1. Rude Awakening
All was quiet in Verona Beach, and the fact that it was five in the morning indicated why. Aside from the occasional cars or angry voices outside, the neighborhood was silent. The residents enjoyed the rare occurrence of peace and quiet as they lay tranquil in their beds. With the sun just beginning to peek over the city skyline, the waterfront community was a wonderful sight to behold.
The same couldn't be said for the Verona Village. Located in the skid row of Verona Beach,the cheap, crummy apartment complex was mostly designed as a shelter for deadbeat low-income losers or a safe-haven for criminals on the lam. The occupants of apartment 815 were a mixture of both. Actually, as of now, they were only deadbeat losers. But by about 6 AM, they'd be criminals on the lam as well.
One of the aforementioned occupants was hunched over his bed, breathing heavily. His name was Danny Jordan, and he was 19 years old. The shock of both nervousness and anxiousness he had received while hurrying to pack his bags had triggered his asthma and left him gasping for air. His light-blue inhaler, which was sitting on the nightstand next to him, was the only thing that could save him during times like these, and it had done a pretty good job just now. As Dan zipped his duffel bag closed, another teenager appeared at his doorway. This second occupant, looking just as flushed, was his friend Pete.
"Hurry up already. Joey's waiting for us outside." Pete said. "I'll be in the car too."
"Alright, man, I'm coming. Hang on."
Pete disappeared from the doorway as Dan moved over to the nightstand. As he reached for his inhaler, something else caught his eye.
"Shit," he muttered, taking the plane ticket. "Almost forgot about this." He dropped the ticket into his bag and followed Pete outside.
"So, you ready for this?" Pete asked Dan, as they both walked towards the elevator at the end of the balcony.
"Yeah. Of course, man." Dan replied, giving his friend a pat on the back. "Easy money, right?"
"Damn straight." Pete was relieved that his friend was on board with the whole thing. The three of them never really discussed anything after Joey had volunteered them for the job. "We go in, we go out, and before you know it, we're on a plane headed back home."
Dan nodded as they stepped into the elevator. "Yep. Good ol' Vice City.
In a small house on the other side of town, way over in Jefferson, a man lay sleeping in his bed. At first glance, one would assume this man to be somewhat poor, judging by his clothes and how much crap he had lying around his house. This couldn't be farther from the truth. Carl Johnson was in fact, a multimillionaire, manager of a famous rapper, shareholder in a renowned casino, and owner of a private airfield, among other things. He was also a dedicated gang member, who often employed safehouses like this as quiet hiding places.
CJ was not above performing criminal acts such as theft, murder, carjacking, and extortion. Sure, he rarely did these things anymore, but when the opportunity arose, you can bet your ass that CJ would take it. Even more, if you convinced him that it was for a "good cause," he'd be on it faster than a fat man on fried chicken. His trusty cell phone lay on the desk next to him, and through this very phone he received most of his jobs.
It began to ring. It rang about three times before it woke him up, and five before he actually decided to get it. CJ reached over, and with his back making an audible cracking sound, he took the phone from his nightstand.
"Wha..—Hello? Who is it?" CJ asked groggily, as he leaned back into bed.
"It's Sweet. I need your help, bro." came the voice on the other line, which CJ instantly recognized as that of his older brother Sean "Sweet" Johnson.
"Damn, man, it's 5 in the morning! The hell you calling me for?"
"I know, I know." Sweet replied regretfully. "And I wouldn't be calling you so early in the morning if I didn't have something important to say."
"Uh-huh." CJ scoffed. "The time you woke me up so I could buy you more waffles says otherwise."
Unlike CJ's place, the Johnson house was unusually busy at 5 in the morning. GSF members were making and taking phone calls left and right, and one of the OGs was busy scribbling on a sheet of paper at the coffee table. Sweet, still on the phone with his brother, was going back and forth, making sure everything was going well. The gang was hard at work looking up information on a mysterious drug dealer who was rumored to be introducing a new type of drug, one that was currently very popular in Vice City. The GSF knew that this new drug, whatever it was, would effectively cripple their own drug-running business. Unfortunately, the new dealer, who was the only one selling the drug at the moment, was proving to be difficult to locate.
"The hell with that." Sweet replied. "This is important, man. I need your help. The GSF need your help, bro."
"With what?" CJ asked.
"Check this out, man. There's some new dealer set to sell in Glen Park at 6 this morning. Got some brand new shit and everything."
"The fuck do I care?" CJ exclaimed. "That's all you wanted to tell me? I mean, I'll take him out later, if that's what you want, but for now, let a nigga sleep in peace!"
"CJ, you're not hearing me, fool. He's pushing some new kind of drug, and we all know that it'll wipe us out."
"Point being?" CJ shot back, clearly annoyed. "I'm not even in that business, man! You're not in the business!"
"I know, I know, man. But we are. The GSF. You know how much peddlin's been netting us. Ever since we started last year."
"Man, I keep saying, I never liked that idea. To be honest, I think you're a busta' for even allowing it. GSF woulda' never sold drugs back in the old days. Find some other way to make money instead of selling base and shit! You're the boss, man. Change it!"
"You know, CJ, I would, but lately, things ain't been the same around here. For any of us."
"What are you talking about?"
"Now that we're selling the yay, all the other families have shoved their way back in to our set. They want a cut of the action too. I'm sorry, bro."
"Man, that's bullshit. I shoulda' never left, seeing as I can't go a few blocks without you fucking shit up. You a busta, man, you know that?"
"Hey! I ain't the one who ran off to Liberty City after Brian died, nigga!" Sweet retorted, as he snatched a paper from an OG who had his hand outstretched.
