Tommy was lying about in his newly-bought apartment, dubbed by the previous owner as "El Swanko Casa". It had set him back $8000 for both the deed and the furniture, but he thought it was well worth it. Of all its features, it had a single-car garage, a luscious pool, a large television with sweet furniture and in Tommy's opinion; the king-size bed was fit for gods (although the effect might have been magnified from sleeping on a scratchy cell bed for fifteen years.)
His phone rang as he lay down on the bed, and he grunted with annoyance as he reached for it and answered.
"Yo Tommy! It's Lance," came Lance's voice from the other side.
"Yeah?" Tommy asked.
"Oh, nice to hear from you, Lance. Come on, man, be cool, be cool."
"I'm in the middle of something." Tommy lied, simply wanting to relax without being disturbed. "What do you want?"
"Nothing." Lance replied.
Tommy heard silence from the other end for a moment, as if Lance was trying to lead up to something important.
"Just to say, you know." he continued. "Look Tommy, we can do this thing. You and me, no problem. You know what I mean?"
"We're going to have to do it, 'cause otherwise, we're going to be dead, Lance." Tommy responded back, exasperated. "We're in too far now. But thanks for the call. I'll speak to you later."
Tommy really didn't know what to make of the phone call. Clearly Lance was a useful ally to him, at the very least as a hired gun. But he had no idea whether Lance would be willing to be patient as he himself in approaching the entire situation, given that he was now being forced to work for the man who most likely had brought about the death of his brother. If Lance blinked now, it would become a lot more difficult for Tommy to deal with Diaz.
As he went to shove the phone back under his pillow, it rang again. Sighing, Tommy pressed the RECEIVE button. It was Colonel Cortez.
"Tommy, it's me, Colonel Cortez. Look senor, I believe you are a man who can get things done. So please help me. You can find me at the boat."
Deciding that he wasn't going to get much of a break at all, Tommy pushed himself off his bed, grabbed a Ruger, and drove off down to the Marina to talk to Cortez.
"Diaz was pleased, and would like to meet you again." Cortez said later as they paced the deck of the yacht.
"Is that a good thing?"
"Of course!" chuckled the Colonel. He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then turned to look Tommy in the eyes. "Although I'm starting to think that Diaz was responsible for our unfortunate loss…"
Did this mean Cortez, and the far-reaching gaze of his wide network of contacts, was properly confirming what he and Lance were already suspecting?
"What makes you say that?" he asked.
But the Colonel had backed down just as quickly.
"One does not wave accusations at a man like Diaz - I'm merely thinking out loud…No matter. I have a proposal that you could profit from…"
"I don't have time to run more errands, Cortez." Tommy growled, trying to filter the annoyance from his voice and curling up his fists. Cortez watched him with a degree of bemusement.
"I would have thought a man with such dangerous debts would be hungry for opportunities. Please, Tommy, at least hear me out."
"Go on…" Tommy relented with a sigh.
"I have a buyer of military hardware that is being taken through town. Pick it up for me…and once you get it, I want you to call me immediately and then…"
"What?"
"Pick it up first, tell me where you are. I will find a suitable location for it."
With that, Cortez ushered Tommy away.
Tommy was given a map with a traced route of the movement of the "military hardware". Going down the long road that stretched along the western island, it would eventually end up at Fort Baxter military base. Cortez had also marked several possible spots on the map where he could drop off the hardware when he was done. He drove onto the bridge at Starfish Island, and gazing into the distance in direction of Downtown, he soon spotted in the distance what he was looking for: a full-military convoy: Patriot Hummers, Barracks OL army trucks and the centrepiece: a Rhino tank. Marines everywhere, equipped with standard-issue M4 assault rifles. Even with their functionality problems, they wouldn't be jamming at the same time.
Which made taking the tank, which he was now assuming was the "military hardware", even more difficult. As he watched the convoy slowly move from a safe distance on the Starfish Island bridge, he realised that one side of the road was completely deserted: the army wasn't taking any chances and any vehicles around there would probably be taken as suspicious.
That meant he would need a distraction to remove the soldiers from the equation. He thought up a solution right away: 8-Ball's bomb shop down at the Viceport. Turning his Greenwood left, he began driving for the garage. As he drove, he noted something else: a doughnut shop. If he stopped the car there, the army soldiers would probably want to get some doughnuts: some stereotypes never changed.
