The Vercetti Chronicles - Volume 1, Issue 2

Tommy Vercetti drives along a narrow street in Little Havana, home to much of Vice's Cuban population. He passes the Cafe Robina, and waves to his friend and business partner, Umberto, who' s sitting inside, playing checkers with his papi and two other elderly gentlemen. Tommy helped Umberto and his army of Cuban gangsters fight a brutal and bloody turf war against a gang of Haitians. Many lives were lost, but when all the dust had settled, Tommy could stand tall, a true Cuban in the eyes of the citizens of Little Havana. He exits the small, project-like suburb and drives into Sunshine Autos, yet another one of Tommy's business ventures. He drives to a lower-level parking garage and parks his white Infernus next to a deep green BF Injection dunebuggy.

Tommy walks into the showroom and walks into the back, into a small office. In the office, sitting behind a desk, is Ken Rosenburg. Ken is Tommy's lawyer. He also manages Sunshine Autos, since Tommy is too busy to devote all his attention to it.

"Hey, Ken."

"Tommy, Tommy! Great to see you pal, have I got news for you!"

"Slow down. What news?"

"Well, I got those Haitians to drop their assault and battery case against you!"

"Wonderful. How did you get them to drop it?"

"Well, heheh, let's just say I used a little, ahem, legal muscle."

Tommy laughs a deep belly laugh at this. He's never liked the Haitians, any of them. He did some jobs for their leader, Auntie Poulet, and she was very ungrateful, and he's been raw about it ever since. He's had many shoot-outs with Haitian soldiers at Kaufman Cabs, Tommy's taxi company who's base of operations is in Little Haiti.

"Excellent. That's one less thing I have to worry about. Now. Onto tonight, are we clear on the plan?"

"Yeah, sure, Tommy. 100%, crystal."

"Me and a couple of the boys are gonna meet these thugs by the Sea Plane Tour building, near Escobar International. I'm gonna have some guys parked on the other side of the road, behind some crates at a terminal, in case they try to pull anything funny. Also, there's gonna be a guy on the roof with a sniper rifle. I don't expect them to cause any problems for us, they're just some low rent assholes trying to get connections in Vice. You and a few of Col. Cortez's men that hung around to help me out are gonna meet us back at the mansion, and then me, you and the Colonel's men are gonna take the stuff by boat to a rendez-vous a little ways out from the Boatyard."

"Tommy, why don't we just go straight to the Boatyard from Escobar? We do own the place."

"If they do decide to start trouble with us, which I would strongly advise against, that's where they're gonna be waiting. So all we gotta do to avoid a bulletfest, is sneak around behind them."

"Ah hah. I see now, Tommy. That's why you're runnin' the show, you're smart."

"I know, and that's why you're workin' for me."

Tommy laughs as Ken looks a little offended.

"Well, Ken, I got a few more stops to make before we can do this deal, so I'm gonna take the Sabre Turbo out."

Ken nods and goes back to work on some papers. Tommy exits the office and walks up to a hot-looking brown suped-up Sabre with a white racing stripe. He climbs in and turns on the car. It roars to life. The glass window in front of him, lifts up like a garage door, and he races out onto the street.

As Tommy barrell's down the road, swirving in and out of traffic with VROCK blasting from the speakers, his mind begins to wander again. These past 6 months have been some of the most hectic, tension-filled months of his life. Often times, he wished he was back in the pen. Whether it was ambushes by Haitian pricks or Sonny Forelli always breathing down Tommy's neck, asking about his money, Tommy always had to be on his guard. In the month that has passed since Tommy killed both Lance Vance and Sonny at his mansion, things have been pretty quiet. When criminals across the city heard that Tommy had taken on over 20 guys single-handedly, they all took a step back. They knew who the new king in town was. They knew better than to fuck with Tommy Vercetti. He was a heartless, merciless killing machine. He was running the city.

Tommy pulls up in front of Ammunation, Vice City's premier weapon's retailer. He walks in the doors and up to the counter.

"Yes, Mr. Vercetti, how may I help you?" The clerk knows Tommy well. Tommy has many a time bought some heavy artillery to help him survive in this fucked up city.

"I need some Uzi ammo. Lots, and lets take a PSG and a few clips, too."

"That will be $10,000, sir."

Tommy shakes his head in disbelief as he hauls out his wallet. He hauls out some money, real green, and hands it to the guy.

"Guess you can't put a price on your own life, hey," Tommy quips.

He's handed two black cases, one with the Uzi ammo and the other with the PSG sniper rifle and the ammo. He nods and thanks the clerk and goes out to his car, parked on the sidewalk. He opens the trunk and puts the artillery in. He lays it next to some gasoline cans that were used one time when they had to teach a low level crime boss a lesson in criminal courtesy. He closes the trunk of the Sabre Turbo and gets in the drivers seat. He starts off towards Prawn Island, "Dangerous Bastard" by Love Fist, personal friends of Tommy, blaring over the radio.