Build Up Your Gang

[Slingaa]

I'll post a story as soon as I can buy and sell weapons and vehicles.

[Osric]

As soon as I can, could I buy a 9mm and an M4 for the LC Army?

[Landstalker]

You can start to post chapters. All weapons and vehicles are there. All the sellings and buyings were made.

[Slingaa]

 

Chapter I – The First Loco Syndicate

 

24th December, 1977

 

Snowflakes were falling softly on the ground outside of the Los Santos Police Department. Jack Fisher, a short, chubby, balding man with some black hair. He was wearing the standard orange police jumpsuit. Jack was rotting inside his cell, dreading his next beating. The prison was a dirty, cramped place that stunk of sweat and blood. The prison was full of condemned black convicts who were either drug dealers or gangsters. He looked outside of his filthy barred window, thinking about being at home with his wife for Christmas. It was a bitter winter night in San Andreas, the cold night air made Jack shudder. Suddenly the sound of footsteps rang in his ears. A tall, mean-looking police officer swaggered up to his cell door.

 

“Time for your beating, you fat f*ck,” said the police officer sharply, as he unlocked the cell door.

“Not yet,” said a muffled voice. The muffled voice came from a man behind him in a gas mask. The police officer turned round, and was punched in the face. His nose snapped, and he fell to the floor. He took off his gas mask, and it was Rocco Mancini, a friend of Jack’s from way back. He was a tall tanned Italian-American with slicked back black hair. He was a muscular man with a scar across the left side of his face.

“Rock!” exclaimed Jack, in his strong cockney accent. A huge grin appeared on his face.

“Care to do the honours, Jack?” asked Rocco, holding out a 9mm pistol.

“I f*cking do.” Jack took the pistol and fired off a few rounds at the downed cop. Blood splattered in the cell, and hit Rocco’s leather jacket. “Jesus, I just bought this!”

 

After wiping the blood off his jacket, Rocco held out a gas mask and said: “Put this on, you’ll need it.” Jack took it and put it over his head. Rocco took out another 9mm and threw a tear gas grenade towards two oncoming cops. It sent out gas, which made the cops choke. One fell down after a few seconds, but the other reached towards his gun. Rocco shot him down before he could shoot them.

“Spare no-one!” yelled Rocco, as Jack hesitated to shoot the cop. But he did. They advanced towards the exit, slaughtering every police officer in their path. Finally, they found the main door and escaped. Outside was a helicopter, blocking up traffic, which were honking their horns furiously.

“Your ride, your highness,” chuckled Rocco, getting inside the helicopter. Jack followed him inside, laughing.

 

A pale-looking man with heavy stubble was sitting in the pilot seat.

“Fisher, you bald sh*t!” greeted the man. “I bet you’re glad to see us!”

“I sure am, Jason! Thank you guys!” replied Jack.

“Let’s go, motherf*ckers!” yelled Jason, laughing madly. He whirled up the helicopter blades and took off. Police cars and officers crowded on the ground, some running after the maverick.

“Why are you guys rescuing me anyway?” Jack asked, having to shout over the helicopter blades.

“Because we love you, dick weed!” replied Rocco. “Plus we’re building a crime syndicate, San Andreas needs us.”

“Wow, really? I’d be more than ‘appy to join you guys,”

“What do you think we busted you out for?” said Jason. “Anyways, Merry Christmas bitch!”

 

EDIT: I'd like to buy the following items:

Baseball Bat

Knife

Machete

Chrome Shotgun

AK47

Sniper Rifle

Molotovs

Brass Knuckles

Silenced 9mm

Satchel Charge

Jester

BF-400

Casino

Edited August 20, 2010 by Slingaa

[Landstalker]

May someone rate my chapter and Slingaa's chapter?

[Slingaa]

I've done yours mate, can you do mine?

[Tyla]

I'll have a crack at rating

 

Slingaa - Chapter I

 

$36, multiplied by ten seen as your story meets with this weeks theme, $360

 

Defiantly an improvement on what you were doing with the San Andreas army; you seem more comfortable writing for the crime syndicates. I think it's a brave decision working from the ground up with your own characters, especially in a past setting, hopefully you can carry the storyline for a while. Spotted no errors either, so top marks for that.

 

Landstalker will sort your purchases.

 

Landstalker - Chapter 3

 

$30

 

Not sure what "anti-error" ratings are but I won't mark you down for the errors you did make. Instead I'll just give you some advice that could help you improve when such anti-error ratings subside. When you write "Did you visited San Fierro", visited should be visit when someone is asking. Unless you are telling someone yourself, in which case it would correctly be "I visited". Keep going with the Red Jacks though. I'm interested to see where you take them.

[Slingaa]

Thanks for the rating mate, but just to let you know ratings are now out of $100. $100 being excellent for an amateur writer, not a professional. I think Tyla should replace Kaizer Chief on the staff bench, as Kaizer hasn't even appeared yet. He may even be the hacker...

[Landstalker]

Not sure what "anti-error" ratings are but I won't mark you down for the errors you did make.

