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The Vercetti Gang

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Er, roundabout.... now.

Part 13: Spam

A pile of heavy papers landed on Reed’s desk with a resounding thud. Reed glanced up and silently cursed.

“This is everything we’ve had on Diaz in the past two years,” announced the brash young officer who had just handed the papers to him.

Reed put his pen down, and lifted up the first sheet.


“Well, two main things. First thing: Two years ago, he was arrested on drug-related charges, but he had a convincing alibi and no charges were pressed. Second thing, and here’s the weird part: no-one’s heard anything from or about him in the past five months.”

Reed glanced up, eyebrows raised.

“Okay. Anything else I should know?”

“Yes,” said the Officer, brandishing another wad of papers, although much thinner. Reed frowned at the sight of more paperwork. The Officer continued:

“We’ve got the IDs on all of the bodies. Twelve of them are from Little Haiti, and are members of the suspected criminal group known as simply ‘the Haitians’. The rest were under the payroll of Diaz.”

“I see.”

“Yes, but here’s the funny thing; since Diaz’s supposed disappearance, their paycheques have actually been coming from a Mr. Thomas Vercetti.”

Slowly, with the uncertainty of a small child taking his first steps, his head swimming and his pulse racing, Steve climbed back to consciousness. The meaningless blare coming from all around him gradually became recognisable noises, with the sound of man talking from somewhere near him. He pried his eyes open. A blue and white blur was sitting in the corner of the room, holding a grey blur to its ear. Steve shook his head, and the blur became Tommy Vercetti on his mobile phone, his clothes torn, and every inch of his body bruised and beaten. As his thoughts caught up with him, Steve realised that he wasn’t in a much better state. Then, soon after his thoughts had caught up, his senses caught up too like a punch in the face, and he suddenly became aware of just how bad a state he was in, through intense pain coming from nowhere in particular. He raised his head. He could have sworn he heard bones grinding as he did so.

“Where am I?” he rasped.

Vercetti hung up.

“The Boatyard.”

“On West Island?”

“How many other boatyards are there?”

Steve was in agonising pain, but that didn’t prevent him from smiling. Vercetti clearly hadn’t changed a bit.

“How did we… the helicopter…”

“The helicopter is at the bottom of the sea, about a mile south from here.”

“Wha? So how did?”

“I called some of my men; they took a boat out to meet us.”

Steve suddenly forgot his pain and jumped to his feet.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed, limping around, frustrated. “I can’t be here… I have a job, I have a life, I-I can’t go to jail, I- holy shit, I killed someone… I killed someone… and, and Joey, what was he doing, I saw him, before I was called? And - Jesus, the police - they’ll be coming… and… oh my god, I’ve gotta get outta here…”

He turned towards the exit. Vercetti was standing in his way.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“Oh yes I frolicking am, I was supposed to be at work-“ he glanced at his watch. The hands weren’t turning. “Shit!” he screamed, and he unstrapped the watch, and threw it off the dock and into the sea, “Shit, I can’t believe it…”. He turned to Vercetti, “you owe me a new watch, okay? In fact, you owe me a helluva lot more, I’ve saved your life twice and I haven’t even had a thank you.” He took a threatening step towards Vercetti.

“Jones, Carter!” cried Vercetti. “Take this man to my apartment at the Hyman Condo. Stay with him until I arrive.”

“Can’t even remember my name…” murmured Steve angrily as a heavy hand fell on each of his shoulders.

“See you in a few hours,” said Vercetti, walking, almost casually, towards a speedboat. He turned around. “Steve.”

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For those of you who care, this story is now being posted at www.fanfiction.net.

For those of you that don't:

Part 14: Search

Fingers wore themselves away at the keyboards, searching for every last scrap of information. Then, the saving grace arrived.

“Sir, Vercetti used his credit card within the past five minutes.”


“Ammu-Nation, West Island, sir.”

To the casual observer, the only remaining sign of Vercetti’s injuries was a very slight limp, a black eye, and a small cut on his face. He had changed his clothes, and tended to most of his cuts and scratches, but there was not much he could do about the black eye. However, he reasoned that it wouldn’t be a very big head turner. This was Vice City, after all.

Behind Ammu-Nation, a speedboat was waiting, moored to a large rock. Vercetti climbed down into it, and started on to his next destination. He could hear police sirens, but he was confident that they weren’t for him. That was the beauty of it. The police chased Ricardo Diaz’s ghost, while he raked in the profits.

“Vercetti left here just before we arrived, over.” came the crackled radio report.

“Damn… okay, we’re working on it.”

From the boatyard, it was just a thirty second drive to Sunshine Autos.

“Intel recommends you check the Malibu Club, East Island. Records show he comes there at nine-hundred hours every day to collect his revenue. Over.”

“I read you, we’re on our way.”

