The Land of Vice
A/n: Disclaimer blah blah blah
The Land of Vice Chapter 8: Tabloid Tantrum
"You know kid we should have waited until we had found out what Smith told Maria." Tommy said as we climbed the steps up to the Vercetti manor. " I mean what if he told her the date of our gun run?"
" Well what can she really do?" I asked him. "The Yardies aren't what you call financially secured, heck they drive lobo's for Pete's sake."
Tommy looked at me funny. "Don't ever say Pete's sake again."
"Yes sir." I responded. I looked around. "So uhm how did you get this Cortez guy to give you this kind of firepower?" I asked him.
"Well I did some favors for him back in 86, before he fled town." Tommy said kicking at an empty soda can. It flew down the steps.
"Ah." I said. "Hey can I borrow your bike?" I asked. "I wanna go check up on eightball."
Tommy handed me a set of keys. "Knock yourself out." He said tossing away his ciggarette butt. " If you wreck it, it doesn't matter. I can buy a thousand of them."
I nodded and jogged down the steps. At the bottom I turned the corner and pressed a button next to the door. The garage door swung open idely. Tommy didn't really keep a lot of cars in his garage. Mostly all his cars were kept in a hangar next to the house. He had almost every car imaginable, even gang cars customized to a T. Inside his two car garage though was a Moped and a Pcj-600. I passed the dusty scooter and hopped onto the bike starting it up. I then sped out of the garage and past the gates over to the east island.
Instead of calling Vice city general hospital Tommy had called an ambulance from is "personal" hospital. It was a medium sized building on the ocean beach strip. It was converted from a hotel to a private hospital with sufficient funding and many bribes. The building itself was kept from prying eyes by various under construction billboards. The inside was a full running hospital, equipped with some of the best surgeons and doctors in the world. More of Tommy's protection squad mulled around uselessly, toting Uzi's. I took the elevator up to the second floor where 8's room was. I walked into his room. It was the size of about a hotel room, decorated very nice. Eightball seemed fine. He was sitting up at a table reading the paper. He noticed me walk in and turned his attention to me.
"So the kid stays in the picture." He said smugly motioning at the Vice Weekly (a crooked tabloid) on the table in front of him. I picked up the paper, the headline read;
GANG SHOOT OUT AT BOAT YARDS
At 3 p.m. yesterday a violent shootout broke out today at the VC boatyards. Bullets flew between the Vercetti crime family and a rival Jamacian/ Haitian mix gang calling themselves "The White Yakuza". The firefight lasted for several minutes, killing two local boys known as Travis Stanton and Sam Washington plus several Men known as "The Mario's" a Vercetti crime Family protection sqaud.
The shootout eventually made its way onto the ocean, finally crashing to a violent stop in front of Escobar international. Eye-witnesses spotted a Italian skinned Women leaving the scene in a red pickup truck, as with THE Thomas Vercetti and an unknown acomplice were seen fleeing the scene also. The body count rises in Vice city, along with this firefight there has been other shootings ass well since Monday or Tuesday. A Drive by killing Hatian Kingpin "auntie Poulet, a high speed chase killing two more of The White Yakuza gang members, a Ex-Police officer from Liberty city found dead in his bathroom, and a John Doe found dead in a running taxi in little Haiti. The police are working together with the FBI in order to find out who is responsible for these Onsluaghts of shootings.
I threw the paper back at Eightball. He looked at me. I looked at him.
"Ok fine!" I said. "I had a hand in those shootouts. But hey Maria started them."
"Yeah." Said Eightball. "Leave it to a white boy to have such a horrible aim to miss with a shotgun."
"Yeah well, I need to get these tabloids out of Vercetti Buisiness." I said running my hand through my hair.
"Goin' downtown Fido?" He asked, yawning.
"Yeah." I said. "I have to see a guy about a horse."
"Bring me back a bottle of Jack Daniels."
I nodded and left the room. Not knowing that was the last time I would ever see Eightball again.
Vice weekly was printed in a dingy little office in downtown vice, where an old record store called Rock city was. The office itself was a grungy little place. Smelling of ink and Stale coffee, it wasn't very welcoming. I figured it needed some home improvement, So I guess I'd take out one of their walls for them.
.With a 16 wheel flatbed.
The Truck slammed into the glass-plated front office, glass shards flying everywhere. People ducked behind their cubicles in shock. A small balding man wearing a Tran-sparent green visor scurried out from his small office. I hopped out of the truck. The man in the visor (obviously the Editor) took notice of me, and scuttled over obviously angered.
"Listen you, you, YOU INFIDEL." He screamed furious with me. His face was turning red. "You're in some deep shit, I don't know who you are but you are in the deepest pile of shit ever."
I rolled my eyes. I knew this conversation well.
"Bitch, you don't even know what deep shit is." I said tossing my smoke away.
The editor looked apauled. I cracked my knuckles and gave him a complimentry sand which with my fist. He fell backwards over a desk. I walked up to him pulling my gun out of my pant's waist band, shoving it in his face.
"Listen you punk ass tabloid shark." I said cocking my Berretta. "If I ever hear anything about the Vercetti's in your toilet paper magazine ever again, you'll be getting aqauinted with what your brains look like splattered all over the wall. You hear me?"
The editor nodded in shock. I nodded back and let go of him. I walked out of the small once an office and onto the Street. Tabloid tantrums were just hot air.