"Damn, Sweet? How many times we gotta go over this? I said I was sorry, and I fixed everything. Brought the Grove back up to the top, only to have you bring it back down."
Sweet sighed. CJ was right. And he had a point: He did fix his own mistakes.
"Alright, CJ. You've made your point. Now come on, I need your help, bro."
"Fine. You got a pic or anything?"
"Faxing it to ya' right now." Sweet replied, as he fed the paper the OG had given him into the machine. He took a sip from his Sprunk as he waited for CJ's response.
CJ's low whistle of amazement came through a few moments later.
"Damn, this is a nice sketch! Mikey do this?"
"Of course, bro, who else?" Sweet chuckled. He glanced over to the OG at the table, the one with the pencil in his hand. Mikey gave him a thumbs-up and turned back to his work.
"Alright then. I'll see what I can do. Glen Park, right?" CJ said, exasperated.
"Yeah. Thanks bro. This means a lot to us. All of us."
"Whatever."
The light-blue Admiral passed by the Los Santos Police Department. Daniel Jordan took a wary glance at the officers outside before turning back to his friends.
"You sure we'll be able to get away with this, Joey?" he asked the driver.
Dan had been having second thoughts during the drive. The most trouble he had ever been in was shoplifting a six-pack of beer from Roboi's. What he, Pete, and Joey were about to commit would easily get them 25 to life, each.
"I told you, dude, yes. Kill the stiff, dump him in the trunk, and drive him off to Angel Pine. We'll dump him somewhere secluded, where no one would think to look. Besides, there's three of us. If your gun jams, or if you pussy out, me or Pete will do it. Ain't no way some old dude's gonna take three guys with guns."
"You better be right, Joey." Dan replied. "Fuck, I'm not going to prison. I'm no one's butt buddy."
"Relax, prick. They won't suspect us at all. Now get the stuff together."
Dan reached over to the seat next to him and grabbed the large duffel bag that lay there. He opened it to reveal three nine-millimeters, each equipped with suppressors.
"They're all set, Joey." he said.
"Full magazines?"
"Yeah, they're good too." Dan replied, zipping the bag up.
"Alright. Keep 'em out of sight now. Don't want to screw this up because you didn't hide the guns well enough."
CJ spat the toothpaste foam into the sink and rinsed his mouth before walking into the kitchen. Damn, he wondered, as he took a cereal bar from the cupboard. What's so interesting about one measly-ass basehead? He took a quick glance at his clock before he walked out the door. It read 5:27 AM. The dealer was set to arrive at six. Better be worth my time, CJ told himself as he shut the front door. His old Kuruma, the only car that was legally his, was sitting outside.
A few seconds later, CJ was backing out of the driveway. As he was doing so, his phone rang.
"Sweet?"
"CJ, where are you, man?"
"Relax, I'm just leaving. I'll be there twenty minutes before he gets there."
"No, CJ, he's the one who's gonna be early!"
There was a pause on both ends.
"The hell you talking about, bro?"
"We just learned that he's gonna be there at 5:30! CJ, you can't let him sell to anyone!"
CJ slammed his fist onto the dashboard.
"Man, I'm sick of this! Tell me what the fuck's going on right now, or I'm out. What the fuck is so important? What's so bad about one more pusher in Los Santos?"
Sweet lowered his voice.
"Alright, listen up. This guy? He's not a drug dealer, he's an arms dealer. Caters mostly to the Ballas. Sells 'em AK-47s and M4s and shit. Now I know I told you otherwise, but I couldn't risk takin' chances."
"Taking what chances?" CJ asked, utterly confused.
Sweet lowered his voice.
"Only a select few of us know what the dealer's really selling. And also, I think we got some kind of double agent here."
"What? Like a spy? How do you know?" CJ asked.
"I don't. But there's this one new guy. He joined our set about a month ago. Real quiet guy. Me an' the boys hardly ever see him, and when we do, he's always talking on his phone. He was in here when I last talked to you, so I had to shut up."
"He could be talking to his moms, for all you know."
"CJ, I ain't fucking wit' you. This guy, Johnny Davis...I don't trust him. I'd probably like him if he were around more often, but that's the thing. He's not!"
"Alright, bro. Calm down. I'm sure there's a good explanation. Will he tell you who he's talking to?"
"No, man. That worries me too. He gets all defensive and shit."
"Oh. Well..."
"I don't know, man. He just doesn't seem right to me, you know? But anyways, bullshit aside, get to the bridge, and stop the dealer. He's not really gonna be sellin' anytime soon, but we can't have him on our streets."
"Fine, Sweet. You owe me for this, fool."
"Yeah, yeah. Ey, you still got that sketch?"
"Right here, bro. I'll call you back when I get to the bridge, a'ight?"
"Keep me posted, man. Later." The line went dead.
"Motherfucker!" CJ swore, pitching his phone into the backseat. He'd have Sweet's balls on a plate for this.
A lone OGF member stood under the Grove Street overpass. He pulled his cell phone from his back pocket and dialed.
"Hey, it's me." he said, after the other person had picked up.
"Good to hear from you again. Did you give them the information?"
"I did. I've got them goin' in circles. They're about to go after the wrong person. Right now, our man's probably out in Market, handing out automatics and hand grenades to the boys over there. Sweet sent his brother to Glen Park, man! They don't suspect a thing!"
"That's how it should be. And they don't suspect you either?"
"Hell no. Sweet still thinks it's that fag Johnny. All that dude's doing is talking to his gay boyfriend. To them, I'm still Mikey the quiet sketch artist. Three years, and no one's suspected a thing."
"Keep it that way. I'll talk to you later."
James dropped his phone back into his pocket and walked back to Sweet's house.