A Claude Moment

[Rhoda]

 

This is a short, relaxed, almost gentle piece in parts.

It doesn't tell you anything new and the theme may even be a tired one,

but it's something I'd like to try.

Consider it "testing the water".

 

 

A Claude Moment

 

One

August 2nd 2002

 

There is nothing to achieve from forcing entry into a car. Nothing but a hollow wave of anticipation and an elbow full of glass.

 

Claude had taken mere seconds to access the lowly Kuruma, similar to the one he had driven with 8 Ball many months ago. With one hand juggling wires, this left him with a free palm to wipe the empty sweat from his face. San Fierro was warm at this time of year, a stark contrast to the near-constant cover of cloud and rain of Liberty City. With Catalina's remains hopefully charred to coal, Claude had taken it upon himself to silence his only acquaintance left - what he labeled as a "hindrance" to a suffer-in-silence type - by landing a single bullet through the mouth of Maria.

 

Perhaps if things had been different, she could have walked away, but instead Claude found himself roughly soaking blood with yet another animal print dress. With Maria under his arm like a newspaper, he had little trouble casting her to the ravines of the dam to join the enemies of her former husband.

 

Claude suddenly sat bolt upright, the shrill sound of a passing seagull on it's way home putting an abrupt stop to his train of thought. When you choose not to waste breath on society, you tend to think more. With a sharp exhale, Claude's fingers found their way and the car purred into life. The car's intake of air was harsh and ragged, suggesting maybe it's life on the island may be short lived, more so with Claude behind the wheel.

 

San Fierro's hills had seen savagery over the years of crime, delivery and gay pride parading, though the presence of homosexuals had dwindled since the discovery that Bayside had a more pleasing scent and a much less cynical attitude to dozens of phallic floats drifting lazily down Queens. As a result, hundreds of flyers and banners lay soggy in the side of the road, abandoned by those once proud to lay root in San Fierro. Claude paid it no mind; having only been there for a couple of weeks, he didn't even have a permanent residence. Now forced to visit friends of friends of acquaintances for a place to sleep, Claude had decided to find regular work.

 

After what seemed like a relatively pleasant drive through Chinatown, Claude let the Kuruma trundle to a halt outside a restaurant that had clearly seen better days than the car had. For several seconds he let his eyes drift along the sign, displaying the name “Wong’s Way” proudly even now and thought of the planning that must have occurred within those four walls. The amount of meals eaten before a killing. The amount eaten afterwards. Even those during.

There was probably once a time where the restaurant had flourished, fought back the tyranny of harsh Triad business. Even with many more chains scattered about Las Venturas, the franchise was never far from trouble. Whether this was the accessibility, its ease, or even the two-for-one noodle bowl offer, Wong’s Way was a hotspot for Triad groups after a hard day smoking cigarettes and playing cards.

 

Claude let his mind trace along the thought of smoking his own cigarette, giving this more consideration than the life of a Leone. After smacking his lips in mock surrender he let his hands find their way into the pocket of his leather jacket and pull out a slightly bent pack of cigarettes. As he left the car, Claude politely asked a passing smoker for a light, giving a wink in faint appreciation as he took a draw.

Despite the tattered history of Wong’s Way, it remained open during day hours, though closing briefly in the afternoon to let Wong recover from anxiety and nerves. Claude knew enough about Wong that he would either be in his restaurant or the café across the street, Now And Zen, run by a successful martial artist and feng-shui enthusiast based in Liberty City. If there was one thing Wong could do to intruders, it would either be keep them quiet with excellent cuisine, or pelt them with countless books about furniture, meditation and lentil stew.

 

Claude scoffed at his own jokes as he gently opened the door to the restaurant, letting the bell finish ringing before advancing. The bell, like the eatery, had seen better days so it wasn’t long before its dull finish deadened the ring. Claude’s footsteps seemed heavier than usual as he moved slowly towards the reservation desk, looking for any signs of life from Wong or maybe even a deadbeat customer with nowhere to go, just like himself. It didn’t take much for Claude to flush Wong out from hiding; a revealing creak of the floorboards brought on the crashing of dozens of dirty pots as the terrified owner emerged from behind his desk brandishing a shotgun aimed squarely at Claude’s head.

 

“I hate to damage your ego Wong, but this isn’t the first time I’ve had a gun pointed at me in a restaurant.”

