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in the point of view. Please review this story, if you do, I will most
certainly return the favor.
Vendetta Empire
Chapter One: A Fresh Start
Joseph Norman sat in the back of the plane; it was all over. After two years of constant turmoil with the Yardies, Tri-ads, and Mafia, Norman had finally escaped. Unfortunately, his wife and son hadn't; they'd both been murdered by the Mafia, and in vengeance, he had gone after them. However, he was soon cast into the middle of a horrible gang war raging in the streets of London. In the end, he had narrowly escaped with his life, but lost everything else. He had been a superior drug lord, the leader of Vendetta Empire; an empire founded by Norman himself, whose product was cocaine. The cocaine, or "coke" as many people referred to it as, was shipped around the country to many different consumers, which made the Vendetta Empire successful and the best known gang around. But now it was all gone, it had finally crumbled, as Norman knew it would. All things had to come to an end, right?
He shifted in his seat and looked out the window, which was blurred with the rain and clouds. He leaned his head back against his seat. He wondered what it would be like when he arrived. He had heard many rumors about the city, about its paradise, about its underworld. He didn't know which ones were true or false, but he would find out when he got there. "Vice City, here I come," he thought to himself as he fell asleep.
When he awoke, the bright sun lingered high in the sky, it's magnificent light cast a warm heat over the land of Vice City. The black birds soared silently overhead. The scent of freshly cut grass filled the air. A warm breeze shifted the orange, yellow, and red leaves on the trees.
The Francis International Airport was packed with tourists and businessmen and women who eagerly yearned to see the city's incredible sights. The city was a true paradise to it's inhabitants and surely to the tourists who visited yearly. The sparkling, blue ocean and glistening golden beaches attracted people from all over. Soaring nosily in the cloudless skies was a single plane. It descended into the runway of the airport.
Norman descended from the plane, a rather tired and annoyed expression on his face. He stood out from the crowd, while they wore shorts and Hawaiian shirts and visors, he was dressed in a formal gray suit and carried a suitcase in one hand and a briefcase with his coat folded neatly over it in his other. He strode away from the crowd and towards the gate. When he reached it he was let through and was now standing on the sidewalk near a street. A Taxi pulled up next to him and he got in the back.
"Where to?" asked the driver in a heavy accent.
"I don't know. Where's the best hotel around here?" Norman asked.
"Uh.the Ocean View Hotel is pretty good."
"Fine."
The taxi pulled away from the sidewalk and proceeded forward. It seemed like a long drive, and no one talked, which made it seem even longer. He looked out the window, his dark brown eyes studying the city from behind the dark sunglasses. The window was rolled up, so that his black hair would not get messed up from the wind. When the taxi finally pulled up at the hotel, he gave the man a ten-dollar bill, grabbed his briefcase, and headed up the stairs into the hotel.
It was like heaven in the hotel, the heat seemed to melt away at the entrance. The ceiling fans hummed quietly, casting a slight breeze. An old song played off the jukebox in the corner. He walked steadily to the front counter, where a teenage boy was shuffling with something under the counter. As Norman approached the counter, the boy looked at him briefly and stood up.
"Need a room?" the boy asked already looking for a key. He found one marked 13 and handed it to him. Norman took the key and headed upstairs, however, the boy ran around and grabbed the briefcase.
"Would you like me to carry this for you mister?" the boy asked, eager to get a tip.
Norman, who was caught off guard, reached into his jacket in one quick motion and pulled out a beautifully crafted, chrome, silenced Berretta. He aimed it at the kid's head, who abruptly dropped the briefcase and scampered away. He slowly put the gun back in his jacket as he watched the kid run away. He continued up the steps and down a bright hall. When he arrived at his room, he unlocked it and walked in.
****************************************************
Deep inside a huge mansion, in a dark room, sat Sonny Forelli, the Don of the southern Mafia. He was a portly man of medium height, and his dark brown hair was combed back. He was in his mid-forties, which explain the slight wrinkles on his face.
The only light in the room came from a dim lamp on the corner of the desk. He was perusing over a black and white photograph. A cigar lay in the ashtray, white clouds of smoke bellowed from the tip. His thick fingers turned the picture over, the name Tommy Vercetti was written on the back. He flipped it over again and looked up at the man sitting in front of him.
"That's the guy," he said in a low, dangerous voice.
The man opposite him, Jack Lingero, smirked briefly and took the photograph.
"Where is he staying," Jack asked in a heavy Italian accent.
"The Ocean View Hotel."
Jack stood up and grabbed his Magnum off the desk. He stuck it in his brown leather holster and buckled it. As he walked out the door, Sonny called after him, "And take your time, it has to be perfect!"
