"Yo, Char-r-r-r-lie," a nasal voice booms from the corner
The voice of God has come again. The voice of Tommy Heartless has arrived.
"Tommy…" he responds with a dull voice.
"Hey buddy, been waiting long."
"Enough to freeze my balls off. Why did we have to meet at the pier?"
"Can't be at the Lounge Lizard anymore. I think it's Corleone territory now."
"They're already in Vice City?"
Tommy shakes his head in a quiet disbelief and pulls out a cig. He offers one to Charlie. "Nah, gotta quit. Stuff is bad for ya."
" 'Stuff bad for ya?' What you are you, a freakin' surgeon general or sumthin' or ah, ah… ah rocket scientist."
"I'm just a wise guy, Tommy, just a wise guy."
"Too freakin' wise…ah forget about it."
Tommy sucks on the cig, enjoying every breath he can steal from the tar. The white smoke dances a bit into the air and disappears under the moon.
"Look Charlie, a lot of crap is happening now. Lot of crap. You've got the Corleone family moving to Vice. I don't freakin' know why? Must be a new spot for cocaine trafficking or sumthing, but I dunno, lot of shit. Heard some New York gang mobster also moved his operations down here, too."
"New York?"
"Yeah, freakin' New York."
"Heard the Chinaman got some business down here, too."
"Damn yellows always got business, but not our business, you know? They run like those convenient shops and crap, probably give you the "special" if you ask right."
"Probably sell dog, too."
"Freakin' straight, but crap, we're not worrying about them. They're alright, you know. They're alright. I especially don't like those fuckin' nig--"
"Hey," Charlie interrupts quickly yet calmly.
"Oh yeah, I forget you're a mut, huh. Well you sure don't look like one-"
"I am one"
Tommy freezes in his tiny embarrassment as Charlie blows into his cupped palms and stares out into the peer. Mut. Half-italian, half-black, all lost, that was Charlie. The water rolls over in the bay, as the sound of birds roars overhead and some lazy pigeons float endlessly in the air.
"Alright, down to business," Tommy chirps as he pulls out an orange package from his coat. "Our boss has been a little worried lately. Seems that Vice City is a hot spot all of a sudden. Think of it, Cubans, whores, dirty and even legit money can be made here. It's a young city, my friend."
"And..."
"And the boss has been here before all of them, you know. You don't go ah, ah-h-h-h peeing on another dog's territory without askin' for permission. These new guys can't come with their "ladies," drugs, and guns without asking for the bosses wishes. It's just not moral."
"And…"
"He wants you to handle some business. You know…talk to them."
"Talk to them or TALK to them."
"No, no, no, just talking, just talking."
"I'm a assassin, Tommy. I don't talk."
"You're a hired gun and you do what I tell you to do."
"I'm a assassin," Charlie repeats with more heat in his voice.
"Alright, alright…assassin, hired gun, hitman, Batman, whatever… but you wants to familiarize yourself with these people. Get to know them, let them know the Giovanni Family still runs the show in Vice."
"Not very long."
"What, what did I just hear? You questioning me, Charlie? Did I hear that right? I would shoot you if you weren't my friend."
"Giovanni is losing it. He's not going by tradition."
"Freakin' riot. Holy crap, freakin' riot. A freakin' mut talking about tradition. Freakin' riot."
Charlie grabs Tommy by his collar and slams him against a lamp pole. He slides a Colt 45 under Tommy's throat and waits until Tommy's breath becomes deep and hesitant.
"I would shoot you if you weren't my friend."
"Alright…Charlie. Whatever, okay. We're still friends, family. Okay."
Charlie snatches the orange packet from Tommy's slightly trembling hands and begins to head off.
"Tell Giovanni I'll talk to these guys, but I'll put them to sleep if I have, too." "Yeah, sure Charlie. Whatever."
"Yeah, whatever."