 

Keep going with the Red Jacks though. I'm interested to see where you take them.

Like a error free rating.

 

Thanks for your interest. I'm thinking of making a remake of the three first chapters thought.

[Tyla]

 

Thanks for the rating mate, but just to let you know ratings are now out of $100. $100 being excellent for an amateur writer, not a professional. I think Tyla should replace Kaizer Chief on the staff bench, as Kaizer hasn't even appeared yet. He may even be the hacker...

So instead of rating closer to the $0 - $50 range ratings are closer to the $50 - $100 range with $100 being the top mark?

[Landstalker]

Thanks for the rating mate, but just to let you know ratings are now out of $100. $100 being excellent for an amateur writer, not a professional. I think Tyla should replace Kaizer Chief on the staff bench, as Kaizer hasn't even appeared yet. He may even be the hacker...

So instead of rating closer to the $0 - $50 range ratings are closer to the $50 - $100 range with $100 being the top mark?

I'm confused lol

[Tyla]

Me too.

 

When I used to rate for the old BUYG, I used to mark stories (based on length, errors, quality) on a scale between $0 (which would be for an impossibly poor, unrealistic, error-laden story) and closer to $50 for a story of brilliant quality, free of errors and fairly long, though length wasn't always a priority.

 

So I'm wondering if $100 is like the top reward now, with $50 being a lower mark, $75 being the average, and $0 for a really, really poor story?

[WelcomeToLibertyCity]

I'm finding it a bit difficult to get back into writing seeing as it's been so long. Hopefully this chapter is good enough.

 

Welcome To The Family

Chapter 1

 

Liberty City, 1992.

 

Growing up, I was always taught whatever curve ball life throws your way, you have to keep your wits and do what’s right to carry on. The Forelli family is exactly the same. In ’86, we were on the top. Not only were we the ruling mafia family in control of Liberty, but people feared us. Our alliances were never stronger. We had the drug market in Vice City, a few minor operations in Las Venturas and the protection rackets in Liberty. Things took a turn for the worst after the whole Vercetti incident. What started out as a plan to expand our trades turned into a blood bath that nobody would forget. So many good men lost in such a quick time. Even our don, Sonny Forelli, died on that day.

 

Six years have passed, and things have changed drastically. Besides operating our small scale businesses and rackets in Liberty City, ourselves, the Sindaccos and the Leones have made an attempt to set aside or differences and make peace. To do this we decided to each take an equal share of the Caligula’s Palace Casino located in Las Venturas, San Andreas. There was only one problem in this peace plan, and that was who would run the joint. Seeing as it would be unfair to allow one of the families to simply run the entire operation, we sent in Ken Rosenberg as a neutral party. If one of the families sparked a war, Ken would be executed.

 

The bistro was warm with the scent of various Italian dishes cooking in the kitchen below. As I whipped my polished leather shoes on the maroon carpet of the bistro, a large man sporting grey dress slacks and a think brown leather jacket approached me.

 

“Hey, you must be Anthony!” the man exclaimed extending his hand.

 

“That’s me,” I chuckled giving his hand a gentle shake, “And you are?”

 

“The name is Francesco, though everyone calls me Frankie. The don’s waiting for you in the back room. He’s been looking forward to meeting you in person for awhile.” Replied Frankie as he gestured me to follow. We headed across the bistro to where a locked wooden door stood.

 

“Who is it?” a deep raspy voice hollered from inside the room.

 

“Hey, Anthony is here. You want me to send him in?” Frankie asked.

 

“Yeah, send him in.” the don answered.

 

Frankie opened the door and I walked into a well light office with a large desk, numerous vintage paintings and two leather chairs. the don was seated behind the desk, staring at the window behind him and casually sipping a glass of brandy. I took a seat in one of the chairs, and gazed around the rooms stunning appearance.

 

The don turned around in his chair and gazed me over from head to toe for a moment before grinning and saying, “So this is the Anthony Caruso I’ve heard so much about.”

 

“Don Forelli,” I said, my voice showing an abundance of respect, “It is an honor to meet you.”

 

“Likewise. Your father spoke of you well. He was an brilliant soldier for us, it’s a shame he had to go like that.” Replied the don with a tone of sorrow.

 

My father worked for the Forellis during the 1970s. He came home from work one afternoon and was gunned down by a group of contract killers under the orders of Salvatore Leone. I witnessed the entire thing. From the moment the car pulled up until the moment he fell to the ground, his gaping wounds from the shotgun’s spray bleeding intensely over the pavement. To this day the hunger for vengeance over his death still rages on.

 

“Don Forelli, why did you call me here today?” I inquired.

 

“Anthony, we don’t have many good men in our home soil anymore, as they are off dealing with the casino operations in Venturas. You and your father are much alike. I believe with you in this we can achieve what we have had before, and in time kill those who murdered your father. Anthony, I’d like to offer you the chance to join the family.” Don Forelli explained.

 

“It would be an honor.”