***********************************************
Now that Norman had put away his things and settled down, he needed to find some wheels. He pushed away the dark green curtains and looked out the window, and across the street, was a blue Cheetah. He thought about taking it, but not in broad daylight, he'd surely be seen. He fished a fresh pack of cigs from his breast pocket. He ripped it open and took out a cancer stick. He lit it and stared back out the window. Someone was getting out of the blue Cheetah. A big, brawny man exited the car and jogged across the street towards the hotel. He glanced up at Norman for a quick moment and vanished out of sight.
Norman walked towards the door and opened it. He peered out in to the bright hallway; it was empty. As he turned around to go back inside he heard someone yell and then heard two gunshots. Shit. He grabbed his gun off the bed and headed downstairs. The teenage boy he had met only a few hours ago lay sprawled on the floor lifeless in a thick puddle of blood. He looked around; there was no sign of the man. Then he felt a massive fist connect with his spine. He yelped in pain as he fell to the ground. The man he had seen earlier stepped over his body, gun in hand. The man aimed the barrel of the gun at Norman's face. He shut his eyes tight and waited for his life to end. A gun shot rang out in to the room, it bounced off the walls and back to Norman's ears.
He opened one eye, then the other. A man stood on the steps, a gun in his hand bellowing smoke. He wore denim jeans and a blue Hawaiian shirt. His black hair was combed back neatly. Norman looked over to see the enormous man sprawled on the ground next to him. A bullet hole had been neatly place in the back of his skull.
"Who are you?" the man asked lowering his gun.
"Norman. Joseph Norman" he replied standing up and dusting himself off. "I can't thank you enough for saving my ass back there," he said chuckling a little. "I don't believe I caught your name."
The man tucked the pistol in his waist and said smoothly, "Vercetti."
"Thomas Vercetti?" Norman asked, his pupils widening.
"How d' you know?" Tommy asked, not really all that surprised. After all, he was pretty well known in the lower region of Florida. But then again, this man didn't look very southern. And his voice, it had an accent of.European? What was he doing here? Surely he couldn't be a tourist, what kind of tourist packed heat like that, Tommy thought to himself looking at the chrome Berretta.
"You're a legend in the business of.how do you say it, trafficking?"
"You must be new here?"
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, anyone who's been here long enough wouldn't dress like that, maybe a jacket or something. But a suit, come on, it's like a hundred degrees out there?" He chuckled. "Come on," he said motioning up the stairs, "let's get you dressed right."
Vendetta Empire
Chapter One: A Fresh Start
Joseph Norman sat in the back of the plane; it was all over. After two years of constant turmoil with the Yardies, Tri-ads, and Mafia, Norman had finally escaped. Unfortunately, his wife and son hadn't; they'd both been murdered by the Mafia, and in vengeance, he had gone after them. However, he was soon cast into the middle of a horrible gang war raging in the streets of London. In the end, he had narrowly escaped with his life, but lost everything else. He had been a superior drug lord, the leader of Vendetta Empire; an empire founded by Norman himself, whose product was cocaine. The cocaine, or "coke" as many people referred to it as, was shipped around the country to many different consumers, which made the Vendetta Empire successful and the best known gang around. But now it was all gone, it had finally crumbled, as Norman knew it would. All things had to come to an end, right?
He shifted in his seat and looked out the window, which was blurred with the rain and clouds. He leaned his head back against his seat. He wondered what it would be like when he arrived. He had heard many rumors about the city, about its paradise, about its underworld. He didn't know which ones were true or false, but he would find out when he got there. "Vice City, here I come," he thought to himself as he fell asleep.
When he awoke, the bright sun lingered high in the sky, it's magnificent light cast a warm heat over the land of Vice City. The black birds soared silently overhead. The scent of freshly cut grass filled the air. A warm breeze shifted the orange, yellow, and red leaves on the trees.
The Francis International Airport was packed with tourists and businessmen and women who eagerly yearned to see the city's incredible sights. The city was a true paradise to it's inhabitants and surely to the tourists who visited yearly. The sparkling, blue ocean and glistening golden beaches attracted people from all over. Soaring nosily in the cloudless skies was a single plane. It descended into the runway of the airport.
Norman descended from the plane, a rather tired and annoyed expression on his face. He stood out from the crowd, while they wore shorts and Hawaiian shirts and visors, he was dressed in a formal gray suit and carried a suitcase in one hand and a briefcase with his coat folded neatly over it in his other. He strode away from the crowd and towards the gate. When he reached it he was let through and was now standing on the sidewalk near a street. A Taxi pulled up next to him and he got in the back.
"Where to?" asked the driver in a heavy accent.
"I don't know. Where's the best hotel around here?" Norman asked.
"Uh.the Ocean View Hotel is pretty good."
"Fine."
