River City Blues: A GTA story.
Chapter2: Arriving in the city by the River.
METROPLIS AIRPORT, RIVER CITY. A large Boeing 747 landed on the cracked asphalt of Metroplis airport, It's large rubber tires clawing into the black top. The Plane carried a whole load of travelers from across the country. Including a particular passenger from Florida. A man by the name of Michael Versetti. He wore a tattered bomber jacket with holes in the back, and green cargo pants. He had a duffel bag slung over his hsoulder as he walked out of gate 45 and looked out the large glass windows of the front of the airport.
The city was dark and dismal. In River city, it always rained. Michael stepped through the metal detectors out the front doors. He motioned for a taxi to pick him up.
And thats when it hit him.
Something blunt hit the base where his neck met the back of his head. He fell down hard, his jacket scuffed by the pavement. Hands grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and snatched him up off the ground. He was pushed into the back seat of a waiting Black colored Sentinel. He was pushed to the floor of the vehicle and the muzzle of a 9mm dug into his neck.
" Shit shit shit shit" He thought to himself.
" You speak you die you piece of shit." A voice spoke into it's ear, the odor of alcohol in their breath. The heel of a boot dug into his back. He face was being smothered into the car's interior carpeting. And then, Michael blacked out.
============================================================================ ======
Michael woke up with a sudden jolt.
" Get up you stupid shit." Said hte same voice. He was pulled up again up onto his feet. His duffel bag was missing now.
Shit I must've lost it when I was jumped. He thoguht to himself. He looked aorund and found himself in an alley. His attackers shoved him along through an open rusted steel door. The 9's barrel dug into his neck like a frozen icicle. They were walking rapidly down a dimly lit hall. Mike still hadn't identified his kidnappers. At the end of the narrow hall was a wooden door. A gloved hand reached out and knocked on it twice.
" Come in." A voice from behind it spewed.
The gloved hand yanked the door open and threw Michael in. He sutmbled in, falling to the thick red carpeting. The room was dark, the only light came from a fixture overhead. the only illumination showed part of hte carpeting he lay on, a desk and a shadow shrouded ifgure in a high back chair.
" Good evening Mr. Versetti." A voice ejaculated from the dark figure. " Please have a seat."
Two other dark figures emerged from hte shadows. One holding a comfortable looking chair and the other one dragging Mike up to his feet. The figure with the chair put the piece of furniture infront of the desk, while the other sat Michael down in it. As soon as he was seated, the figures disappeared back into the shadows.
" Well, well, well Mr. Versetti." The Voice spewed yet again. It was a dark voice, hinted with evil.
" The hell do you want with me?" Mike aksed the dark figure. The mystery person let out a chuckle.
" I've heard of you Mr. Versetti." The voice replied. " In Liberty City your known as deaht itself. I hear talk on the streets you want to impose on my business."
" And what business would the be?" Mike asked him. Damn was his head killing him.
" Gun running." The voice replied dryly.
" And just who the hell are you?" Mike demanded.
The figure leaned forward in it's chair. The shadows pulling away revealing his face. He was about 30-ish, with dark brown hair, and green eyes. He wore a black Armani suit, his fingers were covered in gold rings.
" My name is Mr. Grant." He replied extending a hand. Mike accepted and shook it. " I would liek to put you to work in this town."
" Oh so jumping me and putting a gun to my head is your calling card?" Michael asked smugly making a mock gun with his hand and pressing it to his temple. " And what exactly would I be expecting in your employment Mr. Grant?"
" Why, I've heard of your reputation Mr. Versetti." Grant replied wringing his hands together. " All the bank jobs you've pulled, all the Mob bosses you've iced. I've heard it all. And what I want you to do is soem smuggling work."
" And if I refuse to work for you?" Michael asked.
" Well I doubt you will after you see my offer." Replied Grant pulling a black attache' case out from behind his desk. He snapped it open revealing hte mountain of green backs in it and then snapped it closed. " But even still, if you refuse...well why I'll have to kill you."
