Another job.
Niko sat outside a Bean Machine, a coffee in hand. In his other hand, his iFruit was held to his ear.
"How much longer is this going to go on?" he asked tiredly.
"As long as it needs," the voice replied. "It won't be forever, and eventually everything will be explained. But for now, I need you to do this."
Niko sighed. Was this ever going to end?
"There's a man coming in on a train from up north. Meet the train at Easton terminal and follow him. I'll send you a picture of him. Follow him and tell me where he goes. Do not let him detect you and do not engage him. Do not lose him."
The voice hung up.
Niko sighed and finished his drink before getting in his car. He'd stolen it from the airport long-term parking lot so he was confident no one would miss it.
Niko closed the door on the dark green Regina and keyed the ignition. Ten minutes later he was walking into Easton Station.

The first thing that struck Niko is that he'd never been in here before. He'd been past it countless times but not inside. He always drove to Mallorie's. He'd stopped trusting trains when he'd heard about someone stealing a subway car. He hadn't believed it at first until he saw amateur camera footage on Weazel News, showing a huge helicopter carrying the carriage.
The second thing that struck Niko was the interior design in the station. The lobby was large, with marble floors that reflected everything. The walls were varying shades of brown and cream, with intricate designs carved into the pillars. A grand staircase stood at the far end, leading, no doubt, to a couple of platforms.
Niko looked at the information screen, finding the train The Voice had mentioned.

Platform 3

Niko made his way to the platform and found he had ten minutes. He decided to visit the bathroom before sitting at a conveniently placed coffee bar. He ordered a decaf and a muffin.
He waited….

Johnny sat in Locke's office. He'd phoned saying he had some information.
Locke slid a photograph over the desk to Johnny.
"Marcus D'Amico. Don't be fooled by the name, he's not Italian. No mob links. He's an amateur hit man – not a very good one. He apparently used to work for the government. Some sort of field agent. His partner was killed recently in a betting shop in Willis."
"His partner?"
"Lyle Greenhorn."
Johnny laughed. "He was one of the men that killed my brother. He admitted to it to my face."
"If he did in the last five years then D'Amico would have been involved."
"I think I saw him at the store when I got Lyle. Where can I find him?"
"He owns an apartment on Franklin street in Alderney. But there was a problem."
Johnny stared at the man.
"Getting the information was… tricky. There were a few blocks up and I know why. Both Greenhorn and D'Amico worked for the government."
"Ex-spies?"
"Something like that. I struggled to find anything on the men in the last couple of years. To me that says one of two things."
"Which are…?"
"Well, one; the men are still employed by the government in some capacity – whether it's directly, as in spooks, or as a contractor kind of thing, or some kind of retirement package giving them protection or something. The second is that they went underground – this is more likely. My money would be on them being freelance assassins or something."
Johnny pondered that information for a moment.
"Franklin you say?"
Locke nodded.
"I think I'll pay him a visit." Johnny stood and turned to leave.
"Be careful," Locke said. "I still got one favor from you – I want you to be able to do it."
Johnny snarled. "Find out about my brother first."
With that he left.

Niko had spotted the target, and was now tailing him, blending with the crowd where he could. He kept his distance and resisted the urge to rush when the target disappeared round a corner.
Niko rounded the corner, one of many men in suits. He'd chosen a brown-grey double-breasted jacket combo in the hope that he'd look more ordinary. Sure enough, the target was ahead of him.
He saw the target step into a car. Niko carried on walking though. He passed without even looking at the car. Ten yards ahead, behind a couple of other parked cars, Niko's 'borrowed' Regina waited. He got in and switched on the engine. For good measure he picked up a map and unfolded it, resting it over the steering wheel. He opened the window too and looked out, playing the lost tourist.

Niko hit the indicator and went through the motions of waiting/looking to pull into traffic. The target's car, a black Cognoscenti, indicated too and pulled straight out. Niko glanced at the map as the car crawled past. He felt the driver's gaze and the car passed.
Niko let a couple of cars pass and pulled out.

