Click.
"Hello?"
"David."
"Yeah?"
"It's Roy. The fuck is going on? Am I hearing correctly, you're in Vice City, shootin' up my guys?"
"Beppe got back t'you fast, Roy."
"Poor bastard's shit scared. He's holed up at the Von Crastenburg hotel, too busy pissin' himself to get on a plane!"
David chuckled.
"This ain't fuckin' funny David! D'you have any fuckin' idea who you got holed up there?"
"I have some idea."
"… Well, then, maybe you understand why it's very important that she's brought to me?"
"Actually Roy, I don't. In fact, it doesn't matter why. You want her? You can have her—I was intervening for a colleague of mine who didn't understand the importance of keeping his hands to himself."
"So… what… this was all to prove some fuckin' point? You killed three o' my guys to tell your boy to keep it in his pants? I ought'a cut'ya fuckin' tongue out for pullin' bullshit like that David!"
"Like I said Roy: you want the girl so badly? Come and get her."
Click.
David sat at the dining room table, which was situated directly in front of the guest bedroom of the loft—looking over his shoulder and through the open door, he could see the unconscious girl on the bed, fast asleep and her head wrapped in blood-stained gauze.
"So're you really going to just let them come and get her?" asked Tristin, sitting on the very same table which David sat at, she too looking into the bedroom before looking at him.
"I don't know yet." Replied David, not taking his eyes off of the girl, "I want to know what's going on first. Roy can come if he wants her, but once I find out what's going on, I'll decide if to stop him or not."
Tristin slid off of the table, touching cold, tiled floor with her bare feet, "I'm surprised you even care so much. You were ready to just leave her down there."
David turned his gaze toward her, staring her in her hazel eyes, "I'm a professional, but that doesn't mean I'm heartless."
She smiled.
As the two shared a moment of mutual silence, David reverting his attention back to the unnamed girl, the front door opened from the outside—
"All right," said Oscar, a brown paper bag in his arms, "there's a little Cubano shop a couple of blocks down the street, but there wasn't much: booze, T.V. dinners, lottery tickets and cigars."
He set the bag in front of David, pulling out three frozen trays of microwaveable meals, followed by a six pack of Logger Lite. "But the owner told me that there's a supermarket on the other side of town," he then looked at Tristin, who found herself on the sofa, feet kicked up and laptop on her thighs, "so I'm thinkin' that you and me can go shopping a little later, Mami." He flashed her a wink and she smirked with a patronising wave.
"You should be the one watching her." Added David, shooting a glance at him—Oscar simply shrugged,
"But you do it so well, hermano." And he made his way past the island separating the dining and kitchen areas to the tall, aluminium, double-door fridge, to store his chilled brews.
David looked over to Tristin before rising from his seat at the table and making his way over to her, "Where are you on digging into Fort Baxter's databases for this 'package'?"
"It's not exactly a "done in one afternoon" kind of thing." She explained, tapping away at the keyboard "I'm going to be at this for a few hours. Maybe even a day or two."
David leaned on the back of the sofa, looking at her screen, puzzled.
"What's wrong?" she asked him,
"I just…" he thought of how to word it, "I-I don't know how you can do that. Spend hours on end in front of the computer screen—that would drive me insane."
She shrugged, "Welcome to my generation, D'. We all do it."
He straightened up, grinning, "Exactly how old d'you think I am?"
She stopped, gazed up at him and smiled, before reaching and playfully twirling a greying tuft of hair at the top of his forehead between her fingers. "You tell me." She said.
"Oye." Said Oscar, in the middle of sticking the microwave dinners in the freezer—David and Tristin both turned their gaze to him and then to where he motioned; the bedroom door. The angle at which they were, they couldn't see into the room, but Oscar edged from the kitchen towards the door. Then, with a shout, he dropped to the floor as a lamp soared over him, right where his head would've been and hit the kitchen floor with a crash. David darted from the sofa and Tristin leapt over it and the two ran into the room, to see their patient, very much awake and standing in the open window frame which only led to the street seventeen floors down.
"Wait! Don't!" shouted Tristin, but David had no time for words as he sprang forward and before she could jump, grabbed her by her waist and pulled her back into the room, tumbling onto the floor with her in his arms.
"Wait… s-stop! We're trying to… h-help… you!" he struggled to explain as he rolled about on the floor with the struggling girl. Oscar recovered and found himself standing next to Tristin in the doorway, only able to watch.
"Please, listen," begged Tristin, "we were just trying to help you." But her appeal was met by a deathly glare from the Japanese girl, who sat in the sofa, legs crossed and arms bound behind her back with zip ties.
"You know, this kind of seems wrong." Mentioned Oscar, holding an ice pack to his ankle as he sat away from the other three, in the dining area, "Considering—you know—us?"
"It works." Replied David, standing where he did before, behind the sofa, while Tristin kneeled in front of it and the girl simply looked down into her lap:
"You three are bringing death upon yourselves if you don't let me go."
"You're not in a position to be making threats." Said David,
"I may not be," she continued, "but my brother is in a position to carry them out."
