Chapter 8: Meet My Friends
Tommy's P.O.V.
"And now back to 'Pressing Issues' with me, your favorite radio-show host: Maurice Chavez. We've recently heard in the news and read in the papers about the jet that had crashed into the police station Downtown." says that prick on the radio.
"Hey, turn this up!" I demand the driver.
"Word is that unfortunately, there were no survivors. The plane was suspected to be hijacked by American terrorists who had entered the cockpit and rearranged the route of the plane. Thus, causing the dreadful collision which by the way had somehow caused the firetruck at the station across the street to engulf in flames...Hahaha, talk about ironic."
I shake my head in pity and turn my attention to the kid who has her mouth covered and her big eyes filled with tears. She puts her head in her hands and sobs softly. Not 100 percent sure of what to do, I crawl over to her seat and sit with her.
"Ma...Daddy...they're gone..." she hiccups in between crying "I can't...believe..." she start sobbing again and rests her head in my chest. Hesitating to touch her, I put one arm around her shoulders and pat her on the back.
"Um...there, there kid...It's okay." She takes a tissue from a microscopic cluth purse she had had hidden all this time and wipes her face with it, smudging her eyeliner. "Heh heh..." I chuckle under my breath. "Clean yourself up, ya little racoon. We're here." she perks up a little and successfully reapplies her makeup.
I step out the limousine first and courteously offer my hand to take hers. She grabs it and gracefully, like a supermodel, steps out of the limo. As she cat-walked into the doors of the club, I could hear several unappropiate comments from the passers-by.
"Whoooo, baby got back!"
"Hey legs! Ya wanna walk wit' me?"
"Yo sexy!"
Fed up with the verbal harrassing of my surrogate "child" I took out my .357 Magnum (aka, the "one hitter quitter") and fired at the losers. Intentionally missing them by an inch on the sides of their heads.
"Oh shit, it's Vercetti!"
They took off sprinting as did I when I saw a cop nearby.
- - - - - - - - - -
(Inside the Malibu)
Moda's P.O.V.
Well, now my name is Moda. It sounds kind of wierd. I felt proud of myself for talking back to Mr. Vercetti but I won't do this all the time because he IS after all the most powerful man in the city. I stepped into the club and slowly sashayed around the dance floor towards the bar effectively making my way through the construction workers, gang members and business people who had come to relax.
Approaching the bar I noticed a tall woman with hardly any clothes on as the bartender. She had on a white cowboy hat, a white lace g-string and white star-shaped pasties covering her nipples. Eww. She was very pretty in the face. She had full cherry-red lips, grey almond-shaped eyes and long chestnut brown hair reaching past her shoulders. She was too busy wiping down the table with a washcloth to notice me.
"Hi!" I said cheerfully to make myself known that I was there.
"Hey, what's your poison, sweets?" she asked without even looking up. Seeing that Mr. Vercetti wasn't around, I used this moment to my advantage.
"Um yes..." I said in my most sophisticated voice "I'll have a Bacardi Hurricane with---"
"She'll have a Sprite, Diane. Send it upstairs." says a familiar irritated voice from behind me. It's Mr. Vercetti who has caught me just at the right damn time! He looks at me and sneers.
"I turn my back for one second, kid!" He says grabbing me tight by my arm and pulling me to the upstairs part of the club.
- - - - - - - - - -
(upstairs)
Upstairs it's really nice. It's small but...nice. It has a luxurious leather couch, a minibar, and a small table with chairs. At the table, sitting at the chairs is the lawyer from earlier today, a hefty balding Cuban man, a husky southerner, and a man with an...interesting patterned shirt and a hairstyle which looks like a mullet gone wrong.
"Oy, Oy! Tommy! There ya are, mate!" Mutant Mullet says with a British accent, getting up and hugging Tommy with much enthusiasm. "We ARE still mates...roight?" he asks. Tommy pushes him away.
"And WHO is this, ey'?" he says pushing Tommy out the way to get a good look at me. "Why you're a fine bird, you are...What's your name, sunshine?" (please note that I have never written in British before)
"My name is Ch--" I start to say.
"Her name's Moda." Vercetti says to the Mullet then looks at me and nods slightly.
"Moda, eh? Well 'Moda', you know I manage 'Love Fist', roight?" he says inching closer to me looking up an down.
"Who?" I ask
"You've never heard of 'Love Fist'! Don't you listen to VRock, baby?"
"She just flew in, Paul! She's...from out of town." Mr. Vercetti says. "Now siddown and shut up!"
"Alroight, alroight, no need to get off your nutta'! I'm not some div, mate!" he plops back down in his chair.
"Hey, Tommy...nice suit!" Ken compliments Mr. Vercetti on his periwinkle blue suit with the three quarter sleeves.
"I guess. I don't feel nice WEARING it..." he shrugs.
