Vince Vercetti tossed a stone out in front of him and watched splash into
the glassy water that lapped quietly below the dock. He was sitting on the
very edge of the pier that extending from the long dock, so close to
falling off that it was a wonder that he hadn't done so already. The docks
were situated behind a large parking complex that nearly completely
concealed their existence. One had to veer off the Sea Breeze drive at an
odd angle in order to reach them as inaccessible as they were. Vince threw
another stone out, eyeing the ripples critically and admiring they way the
disturbed the calmness of the solid black water. He was just passing time.
He hated this part of any operation. Waiting wasn't something he was fond
of; he was, after all, an extremely impatient person. He was used to
getting what he wanted precisely when he wanted it.
Vercetti stood a little ways behind his brother, leaning against one of the support pillars that shot up from the water to hold the wooden planks of the pier in place as if it had skewered the water. The water continued to splash around under the dock mournfully, like it was dead, like the pier had managed to take its life away with its very existence. Vercetti busily polished a Spaz-12 shotgun with a grease-stained cloth, his full concentration on the gun's chamber. He was oblivious to the world. Rosenberg sat uneasily at his feet, twiddling his thumbs nervously and polishing his glasses more often than he really needed to.
Lance approached the docks from the parking garage, his hands in his pockets. There was something about his face, the infernal grin he wore, that seemed a little out of the ordinary, and Maria caught onto it when she looked up to see who was coming. "Where have you been," she demanded to know from her perch on the van's hood, her senses telling her that something didn't seem right at all.
"I was checking out all the bad-ass vehicles in the complex," Lance explained a little too hastily.
Mercedes was standing near the water, one hand covering her ear as she listened to a small, compact cell phone with the other. She smiled at something the person on the other line had said and then laughed, perhaps a little too loudly. Her shrill chortle echoed off the night sky and disappeared. Everyone turned to look at her, even Vercetti, who stopped in the middle of the cleaning of his gun. There was a brief moment of silence. Mercedes blushed wildly and indicated that she had she had been laughing at the person on the phone. She turned away from them as they turned away from her and continued with her evidently amusing conversation.
Vercetti had instructed her to call Colonel Cortez and request a pick up. He assumed that her father would respond as quickly has he could, for he owed Vercetti quite a favor. Mercedes had indeed called him; Vercetti could remember her talking to him, but then he had tuned out. So who they hell was she talking to now? He hoped she hadn't gotten incredibly side-tracked as she had a habit of doing. He paused in his firearm cleaning and glanced at the sky, squinting against the setting sun.
"It's getting dark, Mercedes. Is he coming or not," Vercetti asked.
Mercedes waved her hand at him like she was trying to swat a fly and frowned. She obviously didn't like his intrusion into her conversation. Vercetti shook his head. Never step in between women like Mercedes and their telephones.
Vince got up after tossing his last stone into the sparkling ocean and brushed off his pants. He straightened out his jacket and strode up the dock with a particular purpose on mind. Vercetti watched him, knowing what his intentions were, and he smiled. Mercedes was not going to be happy.
"Well, is he or not," Vercetti asked Mercedes, craning his neck to watch Vince as he left his direct line of vision. "Come on Mercedes, don't keep me on hold here."
"Yeah, yeah he's coming, now will you please be quiet? I can't hear," Mercedes responded curtly. She went back to giggling into the phone. Vercetti wondered who in the world could possibly that funny. Vince approached Mercedes and gently took the phone from her hand. He look at it for a moment before snapping it shut, successfully hanging up the line. Then he turned and threw it into the ocean as far as his arm could propel it. It arced up high and then came back down far out, it's splash soft in the night. Then Vince turned on his heel and walked away, back towards the edge of the dock. Mercedes graced him with a rather unladylike gesture that involved the raising of a certain finger, behind his back.
Vercetti laughed and raised his gaze to the quickly darkening sky again.
"Daddy should be here around two, Tommy. He says he can't get here any sooner because the yacht blew in engine or something last weekend," Mercedes said. "So we're in for a bit of a wait."
"What time is it now," Vercetti snapping his fingers in front of Rosenberg's eyes.
"About seven," Rosenberg responded obediently.
"Oh. Well get comfortable everyone."
**********************
Alexander Grimm entered the Pole Position strip club at nearly nine-thirty that same night. He glanced around at the joint dubiously, his cold eyes sweeping the perimeter from behind his thin wire-framed glasses. His team of agents filtered in around him from all sides, make him look like a rock in a stream. Patrons of the club, terrified of the sudden infiltration of federal officers scrambled in all directions, some zipping up their pants as they made for the exits. The scene disgusted Grimm, and he shook his head. The strippers didn't seem particularly daunted, but they climbed down from their respective platforms and tables and disappeared into back rooms. Working with a gangster like Tommy Vercetti seemed to have desensitized people a little. Grimm leaned forward over the bar and addressed the bar tender. "Turn off that god-awful music," he shouted to be heard over the music that pulsed through the club. Grimm could almost feel the walls shaking and the floor quaking. He didn't like it. The bartender nodded and reached under the counter with one hand to find the switches; the boy moved quickly, but not in a movement of fear. His freckled face remained emotionless. Suddenly, the room plunged into comfortable silence, and the strobe lights switched off. Florescent lights in the ceiling took their places. Grimm nodded, satisfied.
