A Made Man
By raven_crow50
Grand Theft Auto 3
******* Grand Theft Auto 3, along with it's characters, are owned by Rockstar and DMA Design, and not by me. This fanfiction has spoilers, so watch yourself. *******
"If you do this for me, you will be a made man. Anything you want." Of course, I was never a man who had desires. If I wanted something, I'd take it. Ask the cops I bribe every time I get busted, they'll tell you. If I wanted sex, I'd take a ride through the Red Light District. If I wanted a gun, I'd kill someone for it. If I wanted a car, I'd just walk up to one and steal it. Money is the easiest to get, seeing as how people always have it on them. But this was different. This was special. If I could get anything I wanted with a snap of my fingers, then I wouldn't have to work very hard. I could just sit on my ass all day, every day, fanning myself with my money with a Colt .45 on the table and a hooker in my lap, knowing damn well that I've got a warehouse somewhere in Portland Harbor storing all 25 of my cars. The American dream, without the whole 9-to-5 bullshit. All I had to do was complete this mission by providing cover fire for 8-ball against the Colombian Cartel- Catalina. "Sorry babe, but I'm an ambitious girl, and you? You're just small time." I sneered in anger, trying my hardest to contain myself. The sniper rifle in my hands trembled, threatening to misfire at the slightest pinprick of the trigger. I had to calm down or I was gonna blow my cover way too soon, watch 8-ball get pumped with AK-47 rounds, and flush my $100,000 spent on 8-ball's bomb. But, dammit, it was HARD! That bitch betrayed me! Betrayed my trust, my love for her! I hoped that scum- sucking bitch was on this ship. If she wasn't, then I'd organize a hit squad to smoke her ass out so I could pump her guts full of hot, smoking' lead. Revenge. Yeah. four Mafia muscles in monkey suits throwing a roped, gagged Catalina at my feet. She would cry her muffled apologies/curses at me, and get a nice view of the bottom of my gun barrel. That's my desire. Revenge against the bitch that shot me after months of dating. Revenge against the bitch that shot my voice box, forever cursing me from ever talking with a voice. Revenge against the bitch that betrayed me in the alley of the Liberty City bank for her own means. That's my desire. And I shall have the Mafia do it for me, because I will be a made man. I peered over the roof towards a pair of wooden crates. 8-ball was crouched behind them, ready to sprint his way through the boat. The moment I fired the first shot, he would take off. This was a risky mission, indeed, but it had to be done. I have ambitions, after all. I thought to myself as I sneered. The wind blew. It smelt foul of the dirty sea. The saltiness of sea air was forever blocked out here by the thick oil spill in the surrounding ocean, caused by broken gas pipes connecting from Liberty City to the mainland. The sea was no longer swimmable, by man or animal. If there were survivors of the blast, then the ocean would surely kill them. I peered over the adjacent ledge. The Cartel cargo ship was packed from cargo hold to poop deck with SPANK, along with Colombians. Loads of fatasses wandered around the ship, patrolling the harbor they were anchored from for anyone suspicious. Which is everyone. They neglected to check the rooftops of the warehouses, though. Which was apparent, since I hadn't been spotted yet. Two Colombians were positioned right in front of the loading ramp leading up to the deck of the ship. They stood by their large, blue pickup trucks. Those were the first that had to go. I took aim. This shot had to count. The crosshairs of the sniper rifle centered on the head of the Colombian on the right. From the look on his face, he didn't give a shit about his post. He probably just wanted to sit down, the lazy bastard. POW! The bullet ripped through the air, smashed through the Colombians skull, and hit the bed of the truck he was standing by. Blood splattered onto the pavement and the truck, painting both a new shade of red. Before the Cartel on the left could scream his Spanish obscenities, he had a similar wound. 8-ball took off at an astounding speed, rushing up the loading ramp like an Olympic athlete chasing the gold. A Colombian on the left of the ramp exit fired on him. I took him out before serious harm was done to 8-ball. Another ran around the corner of a few cargo boxes, standing not a few feet from his fallen comrade. He soon lost use of his left leg. Three Colombians sprayed 8-ball with gunfire. 8- ball dove for cover behind a wooden crate, trying to keep the bomb in his hands from being hit. Wood chips littered the floor around 8-ball as it fell under fire. It wasn't gonna help for much longer if I didn't do something. One nearest 8-ball got shot in the heart. Second nearest got shot in his right arm. Third nearest got wind of my location on the roof, and fired on me. I made sure he couldn't see out of his left eye, though, and left a gaping hole in his head. I scanned the ship. Everything was quiet. No more gunfire. No more Colombians. On the deck, anyway. 