The omnious click of a gun lock dry firing echoed somewhere in the room.
" Alright." Michael said. " I'll do it, seeing as I have no money. So what's the first job?"
Grant nodded and snapped his fingers. The blunt object came down on his neck again and he black out for the second time that day.
============================================================================ ======
" Wake up you weak ass." A voice rang in my ears.
I woke up, my head was pounding. My vision was blurry, smears of color and light. In the backround I could hear the distant groan of The Sex Pistols " Anarchy In the UK". Rain pounded against windows far off, something cold was pressing against my neck.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes my vision coming back into focus. I reached ot the back of my neck and touched it. It stung with a fierce cold, it was an ice pack. I ripped it off and threw it away and felt hte psot it was ocvering. It was bruised and hurt to the touch. Damn that Grant, I thought to myself. My bomber jacket was missing.
All of a sudden a face appeared before me.
" You ok?" He asked.
I yelped and jumped back. The face was topped with green hair, a few safety pins pierced his ears(a ciggarete behind the left one). His lips was pierced with a ring. Over his green mop he wore a black stitch hat with a red anarchy symbol stitched on it. He wore dog tags around his neck.
" Who the hell are you?!?" I demanded.
He chuckled and extended a hand. " Oz's the name, gun runnin's my game. Anarchy brothers weapons smuggling, A branch division of the Grant crime ring."
I declined his handshake but help myself to the smoke behind his ear. With the fag in my mouth I asked; " So you gun runners got calling cards now?" I patted myself down looking for my lighter, yet did not find the zippo.
" Well it's a formal business really." Oz replied lighting my smoke with his own zippo. I took a puff and exhaled, enjoy my first smoke of the day.
" So How did I end up at your doorstep?" I asked stretching my neck. He replied with;" Well Grant's men dropped you off at my doorstep, told me your my new partner. Oh which reminds me."
He walked away from me, giving me a chance to observe my surroundings. I was in a garage, maybe a pay and spray I don't know. The room I was in used to be a garage part, now converted into Oz's room. Posters of various punk bands lined the walls; The Sex pistols, the Clash, The Ramones, Gutter mouth, yellow card, greenday, Pennywise. A large variety. On a metal desk in the corner facing away from the wall was a nice Dell computer. I was sitting on a bed, un-made with a black bedspread. the ed itself just was two-three matresses on the floor. The floors was carpeted okay. But there was an supicous stain in the carpeting.
I got up rubbign the back of my neck and walked into the next room. The next room appeared to be the dining area/ kitchen. A counter lined one wall, covered in dirty dishes and silverware, also with a dented microwave and toaster oven. A fridge sat in the corner next to the counter. On the opposite wall next to a half partition seperating the kitchen and the front room was a counter covered in empty ammo boxes and gun part kits, along with a few bar stools infront of it.
The next room was probably the living room, a door to my far right was probably the bathroom. On the left wall was a torn up ratty couch( a lump under wrinkled news papers dozed soundly) , infront of it was a crooked coffee table littered with beer bottles and a small pile of money next a to a nickel plated Berretta M92 with custom grip. Oz was digging in the front closet for soemthing large and heavy.
" What are you looking for?"Michael asked him.
" You'll see." He replied.
What he brought out was a large aluminum case. He brushed the stuff off the coffee table and put the case on the table. He unsnapped case and flipped open the lid.
Handguns incased in foam peered back at me from the case.here were about 10 in the case, smith and wessons 9mm's, Glocks, Berretta's, IMI Desert Eagle. I ran my hand over a nickel plated colt .45, a full loaded magazine in the foam incasing next ot it. I picked the gun out of it's shell and inserted the fresh clip, chmbering a round.
" Go any .45 rounds?" I asked hims. " Oh and some magazines."