"Good," he said in his usual quiet and reserved tone. "Now, tell me where I can find Thomas J. Vercetti." The agents fanned out, covering the floor of the club, some moving up the back corridors to investigate the other rooms. Their trained eyes perused the environment for anything out of the ordinary.
"He came in here earlier today and two other guys came calling on him," the bartended replied. "I sent them upstairs to the office to see the dude that had gone up there before, because I didn't know if Mr. Vercetti was still in here. He tends to disappear. The guy who was up in the office wasn't him, though. I know that much, Anyway, I haven't see any of them since."
"Where's the office," Grimm asked, pressing the palms of his hands onto the counter top.
"Upstairs, like I said," the bartender answered, rolling his eyes. "Take that hallway over there and go up the first flight of stairs you see on your left. I can't really guarantee that you'll be able to get in though, because Mr. Vercetti likes to keep it locked."
"Thank you," Grimm said absently; he was already moving away from the counter. The bartender shrugged and went back to wiping a few shot glass dry with a damp, white towel. Grimm took two agents up the stairs with him. The office at the top was indeed locked, so Grimm set his agents to work on the lock. It became their one and only job to get the door open and search the office. Grimm returned downstairs and was approached by a young agent who looked as if he wanted to salute or something ridiculous like that.
"Sir," he said a little too crisply, "We found Special Agents Creed and Ford. They're over here." The over eager rookie led the Assistant Director of the FBI down the hall and into a room near the end. As they entered, Creed and Ford were just being released from their elaborate restraints.
"Agents," Grimm demanded loudly, "what the hell happened here?"
Creep jumped to his feet, nearly knocking over the agents who had freed him from Lance's system of knots. "AD Grimm!"
"Can the damn formalities," Grimm barked. "I asked you a question!"
"The Vercetti brothers and their little group ambushed us here and, then they tore off. We don't know where they went. Sir, it was a planned attack," Ford explained flatly as he stood up and rubbed at his wrists. He straightened his tie.
"How the hell does a man escape from police custody twice in forty-eight hours," Grimm inquired. The whole situation baffled him. He just couldn't see how it was humanly possible, not with all the men at the disposal of law enforcement. It was impossible. Wasn't it?
"He has a lot of allies, sir," Creed said, a little embarrassed. "They all came to his aid." His eyes rested firmly on the floor, and his hands kept twitching, a true sign of his discomfort.
"May I ask how you found us here, sir," Ford asked curiously. He took the time to pull at the wrinkles in his blazer and brush his rebellious hair from his eyes.
"An anonymous tip," Grimm answered.
"Anonymous? But the only people who were knew we were tied up back here were the Vercetti brothers, Cortez, Vance, Rosenberg, and what's her name? Maria?"
**********************
It was nearing one-thirty in the morning when Mercedes finally spotted her father's yacht approaching the docks on the distant horizon. That in itself was an amazing feat, seeing as though the night was extremely dark. Vercetti had wondered out loud earlier why there were not street lights in the back of the parking complex where the docks were. He had shrugged it off. A lot of strange business went down back in the area, didn't want anyone to see what exactly went on. Right?
Mercedes squinted at the massive silhouette approaching from the end of the Vice Straights. After confirming mentally that it was indeed her father's ship, she rounded the back corner of the van, which was still sitting where it had been initially parked, and popped open the doors. Vercetti was sound asleep on the floor inside, having drifted off into such a state some two hours after Vince had thrown her cell phone into the watery depths of the ocean. Mercedes smiled at his still form and leaned forward, shaking him gently to wake him.
He sat up like he was spring loaded, his eyes flying open, gun in hand. "Huh," he articulated in muted panic. "What? Who's there? What's going on?" Mercedes giggled, watching his eyes dart back and forth with unhidden suspicion. The man had just been awakened in a place that he did not immediately recognize, so of course it was a natural reaction for him to go for his firearm. That was funny.
She calmed put her hand on the top of the gun's nozzle and lowered it slowly from her face, allowing him to focus on her identity in the dim light. "My father's almost here," she said quietly. "It's time to get moving." Vercetti blinked a few times, then he rubbed his eyes and put his gun away, yawning. Mercedes backed away from the van to allow him room to jump out, which he did. He stretched and inhaled deeply.
"Wake up Ken and Maria," he instructed Lance, who seemed to be dozing lightly leaning against the front door of the van, his arms folded tightly across his chest. His left hand held a handgun, as if he was afraid something would jump out of the ocean and try to kill them all. A man needed protection. "I'll go get my brother," Vercetti finished as Lance walked off to find the other two members of the group.
Vercetti walked to the end of the pier where Vince snoozed lightly, his weight against the tall wooden support pillar. He was sitting, his arms crossed, his face turned toward the water. His legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. It was a small wonder that he hadn't fallen over. Vercetti nudged him lightly with the toe of his shoe, and Vince started in such a way that his brother feared he would fall off the dock and into the water.
