CHAPTER 2—Meeting The Man
While the detonation of the gas station had gone well, Jason wasn't able to hang around long and chat about it. He was scheduled to meet with Tommy Vercetti the following day, and had to fly back in to Florida, with his plane leaving at eight in the morning.
Jason was up bright and early at four in the morning, having gone to bed the night before at midnight. With four hours of sleep, Jason tucked into his breakfast, checked his baggage, and was off for the airport at five. His silver watch bounced patterns around the airport terminal as Jason made his way through security, which was tight these days, and sat down in a chair. Again, he hadn't taken the gun Joey gave him; he didn't want the hassle of going through security and registering it. He figured Tommy would give him one once he arrived in Vice City, although he didn't expect to be doing much fighting.
While flipping through a magazine, Jason noticed an attractive woman with brunette hair come and sit across the aisle from him. After glancing up and noticing that part of her shirt was considerably closer to him than others (if you get his drift), he returned to the magazine and continued looking. The woman he saw had been watching him, and eventually he spoke to her.
"So, what's your story?" he asked casually.
She opened her ruby-red, full lips and replied, "I'm flying on my personal plane to Vice City." Jason was now interested. "My husband has been cheating on me, and I think he needs to be divorced. I'm flying there in our plane to show him my version of the story," she finished, and winked. She spoke with a Spanish accent.
"I'm going to Vice City myself," Jason responded. "Mind if I go with you and keep you company?"
The woman introduced herself as Taira, and nodded. "Of course, Mr.—"
"Beretto," Jason answered, finishing her sentence. "Jason Beretto."
The two of them headed across the terminal, and walked outside to board Taira's plane. Not longer than twenty minutes later, they were up in the air, flying for Vice City, and very much enjoying each other's company.
1999
Escobar International Airport
Vice City, Florida
"You're very good at that, Mr. Beretto," Taira said as she sat up and allowed the silky red covers to slide down her bare body. The plane had just landed, and Jason had finished his business with Taira. He pulled on his jeans and black shirt, packing his jacket into the beige suitcase.
"Well, I've had lots of practice."
An hour later, Jason walked out the terminal and came into a large open area. He had arranged to meet Taira (her last name was Lopez, although her Spanish accent was very mild) later that week. The airport itself wasn't very large, and it was entirely glass paneled. Plants were strewn all over the building, and the sloping roof above made for an incredible airport. Jason slowly walked down the escalator (or rather, let it carry him down) to the bottom floor and saw two exits. Moving towards one, he headed through security checks, and then outside.
Warm Florida sun beat down on his face again as he walked, and even though it was January, Florida was still warm and sunny. The sky was clear, meaning no rain for a long time, which was Jason's ideal situation. He didn't like rain at all, and so he was feeling pretty happy as a white Admiral pulled up, followed by an Infernus, which roared to a halt.
An imposing Texan man walked out of the Admiral's rear-left seat and introduced himself. He was wearing a blue jacket, dark blue pants, a white undershirt, a black belt with a dollar symbol on the front, a black and yellow bolo that dangled on his chest, and a large black hat with brown trim.
"Howdy, Mr. Beretto," he said loudly, shaking as he did so. "My name is Avery Carrington, one of Tommy Vercetti's associates. If it weren't for me, that man wouldn't be where he is today. He sent me to lead his boys in picking you up, and he wants you to ride in his own personal Infernus, if that's okay with you."
"Of course," Jason said as he lifted his bags.
"Put your bags in the trunk of the white Admiral, there, buddy, and we'll get going, alright?"
Jason nodded as a man wearing a red Hawaiian shirt and blue jeans jumped from the passenger side of the Admiral and popped the trunk. Jason placed his bags inside the trunk, and the man slammed it shut again. "My name is Lou Mario," the man said, holding out his hand, which Jason shook. "You've probably heard of me before, but I doubt we've met. I'm one of Tommy's most trusted men."
