A/N: I'd like to note that the Prequel, VP (remember?) has almost 1000 hits! Whooooo! Even though most of those might not count because the number of readers had dropped with each chapter but still! It means that the description of the story ALONE was good enough for someone to say "hmmm…ah what the hell. click" But yeah…back to the story.
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Chapter 9:
Tommy's P.O.V.
I had to leave early…real early. The person who had called me and hung up last night had called again after I was asleep and had asked me to meet them on the Leaf Links bridge. Of course, not knowing who this anonymous caller was, I packed enough heat to cook an elephant and stuffed myself with Kevlar. I took a cab to the bridge seeing that there wasn't anywhere nearby I could park my car within a short walking distance. Foolish? Don't worry, should this be an ambush, some dumb Florida moron always parks their car at the golf course entrance with the keys in it.
I approached the crest of the bridge, inhaling the salty Atlantic Ocean air. I wondered what the kid was doin'. I hope she doesn't starve to death because there's virtually no food in the fridge and every delivery person in the city refuses to deliver to the Vercetti residence. But that's the way I liked it. People were intimidated by me. Rival mob bosses, business owners, friends…Other than the cops and the kid of course, everyone was afraid of me. In the midst of my thoughts, I heard the click-clacking of high-heeled footsteps approach me.
I turned around and it was just some broad…a familiar-looking broad, walking across the bridge. I continued to (cautiously, mind you) stare out into the sea as I waited for my anonymous caller.
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Moda's P.O.V.
I snuck down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible while lugging the garbage bag along. I almost blew my cover when I accidentally kicked an empty beer bottle down the stairs, it clinked all the way down and shattered…right in front of the den where Claude was sleeping. I froze, creeping down the rest of the way and peeking into Claude's room. He stirred a little but then resumed his peaceful sleep. I sighed heavily and placed a note I had written at the entrance of the den.
I continued to creep through the lobby, avoiding the obstacle course of wine bottles, shot glasses, and pizza boxes. I opened the double doors and was blinded by the Florida sunshine. I did a little victory dance, proud of myself for successfully sneaking out of the house, but my face fell when I heard the crashing slam of the double doors. Soon afterwards, I heard a loud thump. Now I really had to get the hell outta Dodge.
I slid down the rail of the Roman-style stoop and hopped into the nearest vehicle, a silver Blista Compact.. As I skipped merrily to the car, I took one final thought about what I was going to do then brushed it from my mind. What's the worst that could happen?
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Tommy's P.O.V.
"Hello…" said the female as she stood before me.
"Hey." I replied casually.
Then, I took a really good look at her. She wasn't a bad-looking broad. She was about 5"5, had this flaming reddish-brown set of hair that was pulled back in a short ponytail and these inflated, pink lips. Her skin was smooth and tanned from the Florida sun. As I stared at her, she extended her hand.
"Tommy Vercetti, I presume?" she asked with a familiar Hispanic accent.
"Oh…Yeah, yeah." I snapped out of my daze and shook her hand firmly. "And you are…?"
"Marcy. Marcy DeSoto." She spoke slowly trilling her 'r' and squinting her golden-brown eyes.
Marcy DeSoto. It sounded familiar. I think that was the name of that one bitch that had the kid come home from shopping lookin' mega-pissed. But it was more than that. I spelled her name out in my head. Marcy…Marce…De…Soto. Marcy…D…S…Oh my God. I knew who she was.
"That ain't your real name, is it?" I asked.
"Hmm?" she smiled, a little surprised by my question.
"Because if you are who I think you are, I oughta toss you out into the fucking sea by your deep-throatin' neck." I said in a deep voice, narrowing my eyes. "Mercedes."
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Claude's P.O.V.
I guess it's just fucking destined that I shouldn't sleep, not even on a slow Sunday morning. I fell to the floor, startled by a huge slam. My eyes flashed opened and my back and arm were sore because I had fell on them. I sat up, rubbing the injured areas when I saw a small, pink piece of paper folded in half at the den. I carefully unfolded it and read it in my mind, kinda hearing her voice.
Claude, I'm just going out to do some laundry. You were out like a light and I didn't want to wake you up. I know Tommy is gonna be pissed that I left without you but he don't have to know. If he comes in, your best bet would be to hide…Maybe in my room, Tommy never goes in there when I'm out so you don't get BOTH of us in trouble. Thanks. Oh and even though you don't speak, here go my cell. (XXX-XXXX)
Moda
I noticed the fragrant body spray coming from the letter and store it safely in the inside pocket of my leather jacket.
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Moda's P.O.V.
After visiting the nearest respray shop, I took the fastest, least conspicuous route I knew to Little Haiti and that was to ride across the Leaf Links Bridge. I noticed a man and a familiar female, standing on the sidewalk of the bridge and conversating. The man was about as tall and had a haircut like Tommy's. When I got off the bridge, I gradually decreased the speed of my bike and resumed my traffic obedience to blend in. I noticed several groups of Haitains standing around where I had stopped in front of a red light. I cracked my window so I could hear my environment as well as see it.
Out the corners of my eyes, I could see them pointing at me and I could hear them loudly whispering in French. What were they sayin'? I focused my eyes back on the traffic light which had turned green just in time. I finally located the laundromat and parked it in a seemingly safe location. I stepped out and looked around. Across the street were little Haitain children playing in front of makeshift houses. I smiled at the sight then walked into the tiny laundromat, carrying my garbage bag.
Inside were about three rows of washers with dryers piled on top of them. One of them had a crusty piece of paper taped to it. It read "OUT OF ORDER" in big, thin, crudely-written letters. On the other side of the room were a raggedy change machine, a fw raggedy chairs and a crappy-looking vending machine. I frowned in disgust and took a dollar bill from my pocket. I approached the change machine, straightened my bill and inserted it into the machine. I waited for the usual "vooooom, clank, ka-plink" sounds of the machine returing four quarters to me but instead heard nothing.
"Oh...dat machine is broke." said a childish, female voice. I turned around and saw a small girl at the door, struggling to fit several baskets with bags of clothes piled on top of them through the door.
"Um...you need some help?" I aked, not even bothering to fake a Haitain accent. The girl looked at me, her eyes widened and her lips curled into a smile. She nodded slowly. I helped her with her luggage and she stood before me.
"Merci..." she smiled, revealing a pair of terrible children-teeth.
I took a good look at her. She had to have been about eight years old and not too much taller than four feet. She was probably the "fat kid" in her class. She also wasn't a very pretty child. She had a wide nose, puffy cheeks, small, round eyes whose color were like mine if not darker, short, nappy, poorly-braided hair and the skin on her face was pimply and broken out. She wore a tight, dingy-white shirt that showed some of the rolls on her belly, torn jean capris showing her ashy legs, and some bright-orange flip flops that looked relatively new. But what amazed me most of all was that she wasn't nearly as dark as the oter Haitians but was more like an ashy off-black.
"You're welcome...so...uh...what's your name?" I asked to be nice.
"Uh...my name Kyra." she spoke. Her Haitain accent was barely present. "W'as yours?"
"My name is..." I replied slowly, trying to think of a name. I blurted out the first one that came to mind. "Coco." 'As in 'Coco Chanel'? Way to lie, honor student.' I scolded myself. Kyra looked up at me, nearly straining her neck, I'm sure then smiled again.
"Okay Coco." she said softly.
End Chapter.
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Oh yeah, holla at cha girl. She is on a roll. Does anyone see where I'm going with this?