(Longer author's notes: this story is AU for the following simple reason: I like Lance and I didn't want him to stab Tommy in the back. If this grievous break in canon offends/irritates you, this story isn't for you. Furthermore: this story contains a lot of foul language, references to sexual situations, both heterosexual and homosexual, and it introduces an original character. If you're determined to flame me, here's a tip: don't, since I don't care. I'm open to constructive criticism and I would love for people to point out any spelling or grammar errors, as I'm sure I've missed some while editing the story. Thanks in advance to those taking the time to read and review.)
Prologue
Del Jones beamed at the slightly flummoxed young woman in front of him. "So? Whaddaya say?"
She wet her lips -- nice! -- and walked around the car one more time. A Blista Compact; not even Vice City Trash would take it, the only one left at Sunshine's, and he was almost rid of it. Mr V. would be happy to hear it.
"Do you have it in blue?" she asked.
"Errr..." Del stammered, thinking about the Spray 'n Go in the garage. "I think so. I'd have to check." Screeching tires outside announced the arrival of Mr Boss himself and Del glanced up to see the figure in the familiar ugly blue Hawaiian shirt make his way to the door, hood of his car gone. Del had never figured out how a driver like Mr V. managed to damage just about any car he ever touched. "Could you excuse me a minute?"
She nodded and Del high-tailed toward the Boss, who was running his hand over the roof of a brand new golden Infernus, which Del had... acquired... late last night. "Got it last night, Mr V.," he said when he was within Vercetti's earshot.
"Looks good," Vercetti growled. "How's the revenues?"
"Upstairs, upstairs, safely in the safe." Del stuck his head around the door of the below office. "Hey, Mark, can you help the woman customer with the Blista while I'm upstairs?"
His assistant looked up. "We're finally getting rid of that ugly-ass machine?"
Del nodded happily, all-too aware of Vercetti impatiently tapping his foot behind. "Yup. So get her fixed up -- she wants it in blue, so paint it over ASAP -- and then we'll never have to deal with one of those again."
"You done there?" Vercetti asked behind him. Del jumped and turned around. "I'm kind of in a rush."
Better not ask, Del decided, and he walked up the stairs ahead of his boss. There was no one on the second floor, as was usual, and Del ducked behind the desk to punch in the access code to the safe. When he stood full-length again, Vercetti was at the floor-to-ceiling windows, hands in his pockets.
"You looking for something special, boss?" Del asked, coming up next to him with the envelope containing yesterday's revenues.
Vercetti didn't even look at him. "Not at the moment." He folded the envelope and stuck it in his shirt pocket. "See you tomorrow."
Del nodded and watched the city's most wanted criminal head down the stairs. Mr V. would check out the garage before leaving, perhaps have his car painted a different color, and then head out again. To where, Del didn't know and he knew it would be best if he never knew. Then he'd still be able to flatly stare down the boys in brown and tell them he had no idea, sir, about anything illegal going on with Mr Vercetti. No, sirs, this is a legitimate car dealership, here's out paperwork, see how we pay taxes?
If one lived in Vice City, one knew Thomas J. Vercetti. But if one worked for Mr Vercetti, one best knew as little as possible.