Oz nodded and walked over to a book case next to the Tv and PS2. He puleld a box down and rifled through it. He hten pulled out and ammo box rubberband bound with 4 single stack colt M1911 issue magazines. He handed the bundle ot me. I tore open the box and loaded all four magazines.
" Where's my jacket?" I asked Oz.
Oz pointed to a chair in the corner, my old jacket sat on top of it. I scooped it up and slipped it on, making sure my zippo was still there. Then I stuffed the loaded magazines in my coat pockets.
" So, Oz whats on the agenda today?" I asked him.
" We're gonna kill a man today Mr. Versetti." He said slipping on his mohawk skull hoodie.
============================================================================ ======
The projects in the mission district, that was where our target resided.
It was an old building, the bricks it was built on rotting away. Oz and I drove down there in his Black Stallion convertible. Oz stopped the car out front and cut the engine, putting the car in park. He pulled out a S&W Model 29 revolver from the glove compartment and snapped open the cylinder seeing if it was loaded. He snapped it closed and layed down our plan of action.
" Here's wat I want you to do." He said. " Go around back, to the fire escape. Out target's room is on the 3rd floor. Check it out, Grant though told me htere is only about 4 guys maybe."
" We hsould've brought shotguns for this Oz." I said.
" We'll be fine." He said. " Now i'll be waiting in the stairwell for your signal, which is when you fire the first shot."
" Alright." I said. " What are we getting here?"
" 70,000 dollars in cahs." Oz replied. " It's money stolen from Mr. Grant by these wackjobs."
" Alright, good enoughfor me." I said jumping out of the Stallion. I walked briskly around back of the rutty old building and pulled the fire escape ladder down. I jumped up on it and pulled myself up. I climbed the metal stairs, 3 floors up and peered into the target's apartment. I was looking into a bedroom there was a pile of cash lying on the bed next ot a 12 gauge pump action. A toilet flushed somewhere in the room, and a grungy looking man with no shoes lumbered into view. I leaned back and threw myself through the window.
The glass shattered around my bulk as I flew through the window. I crashed into the man knocking him over. He let out a oompf as I knocked his lights out. There was a nickel plated revolver in his belt. I pulled it out to find it being a model 629. I checked the load, it was full. I picked up the shotgun and threw it out hte window into the alley below, hten I drew my .45. It was way better ot have two guns then one. I heard some shuffling in the other room. I creaked the bedroom door open and peeked itno the living room. There was a guy laying on the couch and a guy sitting on a LA-Z-BOY recliner, both watching Jeopardy. Their guns layed on the table. A erfect oppurtunity. I stepped out from behidn the door raised the revolver to eye level at the back of the head of the guy in the recliner and plled the trigger.
BOOM!
Blood and brain matter splattered the Tv infront of him, Alex Trebec's head disappearing in a gray splotch. The guy on the couch jumped up suddenly alarmed and fell of the couch. He reached for his gun, i raised my .45. Our eyes locked.
" Hi." I said, and puleld the trigger. Bam! The .45 round tore through his ksull and flesh splattering the couch. He slumped to the floor, dead. Oz rushed into the room, Revolver raised.
" Oh take all the fun will you?" He asked me.
BOOM!
A hole tore throguh hte bathroom door, close range shotgun blast barely missing Oz's head. Another guy broke out of the toilet wielding a sawn off. Oz and I raised our weapons and fired.
BOOM BOOM BAM BAM BOOM BAM BOOM BOOM BAM BAM BANG!
We kept pulling the triggers, emptying our guns into the toilet thug. He slumped down, full of hot lead. I pulled a rag out of my pocket and wiped down the revolver, which i then unloaded the spent rounds nad tossed away. I then ejected the empty magazine and inserted a fresh one. The ugn's slide lockign into place.
" Find the money?" Oz asked me.
" Yeah, in hte bedroom." I replied. " Next to the concked out guy, but don't forget to kill him."
" Right." Oz said. He wlaked into the bedroom, a second later I heard one last shot and I knew my adventure in River City was just beggining.
