Felicia sat at the bar, sipping on a glass of ice water and hoping hell wasn't as hot as this day. It had been a month since she made her decision to stay in Vice City and she was now working at the Café Robina as a barmaid-slash-waitress full time. Her father was still drinking, not surprisingly. She knew he wouldn't stop just because she stayed, but at least now it was more a means of getting his mind off of things and enjoying himself rather than drowning his entire life out for as long as the alcohol lasted.
Her mind wandering aimlessly in the heat of the café, and soon her eyes began to follow. She gazed out lazily over the nearly vacant business. There were a few regulars in back, all of which she had grown to know over the past month. Her grandfather's checker buddy and best friend Santiago sat at the front corner booth with her grandfather and Santiago's brother, Manuel Romana, enjoying a cup of coffee and a chat. Pepe was out, probably running errands for her father, and her father himself was in the office on the phone.
The weather was unusually scorching that day. Felicia was surprised that her grandfather and his friends sat comfortably in their attire while she was sweating nearly out of her clothes. Her father insisted she wear "respectable" clothing under the apron that nearly wrapped itself around her waist three times, which was perfectly alright with her since she'd never really been one to flaunt what she had. Though on days like this she almost wished she could wear a bikini to work. She had her dark hair tied up, her jean shorts rolled up as high as she could get them and her baggy t-shirt bunched and tied at the side, trying to get air to her naturally tanned skin; and she was still wiping sweat from herself.
Soon her father came barreling out of the office and pointed to the bartender.
"Amigo... where my drink?" he called as he took a seat near his daughter and pointed to the countertop of the bar. The bartender smiled and immediately dipped below the counter to pour his boss's regular drink. Felicia just sat, watching her father tap his fingers on the counter and shift on his stool, as if he were waiting rather impatiently for something... or someone. The café was eerily quiet, except for the sounds of her grandfather and his friends laughing, a few mumbles and giggles coming from the back of the café where the other customers resided, and the distant sound of the jukebox turned down low.
In the month Felicia had been working at her father's café, it had been like this nearly every day. Hardly any customers except for the few regulars who'd either been coming to the café for as long as Felicia could remember and longer, or the regulars who must've begun coming in when Felicia went off to college. Before she left the business was booming. She couldn't understand for the life of her why business was so scarce now. In fact, she couldn't remember a time when there was so little business. The jukebox had even stood virtually untouched until Felicia came back and began listening to it regularly on her breaks, and even turned down low as she worked. She'd always had a great love of music; to her it was almost the equivalent of her father's alcohol -- she could get away from the world, as long as the tune went on.
One thing that hadn't changed, however, was the gang wars between the Cubans and any other gang that dare try to cross them. This time it was the Haitians, who resided in the neighboring section of the island: Little Haiti. It had all happened so quickly. As far as Felicia could read into it, the Haitians were blaming the Cubans for killing their gang lord and were declaring war against them. Felicia had been greeted by shoot-outs and raw crime ever since she'd returned to Vice City, nothing new. But recently the shoot-outs had gotten worse and the crime more severe. The café was fairly safe as it was located more in the heart of Little Havana, but her brother's apartment where she was staying was a little too close to the border of Little Haiti and Little Havana for her comfort.
Suddenly the sound of screeching tires down the street a short ways from the cafe penetrated the previously pleasant silence, startling Felicia nearly off her stool. Apparently this wasn't uncommon, however, as hardly anybody seemed to flinch except for her grandfather who shifted his attention from his friends to whomever it was outside screeching their tires like a maniac. Felicia soon relaxed a little once the screeching had disappeared, almost as quickly as it'd begun. She figured whoever was driving the car either stopped somewhere or faded away down another street. She finally closed her eyes and lulled herself back into relaxation when she heard the heavy footsteps of a man walking into the café. Her grandfather stood immediately to greet him. It wasn't common that strange faces came to the café, and she always assumed her grandfather was suspicious of new people.
"Si men?" her grandfather asked, walking up to the man. Her father stood and stepped closer to her grandfather.