Again, Jason nodded and moved to the passenger side of the Infernus. Avery got into the driver's side, closed his door, and followed the Admiral out of the half-circle parking for the airport, and headed quickly down the street, engine roaring.
"So you've been sent by the Leone Mafia to discuss things with Mr. Vercetti, correct?" Avery asked, and Jason nodded. "I suppose you want money from him."
"Not only that, but we need weapons. The Mafia have also been losing men to the cops, they keep getting themselves arrested. We need to borrow some Vercetti Gang guys, and in return for that, we'll give him ten percent of our earnings for the next ten years."
"I don't suppose Tommy can turn that down, but he'll probably want to work things out a bit more," Avery said as he made a right, then a left, and continued down the street. Jason knew these roads, so he was correct in thinking the Admiral was leading them the right way. "You know how negotiations are."
"Actually," Jason said, leaning on the armrest. "I don't, really. I've never been sent to negotiate anything for the Mafia before, or anyone for that matter. I just hope Tommy will hear me out and at least consider our offer."
"Tommy's a fair man," Avery said thoughtfully as they pulled onto a long road with palm trees in the middle. "I'm sure he'll hear you out, Beretto."
Avery followed the car further down the road, and then they pulled right onto what Jason saw was Starfish Island. In all his time here, he had never been to Starfish, because come to think of it, he had never been over to the east side of Vice City. He had mostly handled affairs regarding the Cubans and the Haitians, two warring gangs. After driving down the road, Avery turned right again, onto a gravel road, and Jason peered up at the imposing white mansion with red trim. Jason gazed at the dirt drive as they pulled up. A two-car garage was situated to the left of the large steps leading to the door, and a white Stretch sat on the right side.
The Infernus halted, and its occupants got out. Avery told Jason his things would be unloaded from the trunk soon enough, and that they should go inside immediately. Tommy wasn't the sort of man you kept waiting. He used to be big in his younger years, but now he lived the somewhat quiet life, a man of fifty-one years of age, Thomas Vercetti, although the criminal owner of Vice City, had somewhat quieted down since nineteen-eighty-six.
Jason walked quickly up the cement steps, moving up the satin red coverings. He felt like he was walking down the red carpet, but they soon came to the oak double doors at the top of the stairs. Mario rushed forward after handing off the job of putting Jason's things away to some other gang member, and opened the doors for them, which swung in to a well-designed room. A balcony ringed the room, and a set of large red stairs led to the next floor. To Jason's left was another corridor, and to his right a lounge.
At the top of the stairs was Tommy's office. Avery pushed Jason inside and then closed the door. Jason saw a brown chair that was turned the other direction, facing the ocean view. The chair swiveled as Jason coughed to announce his presence, and Jason saw the most powerful man in Vice City sitting in his chair.
His hair was graying, but his cool green eyes managed to piece right into Jason's mind as he watched. Tommy motioned for him to take a seat, and Jason obeyed, sitting in front of the desk. He still wore his trademark blue Hawaiian shirt, and blue jeans, but he also seemed to have pronounced wrinkles on his face from so many years of work. He was also somewhat hard of hearing, after being around guns all his life.
"I know what you want," Tommy said, almost reading Jason's mind. His voice was hard, rasping, and demanding. His green eyes glittered as he talked. "The reason I want you here," he continued as he pulled out a glass of wine, "is because I want you to convince me, the reason I would want to fund the Leone Mafia. Make me think you've got something I want, and you have a deal."
Jason cleared this throat nervously and spoke, "We have been having problems with a local gang we know, called the Triads. We need—"
"I said I know what you want," Tommy interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand. "That's not why you're here. Tell me what I will get out of this. Do that, and I'll consider your proposal."
"We are offering you ten percent of our income every month, for the next ten years."
"Money is nothing to me," Tommy said, almost angrily, "you should know that. This is the reason Cipriani turned to me for funding. He knows I have money, he knows I have weapons, and he knows what I can do. My a bit weak in my old age, but he knows what my best boys can do."
"What is it you want?" Jason asked. "Anything you want, we can get."