 

The Don then reached into his desk and a sat a Desert Eagle pistol in front of me. The remarkably glossy grip and frame of the weapon suggested to me that it was brand new or very well kept. I grasped gun the gun and pushed it into the silky pocket of my blazer where it was virtually impossible to see.

 

“Take this, Frankie will give you a call as soon as we need your assistance.” The Don explained as I arose from my seat. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Anthony.”

 

“The pleasure’s mine Don Forelli.” I said, opening the door of the office.

 

“One last thing Anthony, call me Franco.”

[Landstalker]

$0=Very Poor

$25=Poor

$50=Average

$75=Good

$100=Very Good

 

Is it what you are trying to mean, guys?

[Tyla]

Yeah, that's basically it mate.

 

Is it alright if I rate WTLC's story?

[Landstalker]

Yeah. I think I've done enough ratings for today.

Edited August 20, 2010 by Landstalker

[Tyla]

WelcomeToLibertyCity - Chapter 1

 

Your stories have been missed!

 

This particular chapter combines a wealth of description, especially in the background of Anthony and the status of the Forelli Family at the time of your storyline, and when concerning how the characters act. I'm going to use this as an example of what I class a good story as, due to the flawless content, the progressing narrative that seemed natural to how a group of mobsters with such connections would act, and a length of 813 words, which is excellent for someone who writes in first person. The fact you took the opportunity to make use of the chance to give the reader a look into the perspective of your character through first person makes this story all the more profitable for you.

 

I hope you stick with this.

 

$86

 

edit: Seen as your the first of the writers to publish a story for the Forelli's, this introductory chapter coronates you as leader of the gang, which gives you the heads up over any purchases and major decisions the other writers for the Forelli's want to make, thus obliterating half the problem you had with the Ballas before

Edited August 20, 2010 by Tyla

[WelcomeToLibertyCity]

Holy sh*t, I feel honored to receive such praise. I will stick with it and thank you very much.

[Tyla]

No problem. I was given plenty to work with. I like reading a mob story that don't revolve around loads of gun play or loads of hey 'tone, pass the cannoli

[WelcomeToLibertyCity]

 

No problem. I was given plenty to work with. I like reading a mob story that don't revolve around loads of gun play or loads of hey 'tone, pass the cannoli

Hahaha, I'm sure the gun play might show up a few odd times here and there, but I have other plans.

 

Edit: Haha nice reference to "he who shall not be named" in the ratings there. That's the sole reason I left the Ballas. ;P

Edited August 20, 2010 by WelcomeToLibertyCity

[Tyla]

 

 

The Man In The Middle

 

A red Stinger cruised beneath the palm trees, its two occupants clearly enjoying the ride close to the shoreline. They turned onto a coastal path, admiring a large, stunning yacht which sat dormant on waves of the sparkling blue waters of Ocean Beach.

 

“This must be it, bro.” Lance stared up at the vessel from his seat as Vic drew the Stinger to a stop.

 

“Yeah. Come on, let’s go.”

 

As they left their parked vehicle, those on board the yacht were busy indulging themselves in Cortez’s luxuries. The Colonel himself reclined in a deck chair, eating small spoons of caviar. His face lit up as his busty maid bent over to refill his glass with the finest champagne; giving the woman a small hope of a pay hike through giving the old man an eyeful. The Colonel’s right hand man, Gonzales, pulled a coked up supermodel close to his bare, sweaty chest, while Ken Rosenberg and Giorgio Forelli were also accompanied by stunning figures of women on their respective loungers.

 

A tall, tanned member of Cortez’s crew led the Vance brothers up onto the deck; he presented himself with impeccable manners and stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “Sir; Lance and Victor Vance.” he presented them to his Colonel. Cortez rose from his seat, as did Gonzales, who managed to pull himself away from his drink.

 

“Buenos noches!” a warm smile came upon the Colonel’s face.

 

“What’s poppin’?”

 

Victor gave Lance a slight nudge to the back to let him know he was acting inappropriately in front of a man as powerful as Juan Garcia Cortez.

 

“I mean, pleasure to meet you Colonel.” he grinned and briefly exchanged a sore look with his brother.

 

“A-ha!” Cortez chuckled, “Please, take a seat. Mr. Rosenberg,” he turned his palm in Rosenberg’s direction, prompting him to smile and wave from his seat in the shade, “has been telling me all about the interests that you two share.”

 

“Oh yeah, we’re very keen to buy the Cocaine. Got the go ahead from up north earlier.” announced Rosenberg

 

“Right on.” Lance gave a flash of his trademark grin.

 

“And the price, you would be willing to sell the merchandise for, Mr. Vance?”

 

“Three Million dollars. No negotiations.” Victor stepped forth, looking straight at Giorgio Forelli, of whom he knew had a great say in the purchase of the drugs. Forelli stared back, as if to say the price was extortionate.

 

“That’s cool, that’s cool.” Rosenberg began to nod his head. “Forelli’s sending a guy named Tommy Vercetti. It’ll be him and his boys you’ll be dealing with.”

 

“Ok.” Victor acknowledged this with a nod of his head. “We’ll be in touch with a time and place.”