"And how are we, Miss America?" he says to me. I just nod, smile a little and take a seat on the couch. I try to piss Mr. Vercetti off by lounging in a somewhat provacative pose with my legs cross. Ken approached Mr. Vercetti and whispers to him. I could still hear, though.
"Is THAT the same kid that I saw this afternoon or is it just the after-effect of the coke?"
"Yeah, that's her." Mr. Vercetti replies, clearly audible.
"I don't mean to sound cliche' but, you let her out the house like that! She looks...desireable!"
"Listen, I'm not exactly her father so I don't need to hear this shit." he whispers "Now let's get down to business!" he shouts so the entire room can hear. "You come over here too, kid." he motions me to sit at the table.
"Everyone, this is Moda...my guest" he said as I sat down. "Moda, this is Umberto Robina of the Cubans in Little Havana..." he pointed to the balding man "this tea-sipping yutz is Kent Paul..." he points to the Mullet who frowns in sarcasm "this is real-estate tycoon, Avery Carrington..." he points to the southerner wearing a cowboy hat and vest who tips it and nods "and you've already met Mr. Rosenberg." . Tommy then takes his seat at the head of the table.
"So what's the agenda tonight, fellas?" he asks.
"Tommy, you gotta do something about those Haitians!" raved Umberto "I HATE those Haitians! Always hanging around my cafe', and harrassing my women..." he continued to rant in his thick Spanish accent. "You gotta take care of this, homes!"
"Why? Don't you have a whole gang?" asked Carrington.
"Anything IMPORTANT on the agenda tonight? No? Well, there's been the matter of..." says Tommy who trails off into business-talk.
"Hey chica..." Umberto says whispering to me. "I have a nephew, Pepe...He's a few years older than you. You like a good man, huh? You like a man with biiiig cojones? Then you want a Cuban man, chica."
"Robina, shut up." Tommy heard him. No, she doesn't want a Cuban man. And she damn sure doesn't need ANY kind of cojones at the moment let alone Pepe's. Now..." he goes back to business.
"He--he's just lucky he has reeeeeeally big cojones or I'd have to cut his freaking dick off!" Umberto whispers again. Tommy flashed him a look but kept on talking.
"Everybody got that? I want everyone to pitch in and protect this kid! Don't let ANYTHING happen to her. Make sure you know who she's with, what stores she walks into, EVERYTHING." Tommy shouts. "And Robina, although I highly doubt she's gonna be anywhere on the other side of Vice City, I suggest you and your fellow Cubes still keep one eye on her."
Everyone nods in agreement.
"Meeting ajourned." Vercetti says.
"Wh-wh-whaaaaat? We just got here and you're kicking us out, mate?" Kent complains and Vercetti grabs a fistful of his collar.
"I said 'meeting ajourned'." he forcibly lets go of Ken and exits the room with me trailing behind.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(at home: about 10:15pm)
TOMMY'S P.O.V.
On the short 10 minute ride back to the house, I not only made a plan to make myself clear to certain people the first time but I also observed the kid as she got sleepy and dozed off. Look at her, her head's smack dab against the window and her mouth is wide open with a little drool comin' out. She looks kinda cute all asleepin' and such. The driver stops the car and we're home.
"Yo kid, kid..." I gently smack her on the arm with the back of my hand.
"Mmmmm..." she groans.
Now normally, I would've ditched anyone who'd've fell asleep in my car but I guess in a way, I've always wanted to do this. I got out the car, leaving the door open. Looking around suspiciously, I lifted the 6-foot-with-heels kid into my arms and used the rest of my day's energy carrying her up the front stairs. She felt to be about 130, 145 pounds so she wasn't too heavy.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Moda's P.O.V.
The last thing I remember before dozing off in the limousine on the way back was meeting three of Tommy's "acquaintances" then stumbling out of his nightclub, feet aching. Never again will I wear those damn shoes. But anyways, I was enjoying a pleasant little cat-nap when I felt a crash and a throbbing pain on my lower-back and legs. I flashed my eyes open to see myself on the floor of the mansion with Mr. Vercetti above me, panting.
"W-what the hell!" I blurted out unintentionally.
"Sorry kid...You started to get a little heavy...And I had forgot to eat my wheaties this morning..." he wheezed.
"C'mon old man, I'll help you upstairs." I got up and tried to get Mr. Vercetti into a proper composure.
"Nah...I'm fine. You just go to bed, kid. You've had a long day." he said. I shrugged my shoulders, removed my shoes and headed to my new bedroom carrying them in my fingers.
In my bedroom, I immediately flopped down stomach-side up onto my new bed. It had a white with purple and blue polka-dots bedding set. I nudged my face into my pillow and got comfotable. I didn't even bother to remove my makeup or my party clothes. As I lay there on the brink of falling asleep, I pondered some questions...
Ma, are you and Pa really watching over me?
Why this 'Vercetti' guy?
What does he want with me and why is he spoiling me like this, I've only known him for one day...
Why does he seem to care so much about me?
Why...?
I'll ask him tomorrow...
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -