Marco's Bistro, Liberty City, 1970
The man walked in, he was the son of some printer up in Shoreside Vale. He was wearing a pair of denim jeans and an old brown leather jacket. He was obviously nervous; he was looking at the floor with his hands in his pockets, you'd be nervous too, if you were in the headquarters of the most powerful Mafia family in the country.
"You the boy?" asked a large man sitting at the table.
He looked around, confused.
"I said are you the boy?" he repeated.
"Yes." Said the young man.
"I'm Sonny Forelli, me and my brothers run this joint. What's your name, kid?"
"Vercetti, Tommy Vercetti."
"So tell me kid. What are you doing here? Why do you want to be part of this shit? Your father is a decent man, he pays his taxes, he obeys the law, all that "model citizen" crap and he has never been mixed up in trouble. Why do you want to have this life?" asked Sonny. This had touched a nerve, Tommy was no stranger to the long arm of the law, he had been a petty thief for years, but he respected his father.
"I was bored!" said Tommy, forgetting that he was surrounded by around twenty, heavily armed, Mafiosi.
"Heh heh heh…I like this kid. He's got fuckin' balls. O.K Tommy, you wanna join, you gotta do something for me."
"What is it?" asked Tommy.
"I want you to go down to Easy Credit Auto's, I saw this new car the other day, it's the shit, revolutionary engine, it's called a Banshee. It looks kinda weird, but when it comes to outrunnin' the fuzz…fuhgettaboutit. You do this for me, you're in."
Tommy walked there, it was the 70's, the cops were too busy stopping street crime to try and stop the Mafia. Tommy walked to the front door, took the baseball bat in his hands and knocked politely on the door. A twenty-something guy with long, brown hair and a tie-dye t-shirt opened the door looked at Tommy as he swung, he hit him hard, Tommy heard a snap and saw the hippy fall to the ground, dead. Tommy had never killed anyone before, he looked around, quickly then shut the door as he walked in, he sat down, his breathing quickened, his heart pounded in his chest, Tommy lit a cigarette with his shaking hands, he took a few deep breaths, and walked into the showroom. There it was, Sonny was right; it did look weird, nothing like any of the Cadillac's or Lowriders that regularly went down his street. He opened the door calmly, sat down on the soft leather of the seat, it was a convertible, he looked down and saw that the keys had been left in the ignition. He turned them and the engine roared into life. He drove it back to the Bistro and walked into the restaurant.
"Tommy, you got the car?" asked Sonny with one of his eyebrows raised.
"Yeah, it's parked outside." Said Tommy, as he threw the keys to Sonny.
"Well done, kid, you're in," the Mafiosi began to clap and Sonny embraced Tommy in his arms. "But boy, you're gonna have to get some different clothes, I know you can do a good job, but if you look like an idiot, it don't matta'."