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Author's Notes: I'm back! For a little bit. This chap might b e a little short and forgive me for any typos involving "b"s and spaces cuz they're kinda stuck together. I wonder what somebody had spilled on here to make it do that...
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Chapter 7:
"Who the hell is this!" Tommy shouted, nearly blasting the reciever of his cell phone with the boom of his angry voice. The phone clicked and then came the monotonous dial tone.
He tightly gripped the phone in his hand, wanting to crush it's "unbreakable" plastic covering and viciously tear apart the wires inside but he then realized that he would actually need his cell phone in the very near future and decided not to abuse it. Instead, he took his golf club out the car and used it to terrorize the Top Fun van he had driven earlier by smashing all of the windows and kicking in the doors. Satisfied but still fuming inside, he started his way up the stairs into the house.
Claude, who was watching the whole scene, didn't know if he was more confused, amusedor even more intimidated by Tommy. He stared at him with even wider eyes. Tommy, sensing his stare, turned to him and sneered.
"The hell ya lookin' at...punk..." he spat and went inside. Claude, feeling the coast was clear, started laughing to himself but not too loud as to bring Tommy back outside and have himself be the next target for his moment of unleashed rage.
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Later that night...
(around 8pm)
Moda was in her sanctuary of lavender, watching another hilarious weekly episode of In Living Color from the comfort of her plush canopy bed.Tumbling all over the bed in her navy swish pants,scarf and shirt, shelaughed at the antics of James Carrey's character as the lip-less, accident prone "Fire Marshall Bill" and felt happy inside. She still however, sensed a small disturbance in the pit of her heart. This feeling she refused to let it go unnoticed for she had such a strange feeling the very day of the plane crash. She jumped from her bed, manually turned off her television, and figured she'd discuss her feeling with her "father".
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Tommy on the other hand wasin his office, sitting in his plush, swivel chair, facing the windows in the office. He sat, twiddling his thumb across his rugged chin. Other than the concept of shaving...many things were bugging him tonight. He started to question Moda's purpose in his life...Her purpose in his...What about school? Prom? College? There aren't any schools in Vice City, at least none that he knew of, and he'd be damned if he were to relocate from the sun and money Florida had to offer. He knew he didn't have to worry about boys, especially when they'd inevitably find out she was his kid.
He hadn't told everybody yet that he had adopted a northern street kid. Would he? Should he tell the truth or make up a charade? Why SHOULD he have to lie? No one really had the audacity to question Tommy's decisions (except maybe his wardrobe). If he were to lie, how would he explain their difference in ethnicity? She, was obviously black...Brown skin, black-people hair (although it wasn't nappy), full, black-people lips, and her butt definitely gave it away that she was an Afro. He was obviously white/Italian...duh.
But the issue that was bugging him the most was who in God's name was tailing...no, stalking him around the city and calling him? Since caller ID hadn't been invented yet, he had only one (really vague) clue...The person's voice...
His thoughts were interruptedwhen he heard footsteps behind him approaching his chair. In a force of habit, he pulled out his hidden Colt 45 and aimed it at what he thought was another assassin...But as usual, was actually Moda. Moda only flinched a little, unlike the first few times this had happened where she would've ducked for cover and started to cry and scream hysterically. She was used to having Tommy mistake her for a hoodlum, so her nerves were gradually becoming steady.
"Oh...it's just you, kid." he stated flatly, resting his elbows on the desk.
He made a hand gesture for her to sit. She looked around the room, then back at him, wondering if he realized that there was only one chair in his office and it was occupied at the moment. She slowly approached the desk and leaned on a corner of the huge desk and heaved a sigh.
"I'm glad you came in, kid...I've been meaning to talk to youse..." he said in a low, serious voice. She met his serious eyes with those of her own and opted for him to continue speaking.
"Well...see...the thing is...It's been almost three weeks, you're my kid, yet...I still don't know a damn thing about you."
Moda's bewildered eyes darted around the room and back at Tommy. She opened her mouth to speak.
"Um...my real name is Charmaine...and--"
"What about your real last name, kid?" he interjected, suprisingly not raising his voice.
"Monroe..." she said softly.
