Well, needless to say, I wasnt very happy when The Vercetti Gang got deleted. Plus, I've been writing a bit more and if I'm gonna post it here, it would make sense to post all the stuff I had written up to this point, too. So, without further ado, here is 'The Vercetti Gang' as it was the day the forums closed. Part 8 coming soon.
It was 9am in the morning, and the Malibu had just opened its doors. The bar was swiftly filling up with hookers, gang members, and drug addicts, some of them a combination of the three. Two large bouncers stood at either side of the door, giving everyone who came in a mean look. A white Infernus swerved around the bend, skidding to a halt right outside the club. Out stepped a tall man with black hair and tanned skin, wearing a blue shirt and baggy jeans.
“Good evening Mr. Vercetti,” the bouncers mumbled as the man walked through the door. Vercetti didn’t even look at them. The bouncers frowned. They didn’t like how this arrogant, stuck up would-be gangster had just marched in, thrown money on the table and demanded the place be sold to him. Their pay had been cut and their work doubled, but they knew that if they said a word about it, Vercetti would lose his temper. And when Tommy Vercetti lost his temper, bullets flew.
As Vercetti’s chauffeur drove off in his white Infernus, a man walked around the corner and through the Malibu’s open doors. He walked up to the bar and took a stool.
“Morning, Jim,” he said to the bartender. Jim glanced up and smiled.
“Morning Steve,” he replied. “Coke?”
“Please.” Jim poured out some Coca Cola from the machine. “How’s business?” Steve added.
“Worse than ever,” mumbled Jim as he put some ice in Steve’s drink. “The boss is going insane. The tiniest little mistake, and he goes berserk. He screamed at a customer for dancing badly!” He passed Steve his Coke. Steve looked up, and noticed that, on the first floor lounge, Vercetti was staring over the bar, unblinking. It reminded Steve of something out of a gangster movie.
“Why do you think he’s so angry?” He asked Jim. Jim shrugged.
“Dunno. Rumour is that someone betrayed him… or… something.” He leaned forward and whispered to Jim words that were almost lost under the banging of the loud music. “You didn’t here it from me, but I’ve heard that he’s a gangster!”
Tommy Vercetti got out of his car to find a muscular man with a worried look on his face awaiting him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.
Steve reclined his deck chair and sipped his drink. He flicked over the page of his dirty magazine and gave a loud belch. The sun beat down relentlessly, and the only sound was the occasional rumble of a passing car, and the distant moan of police sirens. All in all, it was an ordinary Saturday. He sipped his drink again.
Suddenly a white Infernus sped past, doing at least twice the speed limit, and leaving a long trail of white smoke behind it. Steve glanced up just in time to see a face through the windows. He had only got a glimpse, but that face was unmistakable. Tommy Vercetti. Steve blinked. He could have sworn that the sound of police sirens was getting nearer.
He heard a gunshot, less than 100 metres away from him. The sound made him jump out his skin, and before he knew what he was doing, he ran as fast as his legs could carry him. And not in the way he expected to go, either. Something, some sense of adventure, overcame all thought and reason, and he ran down the road, in the same direction that the Infernus had gone. Towards the gunfire.
Tommy had been lucky. If the traffic light outside Starfish Island had been green he would have driven straight into the ambush. As it happened, the light was red and it was when the car stopped that Tommy noticed a dark skinned man in a purple shirt disappearing behind a corner. He was still far away from Sunshine Autos, but the Haitians would know he was coming. And they would know that he would pass the Ice cream factory on his way there…
The lights flicked green and Tommy’s driver, Kevin, put his foot down. Tommy gave a yell and reached over, pulling the steering wheel sharply left. The car swerved and smashed into the car behind it, and at that exact same moment, a bullet was fired from a silenced gun, aimed at Tommy. But now the driver’s side was facing the Haitian, and the bullet hit Kevin in the shoulder.
Tommy unstrapped his seatbelt and dived into the back seat, drawing his gun as he did so. The car was still swerving, and Tommy could not see the man who had fired. Ignoring Kevin’s groans of pains, Tommy reached forward and opened the driver’s door. Kevin’s bloody body slumped out and lay sprawled across the road, twitching and groaning. Another bullet was fired, this one not so silent. As the car grinded to a halt, Tommy saw another Haitian, this one standing on the roof of the Ice-cream factory holding an M60. Tommy gasped, and in an instant raised his gun, opened the door and threw himself outwards, unloading the pistol as he did so.
