Grand Theft Auto: Vice City
Clerical Work
Authour's Notes: Now, I bring you the second chapter in the Clerical Work series. Not much more to say other than that. On with the story...
Mission II - 'Catering'
Early morning sunlight reflects grandly off of the polished faux-marble floors of 1102 Washington Street's lobby. Tommy Vercetti, owner and proprieter of the establishment, pushes the main door open and crosses the open space. A large hairy man in a purple jumpsuit passes by him and whistles. "Hey, nice ass."
Tommy responds with a middle finger.
Vercetti approaches an inconspicuous frosted-glass door on the far side of the lobby, rapping on it three times. It is opened promptly by a young, auburn haired woman wearing buisness attire and a fake smile.
"Good morning, Alexa," yawns Tommy.
Alexa drops her smile and walks back into the room, taking a seat at an oak desk in the centre of the room. "Hello, Mr. Vercetti," she says boredly, noting something on the clipboard she never puts down.
Tommy follows her into the room. "Well aren't you glad to see me?" he remarks sarcastically. "Anyway, I got a call from Miss Whats-Her-Name... Vegetable or something." He takes a seat.
Alexa looks up from the desk, giving Tommy a quick glance of resentment before falling back into her more professional manner. "Ah, yes, well, Ms. Vegas isn't here now... She's off doing..." Alexa motions to a locked, steel door set into the back wall of the room. "Buisness."
Tommy laughs. "I see," he remarks, picking up a glass of water from the desk and taking a generous swig.
"Anyway," continues Alexa, with a smile, "She left you a note."
"And?"
"It says, 'Hey useless, that was some pretty good shit you did back there. Anyway, the VC Mamba's are flying in and we ordered some serious lobsters from Cafe Under the Tree. Only their goddamned van broke. Go and get it.' Oh, Nana..."
"Can do. But, who in the hell are the Mamba's?" asks Tommy, reluctantly standing up and heading for the door.
"Beyond me."
"Okay... Well, see you around, clueless!" laughs Tommy, closing the frosted glass door with a conversation ending 'click.'
In the lobby, an old woman behind the check-in desk calls at Tommy, "Hey, hot stuff!"
Tommy nearly trips over himself. "This place is full of grannies on coke and people missing half their brains. What have I gotten into?"
Here are your Mission Objectives: You have five minutes to get to Cafe Under the Tree and back. Simple, but it's a little more interesting if you read on into the fic.
Tommy's Comet is waiting patiently on the curb of 1102 Washington Street. Vercetti vaults over the drivers-side door and drops his foot onto the pedal, tuning the radio. He mutters along with the station, "Who needs music with soul, we've got drum machines!" He is interuptted by the chiming of his bulky cell phone. Tommy sighs and answers it.
"Tommy Vercetti."
A woman with a thick Jamaican accent speaks into the other end of the line. She sounds to be in her early fourties. "Ah, yes, this is Tommy Vercetti?"
"I believe I just said that."
"Okay, okay. I'd just like to tell you that we have your foodstuffs. Only, there is strange Italian man by the name of Romferto -- or something -- here for you. He say he have very important message for you."
Roberto Combelli. That strange man from the helicopter. "What'd he say?!" blurts out Tommy, narrowly passing between a Cheetah and a lightpost.
"I am not your messenger!" The conversation ends with a click.
"Geez, is everyone in this town sniffing?" says Tommy, tossing his cellular phone into the passenger seat.
Twently minutes later, the blue Comet pulls up to a blue building situated under a pair of trees in Little Haiti. Tommy walks in. The air is thick, hot and smelling of strong coffee. The cafe is near empty at 9 AM, save for a young Haitian couple and Roberto Combelli sitting in a back booth, sipping black coffee. Combelli notices Tommy standing in the doorway, holding his nose.
"Ah! Thomas!" Roberto strides over to Tommy and pats in on the shoulder, leading him to his booth.
Tommy exhales deeply and takes a seat. "So, what's this 'information' that I've been hearing about?"