 

“Great!”

 

“Now that all is settled... do you care to join us?” Cortez asked, “We will be indulging in some Tapir snout soon.”

 

“No, no thank you.”

 

“I bid you good day then, gentlemen.”

 

The member of Cortez’s crew stepped forth again to lead the Vance brothers back through the corridors of the yacht and back onto land. The walk was brisk and they didn’t have time to admire the exquisite nature of what was on board the boat. Giorgio Forelli soon followed; unlike Ken Rosenberg, he was not in the mood for a party. He stepped off onto land and found a nearby payphone on the board walk, slotting some loose coins into the slot and punching in the number of Sonny Forelli. Gonzales, Colonel Cortez’s right hand man, nodded and smiled at Giorgio as he walked on past; he too had left the party prematurely.

 

The dialling tone faded away, prompting Giorgio to speak. “Yeah, Sonny. Yeah, it’s all set.... send ‘em down right away...”

[Landstalker]

Tyla~ Great plot on what hapened before the deal in the GTA VC intro. While your a master by not making errors, you should try to add more words to your chapters.

 

$79 is your reward.

[UNRATED69]

 

 

Chapter 2: Beatdown

 

“Damn, man. It looks like new.” Derrick said, admiring the Stallion Tiny had gotten him to replace the one that had been destroyed yesterday. “That's cause it is” Tiny responded. “Thanks, buy you didn't have to get a new one. It's my fault the old one got destroyed.” Derrick said as he polished the car's hood until the sun reflected off of it. After he was done shining it up, he and Tiny got in and Derrick put the key into the ignition and turned. The car came to life, the V8 engine roaring as Derrick pumped the gas pedal. “Sounds great, man. Where'd you get it?” “The fellas at the car dealership in Harwood 'gave' it to me, after I told them who I was.” Tiny said, recalling how the salesman had reacted when he told him what he'd do to him if he didn't get the car.

 

“So what're we doin' today?” Derrick asked as he pulled out of the apartment parking lot. “There's some kids that've been givin' some of our homies some problems, and it's our job to sort them out.” Tiny said. “Sounds like fun.” Derrick responded with excitement. He always enjoyed beating people up. When he was a kid, he'd get into fights all the time. As he got older, the punishment got worse, and he'd sometimes spend weeks in jail for fighting. It eventually turned into mugging people, as a way to pay for his apartment, and he got into even more trouble for that, but the Diablos noticed how good he was at it, and asked him to join. Now whenever the police give him any trouble, he's got his homies to back him up. Usually the cops leave the Diablos alone, and let them go about their business, but apparently the ones from yesterday hadn't gotten the message, so they had to be taught a lesson.

 

Derrick and Tiny pulled up to the building where the wannabes lived, and exited the vehicle. “Okay, El Burro told me just to rough them up, but he doesn't wan them killed. Got it?” Tiny said. “Yeah, we'll see how I feel.” Derrick answered, as he popped the trunk and pulled out a wooden baseball bat. He swung it around to get the feel of it, and closed the trunk. He walked up the steps that led up to the door that Tiny pointed out, and rang the doorbell. Two guys answered the door, and Derrick turned to Tiny to see if they were the right guys. Tiny nodded, so Derrick grabbed them both and threw them down the steps onto the sidewalk. “Ow! Man what the f*ck?” one of them said. “Yo, do you know who we are?” the other one added, to which Derrick just laughed. “A couple of punks that need to be taught some manners.” Tiny said, and Derrick brought the bat down on one of the fake gangsters.

 

“Ahhh! Mothaf*cker, yo gonna regret that!” he screamed in pain. “Shut the f*ck up!” Derrick said, and hit him again. He screamed again, but said nothing. This had given the other guy a chance to get up, and he had pulled a knife out of his pocket, and was coming at Derrick, but he was blocked by Tiny, who effortlessly took the knife from him and threw him back to the ground.

 

“Man what the f*ck you want?” the second one asked. Derrick's answer was a bat upside the head. Blood splattered on the ground as he fell over, unconscious. The other wannabe saw this, and tried to run, but Derrick swung the bat around and hit him in the back, throwing him to the ground. The two lay on the ground, moaning in pain. Derrick laughed and put the bat back in the trunk. Tiny walked over to the two fallen men and said “Unless you wanna see us again, you'll stay off Diablo turf, got it, bitch?” He didn't wait for an answer, and he walked back to the car and got in with Derrick, ignoring the growing crowd on onlookers who gawked and gasped at the two men lying on the ground. As soon as the doors were closed, the Diablos sped away in their Stallion, passing the ambulance that was called by one of the onlookers. The two guy would live, but Derrick had taught them a lesson they wouldn't soon forget.

 

 

______________

 

I'll buy a Sanchez, as well.

Edited August 20, 2010 by UNRATED69

[Landstalker]

I added the Landstalker and MP5K to the Red Jacks since I'll buy them in my next chapter.

 

Sanchez added to the Diablos.

[Vidalo]

Can I join more than one gang?