The Cognoscenti turned onto Albany Avenue, heading south.
One eye fixed on the car, the other watching the road and traffic, Niko guided his car onto the same road, now three cars behind.
The Cognoscenti turned onto Gamet street, heading West.
Niko turned the steering wheel, threading his car into the traffic.
This is my life now, he thought. Being used by some mysterious dick.I'm bored of all this.
A taxi passed, drawing Niko's eyes to the advert on the roof.

Vice City Air: Trips to Vice City from Liberty City. Only….

Niko allowed his mind to wander. Perhaps that was the answer.
Sun. Sea.
Crime, he reminded himself. Vice is known for it's crime, at least in years past. In the eighties, it was the country's hub for drug imports.
Who'd know if I just left? Niko asked himself. If I just turned this car right now and drove to Francis International. Would they be watching the airport? Are they watching me now?
Europe.
Would they – whoever they are – be able to follow him there? Would it be worth it?
But what about Mallorie?
The Cognoscenti turned north on Union Drive. Niko followed, allowing himself to drop back slightly.
Who the hell was this? Niko asked himself? Another poor gullible chump? Perhaps one day he'd pick up a tail and not see it, then go home and sleep, never to wake again.
Perhaps, Niko thought, that was the only way out.
The Cognoscenti turned onto Kunzite, past the police station, bringing memories of Francis McReary to Niko's weary mind. A left turn, then another, and the Cognoscenti cruised down into the tunnel.
Alderney, Niko thought, who the hell was in Alderney that knew me? Pegorino was dead, and his syndicate long gone. Dimitri, who'd used the old Casino in Alderney when he was in with Jimmy was also dead – Niko had made sure of that – something he should have done when he had the chance. Who else was in Alderney? That Anceloti bitch? Phil Bell? It had to be one of those…
Or, Niko's mind reminded him, it could be someone who's not based in Alderney at all…..
The Cognoscenti turned and headed north until it reached the large car park in Leftwood – or was it Westdyke?
Niko cautiously pulled his car in and parked on the second level. The Cognoscenti carried on going up. Niko stepped out of his car and ran to the ramp. He crouched by the wall and moved up. He reached the next level in time to see the Cognoscenti disappear up the next ramp.
Niko ascended the ramp closest to him, almost walking into an old red pickup. The driver – an old man with white hair – honked his horn and said something. Niko moved on.

The Cognoscenti was parked at the far end, and the passengers alighted, walking to the stairwell by their car.
Niko turned and back-tracked down his ramp, hurrying to the other stairwell. He rushed downstairs and leaped the railing outside to the sidewalk. There he walked quickly to the corner of the car park and turned the corner, slowing himself to blend with the sparsely distributed pedestrians. He passed the other door and turned the corner. He then turned and walked back.
No one came out of the door.

Confused, Niko stared round the corner and glanced up at the car park.
Then a thought crossed his mind.
He ran round the corner until he was on the same side as the exit he had taken.
The door opened and the men stepped out.
Smooth, Niko thought to himself; the men had exited the stairwell and crossed the car-park on one of the lower levels, then exited from the other stairwell. Niko had almost lost them.

Johnny had parked his bike on Panhandle road, on the small, dead-end street under the Skyway ramp and walked round to Franklin Street. He had left his Lost MC jacket back at the Casino, and was wearing a simple turtle-necked jacket, with faded-to-gray stonewashed jeans, brown hiking boots and a beanie. He zipped his jacket up to hide his tattoo. He had considered wearing shades, but the sky was overcast.
Johnny sighed, wondering if this was going to be another wild goose chase.
Oh well, here goes nothing.

Johnny went inside, and found the appropriate apartment. He took a deep breath and pulled his sawed-off from his jacket.
Johnny kicked the door open and moved inside.
Two men in suits were jumping to their feet, reaching for their side-arms. Johnny fired, hitting the first man in the chest.
The second had cleared his holster. Johnny darted to his left, firing as he moved.
The man fell.