Apparently, Vince was afraid of the same thing, because he grabbed the pillar behind him to steady himself. He looked at the water, dark and strangely murky as it was, and then back up into Vercetti's slightly amused visage, his face full of present inquiry.
"It's almost time to get moving," the older man said. Vince nodded and hauled himself to his feet. He straightened his jacket and pushed past his brother, walking off in the direction of the van. Vercetti had been caught off guard, and he teetered on the edge of the dock, his arm's failing, nearly falling off to his own watery fate. He clung to the support pillar and pulled himself back to stability. He breathed a sigh of relief. He cleared his throat in an oddly out of place attempt to regain his composure and followed Vince's path back to the base of the pier. The colonel's yacht was now in full view, its deck lights twinkling merrily against the vast net of stars above the water.
Vercetti and the others watched the boat's rapid approach. As it pulled expertly up to the dock, a well groomed, somewhat elderly man appeared on the upper deck, his sharp black eyes scanning the Vice City landscape with a gaze that was obviously trained to catch the slightest hint of danger. Traps were nothing new to the military man, and he had been pounded with them enough times to know how to spot them. Colonel Juan Garcia Cortez was not an idiot. His line of vision shifted down, and he spotted the small group on the ground below. He grinned.
"Hola Mercedes," he shouted, "and Thomas, my friend." He waved his arm in a wide arc, sending his greeting, and making sure it could be easily seen. He wanted to assure them that he was indeed who he appeared to be. He knew Thomas Vercetti well enough to know that the man was looking for any indications of an ambush as well. That's one thing he liked about Vercetti. Vercetti was no fool. "I am sorry to have made you wait for so long."
"Not a problem, Colonel," Vercetti called back, returning Cortez's waving greeting.
"Hola Papa," Mercedes cried, a huge grin plastered to her face. Vercetti didn't think he could remember a time when he had seen her so excited about something. She wasn't really the type of girl that was easy to impress. You needed to do something pretty drastic to get her attention, but her family ties seemed to be proving the exception.
The group climbed aboard the ship as the boarding plank descended. Cortez met the at the entrance to the third deck, and Mercedes ran forward, throwing her arms around his neck. "It's been too long, father." She laughed girlishly, and Vercetti raised an eyebrow.
Cortez laughed, returning the hug with one arm while extending the other to shake hands with Vercetti. His eyes remained wary, however, as he eyed the other four members of the group. He knew for sure that Mercedes and Vercetti were who they appeared to be, but he had never seen any of the other before. How was he to know that they weren't some kind of threat? The fact that his daughter and the man he had come to think of as a son were not afraid of them didn't do anything to appease him. There was always the chance the sides had been switched. He didn't like the aspect, but he couldn't rule it out. "Yes, indeed it has been too long, my daughter. Care to introduce me to your new compatriots?"
Vercetti took over. "Well," he said, "This is my brother Vince, and that's Maria, Vince's friend-type-person I guess. And that's my friend lawyer Ken Rosenberg. Finally, that's Lance Vance, a very good friend of mine."
"Any friend of yours, Thomas, if a friend of mine," Cortez said with a wide smile. "Come on, get on deck here so we can pull the plank back up, mis amigos." The suspicion left his face. He had no reason to distrust Vercetti. The man had worked well and hard for him, and even when things got a little hairy towards the end, Vercetti remained by his side to protect him. Cortez appreciated that.
The boarding plank thundered back into place, locking into the side of the ship. As the group ducked into a nearby cabin, with Cortez in the lead, the yacht began to pull away from the docks. Once everyone was settled, the colonel led Vercetti into the privacy of the bridge, where the extensive front window gave ample view of the waters in front of the vehicle. "I'm guessing you are going to want to get out of U.S. waters," he asked. He stood with his feet spread a shoulder's width apart behind the large navigational terminal, his hands clasped behind his back.
"We want to go as far as you're willing to take us, Colonel," Vercetti answered, stifling a yawn. He nodded curtly. "We have some 'annoyances' on our tails that we'd just as soon drop."
"Ah, I understand completely, amigo. Believe me. Where would you like to go? The world is mine to command. I go where I please, and right now, I will take you anywhere you wish," Cortez said.
Vercetti shifted his weight from foot to foot, as if he could not sit still. "I don't know where I want to go," he said honestly. He hadn't really put a ton of thought into any particular destination. All he really wanted to do was get out of Florida before something terrible happened. He was a hard man to kill, but he didn't want to take his chances. One never knew where and when a bullet would catch him in the ass.
"You have blood on your shirt, amigo. Are you injured?"
"No," Vercetti answered with a small laugh. "Nose bleed. Must be the climate."
The colonel nodded.
"Let's head out toward international waters then. We can figure out where to go from there. I'm sure your 'annoyances' will find it exceedingly difficult to apprehend you and you friends when you are all so far out of their reach," Cortez offered smoothly. "In the meantime, why don't you go below and get some sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us."
"Right," Vercetti said. "Thank you, Colonel."
As Vercetti walked away, Cortez smiled. "It's good to see you again, my friend. You really saved my hide back there when all those French bastards were on me. For that, I am eternally grateful."
Vercetti shrugged without stopping to turn around. "Not a problem, Colonel. It was a great pleasure."
