Tony Montana

Scarface: Part 2

Chapter 2: Greed

Pablo had helped Tony find a new safe house, one that Sosa's men where less likely to locate. Unfortunately, that also meant that it wasn't as cozy as the last one. The new safe house used to be a homeless shelter, and was now just an empty building. It was mostly concrete on the outside, yet nearly everything on the interior was made of wood, it seemed.

"What the fuck?" asked Tony when Pablo had first shown him inside.

"I now it's not home-sweet-home Tony," said Pablo quickly, "but it's safer. They'd never think that you'd be living in a old bum home."

Glancing at the cobwebs in all the corners and ceilings, the stagnant water pooling on the floor, and the numerous flies and maggots everywhere, Tony felt like he preferred a more dangerous hiding spot.

"If it makes you feel better, I can bring a sleeping bag and a flashlight," Pablo said.

"Yeah, sure," muttered Tony, not catching the fact that it was a joke. Pablo shrugged and started to leave, but on his way out he shouted back, "By the way, I've used this place for more than a safe house. Check under the trapdoor behind the counter."

Then the door closed, and Tony could here Pablo's car taking off. He walked over to the counter and took a quick look at it. It looked like there used to be some stools there, judging by the holes in the floor, and there were old, stained aluminum pots and pans lying everywhere. It was a soup kitchen.

Wading through the pots, pans, and cobwebs, Tony found the trapdoor. He wasn't sure what it had been used for when the place was a homeless shelter, but opening it up, he knew what Pablo had used it for. In the small space beneath the trapdoor, there was a small stash of guns. There were two Spaz shotguns, a handgun, three Uzis, and a grenade launcher. Not to mention plenty of ammo for each. Pushing it all aside, he found ten keys of coke, all bundled together in a small open suitcase.

Tony resisted the urge to take some right now. He needed some quick money to get by, since now that he was known about, he had lost virtually all of his cash. That was part of the reason why he had wanted to negotiate paying Pablo's gun money after he had killed Sosa. By then he would have enough.

He decided to keep one key for himself and sell the rest. But he would need buyers. Pablo was really only good for weapons dealing, so he needed someone else. If Manny were here...

"Dammit," whispered Tony, shaking the thoughts of his dead friend from his mind and trying to concentrate on the task at hand...

An hour later, Tony had figured out what to do. He pulled out the cell phone that Pablo had given him, cursing the damn thing for being so big. He punched in a number, and then waited. The phone ringed twice before being picked up.

"Hello?" came the voice of a man. He had a thick British accent.

"Alan," greeted Tony.

"Holy shit Tony, is that you? I read about your escape from that hospital in the paper. The cops are everywhere looking for you!"

"Yeah, I know. Listen Alan, I need a favor."

"A favor?"

Alan was a British criminal who had come to Miami roughly ten years ago. He had spent most of his time selling any kind of drug that anyone else would buy. As a result, he had quite a bit of money. He, like Pablo, had helped Tony out during his rise to power, albeit mostly for the money involved. Alan was just the kind of guy that Tony needed right now.

"Yeah," said Tony. "I need some cash right now, and-"

"Tony," interrupted Alan," you know I don't lend out money."

"I don't need your money man, I need your help. I got some yeyo from Pablo, and I need buyers."

"How much you got to sell?"

"Nine keys."

"Nine, eh? Hmm..." There was a long pause as Alan debated what to do. Finally, he answered back. "I'll buy three of them. I know a guy who'll buy the other six, too. And I'm sure that I could get you someone to launder the cash as well."

"Thanks man, where you want to meet?"

"My place, bring all the coke."

Then the line went dead. Tony put away the phone and then went back over to the stash. He closed the briefcase with the coke and picked it up, and, just to be on the safe side, took one of the shotguns and a box of shells as well. Then he walked outside into the alley and made another call, this time to Pablo.

"What do you want, Tony?" asked Pablo, perplexed.

"I got Alan to buy some of the coke you left me, but I need a ride."

"Right, I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Tony put away the phone and waited.

Fifteen minutes later, Pablo pulled up next to the alley in a red Chevy Impala. Tony climbed in with the coke and shotgun. As they started to drive, Pablo spoke.

"Why did you bring a gun Tony? You don't trust Alan anymore?"

"No, I just don't trust people I don't know. He didn't mention the name of this guy I'm supposed to deal with, so I probably don't know him."

"Yeah, well if someone opens fire on my ass, I expect you to pull through for me."

"Sure, Chico," said Tony as he stared out the window of the car.

It was dark by the time they reach Alan's flat. It was small and simple, and Tony had always wondered why Alan hadn't spent more money on a better place. As Pablo and him walked through the doors, they saw Alan sitting down to dinner in the kitchen.

"Hey, my little friends! How are we tonight?"

"Okay," replied Pablo. Tony remained silent, however, as they sat down.

Alan was a heavyset man in his mid forties. He always dressed in simple clothes, another thing he didn't spend much money on. Tonight he was wearing a blue sweater and a pair of cheap jeans. His orange hair was starting to disappear, as his scalp was easily visible through the small patch of hair he had combed over it. He smiled at them with tobacco stained teeth.

"So Tony, what do you want for three of these?"

"$60,000," said Tony in a tone that clearly said that there would be no haggling. Alan didn't even pause to consider this time. He instantly shook Tony's hand and produced a briefcase of his own. He spent a few minutes taking some wads of cash out, and then handed the case to Tony.

