Author's Note: Well, here's the beginning of what I hope will soon become a full novelization of the events of Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. Not too original, I know, but I tried my best with this first chapter and think the end result is pretty good. I used a game script so I could get the exact dialogue down, but I added my own touches here and there. What I hope to do with this story is to tell Vice's story accurately, but also really delve into Tommy Vercetti as a character, and to make him seem more real and human in areas. The game was very camera view in a sense, so what I want to do is get down feelings and reactions, and hopefully have some fun with it as well. The Liberty City introduction is in third person, but the rest is in first person perspective, from Tommy's point of view. But I digress; I hope you enjoy this first chapter!

The dim glow of afternoon sunlight pierced through the meager blinds of Marco's Bistro, weaving an illuminated tapestry throughout the dining section. People were laughing, chatting, drinking…every one of its customers had a story to tell and friend with whom to share it. The Bistro was regarded throughout the city as the supplier Portland's finest cuisine, with an authentic menu of Italian dishes and fine wines. At least, this image was what was advertised on billboards and in magazine ads. In reality, it was all merely a façade to fool Liberty City's police force, as well as any other nosy purveyors of the law.

Marco's Bistro was the business front of the Forelli Family Mafia, one of the three major Italian crime syndicates in Liberty. Behind the hospitable appearance, there lay the inner workings and plotting of the Forellis. It served as the base of their operations; every decision that they made in their quest to rule the streets of Portland had been discussed at length within the confines of their refuge. No matter what other assets and businesses that the Forellis were in possession of, the Bistro served as the only constant source of income.

Clouds covered the sun and the light was quick to dissipate again. Dim lamps and bulbs were once more the only source of warmth. Below the dining areas, in a small poker room, three members of the Forelli mafia discussed their business interests.

A large man, with dark, slicked back hair and a flashy suit that was the standard in the eighties pounded down his jeweled-ring covered fist onto the small table in front of him.

"Tommy Vercetti? Huh, shit! Didn't think they'd ever let him out."

This man was Sonny Forelli, Don of the Forelli Family. He was arrogant, foul-tempered and gluttonous, as was evident in his figure. Nonetheless, his anger helped his family become one of the top dogs on the street, and to incur his wrath was suicide.

A fellow gang member, one of Sonny's most trusted advisors, fiddled with the poker chips on the table, saying, "He kept his head down. Helps people forget."

Sonny waved his arms incredulously.

"Yeah, well people are going to remember soon enough," He retorted, "when they see him walking down the streets of their old neighborhood. It will be bad for business."

"Well, what are we going to do, Sonny?" inquired the third man in the room.

The Don scratched his chin and said, "I'll tell you what we're going to do. We'll treat him like an old friend and keep him busy out of town, okay? We've been thinking about expanding down South, right?"

His eyes wandered off and stared out the window.

"Vice City is twenty-four carat gold these days. The Columbians, the Mexicans, hell, even some of those Cuban refugees are cutting themselves a piece of some nice action."

The first man shook his head.

"But it's all drugs, Sonny. None of the families will touch that shit."

"Times are changing," explained the Forelli boss, "the families can't keep their backs turned while our enemies reap the rewards. So, we send someone down there to do the dirty work for us…cut ourselves a nice, quiet slice, okay? Who's our contact down there?"

The third man thought for a moment before responding.

"Ken Rosenberg, schmuck of a lawyer. How the hell's he going to hold Vercetti's leash?"

"We don't need him to. We just set him loose in Vice City, we give him a little cash to get started, okay?"

Sonny's eyes once again drifted off towards the window, where the sun was starting to poke its head out of the clouds again.

"Give it a few months…then we go down. Pay him a little visit, right? See how he's doing."

The other two men looked at each other and shrugged. It was a sound plan.

The sun glared through the window, enveloping Sonny's face.

"Attention, passengers. Flights 629 to London and 113 to Las Venturas have been delayed. We apologize for the inconvenience. To passengers just arriving, we welcome you to Vice City. Enjoy your stay."