Vercetti stared through the glass at the mindless citizens bumbling about around his car showroom. He then ambled down the ramp, and found himself in his garage. A man was waiting for him.

“Hello, Phil,” Vercetti mumbled, walking to one of the garages.

“Hello, Sir. Er… what happened? Your eye?”

“I fell,” said Vercetti nonchalantly as the garage door rumbled open.


“I fell,” said Vercetti, almost angrily. He then disappeared into the garage. An engine rumbled. Then he appeared again in a white Infernus.

“Attention all units, Vercetti has been sited at Sunshine Autos!”

“May I ask what’s happening?” said Phil. “ what happened last night at the Estate? How did the mission go? Y’know, the ‘big mission’, where I gave that guy Joey our best car? And-“

“Shut up Phil. I’ll tell you what’s happening. I’m leaving this frolicking state, that’s what.” Vercetti opened the glove compartment and took something out. “It’s just I’ve got some stuff do first.”

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Ooh, big plot event, this one. Expect a gunfight soon, all I need to do is think of a viable reason to have one...

Part 15: Banned.

Steve sat on the sofa, in too much pain to sleep, too tired to do anything else. He glanced around the room uneasily, at the two men who seemed to be ignoring his presence. He coughed slightly. They didn’t move. He coughed again.

“Er…” he said, uncomfortably, “Where’s Vercetti?”

For the first time in an hour, the men seemed to notice him. The glanced in his direction, looking annoyed.

“He’s coming,” one of them grunted, then turned back to his magazine. Steve sighed.

Vercetti marched towards the building, flinging open the doors with a crash, turning a few heads in the process. He whipped out his mobile, and punched in a number. It was answered almost immediately.

“Hello, Ken Rosenburg, Attorney, how can I-“

“Ken, it’s Tommy.”

“Wha-? Oh, Hi Tommy, how ya’ doing, I-“

“Shut up and listen. I want you to call Avery, Phil, Cam, Mercedes… everyone, tell them to pack their bags and meet me at Escobar by Two O’ clock, you got that?”

“Yeah, I-“

“You screw around, you get left behind, so-“

“Wha, wait, wait, wait, Tommy. What’s happening.”

“We’re moving, Ken! We’re getting out of this city, we’re getting out of this state, shit, I might even leave this whole country.”

“Wha- why?”

“Havn’t you heard? My frolicking mansion is now nothing but a pile of rubble infested with cops!”

“Oh, right, yeah, but-“

“No buts, Ken!”

“But! But Diaz... they’ll be chasing him, not us.”

Vercetti lowered his voice and leant against a wall.

“Listen, Ken, they may start off looking for Diaz, but sooner or later, it’ll all come crashing down on me. They’ll recover documents from my desk, they’ll trace my men back to me… I’ve gotta get away. I can hear police sirens now, for all I know, they could be coming for me! I’ve been in jail once, I’m not going back. No amount of bribes can save my ass from a jury now. I’ve packed, I’ve prepared… the leader of the Haitians, in the last half-hour, I’ve moved heaven and Earth to track him. We could have found James Poulet before now, its just that we never made any effort. Now, I’ve killed three of his top men and hacked into the police database to track him down, and now I’ve left him sprawled over his own sofa in a pool of blood, because, if there’s one thing I had to do before I got thrown into jail, It was to make sure that that bastard wasn’t alive to see it. Now, I-“

The door was thrown open again. A man shouted. Tommy dropped the phone, the man was calling his name. Abandoning all thought of self-preservation, he wildly ran towards the stairs, but a bystander, seeing what was happening went to trip him up. He didn’t fall, but he stumbled for a few vital seconds, but that was all they needed, and they slammed him to the floor. Something cold and metallic fell on his wrists, and he heard a loud click, then there was a hand on his shoulder, and he was rolled over, face up. He stared up. A smirking cop with short, blonde hair and glasses stared back at him.

“Tommy Vercetti,” said James Reed, “you’re under arrest.”

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Part 16: Unactive.

A man walked into the Greasy chopper. He strolled up to the bar as if he was above everyone else there. He shouted instructions to the bartender. The man next to him recognised the voice. He looked up, surprised.

“Joey?” he said.

Joey looked at the man. He jumped.



“Hey, Steve! How’ve you been?”

Steve sipped his beer.

“Well,” he said, “since Vercetti was arrested, I’ve been threatened, abused, shot at, spat on, injured, nearly arrested, and yesterday, I got fired from my ‘non-criminal’ job. Which,” he added, “is why I’ve been here all day.”

Joey chuckled.

“Well,” he said, “since Vercetti was arrested, I’ve made a small fortune from street racing. But, you said you’ve been nearly arrested? Why, what have you been up to?”

Steve smiled.

“Just because the gang I was in gets dissolved, that’s not enough to stop me. Same goes for you, obviously. You said you’ve been street racing.”