"You can't get the one thing I want," Tommy said quietly.
"Name it," Jason breathed.
"Afraid I can't," Tommy said, leaning back. "I'd like to help you out, but since you can't think of anything to offer me, I have no reason to fund you, because what happens if the Mafia loses? I won't get my money back, and even though I'm a billionaire, I like my money, and giving it away needlessly is pointless. Frankly, I have a million other things I'd rather be doing."
Jason was beginning to panic now. He couldn't think of anything Tommy wanted, other than money, and if Vercetti turned them down, Jason would be kicked out of the family. He had to pull this off, or lose his life's work. He smiled as something came to mind.
Tommy saw the smile and returned it. "Think you have something I want?" he asked coolly. Jason nodded. "Try me."
"An Apache attack helicopter, nicknamed Hunter," Jason said quickly, his eyes glittering. "I know you've had your eyes on the one at Fort Baxter for some time now, and I know you've managed to get it several times. I noticed in the paper that security is tight around the base, and it would take a small army of crack experts to get at that helicopter. I know if I get could get it for you, you'd be willing to give me all the money I need."
Tommy was interested. Truth be told, he was anxious to get his hands on the Hunter again. He had taken several years before, but they had all been destroyed in combat. What he would do for another one...
"You've got a deal," Tommy said, and the two of them shook hands.
"I assume we won't be able to pull this off for some time."
Tommy leaned back and smiled. "No, we'll need some time to plan it properly. But I'd say in a month or so we'll be ready."
"And until then?" Jason asked.
"Until then, I've got a job I want you to do for me."
"What's that?"
"Tomorrow, at one p.m., there's a man flying in from Ross Island out in California. He's got some drugs on him, and if the cops catch him, it's all over. He needs to be disposed of, and I want the drugs brought to me, understand?"
Jason nodded and stood up.
Before he left, Tommy stopped him. "His name is Brian Jones, and if you can do this for me, you'll have proven yourself, Jason Beretto." He handed Jason a permanent card for a hotel. "You can stay where I once stayed when I arrived here. That card is good for a room in the Link's View Apartment place. I own a room there, so you can take it, maybe it'll do you some good. I'd let you stay at the mansion, but there's hardly any room."
Tommy smiled and handed Jason a Colt .45 pistol, full of ammo. "That'll get you started, but you can go to Ammu-Nation if you need more, okay?"
"Got it."
"Good luck, kid," Tommy said as Jason left the room.
All things said, Jason had been well-cared for. Avery had given him a blazing-white Infernus as he left the building, with his bags already packed in the trunk. Jason pulled up to the Link's View Apartment, and parked in the lot. He walked upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, and burst into his room, setting down his bags and moving to the window.
No wonder they called it the Link's View. From his window, Jason could see the whole of Leaf Links golf course. However, it was getting late, Jason was tired, and he had a big day ahead of him. So, he moved slowly to the bed, tossed his shirt to the ground, stripped to his boxers, got under the covers, and was asleep in minutes.
A loud bang! awoke Jason sharply from sleep the next morning. He yelped loudly and slipped out of bed, falling onto the ground. Another slam sounded, and the room seemed to shake from the force. Jason picked himself up, and threw on his shirt and unpacked beige cargo pants, slipping them on, and then getting into his gray shirt. He wasn't dressed too well for summer, perhaps, but the look suited him. He then picked up the Colt from his bed-side table and slipped it into his pocket.
The door swung open, for Avery had finally decided to use his master key. "Looks like someone's ready for work!" Avery said loudly.
Jason was puzzled—the man coming in from Ross Island wasn't scheduled until one. He then looked at the clock and saw the time was twelve-thirty. They had only half-an-hour to get to the other side of the city and rendezvous with this guy before his drugs (which were disguised against security to look like cases of clothes) were discovered, which they inevitably would be.
"Come on, boy!" Avery barked. "Let's get going!"
