Before that day Vick had tried to stay out of the eastern half of the city. That side was overrun with gangs and drugs and had a notorious reputation. He had heard on the news that there had been a series of very violent gang wars resulting in the complete dominance of one gang…Grove Street. But there were rumors, whispered across the city, that Grove Street was fracturing. The western gangsters in Verona Beach and Temple were growing more distant from their counterparts in the ghetto. Vick didn't know if the rumors were true or not. He just needed some information. He reasoned that carl must be a gangster, and if he was, the GSF would know who he was.
He decided to take a risk. He was in Ganton, the very heart of the Grove Street gang empire (or so he had heard.) If anyone knew who Carl Johnson was, they would be here. He pulled into the small parking lot of a seedy bar called the Ten Green Bottles. Leaving the shotgun in the back seat, he entered the bar.
Inside, an old radio played K-DST faintly in the background and there were the sounds of pool balls clacking together and drinks being poured. Several thugs in green clothes were sitting at the bar. Vick sat down next to one of them, ordered a whiskey, and looked over at the gangster next to him.
"Hey," he said casually. "You know a guy named, uh, Carl Johnson?"
"Shit, brother, how can you not know CJ dawg! He's the head honcho, man. He's the leader of dis whole operation!"
"So he's the leader of your gang, right?"
"Yeah, homie, now you got it! If you wanna talk to him, you should go see him in his house only a few blocks down from here, man. The brown two-story house on the right, man. Why you wanna know about CJ?"
"Just…business."
"Alright, homie. If he ain't there, he might be at 'is mansion in Temple."
"Mansion?"
"Yeah, brotha. He has the mos' kickass crib in Santos, man! Right next ta' the Vinewood sign."
"Thanks." Vick said, rising from his bar stool and draining the last of his whiskey. He left without paying. He barely heard the angry bartender cursing at him as he pulled out of the bar and sped down towards the Grove Street cul-de-sac. He was impressed, in spite of himself, when he approached the destitute urban majesty of the very center of CJ's criminal empire. His car passed under the imposing arch of an overpass, and as he pulled into the paved circle he saw that the place was swarming with green-clad thugs, all carrying pistols or tec-9s and standing around in little groups and clusters. Though he got a few odd looks, Vick met with no resistance as he walked up the front steps and knocked on CJ's door.
In one fluid motion Vick whipped the 9mm out and shot two quick bullets into the person opening the door. He didn't even see who it was, and was disappointed to see that he had just shot a random foot soldier and not CJ himself. The hapless homie fell to the floor with a groan, and Vick raised the pistol and leveled it at the group of three Grove Street gangsters sitting around the living room. "All right you bastards." Vick said, not really thinking. "Where the hell is CJ?" One fat one responded with a burst of fire from his tec-9, forcing Vick to duck as the bullets collided with a wall, shredding the wallpaper. Soon all three were standing and shooting, and Vick was forced to retreat, firing a few shots as he backed out the door. On his way out he got an idea, and grabbed the foot of the thug he had shot, dragging him out the door. He threw the gangster into the back seat, hoping to interrogate him later, and sped away as confused yells and gunshots arose on Grove Street.