The sun was rising over Mt. Chiliad as Vick's black Sentinel cruised into town. He was looking for the silver Freeway motorcycle that CJ had escaped on, but first he had to make a pit stop. There was an Ammu-Nation in town and he needed some serious firepower for this job. He parked on the street and went into the low, gray building.
"May I help you?" asked a grim man with a military haircut who was standing behind the counter.
"Yeah, uh…a box of 12-gauge shotgun shells, a 9mm pistol with ammo, and…" His eyes scanned the shelves and rack of guns lining the walls. "That." He said, his eyes locked on a submachine gun. He paid with cash (he had stolen the wallets of the dead homies at the diner) and paid a small bribe to avoid all the paperwork. Just before he left, Vick bought some body armor and strapped it on. Then he went to the local Cluckin' Bell to get some information.
There was only one old man sitting in a booth at the restaurant, so Vick sat down across from him. "Hey old timer," he began, "I need some information."
"Well, boy, you come to the right place. Ol' Jethro knows everything what goes on round these parts, why, everything what goes on in Flint County! What'cha need to know, sonny?"
"Did a newcomer just arrive in town? Besides me, I mean? I big, muscular black guy on a freeway? Seen him?'
"I can't rightly say…I might need a little sumthin to jog ma' mem'ry."
Vick handed the man a 10-dollar bill across the table. The old man just stared at him, half-smiling. He passed him another ten.
"Yes, I do say, there was a man o' that description came round this morning. Some…some gangster from Los Santos I believe, an' he's holed up in this big ol' farm, up in the hills a little ways north an' east from this here town. (the old man scrawled a map on a napkin for Vick) Heard he hired a bunch o' big ol' redneck bodyguards up there, armed with shotguns an' everythin', to guard the place. They say he's a' layin' low, but I've heard 'bout him, I have."
Vick looked at the old man, wondering how he could know all this, but he simply thanked him and left. He packed his newly bought arsenal in the trunk of the car and began the long drive up the steep roads of the barren country hills of Whetstone County.
It wasn't long before Vick realized exactly what kind of "farms" there were up in the hills of the Badlands. On every side there were fields of marijuana, half-hidden by wooden fences and camouflage netting. There were hippy vans parked outside of dilapidated farmhouses and quite a few on the roads, presumably delivering their cargo north to San Fierro. Soon he reached the large cliff top farm of Carl Johnson. It was perched on a mesa high above a deep valley, through which ran train tracks. There was a train tunnel underneath the cliff. Vick parked his car in a stand of pine trees and opened the trunk.
The farm was a compound of barns, sheds, and outbuildings, with one two-story farmhouse, a water tower, and a windmill. It was a fortress. There were redneck guards with rifles, shotguns and Desert Eagle pistols. Vick used the various bushes and areas of tall grass for what little cover they provided as he inches slowly towards the fence marking the farm's border. He pulled out the SMG first. The shotgun, he decided, should be saved for close-quarters work.
He walked around the perimeter of the fence, trying to spot a possible weak point. He was in luck. There was a guard taking a leak on a pine tree next to him. He snuck up, pulled out his knife (the one he had taken from the first thug he had killed back in Los Santos) and came up behind the guy, slitting his throat. He died with his pants down. Vick grabbed his gun, a hunting rifle with a long range.
There was only one guard standing by a tower of hay bales near the perimeter. The crack of the rifle split the silence of the farm, and the mercenary fell. The others instantly stood alert, raising their guns and scanning for the source of the noise. One edged towards the hay bales, letting loose an experimental shotgun round (which sent hay flying everywhere) to elicit a reaction from the unseen foe. As he rounded the corner, Vick ran all the way around the stack and came up behind him. A pistol shot to the head ended it.
Soon guards were swarming towards the haystack. This was exactly what Vick wanted. He vaulted the fence and sprinted around to the other side of the farm. With most of the guards investigating the noise, he only had to kill two sentries with his SMG to reach the farmhouse.
There was one guard immediately inside the door, and he barely had time to say "Oh shit!" before Vick's pistol was against his temple. Vick switched to the shotgun as he entered the living room. Suddenly a redneck thug stepped out of the dining room clutching a shotgun. BLAM! Vick had barely ducked behind a couch as the blast hit, and his leg was caught by it. Searing pain shot up through his body, followed by numbness. There were tow low couches for cover in the living room, and they made right angles to each other. Each had its back to a door. A second thug, apparently from outside, ran through the kitchen door holding a Desert Eagle. Vick was pinned down: there was nowhere to run that wasn't in one of their lines of sight. And his leg hurt like hell.
He took a deep breath and thought of his wife Lisa again. He reached out and took a poker from a bin next to the cold, empty fireplace, and with a mad scream swung it at the shotgun holder. Stunned and knocked down, he put up no resistance. Past him was a staircase, and upstairs, Vick was sure, was CJ.
There was one last sentry at the top of the stairs. He was impaled by the poker. The sounds of the Desert Eagle holding guard could be heard stomping after Vick, but he didn't care. He pushed the impaled guard down the stairs to slow down the oncoming reinforcements. He kicked open a bedroom door and there was CJ, unarmed, looking out the window.
Vick locked and barricaded the door behind him. Then he aimed his shotgun at CJ's head. "Get on the floor, you bitch." Vick growled. CJ didn't move. Vick pulled out a pistol and popped a shot into both of CJ's ankles. He winced and sank to the ground, his tendons snapped and his legs limp. He flipped CJ over and aimed the shotgun at his face once more.
"Do you know why I want to kill you?"
"Who are you? Mafia? Syndicate? You don't look like a Balla or a Da Nang goon…"
"Shut the fuck up. You killed my wife."
"Wh-what? When? I didn't…who was your wife? Was she that stripper in Venturas? Look man, she wouldn't give me walk I wanted man, I…"
"No. You ran her over…the police chase in Verona Beach…yesterday."
"Look, man. I didn't know. Nothing personal, man. Look…"
"Is this a habit of yours? Running down pedestrians? Huh? How many
innocent people have you killed, you bastard?" he cocked the
shotgun and put his finger on the trigger. "
No…wait. I'm
not like this. I'm not gonna sink to your level, scumbag. ( a
slight smile crossed CJ's face) But…but I already have. Shit. The
guards, the gangsters…shit, I'm a murderer. I might as well end
it. You can't be allowed to kill anyone else."
All of the surviving guards hear the crack of the shotgun blasts. CJ's head was blown to a bloody pulp by the time Vick had finished. And by the time they managed to kick in the door, he had leapt out the window and run across the yard. None of them saw Vick standing on the edge of the cliff for a few moments, as the wind blew the leaves over the edge of the cliff. And none of them saw Vick step off the edge and fall down towards the tracks.