Kevin withdrew his .45, and aimed stealthily. By the time Lazlow noticed him standing there aiming his gun, it was too late. Shots rang out, and a moment later the sound of glass shattering filled the dank air. Kevin heard the sound of cursing, and grinned. The Bobcat's windshield was blown out, and the car had crashed into a cluster of dumpsters.
The door popped open, and Lazlow's battered body crawled out once again.
"I just got that windshield fixed!!" He moaned.
Kevin stood above him, holding a sleek briefcase in one hand and a pistol in the other. Lazlow looked up at him, squinting in the sunlight, and groaned at the sight of Kevin's smile.
"You still want your money?" He said, gesturing to the briefcase.
"No, please, keep it, just don't--"
Kevin walked around the side of the car and found Lazlow's belongings in the bed. Without warning, the sounds of sirens filled the air -- the cops were coming from Lazlow.
"Aw, come on, man. Keep the money, just let me go. You'll never hear of me again!"
Kevin popped the case open, and saw the dollar bills lying inside, attractively. He then looked down at Lazlow. He lie, scratched and bloody, in a heap of his own failure. Kevin took the briefcase and threw it down at the battered man before him.
"Take your money and go."
Lazlow smiled, and slowly got to his feet. He managed to stuff as many bills back into the case before he climbed back into his car.
"Hey, maybe you'll hear me again sometime!"
The Bobcat's wheel spun out, and the truck quickly stormed down the alley and disappeared from sight. Kevin got himself another taxi, and started head back to his temporary home at the Tropic Hotel. He realized that only day had passed since he had left Vercetti Estate. He plopped himself on the seat, gave the destination, and sat back listening to the sounds from the radio.
"Earlier today, a massive gang war erupted in the heart of Little Havana.Believed to involve the Cuban gangs, only one survivor in the shootout was found inside Robina's Café. It was no Cuban, folks, a British man was rushed to Ocean View hospital for treatment. Police have not disclosed his name. He is reported to have suffered major brain damage has a result."
"Man, this city is going straight down the drain . . ." The Spanish taxi-driver said.
Kevin cared for a moment of the news of the survivor, then lost his train of thought. The cab pulled up to the front of the hotel, Kevin paid the driver, and headed inside. Night fall had cloaked the city from head to foot, and the stars revealed themselves from high up in the sky. He headed up through the elevator, trying to ignore the tinny music on the ride. Eventually, he reached the fourth floor, and he gently stepped out. He entered Miguel and his room, and placed his .45 onto a glass table in the corner. In the other room, he heard the sound of annoying sounds emenating from the TV.
He looked, and found Miguel sitting on a couch playing on his Atari, which he just happened to bring along with him. He walked past him, and began searching through their refrigerator.
"Yo, man. How was your day?" Miguel said.
"I don't know." He replied.
"Yeah, I bet."
Kevin pulled out a bottle of milk and drank it, only to find it was a few weeks old. Miguel laughed as he spat the contents out into the sink.
"Good, huh?"
Kevin threw the bottle into the garbage recepticle, and sat down on the chair across from Miguel.
"Hey, yo, 'at Vercetti guy called me up. Says he wants us to come over first thing in the morning."
Kevin ran his hand through his air, and brushed the tiredness from his eyes. Miguel looked over at him, annoyed with his uncaring behavior. Kevin sat in the chair, staring at the television screen, watching the blips zip around. In the back of his mind, he knew that tomorrow would be a busy day.