*********************
Ford had not said anything since they left the Pole Position thirty minutes ago. It was a set of thirty minutes that seemed to drag on for hours, and Creed had had just about enough of it. He kept throwing awkward glances at his partner, trying to figure out what exactly it was that had Ford all out of sorts. Sure, Vercetti beat them at the game again, but what else was new? The older federal agent had not been so bitter after the first two times, so what made this time any different? Was it because Ford had floored the criminal, and he still got away? Yeah, that must be it. It was a top dog thing. Creed gripped the steering wheel, guiding the car toward the hotel in Ocean Beach. Grimm set them up there to "get some rest."
The AD had gone back to Washington D.C, taking the strike team with him. It had taken a good hour of convincing, near the point of begging, to get the man to leave, and Creed was the one to take the task upon himself. Ford had been no help what-so-ever, as he refused to speak.
"All right," Creed proclaimed very suddenly. "I've had just about enough of your shit, Pat. What the hell is wrong with you, anyway?" Creed was angry, bitterly so at Ford's behavior. The two of them had been through all the same things on this god-forsaken mission, hadn't they? Ford didn't see Creed sitting in the goddamn corner sulking, did he? Sure, the younger agent was angry, but he wasn't about to allow it to affect his field performance.
"There's no way we're going to catch this guy, Gray. He's too damn elusive. He's just going to go on killing people and destroying lives, and he's going to continue to get away with it too. It's not going to change," Ford said dejectedly, inwardly shocked by Creed's sudden furious outburst.
Creed glanced at him sideways before returning his gaze to the road in front of him. "I suppose you think that's it. You want to give up and fly your ass back to Washington. You want to forget the whole thing; is that what you're saying?" His hands tightened around the wheel. "We just have to get our heads above water. You can't give up just yet. Not until you're bleeding in the streets." Creed couldn't believe what he was hearing from the senior agent. He sounded like a whining brat no older than five years of age. Ford looked at Creed in slight surprise. Where had that come from? Creed had always been quiet, never speaking unless spoken to, and he didn't seem like the type to become irritated by the way other people were acting. He did more of his own thing. Ford sighed and looked down. Even so, he knew the kid was right. Creed was shaking his head in disgust, pulling the car into a parking spot in front of the Ocean View Hotel. They sat there in silence for a long moment.
"We need a lead," Ford said at last.
"How's this for a lead? Vercetti has a hotel room in this joint. Supposedly, he keeps all sorts of crap in there. The hotel employees don't go in there for maintenance or cleaning, so everything is untouched," Creed responded in a low voice. He unbuckled his seat belt, opened his door, and left the car, slamming the door shut behind him.
Ford sat in the passenger seat for a stunned moment before blinking slowly. Wow, that had been awfully unexpected. He took the time to wonder just how much more Creed knew about this case. The young agent was proving himself more knowledgeable with every second passed. Ford grinned, getting out of the car and following. Maybe the kid wasn't so bad after all.
Creed asked the desk clerk where Vercetti's room was, and within moment, both agents were trekking up the black granite steps to the second floor. The hallways were dark, little light streaming through the strangely scarce windows. Ford pondered just kind of hotel this was, anyway. Vercetti's domain turned out to be at the very end of the hall. Curiously, the door was unlocked. Guns drawn, they entered. They didn't want to risk being ambushed again.
But no one was in the room. Vercetti's clothes were draped over the backs of chairs and strewn haphazardly on the bed. Posters hung on the walls, containing both violent and perverted images. Ford frowned as he split up from Creed and they went to opposite sides of the room to search. The bed was covered stack of American money, which was spilling out a blue duffel bag, barrels of "boom shine" in the corner, and bottles of beer on the counter in the wet bar. Ford put away his gun, satisfied that there was no threat. Creed did the same.
"Check this out," Creed said. He was standing near the window, where twelve broke tiki statues were scattered about on the sill. Each had white powder seeping from the cracks of the containers, and Ford risked a taste from his finger tip. He cringed.
"Yuck. That's definitely cocaine. I guess Vercetti found the merchandise from the drug deal he was sent here on," he observed. "There are some interesting trophies over on the television set. Apparently, Vercetti is Ammunition's "shooter of the month." That accounts for his deadly accuracy."
A phone rang before Creed could respond, its shrill cry echoing throughout the confines of the room. Creed and Ford exchanged glances. They checked their pockets to confirm that it wasn't one of theirs, and then they looked around. The phone had to be somewhere nearby. The ringing cellular turned out to be under the stacks of money on the bed.
"Um, hello," Creed asked into the phone once he figured out how to turn the damn thing on.
"I bet you could use some help. So listen up," an unfamiliar voice said. "Colonel Juan Cortez has taken your charge under his wing. They are in the mid Vice Straight to the south of Washington Beach. Look for them heading on a yacht heading east." The phone went dead.
Creed took it away from his ear and looked at it, one eyebrow raised in inquiry.
Ford was looked at him. "What was that?"
"Well," Creed said slowly. "Vercetti and the others are in the Vice Straights. The phone said so."
"Then let's go, right?"
"Should we call Washington for a team?"
"Definitely."