Five minutes later, Tommy was back and luckily for him, the convoy hadn't reached the shop yet: they were still milled around near Little Havana Hospital. Parking the Greenwood so it completely blocked that side of the road, Tommy exited and took cover behind some bushes that lay in front of the Little Havana Police Station.
As time passed, Tommy could hear the noise of the vehicles increase, before eventually came to a halt. Peeking through the bushes, he saw that everything had been set in place and could hear an officer command one of the marines:
"Go get some doughnuts, soldier!"
"Sir Yes sir!" yelled a voice, and the tank driver exited the Rhino and entered the store. The CO issued another order
"Get that civilian vehicle out of our way!"
"Sir! Moving vehicle, sir!" shouted another marine.
As the soldier headed towards the Greenwood, the rest of the convoy began to continue on, moving closer into the blast radius. But as the marine got in to move the vehicle, Tommy activated the bomb.
Explosion. A gigantic blast rocked the area, shattering the glass of the windows of the doughnut shop and killing or wounding most of the marines in the convoy. Tommy could see large cracks present in the concrete. The tank driver, who had just exited the shop when forced to dive to safety, muttered loudly:
"I'm getting out of here."
He sprinted off in the direction of the nearby police station, failing to notice Tommy, still prone behind the bushes.
At this point, Tommy ran from his hiding place and made a beeline for the tank. The marines were too disorientated to offer much resistance - although the blast had been powerful, as it turned out, it hadn't killed that many.
Heart pounding, he thumped into the tank's driver's seat, and started the ignition. Immediately, a computerised voice became audible, demanding a security override. When Tommy ignored it and hit the accelerator, things became a lot harder than he had imagined them to be initially.
"Security protocol Delta India Echo triggered! Vehicle self-destruct initiated! Prepare to die, Communist scum!" announced the voice.
"Damn!" Tommy muttered, and he hit a few numbers into his cellphone as he got the Rhino moving.
Several police cars were streaming over from the nearby police station to try and take down the stolen tank. However, the sheer force of the Rhino meant that cop cars were either ploughed to the side, or simply bounced off.
"Colonel, I have the tank, I'm just outside the Havana police station and there's a self-destruct sequence on this thing. Where do you want me to put it?" Tommy yelled frantically into the receiver.
"Relax, Thomas. Little Havana? Go to site Y, the guys there can deactivate the sequence," replied Cortez, before he hung up, leaving Tommy to deal with his uncomfortable situation.
Shaking his head, he peeked at the time left on the self-destruction sequence: ten minutes, before he got focused on the driving of the military vehicle. Once he got a handle on the controls, things definitely became easier and even somewhat entertaining: ploughing through police cars as they made futile attempts to cut him off, and watching them bounce away like pinballs took his mind a little off his impending doom, but as it turned out, he made it back to the garage with enough time to spare for the deactivation of the sequence. Along with it, $2000 in cash, which Tommy felt was hardly enough to justify what he had just completed: something along the lines of a heinous felony. Deciding that he needed a break, he hailed a Kaufman cab from nearby to take him to a Downtown bar in an attempt to drink off what he had just gone through.
Ricardo Diaz sat in his office, feet on his desk. He was extremely pleased by his achievements over the last few days: not only had he taught the Shark gangs over on Prawn Island some respect, but he had also found some sellers for the merchandise which had cost him one of his strongest allies. As he smoked a cigar, shouting to one of his men to bring him some more food, something caught his eye: entering from the main door, was Quentin-the man he knew to be Victor's brother. He was holding a Colt Python and from the look in his eyes, meant business.
Diaz watched curiously as Quentin strode up the stairs and entered the drug baron's office.
"Quentin! What's up, amigo?" he greeted, deciding to get on his helicopter pilot's good side.
"Enough with the pleasantries Ricardo. Why did you kill my brother?" growled Lance.
"Vic?" Diaz made an attempt to look in deep thought, as if trying to make an excuse. As he raised one hand to his chin, his other surreptitiously tapped a button on the underside of his desk. "Amigo, it was an accident. I fucked up…thought Vic was some random dickhead dealer, so I had him rubbed out. Let's forget about this."
"I'll rub you out…" snarled Lance as he raised his Colt Python: a shot at this range would blow Diaz's brains out.
Diaz remained calm, at least for now: the reason was because he had already sent his own guards on the way: all he had to do was stall for a minute or so, and he'd have this prick under wraps.
"Calm down, amigo, you want to discuss things?" he asked with a shrug: his hands, concealed by the table, reached for a hidden location where he held an MP5…
"No. I'm going to kill you right here and now. Any last requests, Diaz?"