[Tyler]

Forelli Brothers

Changin' Currents

1986: Chapter 1

 

"When I was a kid, this business had class. We sat down with our rivals, and talked things out. We didn't run around towns killing people and yelling about how big our guns were! You see these people, they just don't get it, they don't get that killing people randomly is not going to help you out in the end. People like Tommy Vercetti, these men get famous from murdering tribes of people, then when they get out of jail, they're a legend. They sit back and shush anyone who doesn't like what they're doin'. People like this are ruining the good name of the damn Mafia!"

 

That's the way I was used to my grandpa talking about people nowadays. Always with the times 'changing' and all that. He would always furrow his thick white brow and start a rant every morning. Of course, he did retire from the business 'officially' in 1981, but ever since he's been a downer every chance he gets. He just doesn't get it. Street gangs are the future, and sadly, we Mafia types are going out of style. There is no such thing as chivalry in 'the business'. No more sit downs, or gifts to the enemy to quell tension.

 

Nowadays, you got kids that ain't even legally aloud to smoke pulling out of the middle of the street, and shooting the sh*t out of anyone that tries to oppose them. They don't give a god-damn about being civil, they just care about the money. But, we can't change fate. In another world, I might have been one of them, but I ain't. I'll never trade my suit and combed hair for sagging jeans and a sideways cap.

 

"Eh, Daniel, get the f*ck over here!" A familiar voice yelled to me, bringing me out of my daydream. Rocco, the guy with manners enough to call me over, was just about to put a bullet in the young kid on the bloodied side walk, right behind a sleazy hotel overlooking the old strip. "Alright, one more time you piece of sh*t, why did you decide to dirty up our clean establishment eh?" Rocco's cynical Italian voice angrily growled through his thick throat, almost spitting all over the young Jamaican kid. "C'mon now, don't hold out on me. I got all day," Rocco's size 15 dress shoes stamped on the kid's blistered kneecap. Along with a loud shriek of pain, the kid started whimpering on about Vice City.

 

"We just taking what's ours, makin' sure Forelli's know what is about to go down. Please let me go, I don't wan-" Another loud scream of anguish emptied out the young kid's throat as Rocco shot him square in the temple, with his usual selection of an overly-sized Deagle. "What the f*ck man?" I threw my cigarette down at Rocco's feet. "Sorry, my god-damn finger slipped".

 

Rocco was prone to accidents. Three weeks ago he accidentally blew two barrels of oil into smithereens out in Arco Del Oeste, bringing about fifty-thousand dollars with it. "Alright, just help me put him in the trunk alright man?" After about twenty minutes on the lonely abandoned back alley of a street, two cars finally passed by. We had the kid in the trunk just in time, as for the blood, well, not exactly. "sh*t!" the foul-mouthed Rocco moaned as the cars passed by, blowing dust along behind them. I nodded to him and we sped off in the unclean Elegant.

 

Four hours, around nine AM, we got back to the Visage, after a very unsanitary disposal in the desert. "Alright, my back f*ckin' aches bro, I'll see you later," surprisingly enough, my back did ache to a degree. Not enough to call it a day, but the lie was sufficient enough for Rocco to say 'Alright' and head out.

 

I walked through the now dimmed lobby of the Visage casino and greeted the Attendee, who always gave me the silent smile and lustful gaze from the front desk. The elevator binged open as I made my way towards it, blowing a kiss away, and stepping on. I unbuttoned the dusty suit and leaned to the back to the guard-rail of the interior. I was back in my home. Finally, I can relax, and get some damn rest. Almost three days I spent searching all over Las Venturas, killing three people, and bein' a damn detective to the Forelli's.

 

As I unlocked my hotel room door and staggered in to the bed, my beeper almost vibrated off of my waist. I let out a loud 'f*ck' and threw it into the sink, and fell face first onto my luxury threaded sheets, and drifted off into a dream.

[WelcomeToLibertyCity]

Someone deserves a SPANKing.

Chapter 2

 

The morning sunlight gently broke through my kitchen window. The air hung with the aroma of bacon and eggs frying, and sounds of cars passing by on the highway outside. I sat down at my small oak table located snuggly under the window, and began to read the paper as I munched away on my breakfast. The paper always interested me. the many articles of ads trying to suck people in to phony merchandise, the people complaining about how this city is turning into a hell hole and articles of recent criminals brought in to the slammer.

 

Just as it seemed my attention couldn’t be torn away, my cell phone rang from the other end of the table. I folded the paper, tossed it to the side, and reached for the phone.

 

“Hello?” I answered through a mouthful of eggs.

 

“Hey Anthony, it’s Frankie. Listen, I need you to give me a hand with something today.” He answered, the sound of a cars engine in the background.

 

“Anything you need.” I responded.

 

“Well you see, there’s this Diablos punk dealing SPANK in an alley down by the Ammunition n Red Light District. He’s been running his mouth all over the place. Saying that we’re a bunch of no good trash and that we can’t tell him where to distribute his product.” Frankie explained.