***************************************************
Sorry for the delay. Man, exams sure do suck. Tell me what you guys think? Here's a teaser for the next chapter: the feds catch up to Vercetti and the rest of the group, there are some explosions and stuff, and two particular Vercetti groupies get themselves in a real mess. Someone does some talking, and oh, is Tommy pissed. Hope I grabbed your attention. Stay tuned, and review!!
-Maverick Point
Vercetti stood a little ways behind his brother, leaning against one of the support pillars that shot up from the water to hold the wooden planks of the pier in place as if it had skewered the water. The water continued to splash around under the dock mournfully, like it was dead, like the pier had managed to take its life away with its very existence. Vercetti busily polished a Spaz-12 shotgun with a grease-stained cloth, his full concentration on the gun's chamber. He was oblivious to the world. Rosenberg sat uneasily at his feet, twiddling his thumbs nervously and polishing his glasses more often than he really needed to.
Lance approached the docks from the parking garage, his hands in his pockets. There was something about his face, the infernal grin he wore, that seemed a little out of the ordinary, and Maria caught onto it when she looked up to see who was coming. "Where have you been," she demanded to know from her perch on the van's hood, her senses telling her that something didn't seem right at all.
"I was checking out all the bad-ass vehicles in the complex," Lance explained a little too hastily.
Mercedes was standing near the water, one hand covering her ear as she listened to a small, compact cell phone with the other. She smiled at something the person on the other line had said and then laughed, perhaps a little too loudly. Her shrill chortle echoed off the night sky and disappeared. Everyone turned to look at her, even Vercetti, who stopped in the middle of the cleaning of his gun. There was a brief moment of silence. Mercedes blushed wildly and indicated that she had she had been laughing at the person on the phone. She turned away from them as they turned away from her and continued with her evidently amusing conversation.
Vercetti had instructed her to call Colonel Cortez and request a pick up. He assumed that her father would respond as quickly has he could, for he owed Vercetti quite a favor. Mercedes had indeed called him; Vercetti could remember her talking to him, but then he had tuned out. So who they hell was she talking to now? He hoped she hadn't gotten incredibly side-tracked as she had a habit of doing. He paused in his firearm cleaning and glanced at the sky, squinting against the setting sun.
"It's getting dark, Mercedes. Is he coming or not," Vercetti asked.
Mercedes waved her hand at him like she was trying to swat a fly and frowned. She obviously didn't like his intrusion into her conversation. Vercetti shook his head. Never step in between women like Mercedes and their telephones.
Vince got up after tossing his last stone into the sparkling ocean and brushed off his pants. He straightened out his jacket and strode up the dock with a particular purpose on mind. Vercetti watched him, knowing what his intentions were, and he smiled. Mercedes was not going to be happy.
"Well, is he or not," Vercetti asked Mercedes, craning his neck to watch Vince as he left his direct line of vision. "Come on Mercedes, don't keep me on hold here."
"Yeah, yeah he's coming, now will you please be quiet? I can't hear," Mercedes responded curtly. She went back to giggling into the phone. Vercetti wondered who in the world could possibly that funny. Vince approached Mercedes and gently took the phone from her hand. He look at it for a moment before snapping it shut, successfully hanging up the line. Then he turned and threw it into the ocean as far as his arm could propel it. It arced up high and then came back down far out, it's splash soft in the night. Then Vince turned on his heel and walked away, back towards the edge of the dock. Mercedes graced him with a rather unladylike gesture that involved the raising of a certain finger, behind his back.
Vercetti laughed and raised his gaze to the quickly darkening sky again.
"Daddy should be here around two, Tommy. He says he can't get here any sooner because the yacht blew in engine or something last weekend," Mercedes said. "So we're in for a bit of a wait."
"What time is it now," Vercetti snapping his fingers in front of Rosenberg's eyes.
"About seven," Rosenberg responded obediently.
"Oh. Well get comfortable everyone."
**********************
Alexander Grimm entered the Pole Position strip club at nearly nine-thirty that same night. He glanced around at the joint dubiously, his cold eyes sweeping the perimeter from behind his thin wire-framed glasses. His team of agents filtered in around him from all sides, make him look like a rock in a stream. Patrons of the club, terrified of the sudden infiltration of federal officers scrambled in all directions, some zipping up their pants as they made for the exits. The scene disgusted Grimm, and he shook his head. The strippers didn't seem particularly daunted, but they climbed down from their respective platforms and tables and disappeared into back rooms. Working with a gangster like Tommy Vercetti seemed to have desensitized people a little. Grimm leaned forward over the bar and addressed the bar tender. "Turn off that god-awful music," he shouted to be heard over the music that pulsed through the club. Grimm could almost feel the walls shaking and the floor quaking. He didn't like it. The bartender nodded and reached under the counter with one hand to find the switches; the boy moved quickly, but not in a movement of fear. His freckled face remained emotionless. Suddenly, the room plunged into comfortable silence, and the strobe lights switched off. Florescent lights in the ceiling took their places. Grimm nodded, satisfied.
"Good," he said in his usual quiet and reserved tone. "Now, tell me where I can find Thomas J. Vercetti." The agents fanned out, covering the floor of the club, some moving up the back corridors to investigate the other rooms. Their trained eyes perused the environment for anything out of the ordinary.