"Come on…what do you want? Money? Women? Drugs? Property? I got all that shit, you know."
Lance hesitated for a moment, and Diaz made his move. Whipping his MP5 out from under his desk, he fired a burst that mostly struck Lance around his abdomen. As he fell, Diaz, with amazing agility for a man of his breadth, dived for the Python which Lance had just dropped. As they wrestled around on the ground, both trying to grab the Python, Diaz started shouting for help.
"Come on, you fucking idiots! Gimme some fucking help here!" he yelled as he ducked under one of Lance's wild swings.
A couple of the drug baron's henchmen eventually made it to the scene, restraining Lance and holding guns to his head.
"About fucking time!" Diaz screamed angrily at his men as he got up. "Take the dickhead to the Junkyard, do whatever you fucking can to see which dickhead set him up to do this. Then kill him and get rid of his body. Fuck the Vances."
Still puffing, he stumbled back to his seat to continue smoking, as if the previous incident has never occurred.
Hours later, Tommy's nap was disturbed by another ring on his cellphone.
"Alright, me ol'china! It's Paul. I might have a little result for you, but I need to speak to you in person. I'm enjoying a little R&R at the Club Malibu. Reckon you're gonna owe me a favour or two after this, sunshine. I'll see you later."
Tommy was getting annoyed with how many phone calls he was receiving. Maybe this was the life of a big criminal player in Vice City, he thought. And it sure was. The cell phone rang, and this time, it was the mysterious voice man.
"Get to the payphone next to the mall in Washington."
Tommy sighed and got back up with another grunt. Paul would have to wait while he gave the mysterious man another visit.
"A European gang plans to hit a bank in Vice City. My employers would rather this didn't happen. Each member of the gang has a cover while they are here in Vice City. Some have menial jobs, others are on vacation. Each target and their likely whereabouts are taped under the phone."
Tommy read the label under the phone. "A selection of weapons has been left for you nearby if you require them", it informed. Tommy turned around and noticed that in the garden of a nearby house, a nice silver PCJ-600 along with an Uzi and a sniper rifle were ready for him. After stocking up, he tore off the label which had been stuck to the phone - like in previous missions, there were small photos of his targets accompanied by brief descriptions of their possible locations.
"Mike Griffin is working on an advertising board in Washington". Nice work, thought Tommy. There were tons of advertising boards around Washington Beach, and there could be more than a few armed construction workers on them as well. He drove around the area, gazing up at all the billboards before eventually spotting a man wearing a construction helmet atop one: he was holding an Uzi in one hand and a hammer in another. Tommy zoomed in on his sniper rifle, and picked him off with a headshot. One down, five to go. The next target was working for DBP Security on Ocean Drive. Tommy kind of knew where DBP Security was: near the alleyways somewhere in Ocean Beach. He drove along the road, zigzagging through each turn until he eventually saw a Securicar parked in a small area marginally walled-off. Driving to a safer distance, he sniped the man sitting inside through the front window.
"Marcus Hammond and Franco Carter are located near the jewellery shop in Vice Point." the note read. Tommy quickly sped his PCJ-600 to the jewellery shop, spotting a black Bobcat: one man in the driver's seat, another leaning against the door smoking, but with a sawn-off shotgun in one hand. Tommy shot the driver in the head through the window and got the second man before he could react to his buddy's death.
He read the note again. "Nick Kong is cruising off Washington Beach, in the water near the bridge close to the VCPD". Tommy drove his PCJ-600 all the way back to Washington Beach, and across the bridge near the VCPD. Gazing into the water, he immediately spotted a boat on the surface. After looking around and seeing no other boats around, Tommy determined that this was the target and shot him in between the eyes. The last target on the list came with the notification that once he was done, his money would be delivered to his safehouse in Ocean Beach: "Charlie Dilson is riding in Washington. He is wearing a red t-shirt."
Vague enough, but Tommy got a break when he spotted a man following his description cruising past his spot on the bridge. Sure enough, he had an Uzi clipped to the back of his PCJ. Tommy returned to his motorcycle and sneaked close enough to plug him with a handful of bullets in the back of the head. His guess was right: returning to the Ocean View Hotel, he was given a large briefcase, his payment for the hit. There was no time to waste though: after leaving the case hidden in his hotel room, he drove off for the Malibu Club: he sensed that Kent Paul's information might be important.