The woman's voice echoed throughout the mostly deserted airport. A couple Cubans dressed in similar colors eyed me suspiciously, as I grabbed my suitcase from the carousel.

Barely five minutes in this place and I already hated it.

I had no idea what was supposed to be occupying my mind right now. It was supposedly Sonny himself who wanted me here in Vice, as a favor for me, but I didn't know him anymore. He wasn't my friend anymore. He wasn't even there when the Forelli thugs picked me up from Liberty City Penitentiary.

It did not matter. Whatever he was to me, he sent me down here to do this deal. I might as well do it as fast as possible.

"Hey, uh, Tommy, can you lend me a hand?"

I sighed silently and turned around to find Lee struggling with an amazingly large briefcase. He stepped aside, rubbing his hands together sheepishly as I hefted the large baggage out of the carousel. I dropped it at his feet and looked over at the other end of the carousel, where Harry stood, looking quite dumbfounded on what to do.

"Harry! Let's go!"

My accomplice noticed me and started trailing behind Lee and I as we exited the airport.

A white Admiral was waiting outside, right by the entrance, just as Sonny had promised. A slimy looking man in a horrendous neon pink suit sat anxiously in the driver's seat. As he noticed us, the tensions seemed to fade from his face.

"Oh, uh, hey, hey, hey there guys! It's, uh, Ken Rosenberg here, uh, hey! Hey, hey, hey, great, hey!"

It occurred to me that this man looked like some sort of coke-addicted weasel. Lee quickly stepped towards the front passenger's seat in a childish manner. I shook my head and put his luggage in the trunk, along with Harry's and mine. I hopped in the back seat of the car and laid my head against the window as Ken rambled on about the meeting.

"Well, uh, I'm going to drive you guys to the meet, okay? Now, I've talked to the suppliers and they are very, huh-ha, keen to start a business relationship, so, uh, if all goes well, we should, uh, be doing very nicely for ourselves, which is, you know…good!"

The lawyer seemed like the kind of man who was quite fond of talking in one long sentence…as most lawyers did. Harry glanced at me and made a gun symbol with his fingers, putting it against his temple and pulling the "trigger". I chuckled as Rosenberg continued his tirade.

"Okay, so, they're brothers, okay? One operates the, uh, the business, and the other one does the flying. Now, they operate out of Mexico; they own a farm in Panama."

Abruptly, Ken steered the conversation towards his own well-being.

"Okay, all right, listen," he said, talking a conspiratorial whisper that children tended to use, "you guys, when we get there, should I stay in the car, or do you guys want me to come in with you guys?"

I sat up and stared directly at the rear-view mirror, so I could get my point across.

"No. Stay in the car," I grunted, my tone taking on a threatening manner.

Ken glanced up at the mirror, his eyes widening for a second before he concentrated on the road again, murmuring, "You know what, I thought about it, I'm going to watch the car."

My gaze resumed its lookout of the streets. We drove past a multitude of different characters, such as more of the threatening Cuban refugees like I had seen at the airport. This area definitely seemed like their turf…it was a good thing we wouldn't be here long enough to get on their bad side. Soon enough I'd be back in Liberty, doing…what? What was it that I was so eager to get back to?

It suddenly dawned on me how…sad this entire situation was. For Christ's sake, I'd been out of the joint what, two days, and already I was doing low-grade dirty work for Sonny Forelli again, like a wayward dog running back to its master. Did I honestly think things would be any different than they were before? Before I was jailed, Sonny treated me like dirt and never gave me a fair share…and now once I'm out we're suddenly best friends? Not a chance in hell.

I'd have to rethink what it was I wanted to do. I couldn't stand the thought of taking the fall for Sonny the rest of my life, but I was past the point of going legit, and I knew that if I didn't do something fast, I'd get weak and go crawling back to the Forellis. For better or worse, things had to change.

Harry's raspy, nicotine-ravaged cough shot me back into reality, and I noticed that the car was slowing to a halt. Outside were the dark and dank docks of Vice City, the town's dirty little secret. The scum that clung to the side of the cargo containers closely represented the type of people who gathered there.

We were parked just outside a large area that was used to store the cargo of only the largest ships, and as such, the place was rarely occupied. Sonny had said that everything would be arranged for us, and as promised, a Maverick helicopter that had apparently been waiting for us to arrive was slowly flying in for landing.

Rosenberg turned around in his seat and looked at me.

"Okay, that's them in the chopper. Uh, all right, here's the deal, they want a straight exchange on open ground, all right? Okay, stay tight, let's go,"

I shook my head and exited the vehicle along with my two partners. Harry went around to grab the suitcases, handing one off to Lee. The three of us stood in the middle of the dock, watching as the helicopter settled down onto the ground. I couldn't quite make out the pilot, but soon enough our dealer came out, two suitcases in hand, and shuffled over to where we stood.

"Got it?" I asked, loud so I could be heard over the whirring of the chopper blades.

The man grinned, saying, "One hundred per cent pure Grade-A Colombian, my friend,"

"Let me see it."

He started to put down one of the suitcases, but stopped halfway, eyeing our own suitcases.

"The greens?" he inquired.

I motioned to Harry and Lee, and they both popped the suitcases open, displaying the rich array of cash that were stacked neatly in each suitcase.

"I think we have a deal, my friend. Ha ha ha!" he laughed in a very nasal fashion, holding out the suitcases for me to check. In turn, I held my hand out and grabbed the handle of one of the cases.

Not half a second later, there was the thunder of guns, and the dark hand that had been gripping the suitcase was reduced to a bloody pulp. My gaze shot upward and the dealer's eyes rolled back in his head just as another bullet pierced through his chest, bringing him down hard on the grimy floor. The roar of the helicopter filled the air and it flew away quicker than lightning.

I jumped back, narrowly avoiding a round that went screaming by my face, and yelled, "Oh shit!"

My eyes swung around to Harry, whose throaty scream was silenced by another round that went straight through his neck, rendering him a crumpled mass. I ducked under a pair of bullets that were aimed straight at my temple, and grabbed Lee by the wrist in an attempt to drag him towards the car with me. I pulled with all my might, but as I turned back, I saw both his kneecaps get blown out by more ammunition. He shook his head at me, and I swore and dropped his cold hand. Where the fuck were these guys hitting us from? My frantic question was answered in the form of the sound of empty rounds hitting the ground to my right, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a trio of masked men coming out of their cover and reloading their weapons. I had to get the fuck out of there.

I risked one last glimpse at the suitcases behind me, and saw a thin white river quietly pouring out of a hole in one of them before I ran and jumped into the back of the white sedan, where Ken sat, looking paler than a dead fish.

"Go on, get out of here! Drive!" I roared at him.

Sure enough, be broke out of his stupor and hit the gas. The sound of the bullets puncturing through the side of the door was soon left behind as we sped away out of the docks.

I looked out the window to make sure we weren't being tailed, before turning on Ken.

"What in the fucking hell was that, you moron? Who the fuck set us up? Why didn't you run a background check on these pricks to make sure they weren't fucking us over? Jesus Christ!"

"I-I-I don't know what happened, Tommy, I mean, these guys were solid, I swear, Sonny said that everything checked out with them, and I don't know, I just took his word for it, I mean, I just do what I'm told I was just supposed to drive you to the meet and drive you back, I had no clue there were going to be guys waiting for us, I mean, for fuck's sake, they must've been tipped off by someone in the city! I have no clue who they were….shit, ah, damn!"

He was sputtering like a car engine on crack. It was almost indecipherable through the blubbering.

What I wanted to do was crush his fucking skull into the dashboard, but it wasn't quite time for that. I sat, seething with rage and not saying a word as he shakily drove the rest of the way before arriving at his office. He swerved and pulled into the alley outside the firm. He sat for a seconds before slamming his head down on the wheel.

"I stick my head out of the gutter for one freakin' second," he whined, "and fate shovels shit in my face!"

I rubbed my temples, already having had my fill of this man's bitching.

"Go get some sleep," I suggested.

I he turned around and I could see his face was soaked with sweat and tears. How much more slimy could a lawyer get?
"What are you going to do?" he inquired.

I shook my head, deliberately avoiding eye contact with him, and shrugged.

"I'll drop by your office tomorrow and we can start sorting this mess out. Just go into your office…I'll deal with Sonny."

He nodded, and silently exited the car and shuffled into his building. I put my face into my hands and sat for a while before crawling into the front seat and driving towards the hotel the Forellis had recommended, the Ocean View.

I shut my mind off for the drive and ignored the blaring horns from drivers who were annoyed with the fact I was driving at twenty-five miles per hour.

Soon enough I was at the hotel and checked in, and when I finally decided to turn my mind on again, I was sitting down on the couch and had already punched in the number of Marco's Bistro in Portland.

Sonny's voice picked up.

"Yeah?"

There was a silence at my end.

"Who the fuck is this?"

"Hello, Sonny."

"Oh! Tommy! Tommy, it's been too long."

I didn't answer. Yeah, it's been too long. Fifteen years too long.

I was only supposed to kill one man that day…one man.

His voice, slightly obscured by static, made me aware I was still stuck in reality.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, you're overwhelmed with emotion. Fifteen years…seems like it was only yesterday."

I grunted, "I guess that's a perspective thing."

A tone of mock concern and thinly veiled anger came over Sonny's voice as he said, "Hey, doing time for the family is no piece of cake, but the family looks after its own, okay? So, how'd the deal go down? You sittin' on some white gold?"

I sighed heavily for what seemed the thousandth time that day and decided to tell it all.

"Look, Sonny," I explained, "we were set up. The deal was an ambush. Harry and Lee are…they're dead."

Now it was Sonny's turn to be silent. Moments later his furious tone vented out, "You better be kidding me, Tommy! Tell me you still got the money!"

I rubbed my neck and said quietly, "No, Sonny. I don't have the money."

"That was my money, Tommy, MY money!" His voice was only further rendered a bestial roar by the static.

There was the sound of crashing furniture on the other end, followed by screams, and soon enough Sonny's harsh whisper was filling my ear.

"You better not be screwing me, Tommy, because you know I'm not a man to be screwed with!"

I exhaled and stood up, trying to quell the insanely furious Forelli boss.

"Look, Sonny," I explained, "you have my personal assurance that I'm going to get your money back, and the drugs, and I'm going to mail you the dicks of those responsible,"

This seemed to calm him a little. There was a slight, almost cynical chuckle from his end.

"Hey, I know that. You're not a fool Tommy…but I warn you, neither am I. If this was anybody else, you'd be dead already, but because it's you…because we got history….I'm going to let you handle this."

"Look, Sonny, you have my word…I'll be in touch," I promised, but before I could finish, the line went dead.

I stared at the receiver in my hand and threw it across the room, where it shattered to pieces on the floor.

"Fuck!"

I furiously picked up anything I could find and smashed it. What a fucking thing to happen! Barely a day out of the cooler and already I was fucking things up for the Forellis again! What the hell was wrong with me?

I opened the mini bar door and grabbed a bottle of Scotch, not caring enough to get a glass and poured the fiery liquor down my parched throat. The burning helped me stay alert. I placed the bottle down on top of the mini bar.

Before I had been locked up, drinking had been a past time, something to do while shooting the shit with other Forellis. When I had been locked up, though, the smuggled whisky that managed to sneak by the guards was single malt salvation. I only carried on because I wanted to live long enough to get the next drink…it wasn't an addiction. I wasn't weak like that…it just was something I did. Now that I was out, I'd have easier access to the next round, and in that was freedom enough to cope with this huge fuck up I pulled on Sonny. If I couldn't sleep with what I'd done, than at least I'd have a smooth tasting lullaby to put me to rest.

I grabbed the bottle again and took a swig.