Title: The Harwood Butcher
Author: MacyBlue
Contact: white_wolf_silver_knight@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: I do not own Grand Theft
Auto or any of its content. This story is merely a figment of my imagination. I
am not making any money off this.
Summary: A short ficlet. A
coming-of-age teenager's thoughts as he follows the trial of Tommy Vercetti
back in '71
* * *
"Come on, Rick!" Mike yelled to me.
"Move your ass, they're bringing him out!" Eddy yelled to the gang. All seven
of us quickly ran through the crowd. We climbed on top of a Chinese fish truck
to see through the people.
I slicked black hair back with my hands. I was determined to scare the world.
We all were, me and the rest of the gang. I think we had an "official" name
once, but it was forgotten long ago. Now everyone had dubbed us the Red Light
gang, 'cause our turf was the Red Light District. Sure, we were small time, but
I'm sure every mob man started small.
I looked at my gang, my friends. We all were a replica of each other, slicked
back hair, tattered black shirt, and worn blue jeans. I was the youngest of the
seven, but that was ok, nobody started shit with me because of my age. We all
knew what we wanted in the end: Wealth, power, and respect. And we would all
spend the rest of our life working for it through guns and blood.
Just like he did. We all watched and waited for Tommy Vercetti to leave the
courthouse. Liberty
had given him the name "The Harwood Butcher". He was a true mobster. He had
killed eleven men. People cheered for him, people condemned him. He hadn't
ratted on Sonny or the mob. He would take his sins, and the sins of others,
with him to prison.
Everybody knew he could've talked, and the FBI would've let him walk, but he
didn't. He kept his mouth shut. So now reporters and civilians wait outside the
courthouse for him. He was sentenced to fifteen years, not bad for a body count
of eleven. The mafia would make sure he got out, 'cause that's what they did,
they protect their own, right? The mob had kept this all quiet. There was no
direct evidence to organized crime in the Vercetti case, but everyone on the
street knew. They all knew that Tommy was their man. But why had it carried
this far? All they had to do was give the police a fall guy or bribe a few jurors,
why was Tommy walking out in handcuffs?
I don't care. All of us didn't care. Tommy Vercetti may be on his way to prison
for slaughtering eleven men, but we didn't care. He was still a legend. He was
Tommy Vercetti, the Harwood Butcher.
"Look, look! He's walking out!" Marcello elbowed Eddy in the ribs. We all
looked at the doors and stared in anticipation.
He walked out of the courthouse, cuffed, and escorted by police. He ignored the
reporters as they screamed questions and took pictures. He walked with his head
to the ground.
He didn't smile, he didn't cheer. Not like any other man would. Why not be happy?
Come on Tommy, you know they won't make you stay in there. You'll be out in a
year, tops. You were famous. You are now a legend. Why hang your head? Smile,
Tommy. Cheer, cause now you were a made man. After prison you'll be rich,
you'll be one of Forelli's top men. You're a made man.
"Look at him, man? Isn't he so cool?" Ben whispered in my ear, his voice full
of a childlike glee. I nodded and grinned. Yeah, he was cool, he didn't have to
smile to be cool. He just was. He was our boyhood hero. He may have been a
killer, but everyone loved him despite that.
Michael couldn't stand it anymore. He stood up and moved to the end of the
truck, shoving me away. "Outta my way, Rick," He started to wave his arms
toward Tommy and scream, "Tommy! Over here! Over here!" The rest of the group
joined in, trying to catch the attention of our hero.
Tommy began to look around and examine the crowd. His face stayed emotionless. Slowly, he turned his head our way. The Red Light gang began to grin and wave and scream, but I fell silent when his eyes caught mine. I stared, I wasn't sure what to think. Brown eyes stared back. Through his emotionless expression and stiff jaw, his eyes looked. angry. Worn. Tainted.
This was Tommy
Vercetti, right? Why didn't he act like the maniac I heard he was? He should
look into the crowd with wicked eyes and a cocky smirk. He should turn to the
reports and tell them that they haven't seen the last of him. He should give
society the finger and tell them to go fuck themselves, and that he'd be out in
a day. But all he did was stare.
Our caught eyes broke away as he reached the armored car. The cop opened the
door and allowed the handcuffed man entrance. Slowly, Tommy Vercetti
disappeared behind cold doors. The Red Light gang's voice died down, as did the
sound of many reporters. As the van drove off, it was deathly quiet. The blood
shed in Liberty
was only one in millions of murders, but these were different. These murders
made a small-time man set, only to be sent to prison soon after.
"Wow," Marcello looked awestricken, "I would love to meet him." The gang slowly
nodded their heads. No inappropriate language, no horsing around. This was a
moment of silence for the hero of the streets of Liberty.
Those people Tommy murdered had it coming, right? It as right to call him a
hero, wasn't it? He didn't rat on the family, he kept true to his word, true to
his friends.
"Let's go." Mike, the senior of our gang, ushered us off the truck. We all
jumped to the ground and walked together down the street.
We walked in silence, thinking about what had happened. Marcello was once again
the one to break the silence. "Maybe we'll be able to meet him when he gets out
of prison. I bet he's a great guy." We all agreed.
Of course he was great, he was our
hero.
'Cause he was Tommy Vercetti.