TO BE CONTINUED
Chapter2: Arriving in the city by the River.
METROPLIS AIRPORT, RIVER CITY. A large Boeing 747 landed on the cracked asphalt of Metroplis airport, It's large rubber tires clawing into the black top. The Plane carried a whole load of travelers from across the country. Including a particular passenger from Florida. A man by the name of Michael Versetti. He wore a tattered bomber jacket with holes in the back, and green cargo pants. He had a duffel bag slung over his hsoulder as he walked out of gate 45 and looked out the large glass windows of the front of the airport.
The city was dark and dismal. In River city, it always rained. Michael stepped through the metal detectors out the front doors. He motioned for a taxi to pick him up.
And thats when it hit him.
Something blunt hit the base where his neck met the back of his head. He fell down hard, his jacket scuffed by the pavement. Hands grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and snatched him up off the ground. He was pushed into the back seat of a waiting Black colored Sentinel. He was pushed to the floor of the vehicle and the muzzle of a 9mm dug into his neck.
" Shit shit shit shit" He thought to himself.
" You speak you die you piece of shit." A voice spoke into it's ear, the odor of alcohol in their breath. The heel of a boot dug into his back. He face was being smothered into the car's interior carpeting. And then, Michael blacked out.
============================================================================ ======
Michael woke up with a sudden jolt.
" Get up you stupid shit." Said hte same voice. He was pulled up again up onto his feet. His duffel bag was missing now.
Shit I must've lost it when I was jumped. He thoguht to himself. He looked aorund and found himself in an alley. His attackers shoved him along through an open rusted steel door. The 9's barrel dug into his neck like a frozen icicle. They were walking rapidly down a dimly lit hall. Mike still hadn't identified his kidnappers. At the end of the narrow hall was a wooden door. A gloved hand reached out and knocked on it twice.
" Come in." A voice from behind it spewed.
The gloved hand yanked the door open and threw Michael in. He sutmbled in, falling to the thick red carpeting. The room was dark, the only light came from a fixture overhead. the only illumination showed part of hte carpeting he lay on, a desk and a shadow shrouded ifgure in a high back chair.
" Good evening Mr. Versetti." A voice ejaculated from the dark figure. " Please have a seat."
Two other dark figures emerged from hte shadows. One holding a comfortable looking chair and the other one dragging Mike up to his feet. The figure with the chair put the piece of furniture infront of the desk, while the other sat Michael down in it. As soon as he was seated, the figures disappeared back into the shadows.
" Well, well, well Mr. Versetti." The Voice spewed yet again. It was a dark voice, hinted with evil.
" The hell do you want with me?" Mike aksed the dark figure. The mystery person let out a chuckle.
" I've heard of you Mr. Versetti." The voice replied. " In Liberty City your known as deaht itself. I hear talk on the streets you want to impose on my business."
" And what business would the be?" Mike asked him. Damn was his head killing him.
" Gun running." The voice replied dryly.
" And just who the hell are you?" Mike demanded.
The figure leaned forward in it's chair. The shadows pulling away revealing his face. He was about 30-ish, with dark brown hair, and green eyes. He wore a black Armani suit, his fingers were covered in gold rings.
" My name is Mr. Grant." He replied extending a hand. Mike accepted and shook it. " I would liek to put you to work in this town."
" Oh so jumping me and putting a gun to my head is your calling card?" Michael asked smugly making a mock gun with his hand and pressing it to his temple. " And what exactly would I be expecting in your employment Mr. Grant?"
" Why, I've heard of your reputation Mr. Versetti." Grant replied wringing his hands together. " All the bank jobs you've pulled, all the Mob bosses you've iced. I've heard it all. And what I want you to do is soem smuggling work."
" And if I refuse to work for you?" Michael asked.
" Well I doubt you will after you see my offer." Replied Grant pulling a black attache' case out from behind his desk. He snapped it open revealing hte mountain of green backs in it and then snapped it closed. " But even still, if you refuse...well why I'll have to kill you."
