harvey.

 

"It's a pleasure." replies Schtall in a nasally voice, "Thanks for letting me hang out in the car."

 

"No problem."

 

A soft rumbling is heard and the four of them turn their attention to two large vans pulling up behind them. They exit the car and approach the driver of the lead van, a stocky hispanic man with a thin beard and a baseball cap. Jerry, who is supposed to make sure that nobody gets offed, grabs a Benelli M4 from the trunk of the car and follows Paolo.

 

"Hey, you work for Renaldo Chavez?" asks Paolo.

 

The man nods, "Si, we work for Chavez. Do you have the money?"

 

"Yes." replies Paolo, "You got the guns?"

 

The man walks to the back of the van and opens up the doors. He uses a box cutter to open one of the boxes and pulls out an AK47, "Yeah, we have the guns."

 

Paolo takes the rifle from the man's hands and admires the weapon for a few seconds, "Okay, let's do some business."

 

Paolo motions towards the large truck parked off to the side, "You wanna help me load them up?"

 

Chavez's goon shouts for his men to grab the boxes and they all trudge over to the truck as another one of the newbies, an 18 year old kid named Leo Cuzzi, opens up the back. The guns are piled into the truck one box after another until there is little room to spare. Ed and Harvey step forward with the briefcases containing the money as Jerry stands alongside them with his shotgun in hand.

 

Paolo lights a cigarette as Chavez's men take the money, "It's a pleasure doing business with you."

 

As the two sides depart, a light flickers on from above and they are met with the unwelcome sight of N.O.O.S.E sharpshooters lining the rooftop of the casino. The pitter-patter of the rain is replaced by a discordant cacophony of gunfire as men dash for cover with bullets whizzing overhead. Paolo and Jerry dive behind the Oracle as Harvey, Ed, and Leo open fire with concealed handguns. Jerry pops up from behind the car and throws a few shotgun shells towards the cops and ducks back into cover. Jerry peeks over the side of the car just in time to see Leo take one shoulder from an M4. The wounded man drops his gun and stumbles backwards as blood blossoms from the wound and soaks his shirt in red. He reaches into his back pocket for another weapon but is shot again but this time the bullet hits him in the knees and he drops onto the ground face first with a scream of pain.

 

"sh*t!" screams Harvey as his pistol runs dry and he dives behind the truck as a bullet whizzes past his head, "Leo's hit!"

 

Ed rushes toward Leo as he fires his pistol at the cops with one hand, pieces of the building's brick foundation chipping away with each trigger pull of the 9 millimeter. Ed grabs hold of Leo and flips him onto his back while Cuzzi grunts in pain. Using covering fire from Jerry and his shotgun, Ed drags Leo behind the oracle and reloads his pistol.

 

"We've got to get out of here!" he shouts trying to make himself heard above the gunfire.

 

As he speaks he notices two police cars roaring down the road across from them, they're caught in a sandwich with LCPD.

 

"f*ck, here's more of them!" screams Eduardo as he points towards the police cruisers while they speed across the bridge and slide to a halt beside them, "You have to get Leo outta here! Me and Harvey will get the guns!"

 

Paolo nods as he flings the back door to his car open, he and Ed slide Leo into the back seat as Jerry disgards his ammo-less shotgun and opens fire on the newly arrived police officers with his Glock.

 

"Jerry! Get in the car!" shouts Paolo as climbs into the passenger seat of the car, "You're driving, get us the hell out of here!"

 

Jerry dashes to the other side of the car as Ed covers him. He dives into the driver's seat and puts the car into gear. He slams down on the gas pedal and the tires squeak and smoke as the car rockets forward. Jerry crashes straight through the two cop cars and peels out into the road as one of the cars gives chase. Jerry bites his lower lip as sweat drips down his forehead. He turns the steering wheel in quick and precise movements as the car weaves seamlessly through traffic at 80 miles-per-hour with the police right behind him, lights flashing and sirens blaring.

 

"Jerry, you have to lose them!" shouts Paolo looks back at their pursuers using the side-mounted mirror.

 

Jerry approaches at a red light near a Burger Shot and presses down on the accelerator as hard as he can and the speedometer begins to clip the 100 MPH mark. He screams through the light and narrowly misses being T-boned by a Bobcat as the Oracle screams into an alley. Paolo looks back to see the police car collide with the side of a Feroci as it attempts to follow them. The vehicle spins out of control and slams into another vehicle as it bounces off of the Feroci.

 

"We lost them!" exclaims Paolo as he pumps his fist and pats Jerry on the shoulder, "Nice driving!"

 

Jerry sighs in relief as he lets off the gas, "Thanks." he gasps.

 

"Leo, are you okay?" asks Paolo as he turns to the wounded gangster, "Can you talk."

 

Leo grunts and coughs before uttering a few words, "Y-Yeah, I'm fine."

 

"We're going to get you a doctor, just hang on for a little bit." assures Paolo as he takes out his cell phone.

 

He dials Ed's number and waits several nervous seconds before the Cuban answers, "Hello?"

 

"Ed." begins Paolo, "Did you get away?"

 

"Yes, we managed to lose 'em by the Booth Tunnel."

 

"Good job." responds Paolo, "I need you to stash the truck. Drop it off at the car park near Purgatory"

 

"Gotcha."

 

Paolo hangs up and puts away the phone, "God must like us."

 

This remark is able to coax a small chuckle from Jerry, "I'm sure God has a great fondness for gangsters."

 

Paolo smirks, "Who knows?"

 

Jerry glances over at Leo and then puts the car back into drive, "We should get him patched up."

 

Paolo nods in agreement, "There's a nurse who lives in Northwood, she can help us."