The oddly friendly tone was enough for Wong to lower his guard immediately, laughing harshly, briefly interjected with sharp coughing.

“Ah, Claude, you old dog!”

Wong took Claude’s hand quickly, which was still holding a lit cigarette. Clearly it had not given its owner much relief.

“Hello Wong. Business good?”

A quick scan of the room was enough for Wong to detect sarcasm. Despite the many years he had known Claude, it still took a few seconds sometimes to sniff out intention and true meaning.

“Always the joker. Come on, through to the back. Drink?”

Claude held up his free hand in rejection as his other hand brought the cigarette to his mouth. He then proceeded to hold out the packet of smokes to Wong in offering, who gladly took one and then went to light it on a nearby gas cooker.

The two sat down in what looked like a crudely set-up card playing area. The odd array of notes give a hint that this room was used for accounting and thus, drinking when the figures were finally calculated.

Wong offered Claude the best seat which had barely any padding left as he took a full bottle of gin from the side. Despite Claude’s decline of a drink, Wong went ahead and poured them both a generous helping, so much so that the liquor splashed eagerly onto the table. The two exchanged silent glances before Wong took one last draw on his cigarette and leaned in closer.

 

“So Claude,” Wong said finally, pausing to scratch his face, “what honestly made you come to me? It certainly isn’t the food, I don’t advertise like I used to. Regular clientele, you know…”

“You said you had work and a place to stay. Your note seemed friendly enough.”

“Well, I found it best to send you a letter. You don’t have an e-mail address and you never talk to anyone anymore. I found it better to get in touch this way.”

Claude shrugged in agreement, but appreciation, before taking a large sip of gin. Wong thought briefly, choosing his words carefully. Fortunately, his usually silent friend beat him to it.

“Go on and say it, Wong. It’s going to come out.”

“Catalina?”

“She’s dead Wong. Used me for my driving and my hands. Aggressive. She had to go.”

“Right, yeah, I get you.”

The two stopped conversing once again to take sips of their drink which was almost as harsh and metallic as the cigarettes.

“Who snapped first?” Wong said tentatively.

“She did, but I didn’t take long after that,” Claude began to smile, “You could’ve called it a ‘Claude Moment’, Wong.”

“Haha. You bastard, Claude”.

 

After that, conversation was significantly freer. Clearly the issue of Catalina was on Wong’s mind as he was one of the first people to feel her wrath. For around a full hour, the two talked about San Fierro and Liberty City, somewhere where Wong had family. In that hour, only two customers came, and even then all they wanted were a bag of fortune cookies and a pre-ordered delivery made earlier that day. As informal as the conversation was between the two old friends, the tone quickly shifted to a more important nature as the discussion of work came into play.

 

“I’m not going to lie to you Claude,” Wong said after barely finishing his third tumbler of gin, “the work I have for you isn’t a break from your usual. If you were looking for something a little more quiet I can’t help you.”

“It’s money,” came the simple reply, “I’ll welcome any work.”

This clearly pleased Wong immensely, glad to have someone else to do his dirty work for a price, probably the most common job in San Andreas.

“It won’t be petty gang work,” Wong said through his smile, “the gang scene is dying, the world’s more real, none of this ‘hippity-hoppity’ nigger bullshit. Real work. Real money.”

Claude nodded. The gang scene may be dead in San Andreas, but it was business as usual back in Liberty. He may have single-handedly brought entire gangs to the foundations, but it didn’t take long for family to start things burning again.

“I’m not going to say I’m going to ask you to do things you’re not happy with, I dare say you’ve done it all but… well… it’s all old hat to you, right?”

Claude gave another nod, either bored of talking or adept at listening.

“Good. Thanks Claude. I’m glad you’re back in town. Your room is empty, though you’ve obviously got a bed and a wardrobe should you feel the need to change your terribly efficient wardrobe.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

The two stood up. Wong staggered slightly but Claude pretended not to notice, instead feigning interest in a particularly boring looking paper lantern.

“Oh, and Claude,” Wong interrupted before Claude left to inspect his room, “what made you come back? Obviously I sent the note but what made you do it? You hadn’t seen me properly in months, maybe a full year. Why come back? There has to be a real reason.”

“Call it a ‘Claude Moment’ Wong.”

With that and a short smile, Claude turned on his heels and went for the stairs, leaving Wong to replace the gin bottle they had both drained without a care in San Fierro. Time could only tell just how soon that would change.