Two men came in after Avery. One of them had graying-blond hair, wore a dark business suit, and sported thick black glasses. He was much changed from his nineteen-eighties look. "Name's Ken Rosenberg," the man said, introducing himself. "I'm Tommy Vercetti's lawyer."
"What, am I being sued?" Jason asked as he leaned down and scooped his clothes into a bag.
"Of course not!" Ken said, surprised. "I'm merely one of his most trusted friends. I started him out here, you know, when he first lost all of Sonny Forelli's money, and he had to—"
"I'm familiar with the story," Jason grunted, stopping Ken from continuing. The second man that had come in was wearing a purple shirt, and had dirty-blond hair, which looked somewhat darker now he was past his prime. He was obviously in his thirties.
"This here is Kent Paul, another of Tommy's friends," Avery said as four Vercetti Gang members swept into the room, each of them carrying fully-loaded Ingram Mac 10's. "We won't be coming with you for the meet with this guy Tommy wants, but they will," Avery said, indicating the four gang members. They raised their heads in turn as Avery continued.
"This is Lou Mario, you know him," Avery said, indicating the brown-haired man Jason had been introduced to before, "and some others: Travis Skinner, Bic Kostan, and Neal Gary. The three of them will be coming with you into the airport. We want you to stop this guy, take him with you, dispose of him in any way you please," Avery said, with a smile on his face, "gets the case of drugs, and take them back to Tommy. Clear?"
"Crystal," Jason responded, standing upright, after finishing packing his clothes back up. Neal was hefting a large back full of something that was poking into the sides of the back. Jason eyed this as he laid his case on the bed.
"Then we'll see you at one," Avery said, and he, along with Rosenberg and Kent, swept out the door, leaving Jason with the gang men.
"Let's get going then, shall we?" Jason asked as he led the way out.
Skinner, who followed just behind Jason, opened his mouth to speak as they walked from the elevator and into the open air. "My partners and I want a fair cut of the money you earn on this mission. We each want ten percent."
"Five," Jason grunted as he pulled open the car door of the Admiral parked next to Jason's new Infernus. Neal tossed the bag into the trunk, and the four of them stepped inside the car. Jason was at the wheel, so he accepted the keys given to him by Skinner, and started the engine. As he turned around to back up, Skinner spoke again, this time a bit more gruffly.
"Nine," he said, sounding resolute.
"How about seven?" Jason growled. He was obviously becoming annoyed with Skinner's cheek. "If you don't want that, get out of the car," Jason said, halting the vehicle. Travis Skinner shook his head, so Jason pulled from the lot, turned right, and continued on past the hospital. Up ahead was a bridge leading over to the western half of Vice City, which was all one big island. Only way on was by plane or boat.
"We just need to be able to make our own living, you know?" Skinner asked, obviously satisfied with seven percent of the cut.
"How much is Tommy going to give us for doing this for him?" Jason asked, ignoring Skinner's last comment. Jason neared the end of the bridge, and swerved left, narrowly missing a honking maroon Landstalker in the far lane. He hit the gas, streak onward, and then turned right into a smaller street. After several more miles and narrow misses, the Vice City Airport loomed into sight. Jason pulled into the half-circle parking area, and pulled over to the side of the road.
"I don't know how long we'll be able to stay here," Jason said, "but we want to get the stuff before the cops are on to us. Neal," he said as they clambered out, "get the guns."
Neal popped the trunk with his own key and tossed the Ingram Mac 10's to their owners. Neal then threw the trunk closed, and the team of five headed inside. Jason looked at his watch and saw they were running close—12:57. Brian Jones' plane would be arriving at any minute.
Jason walked through the metal detector, and the alarm went off. As the guard came to check him, Jason looked innocent until the guard got near. Moving like lightning, Jason whipped the man across his forehead with the butt of the Colt, caught the fallen body, and let Neal drag it off. Neal disappeared inside the bathrooms. No security guards near them had seen, but it wouldn't take long before the men watching the cameras took notice. Neal was planning on changing into the guard's uniform and stay undercover, while Jason, Travis Skinner, and Kostan retrieved the drugs.
