River City Blues
Chapter 10: The last hit
When the 10:30 a.m. train made it's next stop in West Heights market, they didn't find Oz and Michael Vercetti, instead they found Roland handcuffed to a seat's armrest. A .25 auto in his pocket. The top portion of His ear was missing and was bleeding pretty badly. Roland was arrested for illegally carrying a concealed weapon.
To state the truth Oz and Vercetti were sitting in a stolen Sentinel, outside the South side connecting bridge. In the late morning dusk, inside the leather confines of the Sentinel, Michael's zippo burst to flaming life with a chink and was immediately extinguished. Smoke peeled lazily from the tip of the cigarette, held in between Michael's index and middle fingers, while Oz checked out a cut on his eyebrow in the passenger side vanity mirror. He placed a small white band-aid over the cut after applying a thin coating of Neosporin. Vercetti's knuckles ran white as he gripped the steering wheel impatiently.
" Where is he?" Michael demanded.
" Any minute now." Oz replied checking himself over in the mirror.
" You said that over 30 minutes ago." Vercetti replied. " If we want to get Grant we have to get to the lower business district by 11:30. And right now we only have an hour left and it takes a good 45 minutes to get back over to Eastern River City."
" He'll be here." Oz said staring at the bridge. " Give him time."
" Yeah I'll give him 15 minutes." Vercetti replied. " If he ain't here I'm catching a train back to Vice City."
" Amtrak doesn't rundown that far south." Oz replied. He knew Vercetti couldn't catch a plane outta town, after the incidents in West heights and on the freeway anyway.
" Fine I'll catch a train up to Liberty City and catch a plane from there." Vercetti said. " But either way, if Gohlke doesn't show up in the next 15 minutes, I'm getting the hell out of dodge."
And just as Michael finished that sentence, a battered Admiral pulled up to the gravel lot they were parked in. Vercetti and Oz watched as Gohlke climbed out of the car, and waved towards him.
" That's him let's go." Oz said opening his door. Vercetti followed.
" Hey what's up man?" Gohlke asked as they approached him.
" Ugh." Oz said shaking his head. " Where we go gunplay likes to follow. How's Couri doing?"
" She's fine man." He replied. " She's pissed off at you as usual, gave me the guns and told me she hopes you choke on a bullet. Anyway she wants 1500."
Oz reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills (which he had just recently "liberated" from an ATM machine) and peeled off three 500 dollar bills. He held them out to Gohlke who graciously accepted them.
" You don't wanna lend us a hand?" Oz asked as Gohlke lugged a battered trunk out of the backseat of his car.
" No man." Gohlke replied dropping the trunk on the ground. Inside it you could hear metal clanging together. " Couri invited me to live with her until I got my shop back, so I can die a happy man now. Besides what you buy is what you own, and what you own comes back to you eventually."
" Alright man." Oz replied as Gohlke climbed back into his car. Heheld out his hand and Oz shook it.
" Watch out for the bullets man." Gohlke replied starting up the car. " And I'll see you around."
" Not if I see you first." Oz replied grinning crazily.
Gohlke just laughed and drove off back to the South side. Maybe Oz would run into him again someday.
Or maybe not.
At 12:01 p.m. that day, life literally fell apart for R.H. Grant.
Grant had heard about Vercetti and Oz killing Sergei Klasnikov in the lower West Heights, Yakuza territory. He had heard about the freeway incident, where 3 of his best men had died. He had heard of the Stoggy's pawnshop shootout, only a couple of blocks away from where the Russian mobster king had met his timely demise. He'd heard about the shoot out on the docks, the shootout at the café (instigated by him of course, but only to place the blame on the Vercetti family) and the explosion of the abandoned pay and spray near the train yards.
The cops would trace these events back to him. They were already investigating the gangland style executions in the mission district.
The Russian mob would trace the murderer of their boss, to be employed by Grant himself. They would come after him with a hit squad, and kill him.
R.H. Grant needed to move his operation, and move it fast. Perhaps down south. He wouldn't try and take down the Vercetti Empire, but work with the Haitians or perhaps from behind the curtains in the darkness. Start a small gun running ring. Eventually when alliances were formed and guards were down, he would attack Tommy Vercetti himself. He already had men watching the operations every move, just like the FBI watched him in the late 90's during the Yakuza/Grant turf wars.
