DAY 1: CHAPTER 3:
Bonus Points
Onto Leone's Gentlemen's Club. Why call it a "Gentlemen's Club"? The Leone's and the Cipriani's were hardly gentle men. They were mobsters.
I drove. Driving was an escape. Drugs were also escapes, but believe it or not I had never done a drug besides some asprin, a pain killer, or caffeine. Never drunk, never high, never doped away on spank. Yeah, driving was a drug. I drove. That Banshee wasn't all that fast, but it accelerated better than anything. And mine was rigged for a cop. Slick.
What was my motive? Who knows. The money, the guns, the prostitutes, the glory. Hell, the glory of this business! It was like the glory of war: It should not be glorified. You killed, you planned to kill. You saw your friends die, and you saw your enemies die, too. The only glory was coming home without a blood stain on your shirt, and mine never did. And when it did, whoever put it there got a blood stain of there own, they slept with the fishes. Whatever you want to call death, you still killed.
Crash. Crash right into a Triad Fish Wagon behind the Leone's private Stretch. It might be luck, but that's the type of shit that got me where I am. Pissin' off Triad's, wrecking expensive cars that weren't mine OR the mafia's - a life of crime; by accident.
One Triad Fish Wagon flipped over, hit another wagon to topple that over, too. That's when I notice two Fish Wagon's blocking off the Leone's place. So I put the tarred, ripped, crushed banshee in reverse and let vengeance pursue one of the better cars I could jack in Portland.
Infront of the Stretch. When I saw who was inside, I was pleased to see Joey, Luigi, Tony, and the Man. The Man who did the Leone's personal brown nosing. The Man who got Maria due to his "big, strong muscles". Damn that man. He looked at me and fired an Uzi, not realizing I was making a name for myself.
A name for me. What the hell was my name anyway? My name was not Italian, or Sicilian, or Chinese, or Japanese. No, my name was pure American. My name? Jake. No need for last names in the mob, hell; I bet you couldn't pronounce it any way.
Luigi freeked when he saw who the Man was firing at. Bonus point for me, deducted points for the Man.
Crash. I slam into the two Triad Fish Wagon's blocking Salvatore's, and the Stretch follows. Bonus points. The Stretch pulls into the Leone's private garage, door 1. I park outside.
And I walk. Walk up the patio. Into the glass-bullet-proof- sliding doors.
"Hello Salvatore. Maria's boy owes me big."
"You wish."
"Just wait."
Onto Leone's Gentlemen's Club. Why call it a "Gentlemen's Club"? The Leone's and the Cipriani's were hardly gentle men. They were mobsters.
I drove. Driving was an escape. Drugs were also escapes, but believe it or not I had never done a drug besides some asprin, a pain killer, or caffeine. Never drunk, never high, never doped away on spank. Yeah, driving was a drug. I drove. That Banshee wasn't all that fast, but it accelerated better than anything. And mine was rigged for a cop. Slick.
What was my motive? Who knows. The money, the guns, the prostitutes, the glory. Hell, the glory of this business! It was like the glory of war: It should not be glorified. You killed, you planned to kill. You saw your friends die, and you saw your enemies die, too. The only glory was coming home without a blood stain on your shirt, and mine never did. And when it did, whoever put it there got a blood stain of there own, they slept with the fishes. Whatever you want to call death, you still killed.
Crash. Crash right into a Triad Fish Wagon behind the Leone's private Stretch. It might be luck, but that's the type of shit that got me where I am. Pissin' off Triad's, wrecking expensive cars that weren't mine OR the mafia's - a life of crime; by accident.
One Triad Fish Wagon flipped over, hit another wagon to topple that over, too. That's when I notice two Fish Wagon's blocking off the Leone's place. So I put the tarred, ripped, crushed banshee in reverse and let vengeance pursue one of the better cars I could jack in Portland.
Infront of the Stretch. When I saw who was inside, I was pleased to see Joey, Luigi, Tony, and the Man. The Man who did the Leone's personal brown nosing. The Man who got Maria due to his "big, strong muscles". Damn that man. He looked at me and fired an Uzi, not realizing I was making a name for myself.
A name for me. What the hell was my name anyway? My name was not Italian, or Sicilian, or Chinese, or Japanese. No, my name was pure American. My name? Jake. No need for last names in the mob, hell; I bet you couldn't pronounce it any way.
Luigi freeked when he saw who the Man was firing at. Bonus point for me, deducted points for the Man.
Crash. I slam into the two Triad Fish Wagon's blocking Salvatore's, and the Stretch follows. Bonus points. The Stretch pulls into the Leone's private garage, door 1. I park outside.
And I walk. Walk up the patio. Into the glass-bullet-proof- sliding doors.
"Hello Salvatore. Maria's boy owes me big."
"You wish."
"Just wait."