Their man, Brian Jones, appeared from his terminal—terminal 1-8. Jason could see the airplane he had come from. The airport had a swoopy ceiling, and lots of plants. Several sets of escalators let up to the second floor, where passengers came from their planes. Jason walked up one set of stairs, followed by Skinner and Kostan. Neal milled about by the entrance, pretending to be busying himself with the security machine.
Jones looked around, and spotted a man coming to him, who was wearing cargo pants and a gray shirt. Strange dress for Florida, but whatever floated his boat. As the man got near, he spoke. "You Brian Jones?" he asked.
"Yeah," Jones responded. "Who wants to know. I got a load of stuff for a Tommy Vercetti."
"I know. My name is Jason Beretto, I'm working for Mr. Vercetti." Jason stiffened as he frowned at Jones. "You shouldn't have come to Vice City by plane, Mr. Jones. What if the cops had found your stash of SPANK?" Recently introduced into Vice City, SPANK was a new high on the streets. Jason also heard of it back in Liberty. "Hand over the case, and let me deliver it to Vercetti myself," Jason said, very insistently.
"Why can't I take it myself? Do you know how hard I worked for this stuff?" Jones asked calmly. He seemed to be getting angrier that this man would suspect him of being so stupid as to get caught by the cops.
"We just don't want assassination," Jason said coolly. "If you'll be so kind—" he continued, reaching for the case.
Obviously, Jones thought these men were here to con him out of work, because he swung the case like a baseball bat. Jason ducked underneath the blow, but the case caught Kostan full in the face. He let out a gasp and tumbled backwards, tripping over a plant and nearly falling to the first floor. A fall like that would surely kill him.
Jason moved to pull out his gun, but he didn't dare fire inside the airport—cops would be all over them soon enough with the cameras. Jones swung his case again, and Skinner, whose legs were in the way, crashed to the floor. Jones took off, and sprinted down the steps. Jason regained his bearings and followed him, literally flying down the steps.
Neal, still trying to fit in, was up on a ladder, pretending to inspect the hinges on top of the bathroom door. Jones threw the door open, the ladder was in the way, and the whole thing tipped. Neal fell backwards and skidded across a small bench, and landed on the ground. Jones exited through the back door and headed out into the air field, where the planes were parked. Jason and Skinner were hot on his trail.
Jones pulled a gun and fired. Jason moved out of the way, but as he walked outside, the bullet struck Kostan in his chest, killing him. Neal still hadn't come from the building, he was probably out cold. Jason followed Jones, with Skinner bringing up the rear. Brian Jones spotted a baggage handler, and tossed the bag of SPANK into the back. He jumped in the seat, and then started the vehicle. Before Jason could get there, Jones swerved and headed right for them.
"Look out!" Jason snarled and threw himself out of the way. Skinner, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky. He didn't see the handler coming, and Jones plowed right into him. Skinner's legs were pushed to the front of the handler, he rolled across the front, right over Jones as he ducked, and landed on the ground as the handle headed for the road. Jason Beretto wasn't about to fail now.
Jason drew his Colt .45, and raised the barrel. If his aim was right...
He closed one eye, and pulled the trigger. The bolt kicked in his hand, and he saw the bullet fly straight and true. With a loud blast, the front wheel of the handler exploded in a puff of smoke, the handler bucked, the case flew forward, the handler hit it, and Jones flew right over the steering wheel. He cartwheeled in mid-air and landed hard on the ground, his back bruised.
Jason heard sirens in the distance. He sprinted forward, abandoned Skinner, grabbed the case, and hauled Jones into a Packer he spotted. The engine started as Jason hot-wired it in record time, and the huge truck rumbled from the parking lot. Jason headed back the way he'd come. Cops cars flew after him. He wanted to turn and head back to the mansion, but he had to lose the head. Jones was unconscious in the seat next to him, and the Packer was going straight for the water.
