Welcome to Vice City, amigo!
Night had fallen and the prison bus idled in the Court House yard in the middle of Vice City. The last two prisoners were teenagers been transferred from the state juvenile facility on the outskirts of the city to the state prison upstate. They had been in court appealing their sentences and they had lost. An overweight guard waited by the bus door as the first of the prisoners was lead out. This guard was called Fatso by the two prisoners already on the bus, and he eyed the young prisoner coming towards him.
The prisoner had turned eighteen a week before. He had Asian features, he was tall, with the body of a track runner- he had obvious muscle, but he wasn't bulked up like some of the kids that came out of Juvie.
"Come on, you Chinese prick," said the guard leading him, a rail thin man nicknamed Stretch. He pulled the prisoner forward, trying to make him walk faster than the leg restraints would allow.
"I'm Korean-American, you racist prick," the kid growled.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Stretch said lazily.
"Mike Cho, armed robbery and assault," Stretch said when they reached the bus. Fatso checked his list and checked a name off, then signaled a junior guard to take Mike to a seat.
"Where is the other one?" Fatso asked, wondering if he had time for a smoke.
"I'm getting him in a few minutes. They had to find another pair of leg irons," Stretch said, flicking open a pack of smokes and giving one to Fatso. With his free hand, he flipped open a file and showed Fatso the photo. It showed a kid with coal black hair and dark blue eyes, with the barest hint of a tan.
"Anton Dubrovsky. Eighteen years old. American with Russian parents. Six years into a twenty year sentence for murder," Stretch said, flicking the ash from the end of his cigarette and taking another long drag.
"So, he will make four for transport," Fatso said without much interest, taking a drag of his own cigarette.
Stretch ambled back inside a few minutes later and came back with Anton Dubrovsky. Muscle wise, he was a lot bulkier than Mike Cho. He didn't fight Stretch as much as Mike had done, but he muttered swear words in Russian. He was sat beside Cho. Anton craned his head round and looked at the two other prisoners. One was a middle aged man with shoulder length, greying brown hair and he was sitting opposite him. The other was an elderly Latino man several rows back.
"I take it your appeal didn't go so well Mike?" he asked as the junior guard locked the door between the first and second row, and Stretch made himself comfortable in the first row.
"Shut the fuck up," Fatso shouted as he wedged himself behind the wheel of the bus.
Mike and Anton grinned at each other.
"Tell you what happened if we get bunked together," Mike grinned.
000
Fifteen minutes later, they were traveling over the Moran Bridge which connected the civic center of the city in Vercett, to Starfish Island. From there, they would travel through the Roseman tunnel, arriving in the borough of Dukie and drive upstate, passing through Little Hattie. But things didn't go that way. In the late night traffic of the city, and with only one police escort for the 'high risk' prisoner that was Anton, no one noticed the trucks tailing them.
Anton was chatting to the long haired man opposite him. His name was Paul. He was, in his own words, "an old hippie who had gotten done for having some fine herbage for my own use. It was the finest dude- came via a contact in Liberty City." Mike was rolling his eyes at the story. The elderly Latino man, who had been looking pissed off the entire time, suddenly smiled when he noted two black vans pull closer to the bus as they neared the bridges center pullers. It all happened so fast, Anton wasn't totally sure how it all went down, but suddenly; the bus had stopped, and was stuck between two black vans. The two cops in the patrol car in front of them were being dragged out at gun point and tied up with plastic zip ties. Several masked men forced their way onto the bus.
"A'right dickheads give us an excuse," one of them hollered, raising a shotgun as Stretch went for his weapon. All three of the guards raised their arms, and each was knocked unconscious curtsey of the butt of a shotgun. The wire mesh door was opened, and the Latino man was escorted to the front of the bus. Once he was free from his cuffs, the keys were thrown back. Anton snatched them out of the air as best he could and undid his own chains.