Twenty high-calibre bullets smashed into the car, exploding it in an instant. Tommy was thrown ten metres by the explosion, landing in the middle of the northbound carriageway, bloodied and battered.
Steve heard the explosion and turned the corner just in time to see a man in a purple shirt scream, stumble and fall from the roof of the ice cream factory, blood all over him. A large rifle fell seconds later, landing on the man’s chest, spraying even more blood. Another man lay metres away from him, also covered in blood. Steve took a few moments to take this all in, but when he did, his heart stopped beating. He was looking at two dead people.
Tommy woke up. Luckily, his unconsciousness had lasted but a few seconds, and although his head felt like all the hangover’s he’d ever had put together, his body still had the strength to go on. More luck. He was having a lucky streak, and it was sure to stop very suddenly, very soon. But by the time he had thought this he was already in a freshly-stolen Admiral and speeding to Sunshine Auto’s. He didn’t get very far at all, and he soon wished that he’d worn his seatbelt.
Steve had seen him. He had seen one of the men that he thought was dead spring to his feet and hijack a car, in front of his very own eyes. And that man was Tommy Vercetti. He watched the Admiral speed off, not sure what to feel. But he felt shocked when he saw Tommy’s joyride end very quickly and abruptly as a police car came from a road junction and swerved in front of Tommy’s car, flattening its bonnet and sending it into a wild spin. Steve began to run. A cop jumped out of the police car, gun drawn. Steve ran even harder. The Admiral’s tyre’s screeched as Tommy yanked on the handbrake, but it was no use. The car hit the kerb of the pavement and went up onto the grass, rolling sideways. It finally began to slow down, and rolled its way to the very edge of the island. It stopped over the edge. Steve breathed a sigh of relief, but too soon, for the car was overbalanced, and slowly began to lean before it went crashing down in an explosion of seawater. Steve jumped.
Tommy opened his mouth to scream, but he had no energy to do it. He slumped over against the remnants of the driver’s door as water seeped in through every crevice. He couldn’t move his arm for the pain, and the airbag was restricting his breathing, but none of that mattered to him anymore. As the water slowly rose past is neck, he gave a long, slow exhale. A man appeared in the driver’s window. Tommy tried to gasp, but all he got was a mouthful of water. The water rose above his nose. The man tugged at the door, but to no avail. Tommy stared at him, feeling dazed and weak. The saltwater hurt his eyes. The man signalled to the lock on the inside of the door. Tommy snapped back to his senses. He tried to lift is arm, but a jolt of excruciating pain gave him other thoughts. He pushed himself upwards, pushing his nose up into the small pocket of air that remained. Choking, he swivelled his body around and managed to pull the lock up with his good arm. But the man in the window was gone! However, he appeared there again in a few seconds, having gone to get some air. Ironically, as he had gone to get more air, Tommy had just ran out of his.
Steve pulled the door open and Tommy Vercetti’s limp form slumped out of the wreckage and fell into his arms. He kicked upwards; pushing himself towards the bit of land that he assumed was West Island. He then realised that the police would be there and turned around, towards the other mass of land. Starfish Island. He was very deep down, his ears were bursting, and by the time he had reached the surface, he was mere metres away from Starfish Island. Tommy Vercetti somehow found the energy to breathe in.
Sergeant James Reed stared at the bubbling water. He didn’t notice two figures pop their heads up at the other end of the bridge. An ambulance was on its way, but James had no hope. The suspect was undoubtedly dead, and the man who had jumped into the water after him had yet to immerge.
Steve sat in the back seat of the Admiral, twiddling his thumbs, His head felt like the world’s worst hangover, and he had a huge bruise that went all the way down his arm.
His memory was hazy. He had dragged Vercetti ashore, into the garden of one of Starfish’s mansions. Several muscled men had seen him and rushed over as he had lost consciousness. The next thing he knew, he was lying on the sofa in a hotel flat (which he later found out to belong to Vercetti himself) and a short Italian man who said his name was Luigi was sitting on a chair reading a dirty magazine. Luigi had dragged him off with barely a word and was taking him somewhere, presumably to see Vercetti.