Grabbing the case, Jason opened the door, and jumped from the truck as it smashed through the cement wall and splashed into the water. Jason rolled into the water, and swam away before the cops could find out what had happened to him. The first place he headed was the Vercetti Estate, and Tommy was as pleased as he could be.
Jason placed the case of SPANK on Tommy's desk and smiled as the contents spilled out onto the hard walnut desk. "Got it all right here for you, Mr. Vercetti."
Tommy grinned and handed Jason an envelope. Inside, he found four thousand dollars. "Thanks very much, Beretto," Tommy said as he latched the case and stored it under his desk. "I'll be selling that with the Cherry Popper's ice cream sometime soon." Not long after coming to Vice City, Tommy decided to invest in businesses. He'd bought the Cherry Popper's Ice Cream Factory in Little Havana, and although they didn't sell any actual ice cream, the factory was used as a front for drug distribution.
"For now, Jason," Tommy continued, "I want you to do something else for me. Go to the Film Studio on Prawn Island, and talk to Steve Scott for me. He said he's got another movie idea, and I want to know what he's planning. If I approve the plans, I'll tell him to go ahead and make the movie. Understand?"
"On Prawn up north?" Jason asked. Tommy nodded. "The Haitians have been seen around that area recently, which is strange, since they rarely ever leave Little Haiti in west Vice City. I don't know what they want at my studio, but I want you to investigate this as well."
Not only did Tommy buy an ice cream factory, but he also bought a film studio (InterGlobal Films), Kaufman Cabs, Sunshine Autos, a boatyard, the Print Works for counterfeit money, Pole Position strip club, and the Malibu Club. Each one earned a set amount of money each day, and Tommy hired Kent Paul to collect his money for him. Not even the biggest fool would try to escape with that money instead of giving it to Tommy, because the Vercetti Gang would be all over you faster than you could blink.
"Should I go now?" Jason asked.
"I would. My people will drive you back to Links View so you can pick up your Infernus. After that, do whatever it takes to find out what the Haitians want with my film studio."
Jason nodded, turned on his heel, and swept out the door.
Ten minutes later, Jason stepped from the white Stretch and into the parking lot of the Links View Apartment. The driver hesitated, and then took off, going back for the Estate. Jason walked up the stairs and into his room. Once inside, he opened his case and unloaded everything he had. A baseball bat and a Colt .45 were his only weapons. He considered going down to Ammu-Nation in Ocean View and picking something up. He now had four thousand dollars with which to do what he pleased.
After pocketing the Colt .45 and the bat and deciding he wanted something heavier, Jason walked down the steps and unlocked his new Infernus. The engine rumbled as he started the car, and then he headed out onto the street, driving in the direction of Ammu-Nation in Ocean View. It was a matter of minutes before he got there and stepped inside.
The clerk behind the counter handed over an Ingram Mac 10 and let Jason look it over. Jason thumbed the safety and waved the gun around the shop. He reached into his pocket, pulled three hundred-dollar bills from his envelope, and handed them to the clerk. He then paid an extra hundred dollars for extra ammo clips. With a sizable amount of ammo, Jason walked back outside to his Infernus, and headed north, towards the Malibu Club. He figured he'd spend some time there before going to Prawn and talking to Steve Scott.
That night, neon lights greeted him as he pulled up the street and approached the Malibu Club. The signature palm trees were etched in glowing lights across the front of the building, and Jason pulled around back, got out of his car, locked it, and headed inside. He noticed the armed guards by the door immediately. Only a nut would try a bar fight with those guys around. Jason walked into the dimly lit dancing club, and saw a crowd of people on the dance floor.
Flashing lights whizzed by overhead, and Jason saw the band on the stage. A cop, construction worker, fireman, and some other men. Jason recognized the Village People when he saw them, but he wondered why the Indian was missing. Jason shrugged and sat down in his seat. The dancers on the floor were definitely getting their groove on, dancing up a storm. There were stragglers that stood around the edges, getting up their courage to ask someone to dance, or waiting to be asked.