"Charmaine...Moda...Monroe...Vercetti..." Tommy muttered that and many other incoherent combinations of the four names. Then started to chuckle a little.
"What's so funny?" she asked.
"Moda Monroe...'Mo-Mo'...Heh. It's cute, kid."
Moda stared at him with a puzzled look. Suprised that he were actually human enough to find anything "cute", let alone whimsical wordplay on one's names. "Are you done?" she asked. Tommy nodded his head 'yes'.
"Good, 'cause I have somethin' I need to tell you about..." she said. Tommy sat, calm and patient, ears ready to collect and analyze any words that would come next.
"Okay...see...the thing is...Okay. I was watchin' TV in my room about 'X' amount of time ago, but then I got these chills..." she explained.
"Ya sure it ain't just 'the vapors' kid?" Tommy joked. (A/N: back in the 80s, 'the vapors' was a term used in the hip hop world to describe envy.)
"No! Be serious! So, I don't know...I just have this strange feelin'..." she stated. Tommy's eyes darted from side to side.
"That's it?"
"See...another thing is...this was the same feelin' I had the day my par--" she paused, then took a deep breath. "...the plane crash." She finished then looked at Tommy. Worried, innocent eyes meeting cold, steel-grey ones, seeking an reply. There was a silence...
"Well...I ain't no psychologist, kid." he finally said. "I mean, you says you just 'have a feeling?'"
"I-I...I guess I just wanted to let you know that. I ain't really expect any words of wisdom...Just watch your back cause I have a sixth sense about these things." she said, standing up and exiting the room.
"What the hell?" Tommy said to himself as he heard Moda retreat the room. "Was that a warning, or a threat?" he questioned.
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Meanwhile, Moda was actually feeling hungry later that day. Seeing no phone in immediate sight, she dismissed the idea of calling for a pizza and decided to go to the kitchen for a snack. As she approached the kitchen (A/N: that room with the pool in it that overlooks the back yard. It's actually an entrance/exit but for the sake of this story, it's now a kitchen.), she could hear the clutter of someone raiding something.
She cautiously peeked in the doorway and could see a short male figure, bent over into the open refridgerator way on the other side of the kitchen. She couldn't make out the figure that well since the fridge was the only source of light in the kitchen at the moment. She watched him as he rummaged through the ice box, then standing back up. She saw the face of the figure and of course, it was Claude who apparently, was also hungry. He stood in front of the fridge (never bothering to close it), clutching a Minute Maid juice carton as if it were the spoils of a war. He smirked, opening the spout of the cardboard carton and lifting it to his lips.
"I hope you plan on usin' a glass!" Moda yelled, flicking on a light switch on the wall nearby. This startled Claude and made him jump a little, spilling some of the precious fruit juice onto the vinyl floor tiles. Moda approached him and stood before him. Arms crossed, with her hip poking out.
"Mmm-hmmm..." she mumbled.
Claude looked at the carton he was holding, then back at Moda. With her face turned up, Moda snatched the carton from his hand.
"I'll take that..." she said and drank the juice from the carton herself. She exhaled, wiped her mouth and handed the carton back to Claude. "Yum! So what's there to eat up in here?" she asked, pacing around the kitchen. Claude stood, dumbfounded then took a seat at the breakfast bar in the middle of the kitchen. Moda rummaged through the cabinets and found close to nothing in them.
"Damn...this dude ain't even got no food in the kitchen..." she said to herself. Then, she spotted two small jars of peanut butter and jelly in the far corner of one of the cabinets. Behind them was a loaf of bread. She smiled and took them out the cabinet and put them on the breakfast bar.
"PB & J..." she said to Claude, opening the new jars and untying the piece of metal on the bread bag. Not even bothering to search for a knife, the two kids tried their best to dump some of the edible contents onto the pieces of bread and smeared them together to even out the consistency. Satisfied, they sat at the bar, eating their sandwiches in silence.
End Chapter...(sort of)
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Happy? I hope so because I'm trying to fit some plots into the story cuz it's not exciting enough. So while I do that, why don't you review and...um...make yourself a sandwich, okay? I've just been busy people, but I do definitely plan to finish this series.