8-ball got up, carefully cradling the bomb, and ran into the ships inner sanctum. I hoped he didn't run into anybody inside. That would be really bad news. I was greeted with good news, however, as 8-ball ran for his life from the doorway he entered not moments ago. An explosion rocked the harbor as it began to blow. 8-ball ran faster, the bandages on his hands flapping in the air as they unraveled themselves. Another explosion. And another. And another. 8-ball was off the ship and down the loading ramp just as the ship began to sink. The ramp collapsed into the ocean as the ship tipped, turned, and quickly sank. The mission was an astounding success. If I had a voice, I would be hollering in celebration. However, though, I had to settle for a high-five with 8-ball and a big, blue pickup truck that the Colombians used. They somehow escaped damage from the explosions, and were in rather good condition. As I exited Portland Harbor and turned into the road towards Saint Marks, I drove slowly, listening to Game Radio. 8-ball liked this station. I didn't. He, however, was 'the man' right now after that whole ordeal, so I let him listen to it until I dropped him off at his bomb shop near Easy Credit Autos. The moment he slammed the door shut, I set it to KJah, the reggae station. As I drove up the slope towards Salvatore's mansion in the heart of Saint Marks, I visualized how he would reward me. What would he do? Make me a permanent member of the family? Give me his mansion? Whatever he did, I hoped he kept up his end of the bargain. I stopped in the dirt driveway and walked my way into Salvatore's house. Just as I suspected, he was right there, seated, waiting for my arrival. He stood up the moment I stepped into his lounge with his arms spread wide open. "It's my favorite cleaner!" he announced. "My boy, I'm proud of you! You kicked the shit out of those grease balls! I just need you to do one more favor for me before we can celebrate." What? Oh for. well, whatever. Fine. Shoot. "There's a car parked in the Red Light District. The interior is covered in brains." Ah, another one of these, huh? "Some wise-guy needed help making up his mind, and it proved a little messy. Take the car to the crusher before the cops find it." I had done a similar mission for his son, Joey. One of the Forelli brothers was stuffed in the trunk of a Manana near Greasy Joey's Cafe, and I had to take it to the crusher. Unfortunately, however, the Forelli brothers, who of which were alive, camped out for someone to take the car, knowing whoever did had to clean up the refuse. I managed to escape and get it to the crusher near 8-balls shop, though. I left the mansion, got back in my new Cartel Cruiser, and drove my way into Chinatown. I could hear the cries of Triads following me as they chased me down the road, their heavy accents filling the air. I turned up my radio and kept going. The alleyway where the car was parked in was behind Woody's Topless Bar, across from Luigi's Sex Club 7. I peered down the alley. Sure enough, there was a car parked there. A gray cheetah with heavily tinted windows was sitting there. The engine was off. I got out of my Cruiser and casually made my way towards the car. Just then, my pager chimed. I lifted it up to eye-level and read the text message. This is Maria. The car is a trap! Come meet me at the docks near the Callahan Bridge. What the hell?! A trap?! I wasn't going to fall for this stupid, childish prank! The Mafia respected me! I was. .A cleaner. "It's my favorite cleaner!" You don't call someone you heavily respect in the Mafia a 'cleaner'. You'd call him a Capo, or something else along those lines. A cleaner is just small time. Which meant I didn't mean jack shit to Salvatore. That bastard. I slammed the gas in my Cartel Cruiser, burning out before ripping down the road towards Greasy Joey's. I turned into the man-made cove and slammed the brakes in front of the small, wooden harbor. There was Maria, waiting for me. I got out of my car and ran towards her, not even bothering to shut the door. Almost immediately she began blabbering. "Listen, Salvatore thinks we're going behind his back! He was gonna give you up to the Cartel, and it's all my fault, because. I told him we were an item- I mean, I know we're not anything, I know! I don't know why I said it, but I gotta get out of here- there's too much killing, too much blood, and I-!" By now, she noticed how I was staring at the Asian woman dressed in black that stood behind her. "This is Asuka, she's an old friend of mine, she's helping us." Asuka spoke up with a sultry, slightly husky voice. "C'mon, enough of the speeches. We better get out of here before we have more angry Italians with less then friendly reunions." With that, I boarded the damn Reefer and boated towards the docks in Staunton Island. Goddammit! I was so close! So close to achieving revenge! So close to living a life that others wished for! So close. I would have my revenge against Salvatore. That bastard broke his promise over some little white lie that Maria spread about me and her. I didn't even LIKE that damn chatterbox! I now had two people to kill. First Salvatore. Then Catalina. I will get you, Catalina. you haven't seen the last of me. Not by a longshot.