"Yes. Thomas, this is dirty buisness, very dirty buisness unfolding." Roberto takes a sip of his coffee. "I have just overheard a group of Haitian gangsters talking of plans to 'put Washington Street out of buisness.' See, it turns out, Thomas that--"
They are interuptted by a large Jamaican woman approaching their table. Tommy recognises her voice from the phone call earlier. "Hallo young man! Can old Miss Cleoa get you anything?"
Tommy waves her away. "Yeah, get me the food I ordered!"
"Yes sir. I'll go get that."
Roberto continues. "As I was saying, it turns that Ms.Vegas, the manager of one-one-zero-two, is dealing drugs for bargain prices in the underground parking structures. The Haitians would rather this not happen. They then set out for East Vice City. I have no other informations than this." Combelli takes yet another sip of coffee.
"Thanks Roberto, I'll keep that in mind."
"Good day, Thomas."
Miss Cleoa has re-emerged, carrying three large canvas bags. "Here is the food you ordered, sonny!"
Tommy takes the bags and walks outside again, grateful for the cool outside air. However, he finds that some young gangster is trying to break the lock of his Comet. Tommy sighs and puts the bags down, drawing out a concealed Mac-10 sub-machine gun and aims it at the boy.
"Hey, stupid!"
"Yeah?" replies the gangster.
"The top is down," remarks Tommy, gesturing to the folds of cloth and metal at the back of the car.
"So?"
Tommy rolls his eyes and puts a bullet into the gangster's left leg. "Get lost, prick."
"Oh my God! You fucking shot me you fucking fuck!"
Tommy picks up the bags, tosses them into the car, and starts off across the Leaf Bridge. Another twenty minutes and the car has pulled up outside the multi-coloured entranceway of 1102 Washington Street. Alexa waits outside, looking displeased. She follows Tommy through the doors as he passes her.
"Where in the Hell have you been!? Do you have the food!?"
"Yeah, yeah, I got your food." Tommy tosses one bag to the young woman, causing her to stumble. "And I've got some information you might want to pass on to your neurotic grandmother..."
Mission Complete!
Authour's Notes: As you can see, the story really is beginning to progress! Sorry if you hate long chapters, but I love them. =) Anyway, that's all for now. Tune in next time!
Clerical Work
Authour's Notes: Now, I bring you the second chapter in the Clerical Work series. Not much more to say other than that. On with the story...
Mission II - 'Catering'
Early morning sunlight reflects grandly off of the polished faux-marble floors of 1102 Washington Street's lobby. Tommy Vercetti, owner and proprieter of the establishment, pushes the main door open and crosses the open space. A large hairy man in a purple jumpsuit passes by him and whistles. "Hey, nice ass."
Tommy responds with a middle finger.
Vercetti approaches an inconspicuous frosted-glass door on the far side of the lobby, rapping on it three times. It is opened promptly by a young, auburn haired woman wearing buisness attire and a fake smile.
"Good morning, Alexa," yawns Tommy.
Alexa drops her smile and walks back into the room, taking a seat at an oak desk in the centre of the room. "Hello, Mr. Vercetti," she says boredly, noting something on the clipboard she never puts down.
Tommy follows her into the room. "Well aren't you glad to see me?" he remarks sarcastically. "Anyway, I got a call from Miss Whats-Her-Name... Vegetable or something." He takes a seat.
Alexa looks up from the desk, giving Tommy a quick glance of resentment before falling back into her more professional manner. "Ah, yes, well, Ms. Vegas isn't here now... She's off doing..." Alexa motions to a locked, steel door set into the back wall of the room. "Buisness."
Tommy laughs. "I see," he remarks, picking up a glass of water from the desk and taking a generous swig.
"Anyway," continues Alexa, with a smile, "She left you a note."
"And?"
"It says, 'Hey useless, that was some pretty good shit you did back there. Anyway, the VC Mamba's are flying in and we ordered some serious lobsters from Cafe Under the Tree. Only their goddamned van broke. Go and get it.' Oh, Nana..."
"Can do. But, who in the hell are the Mamba's?" asks Tommy, reluctantly standing up and heading for the door.
"Beyond me."
"Okay... Well, see you around, clueless!" laughs Tommy, closing the frosted glass door with a conversation ending 'click.'