Johnny moved into the room, as another door swung open.
A gun fired, and Johnny dove for cover – behind a counter that separated the kitchen from the lounge.
The bullets chipped away at the floor and wall as Johnny pressed himself against the counter. He reached over the top with his shotgun and blind-fired at the doorway.
Then, nothing. Johnny poked his head over the counter, to be greeted by a silenced gunshot burrowing into the worktop, sending shards of chipboard into Johnny's face.
Johnny rapidly dropped back into cover. He slowly pushed his head up again, and another gunshot chipped away at the counter.
Suddenly, Johnny wondered if he'd bitten off more then he could chew.

Niko heard the gunshots from the bench across the street. He stood and dropped his bagel and coffee – a good cover he felt – into the bin and hurried across the street. To hell with this mystery man, he thought. He reached for his Desert Eagle.

Johnny had noticed a kettle steaming in front of him. He smiled, these fuckers were waiting for their coffee or something. He reached for it and then sat back down, narrowly avoiding another two gunshots. These guys were good – and patient. They weren't firing shots constantly, they were waiting to see the target, and they could – and would – wait all day.
Johnny threw the kettle at the men, and heard a restrained yelp – not the agonizing scream he had hoped for but enough. These guys were tough.
Johnny leaped over the counter and fired at the men. The shotgun's spread had hit both men at the door but hadn't killed either. One of them fired back, but missed.
Johnny rushed forward and thrusted the shotgun into the man's chest/stomach. He fired, and the man flew back into the other.
Johnny then threw the shotgun's butt into the other man's face, breaking his nose.
Johnny picked up the man's silenced pistol and buried a shot in it's owner's temple.
He then reloaded and darted into the next room.

A man sat on the bed, a gun aimed at Johnny. Johnny instinctively dropped his shoulder, into a roll, grateful that the room was large. The gunshot came and missed. Johnny felt the heat tear the air by his ear as he rolled. He leaped to his feet and thrusted his shotgun-wielding fist into the man's face. He then stole the man's gun and dropped it to the floor.
"Michael Klebitz," Johnny said, his voice dripping with venom. "Know the name?"
"No," the man said calmly.
"Then I think I better introduce you to him." Johnny cocked the gun.
The man's face dropped. "I don't care who you are but I can guarantee you, you'll be bringing a world of pain to your door."
"Let them come," Johnny snarled. "I got a hundred brothers all wanting a fight."
The man scoffed. "'Brothers'… You're up against professionals here. You can't stand against us."
"You're a little cocky aren't you? You've never met a biker though. Most of them are ex-military. We all know how to shoot and fight, believe me. Now why don't you be a good boy and tell me who you work for. I might let you live then."
The man sniickered. "Not going to happen big guy."
Johnny hit out at the man again, hearing the wet squelch as his nose broke. The man growled through his teeth.
"Still not saying," He breathed.
Johnny leaned forward and grabbed the broken nose. He pushed, hard, and gave a little twist.
The man cried out and Johnny pushed him on the bed.
"Fuck you!" The man shouted.
Johnny grabbed the silenced pistol and shot the man in the leg – in the knee actually.
The man let of a pained yelp.
"Want to phone a friend?" Johnny asked. The man did not reply. Johnny jabbed the bullet wound with the suppressor and pushed hard.
The man screamed and, after what felt like eternity, slapped his hand on the bed.
"Okay…" he cried. "Okay."
Johnny stepped back and aimed the gun at the man.
"There's a guy… Secretive." The man winced from the pain in his leg. "He hides behind a desk – no name just orders. He's new, killed the older one or something."
"Where can I find him?"
"I don't know. His orders come through someone else."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"D'Amico?" Johnny waved the gun.
"Yes," The man breathed. "But he's not here... At a meeting..."
"Where?"
The man stared defiantly.
Johnny shoved the suppressor into the wound again. The man screamed and wriggled in agony.
"Where?"
"Meeting a man named Carter… No Cartwright. Lives on Ivy Drive. He sees the man and gets our orders."
"He your boss?"
"Yes," The man grunted with pain.
"So who is he, the Mafia?"
"I don't know. Someone who wants people dead… Dangerous people."
"Dangerous people?"
"Yes. Former mercenaries. Loose ends. Enemies – I don't know. I shoot who I'm told to…"
"Don't move a fucking muscle."
Johnny sighed at the familiar voice. He dropped his guns.
The man on the bed moved then, awkwardly but fast. His hand shot to his mouth. Johnny jerked towards him but then the voice – accented – shouted.
"I SAID DON'T FUCKING MOVE!"
Johnny stared at the man on the bed, realizing it was too late. He'd stopped moving and his head now hung off the mattress, foam leaking from his mouth.
Johnny turned.
"You," he said.
"What the hell have you go to do with all this?" Niko asked through a grimace.
"Why did you kill my brother?" Johnny snarled.
Niko frowned. Brother? What Bro-
The gun dropped to the floor as the fist hit his face. Niko stumbled back but raised his fists. Johnny punched again, hard.