****** Kinda got tired and bored near the ending of writing this fanfic, so bear with me that the story slowly deteriorated into suckyness. R&R please. ******
******* Grand Theft Auto 3, along with it's characters, are owned by Rockstar and DMA Design, and not by me. This fanfiction has spoilers, so watch yourself. *******
"If you do this for me, you will be a made man. Anything you want." Of course, I was never a man who had desires. If I wanted something, I'd take it. Ask the cops I bribe every time I get busted, they'll tell you. If I wanted sex, I'd take a ride through the Red Light District. If I wanted a gun, I'd kill someone for it. If I wanted a car, I'd just walk up to one and steal it. Money is the easiest to get, seeing as how people always have it on them. But this was different. This was special. If I could get anything I wanted with a snap of my fingers, then I wouldn't have to work very hard. I could just sit on my ass all day, every day, fanning myself with my money with a Colt .45 on the table and a hooker in my lap, knowing damn well that I've got a warehouse somewhere in Portland Harbor storing all 25 of my cars. The American dream, without the whole 9-to-5 bullshit. All I had to do was complete this mission by providing cover fire for 8-ball against the Colombian Cartel- Catalina. "Sorry babe, but I'm an ambitious girl, and you? You're just small time." I sneered in anger, trying my hardest to contain myself. The sniper rifle in my hands trembled, threatening to misfire at the slightest pinprick of the trigger. I had to calm down or I was gonna blow my cover way too soon, watch 8-ball get pumped with AK-47 rounds, and flush my $100,000 spent on 8-ball's bomb. But, dammit, it was HARD! That bitch betrayed me! Betrayed my trust, my love for her! I hoped that scum- sucking bitch was on this ship. If she wasn't, then I'd organize a hit squad to smoke her ass out so I could pump her guts full of hot, smoking' lead. Revenge. Yeah. four Mafia muscles in monkey suits throwing a roped, gagged Catalina at my feet. She would cry her muffled apologies/curses at me, and get a nice view of the bottom of my gun barrel. That's my desire. Revenge against the bitch that shot me after months of dating. Revenge against the bitch that shot my voice box, forever cursing me from ever talking with a voice. Revenge against the bitch that betrayed me in the alley of the Liberty City bank for her own means. That's my desire. And I shall have the Mafia do it for me, because I will be a made man. I peered over the roof towards a pair of wooden crates. 8-ball was crouched behind them, ready to sprint his way through the boat. The moment I fired the first shot, he would take off. This was a risky mission, indeed, but it had to be done. I have ambitions, after all. I thought to myself as I sneered. The wind blew. It smelt foul of the dirty sea. The saltiness of sea air was forever blocked out here by the thick oil spill in the surrounding ocean, caused by broken gas pipes connecting from Liberty City to the mainland. The sea was no longer swimmable, by man or animal. If there were survivors of the blast, then the ocean would surely kill them. I peered over the adjacent ledge. The Cartel cargo ship was packed from cargo hold to poop deck with SPANK, along with Colombians. Loads of fatasses wandered around the ship, patrolling the harbor they were anchored from for anyone suspicious. Which is everyone. They neglected to check the rooftops of the warehouses, though. Which was apparent, since I hadn't been spotted yet. Two Colombians were positioned right in front of the loading ramp leading up to the deck of the ship. They stood by their large, blue pickup trucks. Those were the first that had to go. I took aim. This shot had to count. The crosshairs of the sniper rifle centered on the head of the Colombian on the right. From the look on his face, he didn't give a shit about his post. He probably just wanted to sit down, the lazy bastard. POW! The bullet ripped through the air, smashed through the Colombians skull, and hit the bed of the truck he was standing by. Blood splattered onto the pavement and the truck, painting both a new shade of red. Before the Cartel on the left could scream his Spanish obscenities, he had a similar wound. 8-ball took off at an astounding speed, rushing up the loading ramp like an Olympic athlete chasing the gold. A Colombian on the left of the ramp exit fired on him. I took him out before serious harm was done to 8-ball. Another ran around the corner of a few cargo boxes, standing not a few feet from his fallen comrade. He soon lost use of his left leg. Three Colombians sprayed 8-ball with gunfire. 8- ball dove for cover behind a wooden crate, trying to keep the bomb in his hands from being hit. Wood chips littered the floor around 8-ball as it fell under fire. It wasn't gonna help for much longer if I didn't do something. One nearest 8-ball got shot in the heart. Second nearest got shot in his right arm. Third nearest got wind of my location on the roof, and fired on me. I made sure he couldn't see out of his left eye, though, and left a gaping hole in his head. I scanned the ship. Everything was quiet. No more gunfire. No more Colombians. On the deck, anyway. 