Chapter 3: Exercise In Futility

The situation was the same at the Boatyard, and at Cherry Poppers, Pole Position, PrintWorks, InterGlobal and the Malibu Club. All revenues had been collected, yes, by Mr Vercetti, who's been here this morning, Ms Cortez. Is there anything we can help you with?

Exhaling, Mercedes walked back to the Infernus, where Tommy was steaming quietly behind the wheel. "Malibu Club revenues were collected by Mr Vercetti this morning," she reported, sliding into the passenger seat. Tommy rammed his fist against the wheel and let out a stream of very creative curses that fazed Mercedes none. Juan GarcĂ­a Cortez was her father, after all, and she'd grown up around him and dozens of sailors.

Done cursing, Tommy leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, lips pressed together in a tight line. "He's been to all my assets, took all my money. He needs to rest, he needs food, he needs to goddamn take a piss. Where's he gonna go?"

"A hotel," Mercedes suggested.

"One of my places," Tommy added.

"He doesn't have the keys," she countered. She leaned over and rested a hand on his knee. "Let's go home," she said. "You need to eat. You can place a few phone calls, see who knows anything about someone looking a lot like you checking in a hotel in Vice somewhere. There's one thing your brother doesn't have here."

"What's that?" Tommy asked, stepping on the gas and tearing away from the Malibu.

Mercedes smiled. "Anonymity."

"So let me get this straight," said Ken, pacing the bar room. An open fire burned merrily, even though early evenings in Vice were still hot and humid. "There's this guy in town impersonating you, and he's taken all your money and ran."

"Do we know for sure he's still in town?" Lance asked. He was lounging on the leather sofa, idly flipping channels.

Tommy shrugged. "He might've left already, I don't know. If he's still here, though, he's gonna be in a world of hurt when I get my hands on him."

"Wait, wait, wait." Ken squeezed his eyes shut and fisted his hair. "This is your brother we're talking about, yeah? Twin brother."

"Yeah," said Tommy. "Nicky." He put a bottle of beer to his lips and drank, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "We never really got along. Haven't seen him in twenty years. Thought he was dead, actually."

"This is bad," Ken muttered, quickening his steps, "this is very bad. This guy could wreak havoc. Destroy everything we worked for."

Lance raised an eyebrow. "We?"

"Well, you and Tommy and-- but that's beside the point. The point is that we have to stop this guy."

"No shit, Rosenberg," Tommy said. "You got contacts, see what you can find out. Lance, grab some men and head into Little Havana, see what they know. I'll make some calls from here. Find out where he's staying and then we're gonna nail him."

"If he's still in town," Lance said.

Tommy ran a cold bottle of beer over his forehead. "He's trying to screw me over and he's just begun. I'll bet the Malibu that he's still around."

"He can't be in any of your places, because he needs keys," said Mercedes. "So that rules out... half of Vice." She smirked at Tommy.

"What if he got keys?" Tommy asked.

"How?" Lance glanced between them. "You're the only one with keys and you guard they like they're the motherfucking keys to your unborn daughter's virginity. No, he ain't got no keys."

"I never let them out of my sight," Tommy agreed, patting the pocket of his stone-washed jeans. He glanced at Ken. "Check out the OceanView first."

Ken nodded.

"Why the OceanView?" Mercedes asked.

"That's where I stayed when I first got here. And call Kent Paul," he yelled after the departing Ken. "If there's anything going on in Vice, he'll know about it, God knows how."

"Yeah, it's almost creepy how much that guy knows about the going ons here in Vice," said Lance. "I can't scratch my ass without him puttin' out flyers about it."

"Wonderful metaphor, Lance," Mercedes said and Lance grinned.

"I try," he said modestly.

"Can we get back to the matter at hand here?" Tommy rose to his feet and pushed down the blinds at the window to look over the driveway. "Today's missed revenues... well, it hurts, but I'll deal."

It was probably, Mercedes thought, his pride that hurt more than anything. Not many people managed to get the better of Tommy Vercetti, although she supposed that if there was one person to do so, it would have to be another Vercetti.

"However, this can't happen again tomorrow," Tommy continued. "And word can't get out. Jones and Delorentes know, but they'll keep quiet if they know what's good for them."

"So do you think someone sent him here? The Forellis?" Lance asked. "Wantin' their money and some revenge for icing Sonny?"

Tommy shook his head. "No. Taking my money looks too much like last time; not the Forellis' style."

Last time, when Sonny had come to town to get the money from the drug deal gone awry, and Lance had double-crossed the double-crosser, leading to the demise of the head of the Forellis. Mercedes hadn't been present during the shoot-out, but she'd heard bits and managed to piece it together.

"So it's personal?" she asked.

"Looks like it," Tommy sighed.

"But why?"

Tommy glanced at her, his eyes darker in the light of the setting sun pouring through the window. "Revenge. I made him look bad a couple of times back before I went in. Sonny liked me better, thought I was more competent and gave me more shit to do. Nicky was bumped down; wound up running errands mostly. Guess the fifteen years I spent inside aren't enough for him."

Lance and Mercedes were quiet for a minute. Outside, Vercetti gang members and bodyguards patrolled the perimeter around the mansion as evening fell.

"Does he want to whack you too?" Lance asked, sitting up straight, fingers sliding idly over the cool metal of his Python.

"I don't think so. I'm family. You don't whack family."

"So you're not gonna whack him?" Lance asked, shooting Mercedes a disbelieving look.

Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose. "Believe me, I want to. But there are a lotta armed Vercettis out there who'd take offense to that."

"Do you have any more mystery siblings, Tommy?" Mercedes asked.

"No. I mean, yes, Anna. My sister. Respectable woman. Didn't want to have anything to do with the family or the business. She's probably married by now, living in suburbia in a house with a white picket fence, a dog, and 2.3 kids." Tommy made a face as if he couldn't possibly imagine a worse fate for a person and Mercedes hid a smile.

"So she ain't out gunning for your ass?" Lance asked.

"She isn't even living in the States anymore, last I heard. Packed up and moved to some unpronouncable European shithole."

Lance pushed himself to his feet. "Well, I better get going. Fucking Haitians swarm Little Havana as soon as it gets dark." He met Tommy's eyes. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

Which was an unspoken command to Mercedes -- my turn tonight. She didn't care; she had other places to be and other people to screw. She got up as well and laid a hand on Tommy's shoulder. "What do you say to you, me and dinner? And I will phone my father and ask him to ask around. He knows a great many people your other friends might not."

"Sounds like a plan." Tommy got up and ushered the both of them from the room. "Let's get going."