The omnious click of a gun lock dry firing echoed somewhere in the room.
" Alright." Michael said. " I'll do it, seeing as I have no money. So what's the first job?"
Grant nodded and snapped his fingers. The blunt object came down on his neck again and he black out for the second time that day.
============================================================================ ======
" Wake up you weak ass." A voice rang in my ears.
I woke up, my head was pounding. My vision was blurry, smears of color and light. In the backround I could hear the distant groan of The Sex Pistols " Anarchy In the UK". Rain pounded against windows far off, something cold was pressing against my neck.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes my vision coming back into focus. I reached ot the back of my neck and touched it. It stung with a fierce cold, it was an ice pack. I ripped it off and threw it away and felt hte psot it was ocvering. It was bruised and hurt to the touch. Damn that Grant, I thought to myself. My bomber jacket was missing.
All of a sudden a face appeared before me.
" You ok?" He asked.
I yelped and jumped back. The face was topped with green hair, a few safety pins pierced his ears(a ciggarete behind the left one). His lips was pierced with a ring. Over his green mop he wore a black stitch hat with a red anarchy symbol stitched on it. He wore dog tags around his neck.
" Who the hell are you?!?" I demanded.
He chuckled and extended a hand. " Oz's the name, gun runnin's my game. Anarchy brothers weapons smuggling, A branch division of the Grant crime ring."
I declined his handshake but help myself to the smoke behind his ear. With the fag in my mouth I asked; " So you gun runners got calling cards now?" I patted myself down looking for my lighter, yet did not find the zippo.
" Well it's a formal business really." Oz replied lighting my smoke with his own zippo. I took a puff and exhaled, enjoy my first smoke of the day.
" So How did I end up at your doorstep?" I asked stretching my neck. He replied with;" Well Grant's men dropped you off at my doorstep, told me your my new partner. Oh which reminds me."
He walked away from me, giving me a chance to observe my surroundings. I was in a garage, maybe a pay and spray I don't know. The room I was in used to be a garage part, now converted into Oz's room. Posters of various punk bands lined the walls; The Sex pistols, the Clash, The Ramones, Gutter mouth, yellow card, greenday, Pennywise. A large variety. On a metal desk in the corner facing away from the wall was a nice Dell computer. I was sitting on a bed, un-made with a black bedspread. the ed itself just was two-three matresses on the floor. The floors was carpeted okay. But there was an supicous stain in the carpeting.
I got up rubbign the back of my neck and walked into the next room. The next room appeared to be the dining area/ kitchen. A counter lined one wall, covered in dirty dishes and silverware, also with a dented microwave and toaster oven. A fridge sat in the corner next to the counter. On the opposite wall next to a half partition seperating the kitchen and the front room was a counter covered in empty ammo boxes and gun part kits, along with a few bar stools infront of it.
The next room was probably the living room, a door to my far right was probably the bathroom. On the left wall was a torn up ratty couch( a lump under wrinkled news papers dozed soundly) , infront of it was a crooked coffee table littered with beer bottles and a small pile of money next a to a nickel plated Berretta M92 with custom grip. Oz was digging in the front closet for soemthing large and heavy.
" What are you looking for?"Michael asked him.
" You'll see." He replied.
What he brought out was a large aluminum case. He brushed the stuff off the coffee table and put the case on the table. He unsnapped case and flipped open the lid.
Handguns incased in foam peered back at me from the case.here were about 10 in the case, smith and wessons 9mm's, Glocks, Berretta's, IMI Desert Eagle. I ran my hand over a nickel plated colt .45, a full loaded magazine in the foam incasing next ot it. I picked the gun out of it's shell and inserted the fresh clip, chmbering a round.
" Go any .45 rounds?" I asked hims. " Oh and some magazines."
Oz nodded and walked over to a book case next to the Tv and PS2. He puleld a box down and rifled through it. He hten pulled out and ammo box rubberband bound with 4 single stack colt M1911 issue magazines. He handed the bundle ot me. I tore open the box and loaded all four magazines.