"I think there's $60,000 in there, but why don't you double-check?"

Tony did, and after being certain that there was enough, he closed it up and handed Alan three packets of yeyo.

"You said you knew who would buy the rest of this?" asked Tony.

"Yeah. Some guy I met a month or so ago. He's really rich, and really desperate for some of this shit. He'll buy six keys no problem."

"Who is he?" questioned Pablo.

"Guy by the name of Danny McCloud. He lives over on the other side of town though. By the docks."

"Well let's go then, I want to sell these tonight."

"Hold on Tony! Danny may be completely fucked up sideways most of the time, but he can still shoot a gun straight enough, and he doesn't like trespassers!"

"Which is why you're coming with us," said Tony.

"I can't go! What the fuck, I met him last month, and he was high the whole time! He won't even remember me!"

"Alan, shut the fuck up and come on."

Alan realized that his situation was hopeless.

"You owe me," muttered Alan in what might be considered a menacing tone.

"He's lives in that boathouse there," pointed out Alan as they reached the pier. It was an abysmal sight. The old aluminum and wood boathouse had seen better days. It was caked with rust and falling apart, slightly tilted to one side.

"If he's so rich, why does he live in this piece of shit?" queried Pablo.

"Well," said Alan, "he doesn't really live here. But his bitch of a wife keeps kicking him out of the house, and he stays here until she calms down."

As they walked through the door, there was a sudden clicking noise, and then two shots rang out. Instinctively, Tony drew the shotgun and jumped back outside.

"Danny!" shouted Alan, "it's me!"

Silence. And then, "Get the fuck in here."

With some hesitation, all three men entered. A light suddenly flicked on. The interior of the boathouse wasn't much prettier than the outside. In the small opening to the bay on one side of the room, there were two small boats bobbing lazily in the dark water.

Standing behind a small table in the middle of the boathouse was a man holding a smoking handgun. He had short, blonde hair and a clean-shaven face. He was well built, wearing a sleeveless white T-shirt that showed off his muscles. He was wearing denim jeans with another handgun in one of the pockets.

"What d'you want, Brit?" asked the man, apparently Danny, in a deep voice. He had large bags under his eyes, which were almost completely full of criss-crossing red cracks. He had needle pricks and sores all over his arms. He was coked up to the max. And, as Tony got a better look at him, that wasn't all. His muscles were too big. Unnaturally big. He was on steroids too.

"Please don't call me Brit, Danny," asked Alan as he sat down on a nearby stool. Pablo walked back outside, muttering something about it being hot in the boathouse. Tony stood still, the shotgun aimed at Danny's chest.

"I'll call you whatever I want," warned Danny. "Why the fuck are you here?"

"I was just wondering if you'd like to make a deal."

"What're you selling?"

"It's not me, it's my friend here, Tony."

Danny took a good look at Tony.

"Hey, I know you! You're that drug kingpin guy! You're the one that got out of that hospital!"

"Yeah," said Tony uncaringly.

"Well then," said Danny, putting away the gun. "What do you got for me?"

"Six keys of pure coke," said Tony, slowly putting away the shotgun.

"Six keys? Damn, I'd take 'em all, except that my funds are a little..." He drew in a deep breath here. It was obvious that he couldn't afford it.

"I thought you said this guy had lots of money, man," said Tony, turning to Alan.

"W-well, I-"

"Hey now," said Danny, "I didn't say I was broke! I can take four keys right now, I'd estimate, but you'd have to wait until I get more cash before I can buy the last two."

"$80,000," said Tony.

"Fuck that!" exclaimed Danny suddenly. "$70,000!"

"$75,000!" Tony haggled.

"Hey Tony, I got a better idea," said Danny suddenly. He whistled. A nearby door opened up, and two guys with Uzis suddenly stepped out. "How's about I just take them?" He drew both his handguns.

"Fuck," muttered Tony. He couldn't reach the shotgun on his back before getting full of holes.

"Now, you can take $70,000 Tony, or you can take a bullet instead. Want me to decide for you?"

"Alan, if I live through this, remind me never to listen to you again."

Alan didn't reply.

Tense seconds passed. No one moved.

"Alrighty then," said Danny, "I guess I will decide after all!"

He prepared to open fire, when another shot rang out. A glass window nearby exploded, and a red hole appeared in the chest of one of the goons. As he collapsed dead, Danny looked around in surprise. Tony quickly used the opportunity to duck behind a nearby crate. He saw Alan run outside just as Danny and the remaining goon figured out what was going on, and fired. As the bullets riddled the crate, Tony drew his shotgun and pumped it. He stood up and fired at Danny, but missed. Danny ducked behind the table and flipped it over.

"Fine fucker, we'll play!" he shouted out. Tony hid as more bullets flew towards him. The crate couldn't take much more. Suddenly, Pablo dashed into the boathouse with a handgun, and shot the other goon. He fell forward, into the water with a splash. Pablo quickly hid behind another crate as Danny's bullets rained down. It was Pablo who had killed the one goon through the window.

"I thought I was supposed to get your back!" shouted Tony.

"Yeah, but now you owe me two!" replied Pablo.

Tony pumped the shotgun in reply.

"Nobody fucks with Tony Montana and lives," he whispered.

Author's Note: Another day, another chapter. The next chapter will be virtually all action, but in the meantime, please R&R!