TO BE CONTINUED
Next chapter: Running guns
A/n: Disclaimer blah blah blah
The Land of Vice Chapter 8: Tabloid Tantrum
"You know kid we should have waited until we had found out what Smith told Maria." Tommy said as we climbed the steps up to the Vercetti manor. " I mean what if he told her the date of our gun run?"
" Well what can she really do?" I asked him. "The Yardies aren't what you call financially secured, heck they drive lobo's for Pete's sake."
Tommy looked at me funny. "Don't ever say Pete's sake again."
"Yes sir." I responded. I looked around. "So uhm how did you get this Cortez guy to give you this kind of firepower?" I asked him.
"Well I did some favors for him back in 86, before he fled town." Tommy said kicking at an empty soda can. It flew down the steps.
"Ah." I said. "Hey can I borrow your bike?" I asked. "I wanna go check up on eightball."
Tommy handed me a set of keys. "Knock yourself out." He said tossing away his ciggarette butt. " If you wreck it, it doesn't matter. I can buy a thousand of them."
I nodded and jogged down the steps. At the bottom I turned the corner and pressed a button next to the door. The garage door swung open idely. Tommy didn't really keep a lot of cars in his garage. Mostly all his cars were kept in a hangar next to the house. He had almost every car imaginable, even gang cars customized to a T. Inside his two car garage though was a Moped and a Pcj-600. I passed the dusty scooter and hopped onto the bike starting it up. I then sped out of the garage and past the gates over to the east island.
Instead of calling Vice city general hospital Tommy had called an ambulance from is "personal" hospital. It was a medium sized building on the ocean beach strip. It was converted from a hotel to a private hospital with sufficient funding and many bribes. The building itself was kept from prying eyes by various under construction billboards. The inside was a full running hospital, equipped with some of the best surgeons and doctors in the world. More of Tommy's protection squad mulled around uselessly, toting Uzi's. I took the elevator up to the second floor where 8's room was. I walked into his room. It was the size of about a hotel room, decorated very nice. Eightball seemed fine. He was sitting up at a table reading the paper. He noticed me walk in and turned his attention to me.
"So the kid stays in the picture." He said smugly motioning at the Vice Weekly (a crooked tabloid) on the table in front of him. I picked up the paper, the headline read;
GANG SHOOT OUT AT BOAT YARDS
At 3 p.m. yesterday a violent shootout broke out today at the VC boatyards. Bullets flew between the Vercetti crime family and a rival Jamacian/ Haitian mix gang calling themselves "The White Yakuza". The firefight lasted for several minutes, killing two local boys known as Travis Stanton and Sam Washington plus several Men known as "The Mario's" a Vercetti crime Family protection sqaud.
The shootout eventually made its way onto the ocean, finally crashing to a violent stop in front of Escobar international. Eye-witnesses spotted a Italian skinned Women leaving the scene in a red pickup truck, as with THE Thomas Vercetti and an unknown acomplice were seen fleeing the scene also. The body count rises in Vice city, along with this firefight there has been other shootings ass well since Monday or Tuesday. A Drive by killing Hatian Kingpin "auntie Poulet, a high speed chase killing two more of The White Yakuza gang members, a Ex-Police officer from Liberty city found dead in his bathroom, and a John Doe found dead in a running taxi in little Haiti. The police are working together with the FBI in order to find out who is responsible for these Onsluaghts of shootings.
I threw the paper back at Eightball. He looked at me. I looked at him.
"Ok fine!" I said. "I had a hand in those shootouts. But hey Maria started them."
"Yeah." Said Eightball. "Leave it to a white boy to have such a horrible aim to miss with a shotgun."
"Yeah well, I need to get these tabloids out of Vercetti Buisiness." I said running my hand through my hair.
"Goin' downtown Fido?" He asked, yawning.
"Yeah." I said. "I have to see a guy about a horse."
"Bring me back a bottle of Jack Daniels."
I nodded and left the room. Not knowing that was the last time I would ever see Eightball again.
Vice weekly was printed in a dingy little office in downtown vice, where an old record store called Rock city was. The office itself was a grungy little place. Smelling of ink and Stale coffee, it wasn't very welcoming. I figured it needed some home improvement, So I guess I'd take out one of their walls for them.
.With a 16 wheel flatbed.
The Truck slammed into the glass-plated front office, glass shards flying everywhere. People ducked behind their cubicles in shock. A small balding man wearing a Tran-sparent green visor scurried out from his small office. I hopped out of the truck. The man in the visor (obviously the Editor) took notice of me, and scuttled over obviously angered.
"Listen you, you, YOU INFIDEL." He screamed furious with me. His face was turning red. "You're in some deep shit, I don't know who you are but you are in the deepest pile of shit ever."
I rolled my eyes. I knew this conversation well.
"Bitch, you don't even know what deep shit is." I said tossing my smoke away.
The editor looked apauled. I cracked my knuckles and gave him a complimentry sand which with my fist. He fell backwards over a desk. I walked up to him pulling my gun out of my pant's waist band, shoving it in his face.
"Listen you punk ass tabloid shark." I said cocking my Berretta. "If I ever hear anything about the Vercetti's in your toilet paper magazine ever again, you'll be getting aqauinted with what your brains look like splattered all over the wall. You hear me?"
The editor nodded in shock. I nodded back and let go of him. I walked out of the small once an office and onto the Street. Tabloid tantrums were just hot air.
TO BE CONTINUED
Next chapter: Running guns