"Hey, easy papi. This man's for me. You... you the boy?" As the man looked around, Felicia couldn't help but notice how good looking he was -- even though his face was hardened and rough and looked as if he hadn't taken a razor to it for a few good years -- it kind of gave him a rugged look. Contradictory to his rugged features, he looked as if he'd stepped out of some corny 70's era flick. He wore a blue, hawaiian print button-up short sleeve shirt and faded boot-cut blue jeans -- apparently he hadn't reached a mall recently either. "Yeh, you the boy. I think so, you know?" her father questioned further, breaking Felicia's settled concentration.
"No. I don't think I do," he replied arrogantly. She noticed the man also spoke with an accent. She'd heard that very accent many times before while she was away at college in Liberty City. Immediately upon this epiphany she also realized why he was there. He had "business" to take care of with her father, she was sure of it. There was no other reason for such a man to be visiting the cafe; he didn't exactly appear to be the small, family cafe type.
"Oh yeah? You come here, tough guy," her father retorted, nudging the man's shoulder and yet again jolting Felicia from her thoughts. Then he pointed to himself. "You think you can take me on? You think you play stupid with me?" His finger changed direction and pointed itself in the strange mans face. The man stepped forward menacingly, giving Felicia's nerves a good jolt. This man looked dangerous, and her father was blindly playing games with him.
"No, I think you're playing plenty stupid enough for the both of us." Oh Lord, Felicia thought to herself. Even though she was definitely growing nervous, part of her wanted to laugh at this man's pointed yet humorous honesty. However, she knew to her father those were fighting words -- and obviously he was looking for a fight.
"Hey, he call you dumb son." Felicia's grandfather, who had taken a seat shortly after his son stood to greet the stranger, defensively pointed out. Good old grandpa.
"And I call him a little girl, Papi." Her father replied with a tone of humor as he began walking circles around the man who stood silent as this round, aggressive man criticized him. Felicia had to admire his control; had anyone done that to her father he would've shot them -- or at least tried to fight them. Santiago, unlike Felicia or her grandfather, clapped at her father's come-back. The other man laughed as her grandfather just watched. "Look at him, all dressed up like that. What is this, ladies night? You some kind of tough guy, you dress like a woman? You got on panties like a woman too, huh?" Felicia could see the fire blazing in this handsome stranger's brown eyes.
"What you got against women? You prefer men, big boy?" Felicia's eyes widened at this, not so much out of fright but shock. Suggesting any Cuban man not like women is like screwing their wife. It's just not something you do, it could even get you shot. At this, Felicia's father became apparently livid.
"I like women! I like all women! I love my mother, chico!" he returned defensively, stepping closer to the man in an attempt to intimidate him and straightening himself to try to meet him eye to eye. The man lifted his hands in surrender.
"Alright, alright. I'll take your word for it. Relax." The man backed down, probably out of avoidance of a fight more-so than fear. Her father, pleased, backed off and turned around to walk away. When he suddenly turned back as if he'd forgotten something. Yeah, leave it to dad to forget why he brought the guy here in the first place.
"Can you drive, amigo?" The man paused, followed by a quick smirk working it's way across his face.
"Yeah... like a woman," he replied with a dry humor. Her father laughed whole heartedly at this, and honestly Felicia tried to hide a smile herself. This man had quite a sense of humor.
"Very funny. I like you, big boy. Maybe you can help. Maybe you can prove you a man, huh?" He pointed out the door towards the bridge straight to the heart of Vice City. "Take out the boat. Show me you got some big cojones, not some little bitty chiquita ones." The man nodded silently and headed out the door while Felicia's father turned to sit back down at his stool. The screeching tires could be heard again, this time fading away into the afternoon, leaving the now confused cafe once again peaceful and quiet. For the moment, anyway.
"I can't understand for the life of me why he would try to pick a fight with a man so obviously dangerous," Felicia laughed to her brother as she ran down the events of the day. The rest of the day after the "Tommy Vercetti" incident had proved fairly uneventful, and now Felicia was on her way home with her brother who'd come to pick her up after her shift. Pepe just laughed.
"You know pop, hermana. His mouth, it moves a little faster than his brain, you know?" Pepe joked, though it was an honest observance. Felicia grinned.
