Hello, Goodbye
Chapter 1: Hello
Michael's POV
And though there were bodies piling, and my morals were slowly falling into the toilet, I kept that rifle in my hands, and I just kept shooting. I could barely even see the flying bullets going past, clonking the enemies in the head, or occasionally the chest, depending on current accuracy.
"T, I'm outta' bullets!" The hoarse voice rose from my throat, and I hoped to god I didn't reveal his vantage point, where he was supposed to be sniping the others. But when no bullets came, and no voice responded through the headpiece, Worry came through me. "Frank, you there?!" I called, looking for a sign of response.
Static arose from my ear piece, and I sighed with relief. "Yeah, Mike, what is it?" Franklin responded, his flurry of bullets being heard by me from the other side of the building.
"Is T still up there?! He hasn't responded!"
"Shit! I'm on it, M, I just gotta-"
And that's when the explosion sounded, and the voice subsided, leaving me in mystery as to whether or not either of them were still hanging in there.
But I can't exactly get to that part of the story yet without telling you the very beginning.
Xxx 2 Months Back xxX
They say that you can't fully appreciate something until it's gone. But that philosophy isn't something taken seriously. Well, at least not in my book. It's actually the opposite. You should fully appreciate something in the short while that you have it. I'd say I was able to do appreciate things around me pretty well.
"You fat little shit, I am done with you hiding your weed in the fridge! Do you think that your mother and I would be so fucking clueless not to see it in there?!"
Jimmy jumped out of his bed defensively, reaching for the bag. "Gimme the fucking bag!" My silence gave a definitive 'no'. "You know what, you're the fucking hypocrite, keeping your liquor out on the counter for any of us just to take a swig! You don't care if we become alcoholics, but the second we keep our weed in the fridge, you go ape shit on us!"
Without another word, I find myself tossing the bag on the floor, walking out of the room with the slam of a door. And so, even after making up with my wife and kids, I always seem to find myself back alone again. But there's always someone to turn things around. Or at least, distract me.
"Yo, T. Be at your place in an hour, we're going drinking." I answered after Trevor had answered the phone not two rings in.
"Ah, you're speakin' my language, Buddy!" Before I kept the conversation going, a certain package at the door caught my eye.
"I… gotta take a rain check, actually." A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it. "I got a package from Dave."
Dave was an acquaintance of mine. A friend from the FIB. Getting packages from the FIB wasn't exactly something I liked to see.
"Dave? What the fuck does he want? I thought he was done with us after that whole Devin Weston shit!" The all too hot-tempered Trevor Phillips bristled, and I could just see his angered scowl.
"He's just been on my case for not doing his dirty work. I'll call you later." Not too much later, I heaved the box onto the couch next to me, praying to god it was just a birthday present or something.
But as I examined the outrageously large stack of papers wrapped tightly on the inside, my cell chose the perfect time to ring, flashing his picture on the screen.
"Michael," He began in his chirpy voice. "You get my package?"
"Yeah I got your fucking package, what is this?" I knew something wasn't right about this. And as I suspected it was a threat, it turned out to be just that.
"It's a threat." I rolled my eyes. No brainer, Dave. "I know I said to keep a low profile, but that doesn't mean that you can just forget about us completely, Michael. We have work for you to do, and ways to get you to do it. Read the name on the first folder."
Reaching into the box, praying quite paranoidly there wasn't a bomb, I grabbed the first folder.
The Criminal Case History of Michael Townley
"You wouldn't dare." I uttered, throwing it back on the ground.
"If you don't believe me, we mustn't as good friends as I thought." He retorted, a smug smile taking place on his face, or so I suspected.
"What the fuck are you doing with these?"
"What else could I do? If you don't do what I say, your criminal records go out into the open, and under the name 'Michael De Santa'. I suggest you kiss your movie career goodbye, along with the money left in your bank account."
"Take whatever the fuck you want, but I promised myself I wasn't getting caught up in all this again!"
"And an empty promise is what I'm hoping that was." He lowered his voice. "Michael, take this as a warning. If you don't give me the answer I want, we'll just have to find another way to reach you."
"Do what you must, but I advise you try and catch me on a good day." I quipped icily.
"You and your humor." He chuckled.
"I try." Was my blatant response.
"I'll be hearing from you, then." Before hanging up, he said one more thing. "Don't disappoint me." And then came the beeping. The indicators showing that you've finished your call, Your conversation, and the choice to retaliate head on. But something in me made me accept those beeping rings, and I hung up as well, setting the phone on the end table, grabbing for my whiskey before turning on the TV. There was quite a bit of decisions to make, but there just didn't seem to be enough time.
"Michael, wanna' play a round of tennis?" Amanda's voice sounded in front of me, and I opened his eyes to find her handing me a racket.
Appreciate something in the short while that you have it.
"Eh, sure." I shrugged, lifting myself off the couch with a grunt. "Ain't got nothin' better to do."
"Oh, don't talk like that!" She smirked. "You know you love tennis." Catching eye of the box, which had now been closed up, she looked to me for questioning. "What's that?"
"That?" I asked, turning to see where she was looking, coming up with the first excuse. "Just some screenplays I was sending over to Solomen. He just finished them."
Someday, Amanda would be able to know. Just not when things were so foggy, that not even I could tell what was going on. But someday.