Author's Note: I originally posted this chapter on Wednesday with some sexual innuendos and a sexually charged scene with Sweet. However, my first review for this chapter pointed out that slash scenes are detracting from the writing of this story. With all due respect to that guest reviewer, I took down that original chapter and revised it to the following.
I want to take this opportunity to provide some clarity to my readers: I am not homosexual, bisexual, or trans-whatever. No offense intended to any non-heterosexual individuals out there, but I don't go that way. I'm being one hundred percent honest when I say this. I won't provide any further details about my personal life. As I stated on my profile, sometimes I think slash scenes make stories better. I was very hesitant to take any sexual scenes between two men too far, because that's not how I get down, but yesterday's lone review confirmed I had gone too far.
I apologize if anyone was offended and will conclude all gay storylines.
Thanks to domstrong6985 for the latest following, and thanks to ExomTaoLover for the latest review! In case you all are wondering, there are two more chapters left in the San Fierro Chapters of this story. And yes, I'll be covering the Las Venturas portion of the game as well. Hope you all enjoy this chapter. Sorry for the delay.
Chapter 16: Mike Toreno
CJ's POV:
"To the airport! Rapida!" T-Bone hissed.
CJ cut his eyes to the rearview mirror of the gray Premier instead of rolling his eyes. Cesar, riding in the backseat in a dark blue hoody and jeans, seemed to echo CJ's barely suppressed resentment of the Rifa gang leader. The two Los Santos gangstas had been working for the Loco Syndicate for all of a week now. Working for men like T-Bone and Jizzy was becoming a hassle for Cesar and CJ.
For one thing, CJ's twice weekly raids of shipments of money had made the Locos extra cautious. That in turn fostered difficulty for the two gangstas' ability to play a double agent role. It didn't help their cause that the Locos were more like unrelenting telemarketers than managers of the state's largest drug cartel. Jizzy was blinded by his belief that he was irreplaceable in the organization and constantly called CJ's cell. Even CJ could see how much T-Bone loathed him, and CJ was supposed to be dumb muscle.
'This third guy has to be smarter than these other two fools. I shit better than they think.' As they approached the airport from the highway, it was obvious that this location was spot on the description T-Bone had relayed. "Look, somebody took out the security guard," CJ said, pointing to the dead man in front of the gate. Cesar made the sign of the cross over his torso and mumbled a prayer. Lately his best friend had started going to the cathedral in Hashbury. "That van has to be around here somewhere."
"Good, now we can use the tracking." As CJ sped through the gaping gate, T-Bone pulled out a gray device the size of a TV remote control.
"What's that?" CJ asked.
"After the last shipment got intercepted, Mike and I decided we should start using homing devices to track the white and keep it safe. When we get closer, the signal on this tracker is gonna get stronger."
"That's a smart trick, ese," Cesar said. "Is it in all the shipments?"
CJ grasped the hidden intent behind Cesar's innocuous question. 'If the Locos got trackers on their dough, then we in some hot water.'
"No, idiota, and don't you ask another question." Suddenly T-Bone dropped the tracker on the floor of the car. "Mira, there goes the van!"
CJ spotted the speeding van without T-Bone's help. It was speeding down the airport's runway, accompanied by four men on Freeway motorcycles. SMGs gleamed in the sunlight at their hips. "Shit, they're ready for battle!"
T-Bone loaded two handguns and scowled. "Si, they want a battle, we'll give them a fuckin' battle! Get in front of the van, rapa!"
CJ slammed his foot onto the accelerator and whipped the Premier to align with two of the bikers. He heard the rear window roll down, and Cesar launched an assault of gunfire on the van's escorts. The first two riders fell off their bikes, their black shirts wet with blood. "Who the fuck are these fools?" Cesar demanded.
"Snakeheads—the local Vietnamese gang—they've been after Rifa territory for years now."
As CJ pulled alongside the yellow van, T-Bone leaned across him and began shooting at the van's driver. His first few shots shattered the passenger's and driver's windows, but the driver, a Vietnamese man with a Mohawk, dodged every bullet with superhuman luck. "Pendejo! Where you think you goin' motherfucker?"
CJ looked ahead to the end of the runway. At the end, concrete blocks sloped from the asphalt to provide additional lift for planes reluctant to leave the ground. Just beyond those blocks, CJ noticed the mast of a cargo ship. "They're trying to get the van on that cargo ship!"
"Not if I can help it," T-Bone growled. He and Cesar lowered their guns to reload. It was while they were preoccupied that one of the other bike riders pulled alongside the Premier's passenger side and opened fire.
CJ ducked as the barrage of bullets pierced the car's side panels and shattered the passenger's windows. Broken glass sprayed his husky body, and CJ heard T-Bone curse rapidly in Spanish. When the Vietnamese shooter's clip emptied and the storm of bullets passed, CJ sensed T-Bone sitting upright beside him. "You want some, puto?" At almost point-blank range, T-Bone dropped the gangsta from the bike with three swift shots.
"I got this one, ese," CJ told T-Bone. He pulled out his Desert Eagle from his waistband and fired off a full cartridge at the driver of the van. The Asian man's head exploded from the force of the bullets that ripped through his skull. The van screeched to a halt.
"You got skill, homes, but no finesse," Cesar mocked.
CJ laughed, but T-Bone sniped, "Shut the fuck up, hijoputa. You ain't do shit just now, so keep your dumb mouth shut. We gotta go get Mike." In the rearview mirror, CJ noticed Cesar scowl and offer T-Bone a middle finger.
T-Bone exited the car first. "Bet that feria wasn't even worth it, huh?" T-Bone asked the Vietnamese gangsta's corpse. He laughed and pointed at the fourth gangsta speeding into the distance. "Maricon, look at that pendejo haul ass outta here!"
CJ opened the double doors of the yellow van. Mike Toreno leaped out the back of the van with a 9 in each hand and aimed his guns at Cesar and CJ. While Cesar glared defiantly at the gun in his face, CJ innocently raised his hands. "Who are these two assholes?"
"We just helped save your life, ungrateful gringo," Cesar growled.
"Nobody asked you." Toreno drew back the hammer. Cesar's glare remained unyielding.
"They're Jizzy's men."
"Jizzy's men?" Toreno scoffed. "Alright, how about you make yourself useful? We gotta torch this van before cops come."
"What? We ain't torching nothing! There's three hundred seventy kilos of white in there!" T-Bone yelled in outrage.
"There's three hundred and ninety, but unless you want to learn math in an orange jumpsuit for the next ten years, you'll follow my orders and destroy the van." Toreno stared down T-Bone. CJ had no doubts about who was the leader of the Loco Syndicate. It was also obvious that T-Bone wasn't ready to be subordinate.
Cesar cleared his throat. "Uh, before we get rid of the cocaina, I'll move the getaway car."
As Cesar backed up, Toreno opened fire on the van's gas tank. T-Bone hesitantly contributed, and CJ reloaded his gun. Within seconds, the engine block was alive with flames. Alright, let's get outta here before the cops show up," Toreno ordered.
"Too fuckin' late!" CJ pointed at four black and white cruisers speeding from the underground parking structure of the airport. Toreno, T-Bone and CJ sprinted into the car. "Ceese, floor it!"
"I got it, CJ!"
T-Bone removed the plastic floor mat beneath his seat, and opened a secret compartment filled with guns. CJ spotted a few 9's, two silencers, a sawnoff shotgun, and three Tec-9s. T-Bone pulled out a Tec-9. "I got somethin' for those pigs," he laughed.
"Put it away, T-Bone," Toreno warned. "The last thing we need is the police force coming after us with a grudge." He turned to Cesar. "Hey kid, you think you can get us out of here without killing us or the cops?"
"No problem, you just hold on tight, carnal?" Cesar concentrated on two approaching police cruisers. The cops guessed at the Azteca warrior's maneuver but they were two seconds too late. Cesar easily slid between them without a scratch and swerved to avoid a third car approaching head-on.
Two more cop cars approached, and Cesar cut a half figure-eight around them. Both cops squealed to a halt. Another hurtled toward the driver's side in a P.I.T. maneuver. Cesar slammed on the brakes and gas, and whipped the car safely out of the oncoming cops' path.
When he straightened the wheel, a total of six cop cars were in pursuit. CJ saw Cesar looking for an exit. The Latino's options were limited. Then Cesar focused straight ahead. "Ok, so we're going a brand new way!" Cesar fishtailed, straightened, and sped toward a sloped bunker facility at the other end of the runway.
"Hijoputa, are you loco? You gonna kill us all!" T-Bone yelled.
"Nah, let Ceese handle it. He knows what he doing."
Cesar grinned at CJ as the car hit the sloped roof of the bunker at 120 mph. As they launched into the air, CJ glanced out his window at the strip of water separating Easter Bay Airport from mainland San Fierro. 'Shit, this is too high for me!' Cesar cut the gas and turned the wheel. The car miraculously thudded onto the sidewalk of Esplanade. CJ and T-Bone let out sighs of relief.
"Alright, good job kid. Take us to the spray shop in Doherty. T-Bone, get their wallets."
"What? Hey!" CJ lunged at T-Bone when he reached into the Black's right front pocket. The half-Mexican gangsta put a silencer to CJ's forehead. The Black gangsta remained still as his brown leather wallet and Cesar's tan leather wallet passed into Mike Toreno's hands.
"'Cesar Vialpando' and 'Carl Johnson, Junior,'" he read from their licenses. "Alright, I've seen enough here." He passed the wallets back to their respective owners.
"Hey, there was a twenty I had in there. It had better still be in there," CJ said.
T-Bone laughed. "Shut the f- up."
CJ's POV:
"Sixty-eight hundred, sixty-nine hundred, seven thousand." CJ separated the paper money into two neat stacks and handed Cesar the one closest to the Latino. "That's your cut, Ceese."
"I can't believe that agarrado gringo!"
"Are you tellin' me you tryin' to make serious paper off their drugs? You know they slang that yay in the barrio too." CJ folded up his cut and shoved it into his right sock, nestled inside his sneakers and concealed under his gray sweatpants.
The two men had met at the hotel suite CJ rented at the Vank Hoff on the Park, on the west side of San Fierro. It was close enough to their apartments that it was technically neutral. CJ had hidden a substantial cache of guns in the drawers that the hotel's housekeeping never seemed to clean. Both gangstas had dressed casually to divide their cut of Mike Toreno's payment.
"I'm just sayin' homes, esta aceptable, but we deserve more. We risked our asses out there, sale!"
"Man, whatever. I'm ready to shut these motherfuckers down."
They rose from the floor, where they had knelt to count out the money, and left the hotel room together. "Me too, homes, but mira, we gotta wait until the Locos puedan confiar, can trust us." As they approached the bank of stainless steel elevator doors, Cesar changed the subject. "Como esta Kendl? Is she doin' alright?"
'Four, almost five weeks since he's seen her, and Cesar still askin' about Kendl. Damn, I hope this Helena bitch don't turn me out like that!'
"She's doing alright, Ceese. She goes to Greenglass College in Las Venturas now, and she's still workin' at WCTR."
"My woman—I mean, your sister—she's a real trabajador." Cesar stared wistfully at the floor numbers. If CJ hadn't been wondering how to cheer up his best frined, he would have missed the purple and black bruises near Cesar's shirt collar because the white dress shirt covered them almost entirely.
"Ceese!" Startled, the Hispanic turned to CJ. "What happened to your neck, homie?"
His brown face suddenly turned a paler shade, and his large brown eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights. "I-it's nothing t-to w-worry about, CJ."
'What the fuck? It's nothing to worry about?' CJ reached for his best friend's shirt collar to examine the bruises more intently, but Cesar slapped away his hand.
"Mira, I said it's nothing to worry about. I can handle it on my own."
When CJ lunged for the collar again, Cesar backed up. His eyes were simultaneously frightened and angry, vulnerable and defensive, retreating and unyielding. The stairwell was behind Cesar. "Whatever's goin' on, you don't need to be running from it. That needs to be looked at, man. Let me help you, Ceese."
"Hasta luego, CJ. Tell Kendl I love her." With those parting words, Cesar backed into the stairwell and took off.