Luigi started to grumble.
“It is not fair. I always get a crap job. Always babysitting or standing guard. Never fun stuff.”
They turned a corner. Luigi glanced at Steve in the rear-view mirror.
“But I must warn you. You have seen a lot. Mr. Vercetti is not going to let you walk away with all that information. I suggest that you do as he will say, and do not anger him. Okay?”
“Look, we are here now.”
Steve looked up. They were going across the bridge to Starfish Island. Luigi turned left as soon as they crossed the bridge, down the drive of the biggest house on the island – the mansion where Steve had dragged Vercetti ashore. So Vercetti must live here, he thought. That explained a lot.
Tommy Vercetti was feeling very pleased with himself. Another day, another… employee. Steve Thompson had not seemed entirely willing, but when offered the choice of joining the gang or being killed, he did not hesitate. And now Steve was in a Comet with three other men, on his way to get back at the Haitians. His initiation test. Tommy would have gone himself, but his ordeal the day before had left him in no state to fight, or even drive. His right arm was fractured in two places and his torso was severely bruised. Those Haitians would pay.
Steve felt the weight of the gun in his hand. He owned a gun, of course he owned a gun, this was Vice City, but that was only for sport. He liked to think of himself as a good shot; he was a member of the shooting club in the Rifle Range in Ammunation, and was one of the best marksmen there, but he had never considered that one day-
“We’re here.” The tall man in the driver’s seat interrupted Steve’s train of thought. Steve peered out of the window. They were parked outside a remote building next to a trailer park.
“This is it?”
“Yep.” The driver seemed very unconcerned.
“Er…” said a very nervous Steve, “where exactly are we? And why are we here?”
“We’re in a trailer park,” said the other passenger. Wow, that was helpful. “And you’re here to do exactly what we say.” Steve had never known a man so rude. But if he was gonna have this job, he knew he would have to get used to it. The other passenger got out of the car. Steve reached for his door handle but the driver signalled otherwise. The third man opened up the boot and took out a small parcel. Steve didn’t ask what it was but he knew. It was a bomb.
“Get out.” Steve got out. “Follow me, keep your guard up.” Steve suddenly realised that he had left his gun in the car. The driver rolled his eyes condescendingly as Steve reached through the open window for his weapon. The other man had taken a backpack, put the parcel in it, and was casually walking towards the trailer park. Steve burst forward to catch up with him and the man glared at him.
“Act casual, you frolicking idiot!” he hissed. “We are in Little Haiti. Haitian Turf. If they get the tiniest breath of who we are and why we’re here, they’ll kill us without a thought, so you just watch it, okay?”
Steve looked at the floor. He then glanced at the man’s backpack.
“Where?” he asked. The man knew what he meant. He indicated one of the mobile homes.
“And put that gun away, dumbarse.”
Steve hastily shoved the gun in his pocket. It created a huge bulge and anyone who saw it would know what it was, but he didn’t want to piss off this man any more than he had to.
They were a few metres away from the mobile home now. Steve noticed that a black man standing on the street corner was looking at them suspiciously. Steve’s partner had other worries and casually sat down against the back wall of the mobile home. He took his backpack off and rummaged through it, pretending to look for something. He then signalled for Steve to sit down next to him.
“Okay,” he said. “I am going to casually stand up and walk off, leaving the backpack behind. You are to follow me a few seconds later, also acting casual. You catch up with me, then when I say now, we run back to the car,. The second we start running, I’m gonna blow it up. Okay?”
“Okay…” Steve was beginning to wonder what exactly his role in this mission was. But by the time he had thought this, the man was five metres away from him. He stood up and dashed forward to catch up with him. They carried on walking,
“When I say now..,”
“That’s guy’s looking at us…”
“He’s seen the backpack…”
“NOW!” The man burst forward with the speed of an Olympic runner. The bomb went off.
Steve had expected a huge roar, a large mushroom cloud, But in reality the explosion was but a few metres high. However the flames covered the entire mobile home and Steve had no doubts that whoever was in there was dead meat.