At 11:55 Grant had loaded up his stuff into 5 large, black 4-door SUV's behind his current hideout, the old Jazz Club. He got in the middle SUV of the five. Roland sat in the back seat next to him as Holden sat in the front passenger seat next to the driver. Two of his best bodyguards, they would give their lives for him. Roland wasn't much to look at anymore, a white, bloodstained gauze pad was taped to his ear, as a thick wad of gauze bandage was wrapped around his hand. Atleast he had time to take a shower, unfortunately he was still wearing the same clothes, as he didn't have time to change after Grant paid his bail in full.
" How the hell did you fuck this up?" Grant asked as he climbed into the SUV, slamming the door shut. " I give you 3 guys, Ak-47's and yet you still can't kill two insignificant people; a two bit gun runner and a street punk from Liberty City."
" They we're more crafty than we expected. Shit that Versetti is a damn good driver." Roland said in his defense, flexing his bandaged hand.
" How much do I pay you Roland? 120 grand a year?" Grant asked loading his Desert Eagle. " You do realize at a salary like that your highly replaceable if you fuck up."
" Fuck you Grant." Roland said as they pulled out of the alley. " Keeping me on fucking door duty for a week. What the hell man, wasting my skills like that. I ought to kick ya ass."
" Try it." Grant mocked waving the Deagle in Roland's face. Roland just let out a snort of disgust.
" There they are." Oz pointed out to Michael as the convoy pulled out from behind the Club. " You know the plan right?"
" Yeah." Versetti said slapping a magazine into his Ak-47, and checked the straps on his kevlar vest. Sitting in the back seat of the sentinel were two loaded RPG 7's. Oz snapped back the action bolt on his Ak-47, he had traded his hoodie for a black trench coat and a kevlar vest over a white t-shirt underneath.
" Mike before we go out guns blazing, there is something I want to tell you." Oz said as they finished checking over their weapons.
" What?" Versetti asked cocking both of his .45'sat the same time with his thumbs and shoving them back into his jacket. They both had H&K Tactical grenade launchers slung over their shoulders.
" Those guys in the mission district that we hit, They weren't any ordinary two bit street thugs." Oz said. " They were undercover DEA."
" Drug enforcement agency?!" Mike asked. " That's some deep shit!"
" Yeah the one you capped through the back of the head with the .44 and the other I blasted in the bedroom. Never had a chance to flash their badges."
" So that's why that cop had come looking for us." Mike said piecing the puzzle together. " They weren't just ordinary street scum."
" Shit let's go." Oz said as he noticed the convoy approach the intersection. He jumped out, followed by Mike, Opening the back passenger side doors on both their sides of the car they pulled out the RPG's. Versetti aimed for the first car across the intersection and fired. The rocket tore out of the launcher, in a thick jet trail of white smoke and tore into the lead SUV. In a ball of fire, the SUV erupted and jumped 3 feet in the air. It landed back down on the pavement as a burned out, smoking shell. Oz took aim at the last SUV and fired. Once again in the same effect the vehicle erupted in a ball of flame.
" Gas masks on." Oz said pulling on a S.W.A.T. style gas mask on, Mike did the same.
" Shit what the fuck was that?!" Grant screamed to his bodyguards after the last SUV was blown up.
" I dunno man." Holden said pulling out his M1911. He snapped the slide back chambering a round. He then pulled out a second one and chambered the round in it. " An RPG?"
Suddenly canisters of tear gas flew out of nowhere and hit the side of the suv's, bouncing off and landing on the ground with a clang. Releasing gray smoke everywhere. Soon several more cans landed on the pavement around the convoy. The area was filling up with smoke.
" We gotta…COUGH…get the fuck out of 'ere!" Roland said choking on the gas. They we're all coughing hoarsely as Grant stretched over the back seat and rummaged around a bit, coming back with four gas masks. He handed them out to the driver, Holden and Roland and strapped one on himself.
" It's tear gas! Put your masks on!" Grant shouted, his voice slightly muffled by the mask. They all did what they were told to. There was smoke all around so thick you couldn't even see. Like on a foggy day in Liberty City. There was light smoke drifting inside the car, just being able to see. Slowly, a few of the ugys in the other two remaining cars crawled out wear gas masks and armed with AK's and SMG's. Grant pulled back the slide on his Desert Eagle, as Roland pulled out a Mac 11 and snapped back the bolt. Vaguely through the smoke, Holden could see the outlines of two figures walking towards their SUV caught in the intersection. He noticed them raise their weapons.
" Shit get down!" Holden screamed as a barrage of Ak-47 fire was unleashed on the vehicle, the rounds tore through the windows, shattering them. The hail of gunfire massacred the driver whose side was facing the shooters, and who was unknown to Grant. Holden, Grant and Roland had ducked in time; avoiding a timely demise.
" Bastards!" Grant screamed back in retort, firing his Desert eagle blindly at the two shooters. Roland and Holden immediately joined in, sitting up and firing back. The sounds of automatic gunfire, mingled into a rhythmic tone with the guns firing outside in the thick field of smoke, From the other members of the Grant crew.
" We gotta get out of 'ere!" Roland screamed over the rattle of automatic fire. He let out a few more short bursts of automatic fire from his Mac11. " Who are they?!"
" Probably the Russians!" Holden retorted from the front seat, as he fired the last remaining rounds in his .45's. He ducked down as bullets whizzed past his head everywhere, and reloaded. " There's more coming, I can feel it."
Roland kicked open his side door, which was the side facing away from the shooters. He crawled out and crouched down low on the pavement, followed by Grant.
" Roland, get Grant outta here, I'll help hold them off." Holden yelled through his window. Roland nodded through the mask and dragged Grant over to a door, which led to a trade's alley behind a 3-story grocery/ duplex. He tried the knob.
" Shit it's locked!" Roalnd yelled with a gas mask muffled voice.
" Lemme try mine." Grant said reloading his Deagle and aiming for the lock.
BLAM BLAM BLAM!
Sparks from the metal as the .357 rounds tore through the lock. The door creaked open at about an inch.
' Let's go!" Grant shouted, Dragging Roland inside.
Holden didn't had much time left. He was still pinned down in the SUV, with maybe 2 or 3 clips left. And the guys from the others cars were being mowed down fast, which all was left was maybe the rattle of 2 or 3 AK's left. After that he was SOL, so he would have to fake dead to get away alive. Some more machine gun rattle and two more shooters were gunned down. One left it sounded.
" Looks like I'm gonna have to get out of this spot." Holden said to himself in a whisper. His breathing sounded heavy through the gas mask, and the gas was starting to clear up a bit. He pulled down the latch on the door and pushed it open slightly, he could hear sirens approaching in the distance. He crawled down onto the ground, with his legs still in the SUV, face up. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a small red packet and began tearing it open, when a Trench coated guardsman wielding a stock folding AKM limped around the corner. He had taken his gas mask off and was coughing heavily, clutching at a wound in his side. He looked at Holden with regretful, pain filled eyes. And then;
RATATATATATATA
A burst of AK fire ended his life violently, which threw him to the ground. Blood poured freely from his wounds onto the cement. The area had become quiet, except for the sirens. Someone began walking around the cars, their feet crunching on broken glass.
Shit.
Holden tore open the blood pack and smashed it under his head against the concrete. The IV splattered everywhere and he stared up at the sky, holding his breath. The smoke was clearing up fast. The two shooters walked up to him and looked down.
" Who is it?" The one sporting a leather jacket said, Holden didn't recognize the voice.
" It's Spencer Holden, he ain't dead." The other said, his voice was very familiar, even through the muffled gas mask he wore. He gave Holden a swift kick to his ribs. " Get up."
Caustiously Spencer got up, blood dripping from the hair on the back of his head. The one that had kicked him aimed his AK at him, making sure he wouldn't try anything. Spence just looked at him.
" Where'd Grant go?" He asked, prodding Holden with the barrel of his gun. " You tell me and we won't kill you?"
" Oz, that you?" Holden asked peering at the trench coated through his gas mask. " Wow you must be pissed to attack Grant like this."
" Yeah it's me, tell me where Grant went."
" Through there." Holden replied motioning with one of his .45's towards the trades alley door." Be careful though because Roland is with him."
" Thanks." Oz said back turning about. He motioned for his partner to follow. " C'mon Versetti let's go."
Versetti? Holden wondered. Michael Versetti? He shook the thought from his head and jumped into one of the unoccupied SUV, pulling out of the stopped convoy he drove off, away form the violence and the sirens.
" Keep moving!" Grant shouted as he and Roland ran through the trash bag and Dumpster ridden alley. Past locked and barred rusting steel doors. They reached the end of the line, a 8 foot tall chain link fence in front of a wooden slat fence, topped with razor shard barbed wire. In front of it was a heap of full black trash bags. And against the wall next to it a green dumpster. On the opposite was a dead bolted door, which read STORAGE. The dead bolt was on the other side. Footsteps were approaching from the other end of the alley.
" Give me that." Roland said snatching Grant's desert eagle away by the barrel. He aimed at the door and fire.
BLAM BLAM!
" Go!" Roland said handing the Deagle back to Grant and pushing him through the door. He slammed the door shut behind him, and piled a few trash bags and cardboard boxes in front of the door. He looked down the alley and saw the two shooters coming after him.
" Shit."
