Chapter 5: The Camera Sees All
The sun was at its highest point and beating down relentlessly on their heads when Tommy and Mercedes slid back into the gleaming white Infernus, which, surprisingly, was mostly still in one part. Mostly, Mercedes thought, eyeing the broken windshield and pulling hard on her door to get it closed. Tommy rammed a fist on the button for the airconditioning and they let out a simultaneous sigh the moment the first blast of cold air hit them.
Tommy dropped his head back against the headrest. "Nothing. Shit."
Mercedes breathed in the cold air and put a hand on his thigh, giving it a squeeze. "What do you say we go back to your house and... have lunch? You need the distraction." The tone of her voice made clear she wasn't talking about food and Tommy got the hint, glancing at her with a tiny smirk on his lips.
"I would like lunch." He turned the key in the ignition.
"Excellent," she purred. "And then," she breathed, leaning closer and not even caring her close presence to Tommy made the car veer dangerously off the right side of the, "you can tell me all about what you and Lance did last night."
Tommy stepped on the gas.
The issue of Nicky Vercetti momentarily pushed aside, Tommy raced the Infernus back toward the mansion, which loomed against the painfully clear-bly sky of Vice City. Other than the customary bodyguards which always milled around on the estate and far around it, no one was present, which suited Mercedes just fine. While she didn't object to an audience per se – most of her movies had been very successful, after all – there were times when she could do without.
They were inside the mansion, stumbling toward the stairs, her lips against his, her hand on his zipper, Tommy's fingers splayed against the small of her back, when Tommy abruptly pulled away and raised his head.
"What is it?" Mercedes said, pressing her fingers against the bulge in his jeans.
He put a finger against her lips. "There's someone in the house," he said softly.
"There's always someone in your house," she said reasonably.
He shook his head. "I wanna check the cameras."
Sighing, Mercedes followed him to the lounge, where two dozen monitors oversaw everything that happened in the mansion and on the estate. The pier was deserted, she saw, aside from a couple of speedboats floating on the waves. The yard, the lawn, the giant maze, everything outside seemed okay.
"There," Tommy said, stabbing a finger on the third monitor from the top. "Look at that."
Her breath caught in her throat. Tommy Vercetti was standing right next to her, overwhelming and imposing as always, but his exact double was moving around in the master bedroom with its unmade bed.
Tommy pulled his gun. "That son of a bitch." And he was off, opening a panel in the wall that led to a narrow staircase. He'd had it built in shortly after he'd taken over the mansion from that foul pig, Ricardo Diaz. Mercedes automatically wrinkled her nose at the memory and hurried after Tommy, stumbling over the steep steps of the staircase. She couldn't see him anymore, but she did hear heavy running footsteps above her head. At the top of the stairs, Mercedes looked frantically left and right, trying to decide where to go, when a couple of rapid pop-pop-pops made her blood run cold.
Gun shots. Kicking off those damnable high heels as she went, Mercedes ran toward the sound and stuttered to a halt in the doorway one of the mansion's many guest rooms, catching a glimpse of a hideously bright blue Hawaiian shirt. There wasn't any blood, weren't any injuries or dead.
"Madre de Dios," Mercedes whispered, leaning unsteadily against the panel. It was Tommy and his brother, facing each other over a tightly made bed. Both were holding Macs, pointing it at the other person, and the worst thing was, Mercedes thought, that she couldn't tell who was her Tommy and who was Nicky Vercetti. "Tommy?" she ventured.
"Yes?" both men said in unison, followed by a twin irritated growl.
"I'm Tommy!" the Vercetti on the left snapped.
"Shut the fuck up, Nicky!" the other said.
"I'm not Nicky!" the left Vercetti roared and his finger tightened on the trigger.
Mercedes took a deep breath and did what she should have done right away – ignoring both men's astounded faces, she climbed on the bed and positioned herself to be right in the path of the bullets. Oh, well. It wasn't as if she'd never been held at gunpoint before. Her heart pounding, she carefully looked from one Vercetti to the other. "Are you going to kill each other?"
"I might," growled the one to her left.
"Yes," said the other one.
"Well," Mercedes said, keeping her voice steady. "Nobody is going to kill anyone. For one thing, Tommy," she said, swivelling her head to look at the both of them because she still wasn't entirely sure, although she had her suspicions by now, "you said you wouldn't and that you don't kill family. Nicky Vercetti, if you kill Tommy, the only way you'll leave Starfish Island is in a bodybag, and then only if Tommy's buddies haven't dumped your body somewhere nobody will ever find you. As you might have noticed by now, Tommy has a lot of important and influential friends in Vice City," she said, rolling her Rs. The Vercetti on the left flinched almost imperceptively at her heavier than usual Spanish accent and Mercedes bit back a satisfied smile.
Neither men spoke. Both their guns were still trained at each other – through her. How to diffuse…
"Give me your guns," she said, stretching out both of her hands, registering the identical expressions of shock on their faces. "There will be no killing."
"What do you suggest we do, Mercedes?" the Vercetti on her left – probably Tommy – demanded impatiently. "We're kind of in a stalemate here."
"You're going to give me the guns, then we are going to talk," she said. "Nicky is going to somehow pay back all the money and then leave Vice, never to return. How does that sound?"
"Like a bad plan," said the wrong Vercetti and in one fluid motion, Mercedes whirled around and kicked him right under his chin. He stumbled back, releasing his grip on the gun, and grabbed for his face.
"You bitch!" he screamed and through the pounding in her ears, Mercedes noticed Tommy dive for his brother's gun. Her foot ached as if she'd just kicked a brick wall and she dropped down on the bed, massaging her toes.
"Great work, Mercedes," Tommy said, now aiming both guns at Nicky, who was sitting in a crumpled heap on the floor.
"Prove you're you," was all she said, giving him a hard stare. Nicky Vercetti had already proven to be one hell of an actor, if he'd managed to fool all of Tommy's employees into thinking he was the real thing.
Tommy blinked. "We were going to have sex instead of lunch."
Relief flooded her and she smiled at him. "That'll do."
"So it's a girl this time around, Tommy?" Nicky sneered, rubbing his jaw.
"Shut the fuck up, Nicky." Tommy cocked both guns simultaneously. "I ain't gonna kill you, but I can still inflict a lot of pain with a couple of bullets." He clicked the safety back on and slipped the guns in the waistband on his jeans. "And also without bullets," he added, cracking his knuckles.
From her position on the bed, Mercedes imagined she saw Nicky Vercetti pale ever so slightly. Letting go of her foot, she crawled toward the edge of the single bed and peered intently at Nicky Vercetti's face. Now unmasked, the differences between him and Tommy grew more pronounced; the expression in Nicky's face was softer where Tommy's was hardened by fifteen years on the inside. They were strikingly similar, but Mercedes felt confident in being able to tell them apart from now on.
"Get up," Tommy ordered, resting a hand loosely on one of the guns on his side. Nicky struggled to his feet, a hand still massaging his sore jaw, and glared at Tommy. "Keep your hands where I can see ' em."
"Don't trust me, bro?" Nicky drawled.
Tommy raised an eyebrow. "After yesterday and our little face-off just now? No."