"He came in here earlier today and two other guys came calling on him," the bartended replied. "I sent them upstairs to the office to see the dude that had gone up there before, because I didn't know if Mr. Vercetti was still in here. He tends to disappear. The guy who was up in the office wasn't him, though. I know that much, Anyway, I haven't see any of them since."
"Where's the office," Grimm asked, pressing the palms of his hands onto the counter top.
"Upstairs, like I said," the bartender answered, rolling his eyes. "Take that hallway over there and go up the first flight of stairs you see on your left. I can't really guarantee that you'll be able to get in though, because Mr. Vercetti likes to keep it locked."
"Thank you," Grimm said absently; he was already moving away from the counter. The bartender shrugged and went back to wiping a few shot glass dry with a damp, white towel. Grimm took two agents up the stairs with him. The office at the top was indeed locked, so Grimm set his agents to work on the lock. It became their one and only job to get the door open and search the office. Grimm returned downstairs and was approached by a young agent who looked as if he wanted to salute or something ridiculous like that.
"Sir," he said a little too crisply, "We found Special Agents Creed and Ford. They're over here." The over eager rookie led the Assistant Director of the FBI down the hall and into a room near the end. As they entered, Creed and Ford were just being released from their elaborate restraints.
"Agents," Grimm demanded loudly, "what the hell happened here?"
Creep jumped to his feet, nearly knocking over the agents who had freed him from Lance's system of knots. "AD Grimm!"
"Can the damn formalities," Grimm barked. "I asked you a question!"
"The Vercetti brothers and their little group ambushed us here and, then they tore off. We don't know where they went. Sir, it was a planned attack," Ford explained flatly as he stood up and rubbed at his wrists. He straightened his tie.
"How the hell does a man escape from police custody twice in forty-eight hours," Grimm inquired. The whole situation baffled him. He just couldn't see how it was humanly possible, not with all the men at the disposal of law enforcement. It was impossible. Wasn't it?
"He has a lot of allies, sir," Creed said, a little embarrassed. "They all came to his aid." His eyes rested firmly on the floor, and his hands kept twitching, a true sign of his discomfort.
"May I ask how you found us here, sir," Ford asked curiously. He took the time to pull at the wrinkles in his blazer and brush his rebellious hair from his eyes.
"An anonymous tip," Grimm answered.
"Anonymous? But the only people who were knew we were tied up back here were the Vercetti brothers, Cortez, Vance, Rosenberg, and what's her name? Maria?"
**********************
It was nearing one-thirty in the morning when Mercedes finally spotted her father's yacht approaching the docks on the distant horizon. That in itself was an amazing feat, seeing as though the night was extremely dark. Vercetti had wondered out loud earlier why there were not street lights in the back of the parking complex where the docks were. He had shrugged it off. A lot of strange business went down back in the area, didn't want anyone to see what exactly went on. Right?
Mercedes squinted at the massive silhouette approaching from the end of the Vice Straights. After confirming mentally that it was indeed her father's ship, she rounded the back corner of the van, which was still sitting where it had been initially parked, and popped open the doors. Vercetti was sound asleep on the floor inside, having drifted off into such a state some two hours after Vince had thrown her cell phone into the watery depths of the ocean. Mercedes smiled at his still form and leaned forward, shaking him gently to wake him.
He sat up like he was spring loaded, his eyes flying open, gun in hand. "Huh," he articulated in muted panic. "What? Who's there? What's going on?" Mercedes giggled, watching his eyes dart back and forth with unhidden suspicion. The man had just been awakened in a place that he did not immediately recognize, so of course it was a natural reaction for him to go for his firearm. That was funny.
She calmed put her hand on the top of the gun's nozzle and lowered it slowly from her face, allowing him to focus on her identity in the dim light. "My father's almost here," she said quietly. "It's time to get moving." Vercetti blinked a few times, then he rubbed his eyes and put his gun away, yawning. Mercedes backed away from the van to allow him room to jump out, which he did. He stretched and inhaled deeply.
"Wake up Ken and Maria," he instructed Lance, who seemed to be dozing lightly leaning against the front door of the van, his arms folded tightly across his chest. His left hand held a handgun, as if he was afraid something would jump out of the ocean and try to kill them all. A man needed protection. "I'll go get my brother," Vercetti finished as Lance walked off to find the other two members of the group.
Vercetti walked to the end of the pier where Vince snoozed lightly, his weight against the tall wooden support pillar. He was sitting, his arms crossed, his face turned toward the water. His legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. It was a small wonder that he hadn't fallen over. Vercetti nudged him lightly with the toe of his shoe, and Vince started in such a way that his brother feared he would fall off the dock and into the water.
Apparently, Vince was afraid of the same thing, because he grabbed the pillar behind him to steady himself. He looked at the water, dark and strangely murky as it was, and then back up into Vercetti's slightly amused visage, his face full of present inquiry.