By this time, the gang had moved to the van parked behind the bus, but Anton took no notice of what they were doing. He got down on his belly and rummaged under the driver's seat, fishing out the Colt Detective Special Fastso kept hidden in case of emergencies. It wasn't the first time had ridden Fatso's bus, and Anton knew the gun was illegal, so Fatso wouldn't be reporting it stolen. Anton eyed the guns and the patent leather duty belts worn by the guards, thinking. He came to a conclusion and undid them, strapping one around his waist. With a breakout like this, he doubted that the police would think him ignorant of it and Anton was willing to bet he would be charged with attempted criminal escape and have many years added to his sentence, or else just shoot him on sight. Removing the weapons might make the police a little more cautious in approaching him.
"Hey, kid," said a voice from the door. It was one of the gang members. "If I were you, I would get out of here quick."
He jabbed a finger at the van in front. Anton got to his feet, peering at the van. It was packed to the brim with explosives. Low, under his breath, Anton whispered "Fuck."
"Don't follow us back into Vercett. You got two minutes before that thing goes off, and four until the cops get here," the gang member warned, before he took off running. "Welcome to Vice City," he called back over his shoulder.
"Mike, Paul, time to move," Anton called out. Both Mike and Paul were free now, and they had heard the warning the gang member had given. Anton handed the two extra guns and duty belts to them, and all three jumped off the bus and ran towards Bergan. Paul was wheezing hard and limping badly, but he still managed to grab the shotgun and shells out of the patrol car as Mike relieved the police of their guns and ammo.
Luckily, they made it to end of the bridge before the bomb went off. They watched as the center of the bridge collapsed in a huge fireball. It was then Anton saw the genius of it. The prison bus and all bodies on board would be destroyed, or at least so utterly damaged that there would be no way to tell who had died in the blast, especially when whatever remained would now be sinking to the bottom of the river with several tons of shattered concrete and steel.
"We need a car. Three guys in prison clothes are easy to spot on foot," Anton said. Mike smiled.
"Leave that to me boss," he said. He jogged off and returned a minute later with a rusty green station wagon with a dull red rear passenger side door.
"Yeah, that's not noticeable," Anton scoffed as he slid into the passenger seat.
"Well, they ain't looking for us yet," Mike replied, as he laid a hand on Anton's knee, a hopeful glint in his eyes. Anton didn't brush it away. He wasn't interested in Mike in that way, he just didn't care.
"Dudes, I know a good place we can lay low for a while," Paul, said as he slid into the back seat.
"Sounds good. Is it far?" Anton asked as sirens started whaling in the distance and a light rain began to fall.
"Not that far dude. Just curious though—why didn't we take the cop car?" Paul asked.
000
It would be several hours before the local PD discovered that they had been hacked, and that all traces of those who were been transported on the bus had been deleted. No one knew what had happened, since the few drivers who had been on the bridge and had survived hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary. Since it was dark out, they couldn't send divers down. By this time, Anton, Mike and Paul were safely secured in a little garage come apartment and grow house on the edge of the Red Light District that Paul had purchased under a false name and that the cops knew nothing about. None of them knew what they should do in the morning, but for that night, rest came easy.
000
The sun wasn't even up, yet there was activity in the safe house. Anton stood in his boxers, drinking a cup of coffee and looking out the window. The safe house was set back from the main road leading to the docks, behind a launderette whose top two stories were empty apartments and a bar whose top two floors were a disco. The second floor of the bar/disco had a wraparound balcony that provided a roof for the narrow alley that lead to the cement courtyard where the beat up station wagon was parked. Both buildings had their own warehouses which ran back to the safe house and enclosed the courtyard. Behind them were other businesses topped by apartments which were either vacant or used by street walkers as places to ply their trade somewhere more private. In short, there were very few people around who could see anyone in the safe house and therefore identify them when their photos went public.
Anton drained his coffee and was well into his exercise routine when Mike and Paul walked into the main room. Paul was talking on a phone, but hung up quickly.
"That was one of my associates. My contact from Liberty City, Little Jacob, is in Vice. He has a job he needs bodies for a job."
"Is it smart to be sending out calling cards so soon?" Anton asked.
"Either we do it, or my associate will contact the police and have them here ASAP," Paul said with a sour face.
Authors note: What do you think? Partly inspired by the intro to GTA 3. This is my own fanfiction and it draws inspiration from several places. Hope you enjoy.