" Where's my jacket?" I asked Oz.
Oz pointed to a chair in the corner, my old jacket sat on top of it. I scooped it up and slipped it on, making sure my zippo was still there. Then I stuffed the loaded magazines in my coat pockets.
" So, Oz whats on the agenda today?" I asked him.
" We're gonna kill a man today Mr. Versetti." He said slipping on his mohawk skull hoodie.
============================================================================ ======
The projects in the mission district, that was where our target resided.
It was an old building, the bricks it was built on rotting away. Oz and I drove down there in his Black Stallion convertible. Oz stopped the car out front and cut the engine, putting the car in park. He pulled out a S&W Model 29 revolver from the glove compartment and snapped open the cylinder seeing if it was loaded. He snapped it closed and layed down our plan of action.
" Here's wat I want you to do." He said. " Go around back, to the fire escape. Out target's room is on the 3rd floor. Check it out, Grant though told me htere is only about 4 guys maybe."
" We hsould've brought shotguns for this Oz." I said.
" We'll be fine." He said. " Now i'll be waiting in the stairwell for your signal, which is when you fire the first shot."
" Alright." I said. " What are we getting here?"
" 70,000 dollars in cahs." Oz replied. " It's money stolen from Mr. Grant by these wackjobs."
" Alright, good enoughfor me." I said jumping out of the Stallion. I walked briskly around back of the rutty old building and pulled the fire escape ladder down. I jumped up on it and pulled myself up. I climbed the metal stairs, 3 floors up and peered into the target's apartment. I was looking into a bedroom there was a pile of cash lying on the bed next ot a 12 gauge pump action. A toilet flushed somewhere in the room, and a grungy looking man with no shoes lumbered into view. I leaned back and threw myself through the window.
The glass shattered around my bulk as I flew through the window. I crashed into the man knocking him over. He let out a oompf as I knocked his lights out. There was a nickel plated revolver in his belt. I pulled it out to find it being a model 629. I checked the load, it was full. I picked up the shotgun and threw it out hte window into the alley below, hten I drew my .45. It was way better ot have two guns then one. I heard some shuffling in the other room. I creaked the bedroom door open and peeked itno the living room. There was a guy laying on the couch and a guy sitting on a LA-Z-BOY recliner, both watching Jeopardy. Their guns layed on the table. A erfect oppurtunity. I stepped out from behidn the door raised the revolver to eye level at the back of the head of the guy in the recliner and plled the trigger.
BOOM!
Blood and brain matter splattered the Tv infront of him, Alex Trebec's head disappearing in a gray splotch. The guy on the couch jumped up suddenly alarmed and fell of the couch. He reached for his gun, i raised my .45. Our eyes locked.
" Hi." I said, and puleld the trigger. Bam! The .45 round tore through his ksull and flesh splattering the couch. He slumped to the floor, dead. Oz rushed into the room, Revolver raised.
" Oh take all the fun will you?" He asked me.
BOOM!
A hole tore throguh hte bathroom door, close range shotgun blast barely missing Oz's head. Another guy broke out of the toilet wielding a sawn off. Oz and I raised our weapons and fired.
BOOM BOOM BAM BAM BOOM BAM BOOM BOOM BAM BAM BANG!
We kept pulling the triggers, emptying our guns into the toilet thug. He slumped down, full of hot lead. I pulled a rag out of my pocket and wiped down the revolver, which i then unloaded the spent rounds nad tossed away. I then ejected the empty magazine and inserted a fresh one. The ugn's slide lockign into place.
" Find the money?" Oz asked me.
" Yeah, in hte bedroom." I replied. " Next to the concked out guy, but don't forget to kill him."
" Right." Oz said. He wlaked into the bedroom, a second later I heard one last shot and I knew my adventure in River City was just beggining.
TO BE CONTINUED