 

Paolo gives Jerry directions to the nurse's home and they take Leo their to get treated for his wounds. As hectic as things were back at the casino, he's lucky to alive. Jerry and Paolo were there, and they know they are just as lucky as he is.

[VCRules86]

Chapter 18

Jerry sits on his recliner in his apartment as he surfs through the channels on his television. As he settles on the night's WEAZEL news broadcast, he remembers that he still has Tracy's phone number in pocket of his jacket. He stands up from his chair and waltz over to the coat rack placed beside the door and grabs his jacket, he takes out the slip of paper with Tracy's number on it and walks over to the phone.

 

He dials and after a few rings, she answers, "Hello?"

 

"Hi, Tracy?"

 

"Yes, who is is this?"

 

"It's Jerry, we met the other night."

 

"Oh! Hi, how are you?"

 

"I'm fine, listen, I was wondering if you wanted to do something. Like go out to dinner."

 

"Um, sure, that'd be nice."

 

Jerry smiles and clears his throat, "Great, when should I pick you up?"

 

"How about you come get me in an hour. I live in a green house across from the medical center in Alderney.

 

"Sure, I'll see you then."

 

Jerry hangs up the phone and walks over to his bedroom and opens the closet. He picks out a black pair of slacks and a matching jacket for himself and grabs a red tie out of the drawer in his night stand. He grabs his cell and dials Paolo who answers rather promptly.

 

"Hello?"

 

"Paolo, it's Jerry."

 

"What can I do for you?"

 

"I just got off the phone with that girl from the bus stop the other night, I'm picking her up in an hour."

 

"And?"

 

"Could I borrow your car for tonight?"

 

"Uh, I guess. I'll drop it off in half an hour."

 

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

 

"Anything for a friend, Jerry."

 

Jerry hangs up and rushes into his bathroom. He combs his hair and spritzes on the slightest bit of cologne before exiting his apartment and taking the elevator down into the lobby to wait for Paolo. He rubs his hands together nervously and takes deep breaths, this must be what the seniors feel like on prom night in High School. As he stands up to go outside for a smoke, Paolo walks inside twirling the car keys around on his index finger.

 

"Hey Paolo. Thanks for this." says Jerry as Paolo hands him the keys.

 

"It isn't a problem, I'm happy to help." replies Paolo with a smile.

 

Jerry nods and pats him on the shoulder, "Okay, I'll have it back tomorrow."

 

"Take your time, and good luck." says Paolo as Jerry walks out the door.

 

Jerry climbs into the Oracle and closes the door. He starts the vehicle and the engine rumbles softly as the car's 300 horsepower motor comes to life. He puts it in drive and peels out into the street and heads out to pick up Traci. This is the first time since his trip down to Vice City that he's had a date.

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Jerry pulls up beside the dimly lit house in Alderney. He parks the car and walks over to the front door. He rings the doorbell and waits several seconds before Traci answers.

 

"Hey." she says stepping out onto the porch, "You ready?"

 

Jerry nods and motions towards the car, "Sure, let's get going."

 

Traci climbs into the vehicle as Jerry holds the door open for her. He walks around to the driver's side and takes his seat. He starts the vehicle and heads off towards Algonquin, "You ever been to Drusillas?" questions Jerry.

 

"No, I heard it was good though." replies Traci

 

"It is." responds Jerry assuringly.

 

"I like the suit." she comments as Jerry loosens his tie.

 

"Thanks, I didn't wanna show up looking like a bum ya' know?" he replies with a small grin.

 

Traci chuckles, "I wouldn't worry about it, my standards aren't that high."

 

"Thank God for that." snickers Jerry.

 

"So, I never asked, what do you do for a living?" questions Traci as Jerry drives into the Booth Tunnel.

 

"I'm a bodyguard." he lies cooly.

 

"Really? I always thought that job seemed dangerous." she replies in an interested tone.

 

"It can be." responds Jerry, "You never know what could happen."

 

"You don't look like a bodyguard."

 

Jerry chuckles. She's right, he looks nothing like a bodyguard. He's average in height, about 5'9. He is rather stocky but not a twig, he can handle himself in a fist fight. His skin is somewhat pale in complextion but has the faintest of tans, he is sometimes mistaken as an Irishman. His short blackish-brown hair is combed straight back and lightly gelled to keep it in place. Overall, he sports the look of a consumate gentlemen and acts like one too. Although a gangster and a killer, most people he meets tend to take a liking to him and many persons around the city regard him as a good friend, far from standard mobster fare.

 

"What do I look like?" he asks jokingly.

 

"A college kid." she snickers.

 

"Looks can be deceiving."

 

"I guess so."

 

Jerry pulls up beside Drusillas and he and Traci exit the car. They enter the establishment and are quickly seated at a table in the middle of the room, the place isn't very crowded on this particular evening. Their waiter, a skinny man with a pencil mustache brings them some wine and sets two menues down on the table. They both scan through their options before deciding on a shrimp cocktail appetizer. Jerry is going with lobster (It's spelled Raavi, go edit your post) and she is choosing lasagna, not the most exotic choices but there isn't much room for disappointment.

 

"So," says Jerry as he takes a sip of wine, "what's this whole forensic investigator thing like?"

 

"It's like the stuff you see on Science of Crime. Scientific stuff."

 

"Sounds complicated."

 

"It is, you really have to be dedicated to it."

 

"Are you?"

 

"If I wasn't I wouldn't be taking a college class on it."

 

"Good point."

 

In time, the appetizer comes and so do the entrees. After they finish eating, they still sit and talk for at least an hour. They both know that there is something between them and that they'll be seeing a lot more of eachother, it's quite obvious. They leave Drusilla's and Jerry drives Traci home. As he drops her off and drives away to drop Paolo's car off, he smiles, so much for the shy and timid kid he was supposed to be.