Tristin looked up at David who remained unphased, then back to the Japanese girl.
"You all don't understand who I am," she kept on, through gritted teeth "who our family is and what we do to those who threaten us, cheat us or try to kill us.
"I'll say it again—" responded David, looking down at the back of her head, as she kept staring into her lap "—I have some idea." He then leaned over, almost near enough to whisper into her ear, "Marufuji-gumi."
She looked up, eyes widened and over her shoulder as David straightened back up. She then turned to the still kneeling Tristin and without warning, swung her leg for a hard kick right to the jaw. Tristin fell backwards and with arms still bound, the Japanese girl stepped with a bare foot right onto her neck—in that split second, David drew his .45 from his hip holster, taking aim and Oscar dropped the ice pack, grabbing for a chef's knife—from the knife block on the island between the kitchen and the dining area—and holding it at a ready.
"You'll let me go, or I'll crush her throat." Said the girl, applying weight to the foot on Tristin's neck.
"Up yours, bitch!" struggled Tristin, through her tight windpipe.
"Go ahead." Nodded David,
"D-David?! What the fuck?!" Tristin squirmed as she tried to lift the leg off of her throat, but to no avail, "Sh-shit. I want what... ever workout p-plan you're on."
Oscar chuckled as the girl looked down at Tristin furiously. David pulled his trigger, but the round whizzed just past her face and buried itself in the drywall behind her —she was taken off guard by the shot and Tristin took the opportunity, grabbing her ankle and wrenching it aside, causing her to split to the floor. Tristin spun on her side, lining up her heel with the girl's face and thrusting a hard kick of her own, whipping the girl's head back with the impact. She then scrambled to her feet and towards Oscar, while David grabbed the girl's arm, pulled her to her feet and seated her back on the sofa, bloody nose and all.
"Let's not do that again." David assured, pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket and giving to her, "If we wanted to forcefully interrogate you, we... I... would've already got what I needed to know and you would aready be dead."
She took the kerchief from him and held it against her nose, soaking up the blood, and clutching her unbandaged temple, a residual headache setting in.
"Who are you... what did those Gambetti thgus want with you?" asked David,
The girl looked up at him, and then back down, "My name... is Hitomi."
"Hitomi... Marufuji." he finished. She nodded.
"So that's why they wanted you." continued Oscar, a flustered Tristin standing beside him, clutching her jaw, "To kidnap the gang leader."
She looked back, shrugging, "I'm not the leader; my father... was. After he was killed, my brother took over—as for me, I never tried to involve myself with the family business."
"So leverage, then?" asked Tristin from behind her hand,
"I don't know." Hitomi turned back to David, who stood in front of her, looking down, "We've never done any business with the Gambetti family. Nor any of the Mafia—we were barely making a stake in Liberty City, trying to pick up from where the Kasen clan left off."
David looked at her and then back at Oscar and Tristin, but his thoughts were interrupted by the roar of an engine and the screeching of tyres outside the loft, to the street below. He made his way to the balcony and looked over the rail where he could see three black Washington sedans pull up in front of the apartment building and at least a dozen Mafia heavies pour out of them, among them was Beppe.
"Roy, you greasy fuck." he muttered to himself. He marched back into the room, pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and threw it to Hitomi, "Unlock code is zero-eight-nine-two; call your brother, tell him where you are, tell him you need help."
"What's going on?" asked Tristin as Oscar limped over to his shotgun which stood propped up against the wall.
"Our friends from the mob are back." David said, eyeing Oscar as his words prompted Tristin to reach for her travel bag and pull an UZI from it. "And Oscar..."
Oscar looked around as he reached for the barrel of his gun. David walked over to him, grabbed him by the collar and forced him into one of the armchairs circling the centre of the room.
"Hey! Hey! What the hell're you doing, hermano?!" squealed Oscar. David grabbed his bum leg, stretched it out, held onto the ankle and with a firm wrench—
CRICK! CR-ACK!
"AI-YEE!" hollered Oscar, as David maneuvred the ankle, twisting it and dropped his leg.
"... Your hobbling around like a gimp was getting on my nerves."
Oscar grabbed his swollen ankle, the pain gone, "Oye, muchas gracias Dave."
"No time for grattitude." David threw a UMP submachine gun which he dug from his own bag into Oscar's hands, "There're too many guys; that shotgun won't be any good."
Oscar checked the loaded magazine and retracted the charging handle with a smile, "Muy bien."
David clutched the grip of his .45, his finger floating over the trigger as he pushed the front door open, aiming into the empty hallway.
"I called him." shouted Hitomi from inside, "He's here... in Vice City... he's coming."
"Good." David scanned up and down the hall, "We're dead if we take the elevator—ground floor is seventeen flights down and they'll be watching the stairs."
"So what then?" called out Tristin, easing behind him.
Oscar pushed his way past the two of them and led the charge into the hallway, his bag slung over his shoulder, "We run right through them."
David nodded. He and Tristin grabbed their bags, strapped them over their respective shoulders and he handed a pistol to Hitomi.
"Stay on us, we'll be moving fast."