Jason milled about by his table, then headed to the bar. Once at the stool, he ordered a margarita, and spun around on his chair to watch the televisions installed overhead. He was sure those installations were recent. A football game was being played, but the sound had been turned off, so it was hard to follow along. Jason downed his drink, and was about to order another one, when Taira Lopez sat down next to him.
"Been exploring the nightlife, I see," she said, her accent mildly showing through. "Having fun yet?"
"No, not really. You talked to your husband?"
"Yes, but he pretty much refused to talk to me. He lives on the penthouse just behind the Malibu, so I came here when he wouldn't open his door. Wanted to let off some steam, you know? He also owns a house on Prawn Island, but he wasn't there, either."
"I get what you're saying," Jason said as he accepted his second margarita and took a sip. "So, you very busy tonight?" he asked, somewhat of a glint in his eyes. She knew what he wanted.
"Yes, I am. I don't know how I am going to get through to my husband, and I don't know if you could help me." She flicked her brunette hair behind her neck and continued. "Maybe you should meet me at the bottom door of the penthouse, next Saturday," Taira said, smiled, kissed Jason hard on the lips, and then walked out of the club.
Jason finished off his second drink, when something happened on the dance floor. A man wearing a red shirt and jeans fell to the ground on the steps. Two men, both of them wearing blue shirts, white pants, and a white cap on their head, stared down at the fallen man and growled, "Where's our money, man? Auntie Poulet don't like waiting fer ye."
This was getting interesting. Two Haitian men out of their territory, and confronting some punk off the streets.
"I'm not who you're looking for," the man on the ground pleaded. "Please don't hurt me. You must have me confused."
One of the Haitians turned his back to watch for cops. The man on the ground moved his hand, and a gun flashed a second later. The Haitian with his back turned let out a gasp, and collapsed to the ground in a puddle of his own blood. The second Haitian jumped to the side, another shot was fired, and an innocent dancer caught the bullet.
The man in the red shirt jumped up, and leaped behind the bar, shoving the bartender roughly aside. He placed his gun on the bar to steady it, and shot the second Haitian when he looked up to check. The Haitian fell to the ground next to his fellow man, and the man wearing the red shirt sprinted for the door. He was quickly stopped by the guards, who began to question him.
"What was that all about?" one of the guards asked.
"You just killed two men, and you expect to walk out of here alive?"
"It was self-defense!" the red-shirted man responded.
"I know you!" the second guard growled. "Your name is Cam Jones! You pulled a heist at a bank once, didn't you?" the guard asked him suspiciously.
Cam Jones, whom Tommy had considered dead, was definitely getting on in years. He was nearly seventy years old, but had performed as if he was thirty. The guard moved to bust him, but Cam dodged aside and made a move for his gun. The first guard grabbed his wrist and wrenched the gun out of his hand. When it hit the ground, the gun went off, and the bullet struck another pedestrian who was dancing. After that, chaos erupted, and fights from scared peds began to break out, as they all fought each other to get out of the club.
Jason hung back as the fighting went on, not wanting to get involved. Suddenly, he felt himself jerked backwards. He yelped as someone pulled him by the arm upstairs. When they arrived in the upstairs room, Jason looked around and saw who had pulled him—Tommy Vercetti himself.
"What are you doing here, Mr. Vercetti?" Jason asked as politely as he could.
"I own this club, you know," Tommy said gruffly as he watched over the banister. The cops had arrived on the scene, and were trying to tend to the riot, but weren't having much luck. Several shots had been fired, and two bodies lay on the ground, in addition to the initial Haitians.
"As it turns out, there's more Haitians down there," Tommy said as he turned around. "I don't know what's going on in my city, but I want you to find out. The Haitians seem to be doing some dirty dealings around my studio, and why are they at the club? I want you on this, Beretto. Get to it, now!"
Jason shuffled from the club after twisting through the masses of people, and drove straight for the Links View Apartments. This needed some investigations, and he wasn't going to get that done at the club. He needed some peace, quiet, and his laptop.