8-ball got up, carefully cradling the bomb, and ran into the ships inner sanctum. I hoped he didn't run into anybody inside. That would be really bad news. I was greeted with good news, however, as 8-ball ran for his life from the doorway he entered not moments ago. An explosion rocked the harbor as it began to blow. 8-ball ran faster, the bandages on his hands flapping in the air as they unraveled themselves. Another explosion. And another. And another. 8-ball was off the ship and down the loading ramp just as the ship began to sink. The ramp collapsed into the ocean as the ship tipped, turned, and quickly sank. The mission was an astounding success. If I had a voice, I would be hollering in celebration. However, though, I had to settle for a high-five with 8-ball and a big, blue pickup truck that the Colombians used. They somehow escaped damage from the explosions, and were in rather good condition. As I exited Portland Harbor and turned into the road towards Saint Marks, I drove slowly, listening to Game Radio. 8-ball liked this station. I didn't. He, however, was 'the man' right now after that whole ordeal, so I let him listen to it until I dropped him off at his bomb shop near Easy Credit Autos. The moment he slammed the door shut, I set it to KJah, the reggae station. As I drove up the slope towards Salvatore's mansion in the heart of Saint Marks, I visualized how he would reward me. What would he do? Make me a permanent member of the family? Give me his mansion? Whatever he did, I hoped he kept up his end of the bargain. I stopped in the dirt driveway and walked my way into Salvatore's house. Just as I suspected, he was right there, seated, waiting for my arrival. He stood up the moment I stepped into his lounge with his arms spread wide open. "It's my favorite cleaner!" he announced. "My boy, I'm proud of you! You kicked the shit out of those grease balls! I just need you to do one more favor for me before we can celebrate." What? Oh for. well, whatever. Fine. Shoot. "There's a car parked in the Red Light District. The interior is covered in brains." Ah, another one of these, huh? "Some wise-guy needed help making up his mind, and it proved a little messy. Take the car to the crusher before the cops find it." I had done a similar mission for his son, Joey. One of the Forelli brothers was stuffed in the trunk of a Manana near Greasy Joey's Cafe, and I had to take it to the crusher. Unfortunately, however, the Forelli brothers, who of which were alive, camped out for someone to take the car, knowing whoever did had to clean up the refuse. I managed to escape and get it to the crusher near 8-balls shop, though. I left the mansion, got back in my new Cartel Cruiser, and drove my way into Chinatown. I could hear the cries of Triads following me as they chased me down the road, their heavy accents filling the air. I turned up my radio and kept going. The alleyway where the car was parked in was behind Woody's Topless Bar, across from Luigi's Sex Club 7. I peered down the alley. Sure enough, there was a car parked there. A gray cheetah with heavily tinted windows was sitting there. The engine was off. I got out of my Cruiser and casually made my way towards the car. Just then, my pager chimed. I lifted it up to eye-level and read the text message. This is Maria. The car is a trap! Come meet me at the docks near the Callahan Bridge. What the hell?! A trap?! I wasn't going to fall for this stupid, childish prank! The Mafia respected me! I was. .A cleaner. "It's my favorite cleaner!" You don't call someone you heavily respect in the Mafia a 'cleaner'. You'd call him a Capo, or something else along those lines. A cleaner is just small time. Which meant I didn't mean jack shit to Salvatore. That bastard. I slammed the gas in my Cartel Cruiser, burning out before ripping down the road towards Greasy Joey's. I turned into the man-made cove and slammed the brakes in front of the small, wooden harbor. There was Maria, waiting for me. I got out of my car and ran towards her, not even bothering to shut the door. Almost immediately she began blabbering. "Listen, Salvatore thinks we're going behind his back! He was gonna give you up to the Cartel, and it's all my fault, because. I told him we were an item- I mean, I know we're not anything, I know! I don't know why I said it, but I gotta get out of here- there's too much killing, too much blood, and I-!" By now, she noticed how I was staring at the Asian woman dressed in black that stood behind her. "This is Asuka, she's an old friend of mine, she's helping us." Asuka spoke up with a sultry, slightly husky voice. "C'mon, enough of the speeches. We better get out of here before we have more angry Italians with less then friendly reunions." With that, I boarded the damn Reefer and boated towards the docks in Staunton Island. Goddammit! I was so close! So close to achieving revenge! So close to living a life that others wished for! So close. I would have my revenge against Salvatore. That bastard broke his promise over some little white lie that Maria spread about me and her. I didn't even LIKE that damn chatterbox! I now had two people to kill. First Salvatore. Then Catalina. I will get you, Catalina. you haven't seen the last of me. Not by a longshot.
****** Kinda got tired and bored near the ending of writing this fanfic, so bear with me that the story slowly deteriorated into suckyness. R&R please. ******