Chapter 1: Liberty in Chaos

Where is the order? The stability of the past, the defined territorial boundaries; all replaced by chaos. Liberty is in chaos. The whole city is up for grabs, and no one seems willing to sit idly on the sidelines and watch the opportunity pass by. Order left Liberty when the head of the Leone Family, Salvatore Leone, was killed as he left a family friendly business, Sex Club Seven. Since then, no one has had secure control over the city. The Columbian Cartel managed a short reign as the head of Liberty, but that reign ended when the main Columbian contender, Catalina, was killed when her helicopter was shot down over Cochrane Dam. Shortly after, the Columbian mansion was raided by D-Ice and his band of Red Jacks, crumbling any solid foothold the Columbians had maintained in Liberty. This feat built D-Ice a great amount of confidence and boosted the moral of his Red Jacks; who now have a mansion in the cedar ridge area as their base of operations for prostitution, extortion, and drugs. The Red Jacks are now the lead public supplier of the ever popular street drug "Spank".

The former champion of Liberty, the Leone family, is now headed up by Salvatore's only son, Joey. The family maintains strong control of Saint Marks, although the area is being contested by the Suttemi brothers and their band of followers. The strife has not broken into a street war yet, however, and Portland remains relatively free from gang violence. Chinatown is still controlled by the triads, but the have lost considerable power since the Turtle Head Fishing Co., their main front business, was destroyed. El Burro and his gang, the Diablos, are only a memory on the minds of the Yardies, the Caribbean gang who liberated upper Portland's streets from the Diablos presence. The Yardies now not only control up-town Staunton Island, but also have spank dealers on the streets of Portland. King Courtney's Yardies is now the only gang on Staunton Island, as the state gaming commission seized Kenji's casino after his death, the Yakuzas no longer have a presence in Liberty.

The night was cold and damp, and that pleased 8-Ball, it suited his work. He was driving through Portland's red light district on his way to the west Portland L-train station. The streets were practically devoid of traffic, save the whores and pimps outside the sex clubs and on the corners. 8-Ball smiled as he passed Sex Club Seven; finally, after months of fitting cars with tiny explosives, he has a chance to put his real talents to work again. And after, he would stop into Sex Club Seven and show the ladies that he hasn't lost his groove in all the turmoil of the city's crime underworld. He passed Mr. Wong's Launderette and slowed a bit, he was almost there. He flexed his fingers over the steering wheel, thinking how nice it is to once again be able to use his hands after being injured for what seemed like forever, but was in actuality only a few months. Spotting the station up ahead, 8-Ball eased his Mule off the road to the right and shut off his lights. He stopped the truck underneath the elevated tracks and sat there, analyzing the situation.

Luigi Goterelli, owner of Sex Club Seven, had called 8-Ball with a favor to ask for Joey Leone. Joey had found out that one of the Suttemi brothers, Cole Suttemi, would be meeting an informant on the Portland L-train the next day; and wanted to kill two birds with one stone, or rather, one bomb. 8-Ball had jumped at the opportunity, and said that he knew what to do. He planned to ride the L-train tonight, and leave a remote detonated bomb on the train. Then it was simple, the L-train can easily be followed in a car, when Cole Suttemi and the informant are aboard, detonate the bomb.

8-Ball chucked at his prowess, what would take ten minutes for him tonight would result in fiery chaos in downtown Portland tomorrow and may end up re-kindling the gang wars in all of Liberty City. The station was dark, the only person around was a man walking towards Callahan Bridge, away from the L-train station. 8-Ball killed the motor of his truck and hopped out, checking his watch; 1:22 in the morning. Eight minutes to grab his stuff and catch the train, ten to plant the bomb, he would be in Luigi's by two, no doubt. He walked around to the back of the truck, flung open the door, and then climbed inside. He pulled out a pocket flashlight, flicked it on and found his bomb, which was concealed within a briefcase. He snatched it up and jumped out onto the wet grass, pulling the door shut behind him.