He crouched behind the Dumpster and some boxes and got his MAC 11 ready. He fired a few bursts at the shooters, they fired back.
"AGH!" Roland screamed as a round hit him in the shoulder, knocking him back. He dropped his SMG and landed on the ground, whimpering. Blood started pouring from his open gunshot wound, but luckily the bullet had torn cleanly through. He pulled a rag from his pocket and pressed it onto his wound, and ran a hand through his long, banana curl hair and watched as the two shooters walked up to him and looked down on him. The tear gas had cleared up and they tore off their gas masks. He should've known, Oz and Vercetti.
" Roland we're not going to kill you." Oz said, while Vercetti aimed his AK down upon him. " That is only if you comply with what we ask. Understand?" Roland weakly nodded his head.
" Where is Grant?" Oz asked. Roland pointed to the storage door. "Is he armed?"
" Yeah."
" With what?"
" .357 Desert Eagle."
" Any other guys with him?"
" No."
" Okay, good." Oz said. " You just bought the rest of your life. Oh one more thing."
He gave Roland's wound a heavy stomp. Roland howled in pain.
" That's for my car."
Grant hurried down the steps past the door, slamming a fresh clip into his .357 as he did so. The storage room was only a small, dimly lit pantry lined with shelves containing bags and canned foods on the both sides. He ran to the steel door opposite the stairs and tried the knob, it was chained and pad locked from the other side.
" Shit, not again." He muttered under his breath. He heard feet running down the steps behind him. He aimed his Deagle at the stairs, just as Oz reached the bottom.
" Die!" He screamed at Oz and pulled the trigger.
BLAM BLAM BLAM!
Oz fell back, the shots missing, he fired back at Grant with his AK. The machine gun rattle echoed off the cement walls of the storage room, as the rounds tore into Grant's chest and stomach, staining his white suit crimson. He fell back and landed in some boxes in the corner.
Oz got up and walked over to him, followed by Michael Vercetti. They both looked down at him and raised their .45's.
" Nighty night Mr. Grant." Versetti said as Grant looked down the barrel of the .45.
BLAM!
And H.R. Grant knew no more.
" So you gonna be okay kid?" Mike asked him while they sat in the River City Airport terminal. They could now take a plane out of the city, and had dropped their guns off into the River.
" Yeah I'll be fine." Oz replied." I got a friend up in Liberty City I can crash with, in the Red light district. So don't worry about me."
" Well here take this just incase." Vercetti said handing him two wads of 100 dollar bills." I found it on Grant after we killed him. It appears that it is also what is left of the cash I brought with me here, and I had lost. Grant had never laundered any of it. Probably sold off all of the cocaine too, so Lance will be pissed, but it's his fault in the first place."
" Wow thanks." Oz said running his finger over the edge of the bills.
" River City to Liberty City, NewYork, flight 1011 now boarding." Came a voice over the intercom. Oz sighed and got up.
" Well give me a call when you get there." Mike replied standing up and shaking Oz's hand. Oz nodded.
" Well I'll see you around." Oz said turning towards the loading gate as passenger's filed in.
" Not if I see you first kid." Mike shouted back as Oz walked towards the gate, he just replied by waving over his shoulder and chuckling.
" Guess my next stop is Vice City." I said to myself turning away form the gate and walking across the terminal to my own loading gate.
And that was the tale of River City blues. A story of greed, deception and the Gun Running underworld.
And I wouldn't have had it any other way.
Today at 12:01 P.M. today, a firefight between the Grant mob organization and an unknown party; most likely the Russian Mob, erupted in the lower business district. Police had found several Grant crewmembers dead killed by gunfire. They had found H.R. Grant himself shot dead in a storage pantry not far from the scene in the basement of the nearby grocer. Along with the carnage, empty shell casings and dead gangsters; the police also found hundreds of illegal firearms, explosives, laundered money, personal items and dangerous narcotic substances in the black SUV's of which the mob party were traveling in.
Police are speculating that Grant was moving his operation to get away from the Russian Mob. Led by the recently late Sergei Kjalashnikov; who was killed along with several of his men in an explosion the other day in the lower West Heights area, by two hit men believed to be hired by Grant. Which it's intentions were to loosen up the competition in the black market gun running ring. But actually only created a mob war between the two parties. The strange thing that puzzles the police is that Sergei was killed in territory claimed by the Yakuza Japanese Mafia. The assailants who killed the Russian mobster are suspected ot be known only by their alias' as "The Ozman" a well known black market gunrunner and " The liberty City Butcher" famous for the Mafia killings back in mid-fall, 1999. Both suspects both remain at large.
THE END?