The taxi pulled away from the sidewalk and proceeded forward. It seemed like a long drive, and no one talked, which made it seem even longer. He looked out the window, his dark brown eyes studying the city from behind the dark sunglasses. The window was rolled up, so that his black hair would not get messed up from the wind. When the taxi finally pulled up at the hotel, he gave the man a ten-dollar bill, grabbed his briefcase, and headed up the stairs into the hotel.
It was like heaven in the hotel, the heat seemed to melt away at the entrance. The ceiling fans hummed quietly, casting a slight breeze. An old song played off the jukebox in the corner. He walked steadily to the front counter, where a teenage boy was shuffling with something under the counter. As Norman approached the counter, the boy looked at him briefly and stood up.
"Need a room?" the boy asked already looking for a key. He found one marked 13 and handed it to him. Norman took the key and headed upstairs, however, the boy ran around and grabbed the briefcase.
"Would you like me to carry this for you mister?" the boy asked, eager to get a tip.
Norman, who was caught off guard, reached into his jacket in one quick motion and pulled out a beautifully crafted, chrome, silenced Berretta. He aimed it at the kid's head, who abruptly dropped the briefcase and scampered away. He slowly put the gun back in his jacket as he watched the kid run away. He continued up the steps and down a bright hall. When he arrived at his room, he unlocked it and walked in.
****************************************************
Deep inside a huge mansion, in a dark room, sat Sonny Forelli, the Don of the southern Mafia. He was a portly man of medium height, and his dark brown hair was combed back. He was in his mid-forties, which explain the slight wrinkles on his face.
The only light in the room came from a dim lamp on the corner of the desk. He was perusing over a black and white photograph. A cigar lay in the ashtray, white clouds of smoke bellowed from the tip. His thick fingers turned the picture over, the name Tommy Vercetti was written on the back. He flipped it over again and looked up at the man sitting in front of him.
"That's the guy," he said in a low, dangerous voice.
The man opposite him, Jack Lingero, smirked briefly and took the photograph.
"Where is he staying," Jack asked in a heavy Italian accent.
"The Ocean View Hotel."
Jack stood up and grabbed his Magnum off the desk. He stuck it in his brown leather holster and buckled it. As he walked out the door, Sonny called after him, "And take your time, it has to be perfect!"
***********************************************
Now that Norman had put away his things and settled down, he needed to find some wheels. He pushed away the dark green curtains and looked out the window, and across the street, was a blue Cheetah. He thought about taking it, but not in broad daylight, he'd surely be seen. He fished a fresh pack of cigs from his breast pocket. He ripped it open and took out a cancer stick. He lit it and stared back out the window. Someone was getting out of the blue Cheetah. A big, brawny man exited the car and jogged across the street towards the hotel. He glanced up at Norman for a quick moment and vanished out of sight.
Norman walked towards the door and opened it. He peered out in to the bright hallway; it was empty. As he turned around to go back inside he heard someone yell and then heard two gunshots. Shit. He grabbed his gun off the bed and headed downstairs. The teenage boy he had met only a few hours ago lay sprawled on the floor lifeless in a thick puddle of blood. He looked around; there was no sign of the man. Then he felt a massive fist connect with his spine. He yelped in pain as he fell to the ground. The man he had seen earlier stepped over his body, gun in hand. The man aimed the barrel of the gun at Norman's face. He shut his eyes tight and waited for his life to end. A gun shot rang out in to the room, it bounced off the walls and back to Norman's ears.
He opened one eye, then the other. A man stood on the steps, a gun in his hand bellowing smoke. He wore denim jeans and a blue Hawaiian shirt. His black hair was combed back neatly. Norman looked over to see the enormous man sprawled on the ground next to him. A bullet hole had been neatly place in the back of his skull.
"Who are you?" the man asked lowering his gun.
"Norman. Joseph Norman" he replied standing up and dusting himself off. "I can't thank you enough for saving my ass back there," he said chuckling a little. "I don't believe I caught your name."
The man tucked the pistol in his waist and said smoothly, "Vercetti."
"Thomas Vercetti?" Norman asked, his pupils widening.
"How d' you know?" Tommy asked, not really all that surprised. After all, he was pretty well known in the lower region of Florida. But then again, this man didn't look very southern. And his voice, it had an accent of.European? What was he doing here? Surely he couldn't be a tourist, what kind of tourist packed heat like that, Tommy thought to himself looking at the chrome Berretta.
"You're a legend in the business of.how do you say it, trafficking?"
"You must be new here?"
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, anyone who's been here long enough wouldn't dress like that, maybe a jacket or something. But a suit, come on, it's like a hundred degrees out there?" He chuckled. "Come on," he said motioning up the stairs, "let's get you dressed right."