In the lobby, an old woman behind the check-in desk calls at Tommy, "Hey, hot stuff!"
Tommy nearly trips over himself. "This place is full of grannies on coke and people missing half their brains. What have I gotten into?"
Here are your Mission Objectives: You have five minutes to get to Cafe Under the Tree and back. Simple, but it's a little more interesting if you read on into the fic.
Tommy's Comet is waiting patiently on the curb of 1102 Washington Street. Vercetti vaults over the drivers-side door and drops his foot onto the pedal, tuning the radio. He mutters along with the station, "Who needs music with soul, we've got drum machines!" He is interuptted by the chiming of his bulky cell phone. Tommy sighs and answers it.
"Tommy Vercetti."
A woman with a thick Jamaican accent speaks into the other end of the line. She sounds to be in her early fourties. "Ah, yes, this is Tommy Vercetti?"
"I believe I just said that."
"Okay, okay. I'd just like to tell you that we have your foodstuffs. Only, there is strange Italian man by the name of Romferto -- or something -- here for you. He say he have very important message for you."
Roberto Combelli. That strange man from the helicopter. "What'd he say?!" blurts out Tommy, narrowly passing between a Cheetah and a lightpost.
"I am not your messenger!" The conversation ends with a click.
"Geez, is everyone in this town sniffing?" says Tommy, tossing his cellular phone into the passenger seat.
Twently minutes later, the blue Comet pulls up to a blue building situated under a pair of trees in Little Haiti. Tommy walks in. The air is thick, hot and smelling of strong coffee. The cafe is near empty at 9 AM, save for a young Haitian couple and Roberto Combelli sitting in a back booth, sipping black coffee. Combelli notices Tommy standing in the doorway, holding his nose.
"Ah! Thomas!" Roberto strides over to Tommy and pats in on the shoulder, leading him to his booth.
Tommy exhales deeply and takes a seat. "So, what's this 'information' that I've been hearing about?"
"Yes. Thomas, this is dirty buisness, very dirty buisness unfolding." Roberto takes a sip of his coffee. "I have just overheard a group of Haitian gangsters talking of plans to 'put Washington Street out of buisness.' See, it turns out, Thomas that--"
They are interuptted by a large Jamaican woman approaching their table. Tommy recognises her voice from the phone call earlier. "Hallo young man! Can old Miss Cleoa get you anything?"
Tommy waves her away. "Yeah, get me the food I ordered!"
"Yes sir. I'll go get that."
Roberto continues. "As I was saying, it turns that Ms.Vegas, the manager of one-one-zero-two, is dealing drugs for bargain prices in the underground parking structures. The Haitians would rather this not happen. They then set out for East Vice City. I have no other informations than this." Combelli takes yet another sip of coffee.
"Thanks Roberto, I'll keep that in mind."
"Good day, Thomas."
Miss Cleoa has re-emerged, carrying three large canvas bags. "Here is the food you ordered, sonny!"
Tommy takes the bags and walks outside again, grateful for the cool outside air. However, he finds that some young gangster is trying to break the lock of his Comet. Tommy sighs and puts the bags down, drawing out a concealed Mac-10 sub-machine gun and aims it at the boy.
"Hey, stupid!"
"Yeah?" replies the gangster.
"The top is down," remarks Tommy, gesturing to the folds of cloth and metal at the back of the car.
"So?"
Tommy rolls his eyes and puts a bullet into the gangster's left leg. "Get lost, prick."
"Oh my God! You fucking shot me you fucking fuck!"
Tommy picks up the bags, tosses them into the car, and starts off across the Leaf Bridge. Another twenty minutes and the car has pulled up outside the multi-coloured entranceway of 1102 Washington Street. Alexa waits outside, looking displeased. She follows Tommy through the doors as he passes her.
"Where in the Hell have you been!? Do you have the food!?"
"Yeah, yeah, I got your food." Tommy tosses one bag to the young woman, causing her to stumble. "And I've got some information you might want to pass on to your neurotic grandmother..."
Mission Complete!
Authour's Notes: As you can see, the story really is beginning to progress! Sorry if you hate long chapters, but I love them. =) Anyway, that's all for now. Tune in next time!