"It's almost time to get moving," the older man said. Vince nodded and hauled himself to his feet. He straightened his jacket and pushed past his brother, walking off in the direction of the van. Vercetti had been caught off guard, and he teetered on the edge of the dock, his arm's failing, nearly falling off to his own watery fate. He clung to the support pillar and pulled himself back to stability. He breathed a sigh of relief. He cleared his throat in an oddly out of place attempt to regain his composure and followed Vince's path back to the base of the pier. The colonel's yacht was now in full view, its deck lights twinkling merrily against the vast net of stars above the water.
Vercetti and the others watched the boat's rapid approach. As it pulled expertly up to the dock, a well groomed, somewhat elderly man appeared on the upper deck, his sharp black eyes scanning the Vice City landscape with a gaze that was obviously trained to catch the slightest hint of danger. Traps were nothing new to the military man, and he had been pounded with them enough times to know how to spot them. Colonel Juan Garcia Cortez was not an idiot. His line of vision shifted down, and he spotted the small group on the ground below. He grinned.
"Hola Mercedes," he shouted, "and Thomas, my friend." He waved his arm in a wide arc, sending his greeting, and making sure it could be easily seen. He wanted to assure them that he was indeed who he appeared to be. He knew Thomas Vercetti well enough to know that the man was looking for any indications of an ambush as well. That's one thing he liked about Vercetti. Vercetti was no fool. "I am sorry to have made you wait for so long."
"Not a problem, Colonel," Vercetti called back, returning Cortez's waving greeting.
"Hola Papa," Mercedes cried, a huge grin plastered to her face. Vercetti didn't think he could remember a time when he had seen her so excited about something. She wasn't really the type of girl that was easy to impress. You needed to do something pretty drastic to get her attention, but her family ties seemed to be proving the exception.
The group climbed aboard the ship as the boarding plank descended. Cortez met the at the entrance to the third deck, and Mercedes ran forward, throwing her arms around his neck. "It's been too long, father." She laughed girlishly, and Vercetti raised an eyebrow.
Cortez laughed, returning the hug with one arm while extending the other to shake hands with Vercetti. His eyes remained wary, however, as he eyed the other four members of the group. He knew for sure that Mercedes and Vercetti were who they appeared to be, but he had never seen any of the other before. How was he to know that they weren't some kind of threat? The fact that his daughter and the man he had come to think of as a son were not afraid of them didn't do anything to appease him. There was always the chance the sides had been switched. He didn't like the aspect, but he couldn't rule it out. "Yes, indeed it has been too long, my daughter. Care to introduce me to your new compatriots?"
Vercetti took over. "Well," he said, "This is my brother Vince, and that's Maria, Vince's friend-type-person I guess. And that's my friend lawyer Ken Rosenberg. Finally, that's Lance Vance, a very good friend of mine."
"Any friend of yours, Thomas, if a friend of mine," Cortez said with a wide smile. "Come on, get on deck here so we can pull the plank back up, mis amigos." The suspicion left his face. He had no reason to distrust Vercetti. The man had worked well and hard for him, and even when things got a little hairy towards the end, Vercetti remained by his side to protect him. Cortez appreciated that.
The boarding plank thundered back into place, locking into the side of the ship. As the group ducked into a nearby cabin, with Cortez in the lead, the yacht began to pull away from the docks. Once everyone was settled, the colonel led Vercetti into the privacy of the bridge, where the extensive front window gave ample view of the waters in front of the vehicle. "I'm guessing you are going to want to get out of U.S. waters," he asked. He stood with his feet spread a shoulder's width apart behind the large navigational terminal, his hands clasped behind his back.
"We want to go as far as you're willing to take us, Colonel," Vercetti answered, stifling a yawn. He nodded curtly. "We have some 'annoyances' on our tails that we'd just as soon drop."
"Ah, I understand completely, amigo. Believe me. Where would you like to go? The world is mine to command. I go where I please, and right now, I will take you anywhere you wish," Cortez said.
Vercetti shifted his weight from foot to foot, as if he could not sit still. "I don't know where I want to go," he said honestly. He hadn't really put a ton of thought into any particular destination. All he really wanted to do was get out of Florida before something terrible happened. He was a hard man to kill, but he didn't want to take his chances. One never knew where and when a bullet would catch him in the ass.
"You have blood on your shirt, amigo. Are you injured?"
"No," Vercetti answered with a small laugh. "Nose bleed. Must be the climate."
The colonel nodded.
"Let's head out toward international waters then. We can figure out where to go from there. I'm sure your 'annoyances' will find it exceedingly difficult to apprehend you and you friends when you are all so far out of their reach," Cortez offered smoothly. "In the meantime, why don't you go below and get some sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us."
"Right," Vercetti said. "Thank you, Colonel."
As Vercetti walked away, Cortez smiled. "It's good to see you again, my friend. You really saved my hide back there when all those French bastards were on me. For that, I am eternally grateful."
Vercetti shrugged without stopping to turn around. "Not a problem, Colonel. It was a great pleasure."
*********************
Ford had not said anything since they left the Pole Position thirty minutes ago. It was a set of thirty minutes that seemed to drag on for hours, and Creed had had just about enough of it. He kept throwing awkward glances at his partner, trying to figure out what exactly it was that had Ford all out of sorts. Sure, Vercetti beat them at the game again, but what else was new? The older federal agent had not been so bitter after the first two times, so what made this time any different? Was it because Ford had floored the criminal, and he still got away? Yeah, that must be it. It was a top dog thing. Creed gripped the steering wheel, guiding the car toward the hotel in Ocean Beach. Grimm set them up there to "get some rest."