“Run, you frolicking idiot!” Steve suddenly realised that he had remained rooted to the spot since the command ‘now!’ He dashed forward to the car as gunfire erupted all around. The car seemed miles away. He glanced around as he ran; it seemed that every man in the area was a Haitian with a gun. The car seemed no closer that it had been before, but he was actually mere metres away from it. The door was wide open. Bullets were flying. He dived through the open door and the next thing he knew the car was driving down the main road with several Voodoos in hot pursuit.
Steve suddenly realised his purpose on this mission. He did his window down and leant out, gun in hand. His team-mate had done the same, and so had the Haitians. He raised his gun and took aim. The car swerved round a bend and he lost his target. He could see four Haitian cars, each one with a gunner, one with two. His team-mate fired. So did Steve. Both shots flew wide, and the Haitians returned the fire, having the same luck. Steve could hear police sirens.
“Aim for their tyres!”
Aim? There was no time to aim. In the time it took you to aim the car would have taken several turns and you would have to aim again. All you had to do was empty your cartridge and hope that a shot found it’s target. One of the Haitians had a machine gun. Steve emptied his gun in that direction, missing completely. He dived back into the car, and reloaded.
Sergeant James Reed sped out onto the main road, his partner was leaning out the window, gun in hand. Men with spike strips had been deployed further down the road and a helicopter was on its way.
Steve shot and missed again as the Haitians opened fire. Bullets flew past, some hit the Comet but barely scratched the paintwork. Steve didn’t have time to wonder why and fired again, this time shattering a Voodoo’s windscreen. He fired again, bursting the tire, and again, hitting the wing mirror, and – the car swerved and he lost his target, but the damage had been significant. The driver tried to shield himself from the wind and lost all control of the car, spinning wildly and crashing into a tree. The men jumped out and began to run as the engine caught fire. Two cop cars stopped and four cops got out, chasing after them. Steve smiled. He had taken out one Voodoo and two cop cars.
Steve heard a loud bang, only it wasn’t a gunshot. He thought nothing of it and fired again, but then he saw the cause of the bang. They had just driven over a spike strip.
“Turn onto Prawn Island!” yelled Steve’s team-mate. Steve continued to fire, but frustration hampered his aim, and then the car turned onto a bridge and he briefly lost sight of the Voodoos.
“Stop the car!”
Steve turned around. Stop the car? What madness was this? But he had no time to think because the driver slammed on the handbrake in the middle of Prawn Island, just as three Voodoos turned onto the bridge and a police helicopter came into sight from behind a tall building. Steve and his two companions burst out of the car and dashed towards a ruined building in a corner of the island as the Haitians rammed the Comet. Then the Haitians realised their mistake and they too bailed out and began to run. Three police cars sped up.
Reed smirked. What were they thinking? They were isolated and trapped on the smallest island in Vice. Incompetent fools. He would be making a lot of arrests that day.
Inside the ruined building, Steve slumped against a wall. He was doomed. His first mission, and he was going to spend the night in a cell.
“Stand up, you idiot!” hissed his partner. The Haitians are gonna follow us here and we-“ a shot was fired and he stopped and fell, never to speak again. The back of his shirt was stained red. The driver started to fire as Haitians burst into the house in a desperate last stand. Steve fired, splattering a Haitian against the wall. He could hear helicopter blades. The cops.
“To the roof!” yelled the driver. “The roof!” and he began to run. The roof? In full view of the Police helicopter? But he would rather have been arrested than shot by an angry Haitian, so he dashed upstairs to meet the helicopter.
But it wasn’t a police helicopter. It was the same helicopter Steve had seen in Vercetti’s back garden, hovering mere metres off the ground. The driver was already in it and Steve didn’t need to be told what to do. The driver leant out of the chopper holding a huge machine gun, and fired at the Police chopper. There was a huge explosion and Steve jumped into the helicopter as it took off.
“Oh, great,” muttered Steve, peering down. “They’re gonna note the reg on that Comet and trace it back to us.”
“Oh, really?” muttered the driver. He lifted up what looked like a remote control and pressed a button. The Comet went sky high, engulfing all the Voodoos cop-cars and cops around it in flames.
As they approached the Vercetti Estate, Steve turned to the driver.
“Y’ know,” he said. “It occurs to me that I don’t know your name.”
“What, me? I’m Joey.”