Grand Theft Auto 3 Two

By Peteman89

Claude's first reaction was that of confusion. Maybe it was something in that milkshake… As it would happen, he really had been kidnapped and thrown into a truck.

Three bulky men were in the back of the van. They threw Claude against the side and they sat down opposite him. Claude put his hand on his back to check for inevitable bleeding and sure enough he had scrapes and grit all over his back. The back of his suit was torn to shit and what remained of it was hanging by his sides.

"What do you want?" he asked, not so sure he would get an answer. It didn't look like these guys had been paid to talk.

The driver glanced up at Claude through the rear view mirror and then watched the road again.

The car skidded round a corner and Claude was thrown into the men. He punched one of them in the nose as he was thrown. He yelped slightly in pain whilst the other two grabbed his collar and threw him back to his original position. The men then tended to their partner's injury.

Claude watched and crossed his arms, his hands fingering his Desert Eagles. Did they know he had guns? Well even if they did, it was too late now. Claude brought his arms out quickly with a gun in each hand and fired as many times as he could.

The men's chests exploded with blood and they recoiled in pain without knowing it. They were dead. The driver threw the steering wheel around and the car turned quickly and flipped over onto its side and it toppled onto all sides.

Claude and his recent kills were tossed around the back like rag dolls before the van finally came to a stop with its wheels facing the sky. The driver, being the only one with a seatbelt on, was still alive and with minimal injuries and made his way into the blood-caked back.

Claude lay at the back, he had cuts all over his face and he was pretty sure his collar bone was broken. His guns were still in his hands, however, and he raised his one good arm at the driver. The bullet got his shin, probably hurt like a bitch but this guy was bigger than the other three, he was a walking tank.

He kicked Claude's Desert Eagle out of his hand and then pushed his chest hard, forcing him out the doors at the back.

Claude fell on his back hard in the pouring rain. The driver got out of what was left of the truck and grabbed Claude's collar. He hoisted him up in the air and threw him against the van. He spoke in a low husky and very threatening voice.

"Listen to me you little shit, don't you fucking do that again or I will kick seven shades of shit out of you. It is just a pity that my boss wants to see you; otherwise you'd be dead by now" he said and head butted Claude, probably breaking his nose.

Claude howled in pain and grabbed at his face with his one good arm. The driver did it again, this time knocking the lights out of Claude.

When he woke up, he was unable to move. He could feel the freezing rain running off his head and down his neck, reaching a base point just above his waist. He groaned and opened his eyes. They were bruised on account of his brand new broken nose but he held them open regardless.

He was staring at some very nice shoes. Black leather, neat laces and some sort of unique stitching pattern up the side.

"Nice of you to join us, boy" someone above the shoes said.

Claude didn't recognise the voice but did recognise the accent. Italian-American. Great, just what he needed. More Italian-American gangsters tearing up Liberty.

He decided to look up at the owner of those nice shoes. A grey-haired man was staring down at him. He was about 6"0 and wore a smart business suit. Claude instantly though of Salvatore Leone. From the shoes and suit Claude could tell this guy was loaded.

"What do you want with me?"

"Oh not much, my boy. Just this city" he announced, turning away from Claude and looking over the skyline of Staunton Island, "This fine city".

Why the hell was he outside and so high up? What did they want with him? It was then that Claude heard the sea roaring about behind him.

"This city, my boy, is the centre of business for these United States. More money goes through hear than you could imagine. For example, two thieves just stole four million from a bank over on Portland not two hours ago"

Claude smirked.

"You know, my boy, I followed your doings in Liberty City these past few years. You've been quite busy haven't you? I'd be willing to bet that that suit you got yourself there cost a pretty penny"

"So? What do you want from me?"

"Your empire. I'll be going to collect it now from that little hideout you have in Portland. I happen to know you are paying off more cops than items of food. You own around thirty-four percent of 'Head Radio' and under your bed in your hideout; you are hiding at least a billion dollars in stolen cash and I want it, I want it now. I'll finally be able to get a foothold in this miserable, cheating world thanks to you"

"I'd like to see you try, Mr…?"

"Frank. Frank Leone. I know what you did to my brother you fucking little…messenger!" Leone shouted and put his foot on Claude's chair, right beside his crotch. "Have fun now at the bottom of the sea you little prick!" he shouted and kicked hard.

Claude's chair toppled backwards. He his head off the ground and bounced over the cliff. His leg connected with a rock about ten feet down and it broke.

He screamed in pain but it was muffled by the roaring, raging sea as he plunged in.