"You mean what's left of it. I think he's killed off more brain cells than he had left to spare, brother." This time they both laughed whole heartedly, followed by an awkward silence as they worked their way closer to the apartments. Pepe was undoubtedly listening for gun-shots or any sign of danger, considering he and his sister were prime targets being the only living offspring of the Cubans' leader. Felicia was just gazing out the window at the star-lit sky -- the little she could see of it through the bright lights of the city. The air was cool and breezy that night, the kind of weather that almost made her stay in Vice City tolerable... almost. It brought back memories of a time when there wasn't so much fighting, when things were at least semi-peaceful... when her mother was still alive. A small sigh escaped Felicia's lips as the slight bump of the car going up over the curb drew her out of her mental reminiscing.
"Okay, hermana, we're home." Felicia didn't know whether she wanted to grin or frown at her brother's apparent relief that they'd made it home not only alive, but safely and in one piece. In the matter of a mere four weeks they'd barely scratched their way out of numerous potentially fatal situations, and Felicia saw countless Cubans fall, all in vain. She didn't then, nor would she ever understand why they felt it was worth it, why ANYBODY felt it was worth it, to give their lives for absolutely nothing. An illusion of family and love. Family holds a funeral for you at your death, mourns for you, and in Felicia's experience, felt happiness for your escape from the hell that was life. The most her father ever did for the fallen Cubans was hold a mass funeral, maybe 15 minutes, and pay half attention at best. Ah, hell, who was she kidding? He barely paid attention at his own wife's funeral, a woman he had loved, or so claimed to, for so many years. The thought of that joke of a funeral made her temples throb. Son of a--
"You coming, sis?" Pepe interrupted. Felicia groaned bitterly in response, getting out of the car and following her brother up the steel fire escape to the "secret door." Yes, they could have just gone through the front door, but considering all recent events they decided it safer to "sneak" in. They even got a new car to transport themselves wherever they needed to go, fearing the Haitians would recognize them in a cab or their father's car. They had to take every necessary precaution. Sure, they'd been through countless gang wars, more than anybody should have to face in their lifetime. It was to be expected with a gang leader as temperamental as their father and a city as corrupted as Vice City. But this one was different. For some reason it felt as if it was on a higher level, and everybody felt it. Felicia assumed that was why her father had called in enforcements from New York. This was definitely not just another gang war.
"Pepe," Felicia began, this time pulling herself out of her thoughts. "I'm just going to go to bed, okay?" Pepe nodded as he worked his way to the couch.
"Si, hermana. See you in the morning." Felicia kissed her brother's cheek goodnight and made her way to her bedroom. Once there, she slipped her shoes off and flopped down onto the bed, staring up at the cracked, paint-peeling ceiling. She ran her hands over her face and sighed into them, rubbing her temples to soothe the throbbing pain that hadn't seemed to cease since she'd arrived. Eventually she situated herself until her head rested gently on her pillow. There she let her thoughts go, a whirlpool of emotions, memories, broken promises and lifelong vows swirling through her head.
Something was wrong, Felicia could feel it in her bones. This battle, this full on war could be the end of the Cubans in Vice City. The Haitians were strong, a well established gang with a cool-headed gang leader. Or at least he was. She had no idea of what the new leader was like, but obviously he was nowhere near as cool-headed and wise as the first. But she wasn't sure she could really blame them for attacking. After all, somebody killed him, a man who was probably like a father to most of them, and for some reason they assumed it was the Cubans -- and her father did nothing to thwart that idea. Hell, even she wasn't sure they didn't do it, she had no idea what might go on behind closed doors. Worst of all, the Haitians had that voodoo magic on their side. Her father and brother never believed her that it was real, that she'd seen it with her own eyes; that could have quit possibly been their worst downfall.
Finally, after hours of one enraging thought after another, Felicia's mind settled enough that she could drift into a deep slumber. But unfortunately, even there she couldn't get away from the life that haunted her.