"Hey man, got a spare dollar?" 8-Ball whirled around at the voice, which was slurred and raspy. He peered into the darkness, and saw a figure leaning against a track support. Squinting, 8-Ball recognized the man, "Damn Chico, whach'you doing hanging down here for? Sell your spank some place else, damn!"

"Spank?" Came the reply, "there's no spank left in Portland man, I'm out of a job. Got some change or what?"

"Hell no", 8-Ball barked, "Head out to Shoreside Vale man, I hear there's tons of shit to move there."

"The Vale?" Chico said, "nah man, them Jacks ain't too kind to family dealers nowadays. Say, y'think you could get the family to help me out a bit?"

"Damn foo'! Who the hell do you think I am, Goterelli? I can't just ask Joey to scrape you outta the gutter! No get outta here, I got work to do." With that, 8-Ball started to walk towards the station, turning his back on Chico.

"Work?" Chico called, "what is there for you to do in Liberty right now? I don't think there are any tankers for you to blow up anymore!"

8-Ball didn't answer, just trotted up the metal staircase to the station, each step making a wet, clanging sound. Chico watched him go from the shadows, eyeing the briefcase, and then disappeared into the night.

The L-train screeched to a halt and 8-Ball waited for the doors to open, when they did, he slipped inside and looked about. The only other passenger was an old, unkempt man sleeping under a blanket of newspapers. That pleased 8-Ball, it was possible for him to be on and off the train without witness, if the old man didn't wake up. The doors beeped and scraped shut, and the train started moving. 8-Ball faltered, then regained his balance and sat down at the back of the train. He popped open the briefcase and punched a series of numbers on a keypad, and a light on the bomb's display changed from red to green, bomb armed. 8-Ball put pressure on a release button above the keypad causing the keypad to be ejected from the bombs casing. He shoved it into his jacket pocket, closed the briefcase, and then looked out the window.

He saw below him the Portland docks, where he and an accomplice has blown up an entire tanker filled with Columbian spank dealers. He saw that that particular dock was still out of service. He sat for a moment, trying to remember his accomplice's name; he couldn't, wondering if he had ever learned it in the first place. He didn't think so, which was surprising to him because they had know each other for a few months. He wondered why he hadn't noticed this earlier, but with everything going on in his life at that time, he forgave himself. He remembered how they met, in the meal hall in prison, the only unoccupied seat was across from whoever this guy was, and they were the only two people at the table who spoke English. Naturally, they stuck up conversation, but if he remembered correctly, it seemed to 8-Ball that he did most of the talking. He discovered that the stranger was being transferred to the same federal prison as him, and didn't see him again until the transfer a week later.

8-Ball remembered the transfer clearly; it was a rainy evening and thunder rolled as they were herded into the transfer bus. They had been driving for about a half-hour when the bus screeched to a halt. He had looked at the stranger, sitting across from him, seemingly ignoring the shouting voices coming from outside. Suddenly, the doors swing open and a man in cowboy boots and matching hat hopped in, grabbed an old man, who 8-Ball had just then noticed, and pulled him out. 8-Ball and the stranger had knocked out the cop inside the bus and hopped out the back just in time to see the old man being shoved into a black Patriot. As soon as he was in, the hummer screeched away. They were on Callahan Bridge, on their way to Portland when they had been stopped and sprung. An abandoned coup sat nearby, and before any of the other escapees noticed it, he beckoned to the stranger to get in. the stranger got in the driver's seat, and he had gotten in the back. He told the stranger to drive, directing him to an old hideout of his. When they had barley made it off the bridge and into Portland, there was a tremendous explosion. The mid-section of Callahan Bridge had just been blown to bits, along with the cops and other escaped inmates, 8-Ball presumed.

When they reached the hideout they exchanged their orange prison jump suits for street clothes and 8-Ball took the stranger to meet Luigi at his club. After that, he seemed to be around quite a bit, doing favors for the family. They had blown up the tanker the day before Salvatore was killed, and Liberty was cast into chaos. Even then, however, the stranger came into his bomb shops around the city occasionally. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen the stranger around lately, and wondered if he got himself killed.

The old man started coughing and that broke 8-Ball's daydreaming, he looked over to where the man lay. He seemed to be in quite a serious coughing fit for about forty-five seconds, then he leaned his head over the seat and without opening his eyes he spat a mouthful of yellow bile onto the isle. Then he pulled his head back onto the seat and was once more silent.

'Sickening', thought 8-Ball, truly disgusted. The L-train was slowing to a stop as it approached the South Portland station. When the train stopped, the doors slide open and waited for more passengers to get on. 8-Ball waited as well, when no additional passengers got on, the doors beeped and closed once more. When the train was moving again, 8-Ball got up and moved to the center of the car. He popped open the back of a Maibatsu Monstrosity ad and slid the briefcase in. He then snapped the back panel back on the ad and sat down, waiting to arrive back at the west Portland station.

The old man made a grunting noise and turned over in his sleep, he was now facing the isle. 8-Ball checked his watch, 1:47 a.m.; he might be a little late getting to Luigi's tonight, he thought. He stared into the face of the sleeping old man across the isle from him and found himself feeling a little pity for him. All the man did, as far as he could tell, was ride the L-train at night and panhandle for booze during the day. What an existence, 8-Ball thought, the world passing you by as you submerge yourself into a sea of oblivion and quick solutions. 'Had this man made the wrong decisions in life?' 8-Ball wondered. No, that was not possible, he concluded, as every decision that someone makes is in some way good; otherwise, they would have not made the decision in the first place. The only way the course of action that this man had taken in life could be considered wrong is when they are perceived in relation to society. On the other hand, can anyone exist independently from society, no matter how hard they try?

8-Ball's head gave a little involuntary shake, he blinked, as he was literally making his head spin thinking about this man. He heard the screeching of the train's brakes, signaling the arrival at the west Portland station. Standing up, 8-Ball grabbed onto the bar that ran over the row of seats, and waited to get off. He glanced once more at the old man, 'screw him', he thought, 'the man can spend his nights filling the L-train's isle with bile for all I care'.

The train screeched to a stop and the doors slid open, allowing 8-Ball to step out into the cold night. He was greeted with a blast of cold wind as soon as he was out of the train and on the platform. Shivering, 8-Ball pulled his jacket zipper all the way up and shoved his hands in his pockets. There was a beeping noise from behind him and the train's doors closed, he turned and watched the train race off into the night, carrying his bomb that had the power to blow open a military tank. He checked his watch once more, seven minutes to two; 'good', thought 8-Ball, 'time for some relaxation at Luigi's'. With that, he started down the staircase on his way back to his Mule. He reached the bottom and turned towards the truck, stopping dead in his tracks.

There was a beige Sentinel parked in front of the truck, 8-Ball could make out two figures inside the car, one was Isaac, errand boy for the Suttemi brothers, and the passenger was Chico. 'Not good', thought 8-Ball, feeling his stomach turning, 'run, just get the hell out of here!' With that thought he turned on his heel and started sprinting away from the car, towards the Callahan Bridge.

"Shit there he is!" Chico's voice shouted from behind 8-Ball. The sound of car doors opening followed the shout; 8-Ball was being hunted like game. He was in fairly good shape, however, and he leaned forward, yearning to get every ounce of speed out of his legs. As he ran, 8-Ball wondered why Chico was tangled up with the Suttemi brothers. The family wasn't helping him out anymore, so he probably thought he would be better off with the Suttemi brothers. 'Damn you Chico and damn your weak sense of loyalty!' 8-Ball cursed as he turned left into Chinatown. A gunshot rang out through the night, and 8-Ball heard the whizzing as the bullet soared past him and into a brick wall. That was it, 8-Ball put every bit of energy he had into eluding his pursuers. He saw the Chinatown fish market up ahead, perfect; he could lose them in there. He shoved a woman out of the way and heard her cursing him as he ran, then he heard her scream, he assumed that she had once again been shoved, this time by men with guns.

Almost at the fish market, hope welled up in 8-Ball's chest; he would lose them in there for sure. He darted across the street and in-between some parked cars, startling a prostitute as he ran past. He heard another gunshot, and just before he reached the entrance to the fish market, felt the searing kiss of hot lead in his back.