[El Zilcho]

Oh my God. The work in Writers Discussion lately just gets better and better and better yet! This is by far my favorite GTA III sequel, it doesn't kick off with unnecessary violence, and has an original twist (going back to peaceful, non violent chapter). I guess that won't last with Claude's new work, but I don't care. The intro is enough to convince me I'll like whats coming next, so I'm definitely sticking around for the next chapter. Very good work.

[Oxidizer]

Oh, love it! I never get tired of Claude fics, and this is no exception.

 

With regards to feedback; El Z stole the words right off of my keyboard.

[MrcTOtheJ]

I'm speechlees, good job. By far the best GTA realated story on this site.

[The Unvirginiser]

I'm very impressed Craig, as I always say, your work makes me think I'm reading something from a professional author. The only thing that I can say is what I say to Phil. Personally, in my opinion, I think that some sentences are needlessly complex when they could be 'dumbed-down' and made simpler to keep the flow moving better. But like I said, it's only my personal reading taste and would only bring down the sophistication of your work.

[Eminence]

The small forward you've given us suggests you're unhappy with the piece, Craig? Scared of a reaction to it? You don't seem confident in letting it speak for itself.

 

For me, there were just two main things I'd like to comment on. At times, the dialogue just doesn't seem natural. It seems too... perfect. Too cinematic in its delivery. Take this line:

 

 

“She’s dead Wong. Used me for my driving and my hands. Aggressive. She had to go.”

 

The whole pause and splitting of the sentences. It just seems forced into a perfectly binding narrative style.

 

Now, let's take the character of 'Wong'. I don't remember how big of a role he had in the game, so maybe his character is more accurate than I'm seeing, but he comes across as far too... well, almost similar to Claude. Again, it's a perfect voice, spliced in with some slang that sounds a little off, all things considered. Like this:

 

 

“I’m not going to say I’m going to ask you to do things you’re not happy with, I dare say you’ve done it all but… well… it’s all old hat to you, right?”

 

Daresay, old hat?

 

 

Your room is empty, though you’ve obviously got a bed and a wardrobe should you feel the need to change your terribly efficient wardrobe.”

 

Terribly efficient wardrobe? Who speaks like that? I can imagine who might... and I don't imagine them to be called 'Wong'.

 

 

 

The other main thing for me is that you're using far, far too many adverbs... something I've been recognising and clamping down on in my own works lately. In my reading around I've seen adverbs described as the tools of the lazy, uninspired, unconfident writer. Why use an adverb when you can use another word that carries the same meaning? ('Sprinted' instead of 'ran quickly', at its most basic form)

 

In general, adverbs clutter and don't convey the full meaning, which could be done through other word choices. Sometimes, they tell rather than the preferred show. It's okay to use them now and then, but if they're everywhere, we've got a problem. Like so:

 

 

The oddly friendly tone was enough for Wong to lower his guard immediately, laughing harshly, briefly interjected with sharp coughing.

 

One, two, three, four, five... five adverbs in a single sentence. Five! And in one of the following sentences there's another, and then another... read through it again, and you'll see that they're absolutely everywhere. If nothing else, you'll realise the narrative is repetitive in its word choice.

[Rhoda]

My rendition of Wong didn't actually make an appearance in the games, which is why it's hard at the moment to pin his character down. I envisioned him as a young Asian American man who has ties to home but simply loves the Western way of living. Call it "watching too many movies". After looking back, yeah, I'll hold my hands up and admit his dialogue is a little off. I'm trying to be clever I suppose, and that never works.

 

In regards to the adverbs, again, spot on, though I never pick things up like that until I've been told about them. I've really got to start checking; there's certain errors that Microsoft Word just won't pick up, haha.

 

Finally, with the whole footnote/header thing at the top, I didn't feel like this was a proper piece of sorts, merely an exercise. The story isn't anything original or clever, it's simply Claude carrying on with some dirty work. It's more of a writing exercise to me, letting me stretch my legs before I get back into writing again. That isn't to say I won't put effort into it, nor is it saying I'm not confident. Just thought I'd say firsthand that this is something new from me, I suppose. Not really done anything like this before. I really should be more supportive of my own work, shouldn't I?

 

Also, thanks to everyone who's posted and left kind words, didn't expect that much of a reception. With all that said, I'm carrying on but I'm not sure when the next installment will be up. I'll be sure to address the issues raised too. Thanks.