 

“Oh, I understand. So we’re going to go ‘convince’ him to take somewhere else?”

 

“You got it,” Replied Frankie with a chuckle, “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

 

I hung up the phone and proceeded into my bedroom. I was never the most wealthy guys, so the room was always quite empty. Besides, all I needed was some light, a bed, and a place to keep the shirt off my back. I pulled open the sliding door to my closet. Inside were a few dressy shirts with ties, some slacks, jeans, and the odd blazer. I quickly located the blazer from yesterday, and reach my hand in the pocket. I instantly felt the cold frame of the Desert Eagle I was given yesterday. I highly doubted the events of today would escalade to a gun fight, but you never know in this city.

 

As I threw on my shirt and stuck the piece into my back pocket, the sound of a car’s horn caught my attention from just outside my front door. I walked out side of my small raggedy condo and was greeted with the sight of Frankie leaning against the body of a Elegant. It looked like an old model, yet fairly new. Frankie seemed like the kind of guy who would keep his car in perfect condition.

 

“Hey, Anthony, hop in.” He said, ducking into the driver’s seat of the vehicle.

 

I opened the door to the passenger side, and shimmied into the leather interior. The car was coated in a dark brown leather, and it smelt of that common car scent.

 

“This is a nice vehicle you have here Frankie.” I said, peering around the car.

 

“She’s an ’86. Got it restored a few months ago. You wouldn’t believe what things you can buy yourself with this job.” Frankie boasted, twisted the keys and starting the engine of the car.

 

“That a fact.” I snickered as we headed off down the street. Just as we pulled up at the set of traffic light a short distance from my place, a questioned popped into my mind.

 

“So how this whole casino operation going in Venturas?” I asked.

 

“Like hell if you ask me. Just another way to earn some extra cash, but the families are all biting at each other like a pack of angry dogs. Won’t be long until someone snaps and the entire thing goes to sh*t.” Frankie explained.

 

We then pulled up alongside of the building that was the Portland Ammunition. Through the windows you could see the various fire arms and gun enthusiasts chatting away to each other. I felt tempted to go inside and have a look around, but this wasn’t the time or place for that. Frankie stepped out of the car, retrieving a large wooden bat before closing the car door. I made sure my Desert Eagle was still hidden and followed him into the alley situated to the left of the building.

 

The alley was very dark and sketchy. The walls were lined with some type of moldy plant and a wide variety of graffiti. Standing in a corner was a Hispanic male sporting a red unbuttoned jacket and beige colored pants. A tattoo bellow his right check showed that traditional Diablos logo. This was the guy.

 

As we approached him, he gazed over and looked us both from head to toe.

 

“What do you want, pendejos? “ he hollered at us.

 

“Listen pal, we don’t need to start sh*t here,” Frankie began, rocking the bat back and forth in his hand, “We’re giving you one last chance to get out and stay out of our turf. You wouldn’t like someone stealing your business to much would?”

 

“F*ck off penedjos, you can’t tell me sh*t.” The Diablo spat.

 

“Big f*cking mistake.” Muttered Frankie.

 

He grasped the handle of the bat tightly between his fists and smashed it into the legs of the Diablo. The dealer fell to the ground and screamed in utter agony over his wounds. Frankie then proceeded to clutch him by the shirt and pull him up from the ground.

 

“Show me what you can do to this f*ck Anthony.” Frankie stated, rubbing some sweat off his forehead and locking the dealers arms behind his back.

 

I swung back my arm and brought it across the man’s face. A splattered of blood flew into the air and landed on the concrete bellow. I then began to violently beat the Diablo a few more time with my bare fists before he fell to the ground in a pitiful state of weakness.

 

“Alright, alright. Just leave me alone. I’ll stop this sh*t on your turf I swear.” Cried the Diablo, emitting a large mouthful of blood.

 

He then stood up and feebly made his way to a stallion parked at the opposite end of the alley and drove away as fast as he could.

 

“You did good today kid. Franco will be proud.” Frankie said, giving me a congratulating pat on the shoulder.

 

Just as I was about to thank him, the sound of sirens interrupted me. Someone must have heard the screaming and called them. There must have been at least three, maybe four. Their sound getting louder and louder as they approached the alley.

 

“Sh*t, the cops!” bellowed Frankie, “Hope you can use that gun kid, cause we need to get our asses out of here.”

Edited August 21, 2010 by WelcomeToLibertyCity

[Slingaa]

 

Chapter II - Setting Up Shop

 

26th December, 1977

 

The trio swaggered into a huge, dirty building in the middle of Los Santos. As they walked in, the smell of crack cocaine filled their nostrils. The place was filthy. The ceiling and walls were cracked and were a horrible shade grey. The odd dead bodies was scattered around the place, and blood stained the walls.

 

“Welcome to the headquarters, bitch!” exclaimed Jason, who had his arm around Jack.

 

Rocco took a drag from his cigar and said: “This time, we ain’t touchin’ drugs. That’s why you got busted.”