The AD had gone back to Washington D.C, taking the strike team with him. It had taken a good hour of convincing, near the point of begging, to get the man to leave, and Creed was the one to take the task upon himself. Ford had been no help what-so-ever, as he refused to speak.
"All right," Creed proclaimed very suddenly. "I've had just about enough of your shit, Pat. What the hell is wrong with you, anyway?" Creed was angry, bitterly so at Ford's behavior. The two of them had been through all the same things on this god-forsaken mission, hadn't they? Ford didn't see Creed sitting in the goddamn corner sulking, did he? Sure, the younger agent was angry, but he wasn't about to allow it to affect his field performance.
"There's no way we're going to catch this guy, Gray. He's too damn elusive. He's just going to go on killing people and destroying lives, and he's going to continue to get away with it too. It's not going to change," Ford said dejectedly, inwardly shocked by Creed's sudden furious outburst.
Creed glanced at him sideways before returning his gaze to the road in front of him. "I suppose you think that's it. You want to give up and fly your ass back to Washington. You want to forget the whole thing; is that what you're saying?" His hands tightened around the wheel. "We just have to get our heads above water. You can't give up just yet. Not until you're bleeding in the streets." Creed couldn't believe what he was hearing from the senior agent. He sounded like a whining brat no older than five years of age. Ford looked at Creed in slight surprise. Where had that come from? Creed had always been quiet, never speaking unless spoken to, and he didn't seem like the type to become irritated by the way other people were acting. He did more of his own thing. Ford sighed and looked down. Even so, he knew the kid was right. Creed was shaking his head in disgust, pulling the car into a parking spot in front of the Ocean View Hotel. They sat there in silence for a long moment.
"We need a lead," Ford said at last.
"How's this for a lead? Vercetti has a hotel room in this joint. Supposedly, he keeps all sorts of crap in there. The hotel employees don't go in there for maintenance or cleaning, so everything is untouched," Creed responded in a low voice. He unbuckled his seat belt, opened his door, and left the car, slamming the door shut behind him.
Ford sat in the passenger seat for a stunned moment before blinking slowly. Wow, that had been awfully unexpected. He took the time to wonder just how much more Creed knew about this case. The young agent was proving himself more knowledgeable with every second passed. Ford grinned, getting out of the car and following. Maybe the kid wasn't so bad after all.
Creed asked the desk clerk where Vercetti's room was, and within moment, both agents were trekking up the black granite steps to the second floor. The hallways were dark, little light streaming through the strangely scarce windows. Ford pondered just kind of hotel this was, anyway. Vercetti's domain turned out to be at the very end of the hall. Curiously, the door was unlocked. Guns drawn, they entered. They didn't want to risk being ambushed again.
But no one was in the room. Vercetti's clothes were draped over the backs of chairs and strewn haphazardly on the bed. Posters hung on the walls, containing both violent and perverted images. Ford frowned as he split up from Creed and they went to opposite sides of the room to search. The bed was covered stack of American money, which was spilling out a blue duffel bag, barrels of "boom shine" in the corner, and bottles of beer on the counter in the wet bar. Ford put away his gun, satisfied that there was no threat. Creed did the same.
"Check this out," Creed said. He was standing near the window, where twelve broke tiki statues were scattered about on the sill. Each had white powder seeping from the cracks of the containers, and Ford risked a taste from his finger tip. He cringed.
"Yuck. That's definitely cocaine. I guess Vercetti found the merchandise from the drug deal he was sent here on," he observed. "There are some interesting trophies over on the television set. Apparently, Vercetti is Ammunition's "shooter of the month." That accounts for his deadly accuracy."
A phone rang before Creed could respond, its shrill cry echoing throughout the confines of the room. Creed and Ford exchanged glances. They checked their pockets to confirm that it wasn't one of theirs, and then they looked around. The phone had to be somewhere nearby. The ringing cellular turned out to be under the stacks of money on the bed.
"Um, hello," Creed asked into the phone once he figured out how to turn the damn thing on.
"I bet you could use some help. So listen up," an unfamiliar voice said. "Colonel Juan Cortez has taken your charge under his wing. They are in the mid Vice Straight to the south of Washington Beach. Look for them heading on a yacht heading east." The phone went dead.
Creed took it away from his ear and looked at it, one eyebrow raised in inquiry.
Ford was looked at him. "What was that?"
"Well," Creed said slowly. "Vercetti and the others are in the Vice Straights. The phone said so."
"Then let's go, right?"
"Should we call Washington for a team?"
"Definitely."
***************************************************
Sorry for the delay. Man, exams sure do suck. Tell me what you guys think? Here's a teaser for the next chapter: the feds catch up to Vercetti and the rest of the group, there are some explosions and stuff, and two particular Vercetti groupies get themselves in a real mess. Someone does some talking, and oh, is Tommy pissed. Hope I grabbed your attention. Stay tuned, and review!!
-Maverick Point