The next day Felicia made it to work early, but even then she was greeted by the warm, welcoming face of her grandfather and the back of a very familiar hawaiian print t-shirt. She was still tired and drowsy though, so much so that at first she hadn't even realized who it was until he turned around to face her. The moment he turned his eyes met hers for a slightly-too-long-to-just-be-a-friendly-glance moment, followed by a quick, sly smirk. Felicia smiled back meekly, suddenly feeling un-characteristically shy. She reached around the counter and grabbed her apron, tying it tightly around her small waist and placing herself in her regular seat at the bar -- considering there were absolutely no customers and the entire café was spick and span -- which was conveniently right next to this handsome man.
"Didn't see you here yesterday," he spoke. Felicia grinned mischievously.
"I can understand that. You usually can't see much past my father." The man chuckled and returned his attention to his coffee. Felicia's grandfather smiled the same mischievous smile as his granddaughter as his eyes darted back and forth between the two. He, with his all-knowing, wise grandfatherness, knew that his son was getting more than her bargained for in this handsome stranger, though few words were exchanged between the two. "So what's your name anyway?"
"Tommy, Tommy Vercetti," he replied, businesslike and professional. Felicia nodded. "So why the visit today? I guess you heard my Poppa's coffee is the best in town." Tommy smiled, returning his deep brown eyes to Felicia's face.
"Umberto has something for me to pick up," he replied matter-of-factly. Felicia scowled, stood up and headed for the restrooms. She'd almost forgotten for a moment why he was there in the first place. It was a foolish question to ask.
The minute she stepped into the bathroom the headed for the sink, turning on the faucet and letting the cool water run over her hands before she cupped them together and brought some of the water to her face, treasuring the cool sensation. Her gaze then lifted to the mirror, examining her haggard looking features. Her dark auburn hair looked stringy and dirty, though it had just been washed that morning. Her eyes had dark circles beneath them, and her mouth naturally curved itself into a frown, though her lips themselves turned up at the edges. Her entire face was slender and tanned, framed by a few strands of hair that hadn't made it into the ponytail holder that she'd tied her hair up with. Her skin was damp with sweat and her clothes hung limp on her. But still, despite all of that, her chocolate brown eyes sparkled and danced like the stars of the heavens, just like her mother's once had.
Before she could get lost in thought again, however, she heard her father's voice yelling and the muffled voice of the young stranger echoing through the café. Felicia ran out of the bathroom as fast as she could, but by the time she got to the heart of the café it was too late, everybody was gone except for her grandfather who sat watching out the window with wide eyes.
"Poppa, what's wrong?" she asked, making her way to the bar and putting her arm around the old man.
"Oh Nieta, your papa in trouble. We all in trouble." Felicia's eyes grew wide.
"What? What happened? What's going on? You're scaring me Poppa..." Her grandfather placed a wrinkled, worn out hand on her cheek.
"The Haitians, nieta. Your papa getting in over his head, si? He send the boy, uh..."
"Tommy?"
"Si, Tommy. Your papa send him to take care of Haitians. He gonna get him killed, nieta." Felicia stared out of the front windows of the café and sighed, tears stinging her eyes. She clenched her teeth to fight them back and straightened herself out, turning her head away and crossing her arms. One more reason she could never get involved with this man, and one more reason she hated Vice City.
A/N: Wow yeah, it's been a while. I got REALLY bad writer's block, plus I lost my computer and everything on it about a month or two ago, including Vice City and now I can't get it to reinstall. Which leads me to my next point at hand: You can probably tell (if you pay really close attention) that at the beginning of the chapter it has more of a Vice City-ish feel, but later on it becomes more visual and "original" I guess you'd say. Or maybe that's just the vibe I'm getting. I wrote the first part of chapter four (up to the first set of dashes) before my computer crapped out, so I still had Vice City. But everything from there on out is going to be based solely off of memory unless/until I can get it to reinstall.
On another note, this chapter turned out REALLY long. I was going to cut it in two but I couldn't find a happy medium. I hope ya'll don't mind, and I appologize for waiting so long to update (for those of you who are following it, I realize since SA came out people are more about Carl than Tommy :(). I hope to have chapter five out VERY soon, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well! Also, if you're following my story Three Deadly Fates, don't look for an update on that any time soon. I'm going to be focusing solely on this story for a while, maybe until I actually complete it (which if things keep going like they have with three chapters every 5 months then it'll take about 5 years to finish, hehe). We'll see, but don't look for an update on that any time soon. :P