The Normal Disclaimer: I don't own GTA3, nor do I own Woody's Topless Bar. I do own Habeeb(the character, not the name, I've had stupid comments elsewhere) and theInflation Nation, as far as I know.
Trilogy of The Public Transportation
Book 1: Inflation Nation
The taxi pulled into the bank lot and the man in the black suit got out and nodded, paying the taxi driver. He walked off into the bank, and the taxi driver counted the money.
"No tip," the driver grumbled. He backed out of the parking space and drove up to the entrance. He felt under the seat and pulled out his Ingram, holding it in his lap. The electric windows slowly went down as the man came back out.
"Hey, you, get over hear!" the Hindu driver called out with an accent. The man walked over and stuck his head into the window. The driver rose his weapon and pushed it violently into the side of his former passenger's nose.
"You didn't tip!"
"I'm sorry, I swear, don't kill me!"
"Why shouldn't I?"
"I can give you money. Lots, just don't kill me!"
"Fine, go ahead," the taxi driver sighed. The man pulled his wallet out and threw it into the taxi. The driver slammed on the accelerator, dragging the man for a moment before he managed to throw himself out. He stood up and dusted himself off. The man pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called his friend.
"Mike? You won't believe what just happened…"
Chapter One
The driver kept moving, thinking over his actions. He could have swore that he saw the guy pull out a phone, so he decided to dodge through as many back streets as he could before he went to the bar. He watched the street signs carefully and then when he reached Richmond Avenue he hung a quick right into that street. Near the middle of that road was a small bar.
The bar was a local hangout of the Inflation Nation. The Inflation Nation was a group of taxi drivers, almost a cult, to the very few people who viewed them from the outside. They were relatively unknown, but that's why Habeeb was part of it. He was one of those people who didn't like going with something that had been going a long time. He realized how frustrating it was when he was a driver for a gang in Vice City. They were around for a long time, and it's harder to make a name for yourself when you're new. He reasoned that if everyone was new, then there would be no problems.
He also came to Liberty in the fact that he eventually gained too much unwanted attention there. He ditched his affiliations and left, wanting to start life anew. In Liberty, he became a cab driver.
One day, after a long day of work, Habeeb decided to go to this small bar, something to the name of Woody's Topless Bar, when a man saw his taxi outside. This man's name was Ali, and he was a ranking member in the Nation. Habeeb joined up with the Nation, and worked with them still, though it was only a week or so since he joined.
He saw the bar and pulled into a side alley and then went in. He walked to the bar and nodded to the bartender, and ordered himself a drink. He received the drink, paid, and walked into the back room. Inside the back room was his friend Ali and two other men around a small circular poker table. A small, dim light hung from the ceiling above the table and one more creaking wooden chair around the table. The rest of the room was bare except for a whiskey bottle here and a beer can there. Habeeb sat down and threw several wallets and a purse on to the table.
"People are inconsiderate these days," a bald Caucasian man said. "You got all of this in a matter of 3 hours? That is rather sickening. I think if we want anybody to understand common courtesy, then we shall teach them a lesson. Habeeb, you have served well this day. Go forth and spread the word, try to make people understand."
Habeeb nodded and stood. "This works, but not enough. If we want people to tip and be nicer, we must elaborate our plans."
"Correct, Habeeb. But we're gonna have to think about this. You go out and you let people know. Come back in two hours and we may just have a plan."
Habeeb bowed and walked to his taxi, started it up, and drove away.
Trilogy of The Public Transportation
Book 1: Inflation Nation
The taxi pulled into the bank lot and the man in the black suit got out and nodded, paying the taxi driver. He walked off into the bank, and the taxi driver counted the money.
"No tip," the driver grumbled. He backed out of the parking space and drove up to the entrance. He felt under the seat and pulled out his Ingram, holding it in his lap. The electric windows slowly went down as the man came back out.
"Hey, you, get over hear!" the Hindu driver called out with an accent. The man walked over and stuck his head into the window. The driver rose his weapon and pushed it violently into the side of his former passenger's nose.
"You didn't tip!"
"I'm sorry, I swear, don't kill me!"
"Why shouldn't I?"
"I can give you money. Lots, just don't kill me!"
"Fine, go ahead," the taxi driver sighed. The man pulled his wallet out and threw it into the taxi. The driver slammed on the accelerator, dragging the man for a moment before he managed to throw himself out. He stood up and dusted himself off. The man pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called his friend.
"Mike? You won't believe what just happened…"
Chapter One
The driver kept moving, thinking over his actions. He could have swore that he saw the guy pull out a phone, so he decided to dodge through as many back streets as he could before he went to the bar. He watched the street signs carefully and then when he reached Richmond Avenue he hung a quick right into that street. Near the middle of that road was a small bar.
The bar was a local hangout of the Inflation Nation. The Inflation Nation was a group of taxi drivers, almost a cult, to the very few people who viewed them from the outside. They were relatively unknown, but that's why Habeeb was part of it. He was one of those people who didn't like going with something that had been going a long time. He realized how frustrating it was when he was a driver for a gang in Vice City. They were around for a long time, and it's harder to make a name for yourself when you're new. He reasoned that if everyone was new, then there would be no problems.
He also came to Liberty in the fact that he eventually gained too much unwanted attention there. He ditched his affiliations and left, wanting to start life anew. In Liberty, he became a cab driver.
One day, after a long day of work, Habeeb decided to go to this small bar, something to the name of Woody's Topless Bar, when a man saw his taxi outside. This man's name was Ali, and he was a ranking member in the Nation. Habeeb joined up with the Nation, and worked with them still, though it was only a week or so since he joined.
He saw the bar and pulled into a side alley and then went in. He walked to the bar and nodded to the bartender, and ordered himself a drink. He received the drink, paid, and walked into the back room. Inside the back room was his friend Ali and two other men around a small circular poker table. A small, dim light hung from the ceiling above the table and one more creaking wooden chair around the table. The rest of the room was bare except for a whiskey bottle here and a beer can there. Habeeb sat down and threw several wallets and a purse on to the table.
"People are inconsiderate these days," a bald Caucasian man said. "You got all of this in a matter of 3 hours? That is rather sickening. I think if we want anybody to understand common courtesy, then we shall teach them a lesson. Habeeb, you have served well this day. Go forth and spread the word, try to make people understand."
Habeeb nodded and stood. "This works, but not enough. If we want people to tip and be nicer, we must elaborate our plans."
"Correct, Habeeb. But we're gonna have to think about this. You go out and you let people know. Come back in two hours and we may just have a plan."
Habeeb bowed and walked to his taxi, started it up, and drove away.