The biker had a weight advantage, and was probably a bit stronger but Niko didn't care. He'd had enough of all this shit.
Johnny punched again, throwing all of his weight into the swing.
Niko tried to dodge but the punch hit his shoulder. Niko fell back.
Johnny followed up with a kick, but Niko rolled clear.
His arms out, Niko grabbed Johnny's foot. He tried a twist but Johnny pushed forwards, stamping on Niko's leg.
Niko threw his other leg up, barely missing Johnny's crotch as the biker jumped backward. Niko scrambled to his feet and lunged at Johnny, pushing him against a glass book shelf.
The glass shattered as the two men collided with it. Niko punched at Johnny's face, connecting solidly with his cheek.
Johnny pushed back, using his weight to throw Niko off of him.
Niko landed, back first, against a wardrobe and pushed himself back to his feet.
Johnny bull-charged at Niko, grappling him and plunging him into a pile of boxes in the corner.
Niko grabbed Johnny's fist with both hands and pushed back. Johnny grabbed Niko's arms with his other hand and threw in a quick headbutt.
Niko yelled out but plunged his knee upwards, hitting Johnny's stomach. The biker recoiled slightly, giving Niko a chance to knock him off balance.
Johnny fell, landing on something hard. He looked down and saw his shotgun.

Niko grabbed the silenced pistol and spun round. Johnny was bringing his shotgun up.

The biker's eyes flashed on the pistol and fired.

Niko ducked, anticipating the shot. Luckily the spread missed him, and obliterated a window behind him.
Niko stepped forward and, holding the gun in both hands like a club, hit Johnny's gun loose.
Johnny didn't drop his gun, though. He grabbed at Niko's and pushed the hand at the broken window.

Niko felt his skin tear, and the warm trickle of blood cross his wrist. Johnny hit Niko's hand against the window frame again, sending more shards of glass scraping across Niko's skin.
His fingers weakened and the gun came loose.
Johnny hit out again, sending Niko's gun flying out of the window. With his other hand, Niko hit out at Johnny. He let his elbow follow through, knocking the shotgun from the biker's hand.
Johnny grabbed Niko, but the Serbian spun free. He picked up a discarded curtain rail from the floor and, gripping it with two hands, pushed it against Johnny's neck.
The biker, struggling to breath, tried to push back.
"I did not k-" Nikos speech was cut short as Johnny pushed himself forward and grabbed the curtain rail. He pushed back at Niko, and the two found themselves in an inverted tug of war.
Niko, knowing he wasn't going to win this battle of strength, ducked and released his grip. Johnny lurched forward and Niko stood, grabbing the man's legs and tipping him over his shoulder.
Johnny managed to brute-force his way free of Niko's punches and grabbed the smaller man. He pushed forward with all his might, picking the man up and charging forward.

Niko threw his hands around Johnny's torso as he tumbled through the shattered window. Both men toppled, in a shower of glass shards, and fell to the concrete alleyway below.

Johnny lay on the floor groaning. He tried to move but couldn't.

Niko ignored the pain in his back – probably a cracked rib – and rolled over. His eyes saw Johnny, then a sparkle of light.

Michael's face flashed before Johnny's eyes. The biker gritted his teeth and growled, pulling himself to his feet. He looked down…

Niko saw the man he had once worked with stumble forward, reaching for the fallen pistol.

Johnny watched as Niko's eyes landed on the pistol. Not a chance in hell, he thought. Today you die.