She nodded, handing him his cell phone, "Don't slow me down." and she followed behind Oscar as Tristin waited at the door for David.
"Go." he motioned for her to follow the others, "I'll cover the rear."
Tristin ran into the hallway and David behind her, turning about and keeping watch at the back of the line, while Oscar led to the front, standing by the door to the stairs. He clutched the knob, turned around to Hitomi, Tristin and David stationed behind them and gave them a nod to which they likewise gestured and pushed through the door, UMP aimed high. The four made their way down the tightly twisting flight of stairs, first passing the large painted "16" on the wall after descending two flights, then "15", "14", "13", "12";
"We might be able to get through this without too much hassle." declared Oscar from the front, as he led the group past "11".
"Don't count 'em out just yet." responded David from the back, aiming up the stairs from which they were coming.
"I know, I know, we've still got a hell'f a way to go."
"Hey! Check the stairs, I hear somethin'!" shouted a Libertian accent from below.
"Fuck!" exclaimed Tristin.
"All right." affirmed David spinning around and facing forward, "We run right through 'em."
Oscar nodded and slowed his pace, trying to peer around the downward corner as much as he could. He couldn't make out anything, except a few shifting shadows, until...
"I see 'em!"
The Mafiosi opened fire, riddling the walls with bullets as the foursome back pedaled and readied themselves. David looked over his shoulder to the tenth floor door and with the thrust of his shoulder, burst it open.
"C'mon!" he slipped into the tenth floor common hallway and the other three behind him, but rather than run, they took cover behind the door, glancing around at the sight of their aggressors approaching.
"You check there, I'll head up!" shouted one of them as the echoing of footsteps faded and the light shuffle of nearby feet grew louder.
David stood closest to the door and he freed his right arm, tightly gripping the pistol in his left hand, waiting for the right moment. He closed his eyes and listened, waiting, timing it—
He spun around, coming face-to-face with the mobster and pushed all of his weight forward, bracing his AK-47 against his chest and pushing the barrel away. The thug pulled the trigger and stray bullets flew, but hit nothing but the walls, richocheting all about. David charged him backwards into the rail of the stairs, spine first and the shock made him let go of the rifle, dropping it to the floor, allowing David to kick it under the rail and down between the stairs. The rifle fell ten floors to hit the ground below, as David delivered a stiff right elbow to the thug's face. A kick to the shin and then an upward elbow to the jaw.
The second one came from upstairs, readying his rifle, but then Oscar emerged from behind the door and double tapped, delivering two rounds to the chest and dropping him. The first thug pushed David back and swung for a hit, but he ducked, low shoulder checked him to the ribs and sprung back up as he was dazed, twisting him around and wrapping his arm around the thug's throat, clenching with his forearm and bicep. Using his human shield, David led the group forward and down the stairs, gangster in his right hand, pistol aimed straight ahead in his left.
Two more came up the stairs, but refrained from opening fire—their delay was long enough to take two suppressed rounds to the chest each, dropping them. Down a few more flights and the group had reached floor two, proceeding forward only to be met by a shut door which let to the parking garage and halting. David paused, expecting an ambush from behind the door and he looked back to see that Oscar, Tristin and Hitomi may have bene expecting the same.
On the other side of the door, awaited four gangsters, all taking aim right at it with their AK-47s. Standing behind them, centred was Beppe, a vengeful smirk on his face.
"We'll see who's got big balls, when you come through that door, y'piece of shit."
However, the foursome waited, with no sign of David and the others.
Beppe pulled out his cell phone and quick dialed, "'Ey, any sign of 'em on the other side?"
"Nah Beppe," shouted the voice from the other end of the call, "All clear, if we see 'em, we clap 'em."
"A'ight." and he ended the call, before looking back at the door and his gunmen.
POP!
They all shuddered and readied to fire as a smoking round passed through the door.
"Hold ya fire!" shouted Beppe "We don't shoot 'til we see 'em!"
POP! POP!
Two more coming through the wooden door, one hitting the ground right by one of the gunmen's feet.
"Fuck me, Bep'!" he shouted, "They'll get us before we get them!"
"Unless one'f you's gets hit, you wait 'til you see 'em!" commanded Beppe
Then, silence...
POP! POP! POP! POP!
"ARGH!" one of the gunmen dropped as he took a round to the thigh and as if on cue, the other three opened fire, riddling the door with lead. They all emptied their magazines into the door and simulaneously stopped to reload.
"No! Fuck no!" screamed Beppe
Then, David burst through the door, only pistol in hand and lined up his shots. One, two, three, he picked off each of the standing gunmen with a shot and edged closer to the one on the ground, who struggled to pick up his AK-47 , scrambling for dear life.
POP!
David fired one right into the chest and his arms fell limp. By then, Beppe had already hauled ass and fled the garage.
"Do we get away now?" asked Tristin as she, Oscar and Hitomi spilled out of the doorway from behind David. At the top of the small flight of stairs lay the body of the once human shield of a thug, a bullet in his temple and blood on the wall from the exit wound.
"No." uttered David, his face like stone and his gun held high, "We finish this."