 

“Yeah,” replied Jason, “this time we’re doing it by the book, baby! This place used to be a crack den, but me and Rocco um… recovered it.” He kicked a dead body under a table and Jack laughed.

 

“So, what are we going to do now?” asked Jack.

 

“First we need guns, income and hired help. Today we’re gonna’ get the income, tomorrow the weapons and extra hands,” said Jason.

 

“Yeah, you hold the fort, Jason,” Rocco said, taking his final drag on the Cuban cigar before flicking it away. “I’ll take Jack to Venturas.”

 

Rocco and Jack walked out of the crack den and spotted a glossy red Jester outside. The bumpers and the side skirts of the car were a shiny silver colour. The interior was lush – black leather with a red trim. Rocco started up the engine and drove off.

 

“Hang on, why are we going to Las Venturas if we’re looking for income? Oh no, you ain’t gambling away our money!” exclaimed Jack, who was now frowning at Rocco.

 

“Nah, I got a plan. We go to some casino and pose as a goon from the Leone Family and ask for protection money; simple.”

 

*

 

Half an hour later they had arrived in Las Venturas. The night sky was littered with bright neon lights and the air was filled with the sounds of laughter and happiness. As they travelled through the Strip, Jack couldn’t stop looking. There was something going on everywhere. He looked up to the tallest casino in view, the Emerald Isle. The place was glowing like a beacon, it could be seen from miles around.

 

“How about that one?” Jack asked, pointing towards the Emerald Isle.

 

“Yeah, looks good,” replied Rocco, as he parked beside the casino.

 

The place was even more glamorous inside. Fluorescent lights of every colour you could imagine were covering the walls and floors. Bright slot machines took up virtually every available space of the green carpeted floor. Dozens of blackjack and roulette tables were towards the back of the casino. The whole spectrum of human emotion surrounded the casino. Victory, defeat, happiness, sadness… The two waltzed up to the bar, and Jack began to talk to the barman.

 

“Could I see your manager please mate?” asked Jack.

 

“I’m sorry sir, but he is previously engaged,” replied the barman.

 

“Oh, so this is how you’re gonna’ play it? My friend over there has a silenced 9mm pistol down his trousers. If he were to shoot you, nobody would hear it. And looking at the entertainment here, I doubt anyone would see, either.”

 

“I’ll – I’ll get him now, sir,” said the barman, looking very flustered. He sprinted off upstairs and a few minutes later a tall fat man in a suit came down.

 

“This better be good,” said the manager, looking very angry.

 

“I represent Mr. Salvatore Leone, Don of the Leone family,” said Rocco, taking Jack’s place. “He isn’t happy with you. You’re taking in a lot of Benjamin’s, and he wants a slice of the action, capiche?”

 

“Look, I’m not giving you any money!”

 

Rocco sighed and gripped one of the nearby slot machines. Ignoring the manager’s cries, he pulled it up and smashed it down onto the floor. Plastic and nickels scattered everywhere and Rocco picked up another one. He dumped it onto the floor again. Rocco pulled out a Molotov cocktail and a lighter.

 

“You want me to torch this place? Do you?”

 

“No, no! I’ll give you the money, whatever we can spare, I promise!” yelled the manager. “One-thousand dollars a week, I swear!”

“That’s a good boy,” Rocco concealed the Molotov and the lighter. “I’ll send someone every Sunday to collect the money and don’t you DARE try and cheat me!”

 

Jack and Rocco walked out onto the Strip and got back into the red Jester.

 

“Mission accomplished,” said Rocco, sending a wink to Jack.

 

Could I sell my Sniper Rifle and buy a Dragunov and a Baseball Bat please.

Edited August 21, 2010 by Slingaa

[Tyla]

Spot the brief cameo's of members of the Vercetti Gang

 

 

 

The Loose Lips

 

Mike sat at the top of the winding stone steps, massaging his forehead with his fingertips. He had retreated to the outdoors as a means of letting his boss cool down. A large and imposing man, Mike was the definition of dumb muscle; he was incredibly accident prone and frequently messed up his duties. He often wondered if he was in the wrong job.

 

Another large, but more athletically inclined male dressed in a pastel blue shirt wandered out of the doors of the towering mansion building and walked over to Mike.

 

“He’s in a real bad mood today.” he announced in a deep accent with Latino undertones. “Something about the television.”

 

“FUUUUCK YOOOUUUU!” the voice of another male boomed, the shouting followed by two sharp cracks that rang out around the large estate, flashes illuminating the windows. The two men rushed to run inside, following the scent of gun powder to the living room. Their boss, Ricardo Diaz, stood over a widescreen television, firing two further shots from a Colt Python in his right hand into the destroyed screen; the erotic movie that played on the VCR fading into a permanent burst of darkness. He turned around as his two bodyguards rushed into the room, waving the revolver around wildly.

 

“You two; dickheads.” he less than affectionately snapped, “Move this piece of sh*t out of my sight!”

 

Upon his command, they rallied around the downed television screen and each took an end. They were about to lift it off the ground when the phone in the lobby began to rang. Both men looked at each other, unsure of whether to carry on with the task at hand or answer the phone, until Diaz cast annoyed eyes on Mike and threw his right hand up into the air, firing a shot that caused both of his employees to jump.

 

“ARRRRGHHHH! Go answer the phone! Moron!”

 

Mike quickly hurried out of the room to answer the phone, while Diaz continued his stinging rant, this time directed at the sole and idle man that was unfortunately left in lone company with him.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Mike,” another Latin accent spoke, “Mr. Gonzales is at the front gate; he wants to see the boss.”

 

“I’ll be right down.”

 

The guard at the gate ushered Gonzales’ car through the front gate, into the grounds of the mansion. The driver rolled to a stop half way up the pathway, jumping out of his seat and quickly hurrying to open the passenger door. Gonzales stepped out, looking up from his short form at his driver to quickly acknowledge the deed, and then walked over to meet with the approaching Mike.

 

“Ah, Mike!” he called, being on familiar terms with the goon as he was a familiar face at the mansion. Gonzales and Diaz had a pre-existing relationship; Gonzales initially purchased guns to ship back to the South American country of Panama on behalf of his boss, Colonel Juan Garcia Cortez, who held a considerable amount of influence and power over political proceedings there. The relationship later became more of an agreement; Diaz finding out about Gonzales' dipping into the profits of Cortez's dealings in the drug markets and blackmailing him into informing him of any deal Colonel Cortez set up in Vice City, which Diaz claimed wholly as his turf.

 

“Mr. Gonzales, what can I do for you?”

 

“I would like to see Mr. Diaz.”

 

“He’s uh, busy...”

 

“But it’s urgent!” Gonzales quickly declared, “He needs to know.”

 

“Okay, okay.”

 

The two strolled up the steps and into the mansion. Diaz’s continuing abuse of his bodyguard could still be heard, echoing around the lofty interior.

 

“Dickhead; you are incompetent! You stand around all day like a fool! I should kill you here and now, Ernesto.” he pointed the Python at Ernesto, the bodyguard, and pulled the trigger. There was a click as his eyes closed tightly; the cylinder was empty. “BOOM!”

 

The goon opened his eyes again in a tame fashion as Mike entered the room with Gonzales. They too soon found themselves confronted by the imposing barrel of Diaz’s gun; he pointed it directly at Gonzales and pulled the trigger once more. “BOOM! Ha-ha!” he began to chuckle as Gonzales flinched, his hairpiece motioning slightly away from the centre of his head.

 

“Gonzales! Did I summon you? What are you doing here?”

 

“I needed to speak with you. Urgently. Alone...” his eyes shifted to the two goons in the room, who quickly left upon Diaz’s nod.

 

“What is it, Gonzales? I am not paying you enough? You need to buy a second sports car?”

 

“No, no...” he waved his hands in denial.

 

“Then what is it? Speak up, dickhead!”

 

“The Mafia; they are plotting a deal!”

 

“What?!” Diaz shrieked. “The Mafia?!

 

“Yes. They are sending some buyers from Liberty City that will purchase the drugs.”

 

“Arrrghhh. When?”

 

“Sometime soon. They did not give a time and place.”

 

Diaz marched up and down the length of the room furiously; someone was about to attempt to encroach on his empire. The thought angered him greatly. “When you find out, you call.” he ordered. “These pricks think they can mess with me...” Gonzales shuffled nervously, knowing only too well of Diaz’s unpredictable nature. Diaz quickly picked up a wedge of notes from on top of a wooden table beside a couch, and tossed them at Gonzales’ chest. “Here, go buy your sports car. Get out of my sight!”

 

Gonzales collected the wedge of notes in his hands and shoved them into his trouser pocket; he shuffled off without any further words. Out of anger, Diaz went over to his mobile phone; he picked the heavy handset up, and pressed in the number of a contact he liked to keep close to him.

 

“Leo? Leo! Listen, I need you to take care of something for me...”

[Landstalker]

 

Can I join more than one gang?

Vidalo~ Yes. mrpain is with the Bikers from Vice City and the Leone Mafia Family of Liberty City.

 

UNRATED69~ Your are on your second chapter out of three that protects your from us to count your errors (gramatical, etc...).

 

You've got yourself a nice lenght but... When someone's new is speaking, start a new line. It less confusing for many of us.

 

$78 is your reward.

 

Unoriginal44~ You've got yourself a nice chapter introducing us to your gang. Chapter one out of three. I will not count your errors if there are any.

 

$84 is your pure reward.

 

WelcomeToLibertyCity~ Chapter two out of three done. Nice flow of description, lenght and a good chapter.

 

$85 is your reward, for this one.

 

Slingaa~ This chapter was straight. Chapter 2 out of three. Sniper Rifle sold. Dragunov and Baseball Bat bought.

 

$78 is your reward.

 

Tyla~ Your plot of what hapened before the drug deal in Vice City is interesting. I miss ol' good Diaz. No error, nice lenght, nice plot.

 

$87 is your reward.

Edited August 21, 2010 by Landstalker