“Yeah, but that’s basically all I’ve done.”

“Y’know what,” interrupted Steve, “I’ve been thinking. Why hasn’t anyone tried to bust Vercetti out?”

Joey chuckled again and patted him on the back.

“Boy, half a year and you’re still a total newbie. The legal battle’s still going on, Steve! If someone bust Vercetti out, that’s all the evidence they need! But anyway (he lowered his voice), its funny I should run into you, because I need men for this thing I’ve been planning.”

Steve raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” continued Joey, “I’ve already got three men, but I need a few more. You’d be perfect Steve, you’re an amazing shot! No, don’t deny it, you are, I’ve seen you at the shooting range. If we pull this off, Steve, we won’t need Vercetti. We’ll be made men! Screw Vercetti, we could start our own gang! So, tell me, do you want in?”

Steve shrugged, but his mind was already made up. If this was as big as Joey made it out to be, it could be all he needed to restart his career. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could do anything, Joey thrust a slip of paper into his hand and left the bar, leaving his drink behind him.

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Well, this topic is almost a year old, and the original word documents of TVG are on my old, rusty computer which I havn't used once since getting my shiny new laptop (I'm just a spoilt little rich kid), but anyway, I feel like flexing my creative muscle and returning to this story. Plus I need a reason to visit these forums again.

Part whatever-it-is coming soon. Maybe. In the meantime, have fun reading the copyright-breaking fan fiction of a bored 14-year-old*.

*I was actually 13 at the time I wrote this, in case you care.

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Hey, I've just realised I'm not a mod anymore. Oh well, I suppose that's to be expected when you visit the forum once every couple of months.

HELP NEEDED: No, I don't need you to suggest what will happen next, because, for once, I have a fair bit of the future story planned out in my head. But I need information, because I can't remember a couple of things which I need to remember for the next part of the story. because it's easier to ask here than to go and fire up GTA3 and VC, or to search GameFAQS for a few obscure bits of information. So please tell me:

1: I havn't played VC for a while - the fat guy who you kill at the end (not Lance), was he called Sonny? And what was his surname?

2: In GTA3, Joey's mission revolve around pissing off a rival Mafia family. What were they called? I have a feeling that Sonny was a member of that Mafia family?

Anyway, without further ado:

Part 17: Warning

“Mr. Vercetti,” said the barrister, “does the name ‘Jack Poulet’ mean anything to you?”

Tommy thought for a moment.

“Why,” he said after a few seconds, “I believe so, yes. He was a business associate of mine a few years ago. I haven’t seen him for years, though.”

The barrister smiled. He paced around the room for a few seconds, hands behind his back, his chin up. He seemed to only be doing this for dramatic effect.

“It may interest you to know, Mr. Vercetti, that Jack Poulet died two months ago.”

Tommy’s eyes widened.

“Well,” he stuttered, “I’m shocked... I… that’s, that’s terrible, but what has that to with this trial?”

“Because, Mr. Vercetti,” the barrister snapped, “Jack Poulet was brutally murdered – shot several times in the face and torso – the day after your – I mean, Mr. Diaz’s mansion was bombed.”

There was a heavy silence in the courtroom as Vercetti realised what the man was implying.

“Are you suggesting that I might have had anything to do with his death?” snapped Vercetti, offended at the very suggestion.

“Yes, Mr. Vercetti, I am. Because, a few months before his death, his mother was murdered as well – a bomb was planted underneath the trailer in which she lived. Several cars were seen fleeing the crime scene, shooting at eachother. The police gave chase – I’m sure you know about this event, it was major news at the time – and in the resulting car chase and firefight, several Haitian men and one American man were killed. All of the Haitian men, it was later revealed , were under the payroll of Jack Poulet. The other man – he was under Diaz’s pay.”

“Then frolicking find Diaz!” screamed Vercetti. “Every single thing you bring up points to Diaz, not me! And for the last frolicking time, I don’t know where Diaz is anymore than you do! Since he went missing I’ve been looking harder for him than anything the VCPD has tried! So give me a break!”

“Objection!” shouted Ken Rosenburg – speaking for the first time in several hours. Tommy seemed to do perfectly fine on his own. “The murder of Jack Poulet is not what my client is on trial for! And if anything-“

“Order in the court!” cried the judge, slamming his hammer against the table. The shouting continued. The two lawyers were shouting incoherent legal babble at eachother. “ORDER!”

The court fell silent. The prosecution lawyer coughed, adjusted his glasses, and turned to Vercetti. And then the process started all over again.

Meanwhile, a sleek, black, private jet touched down at Vice City airport.


Don't you just love it how I seamlessly link this courtroom case to that car chase all that while back? Why, it's almost as if I plan ahead. Which I don't.

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Chris    237
1: I havn't played VC for a while - the fat guy who you kill at the end (not Lance), was he called Sonny? And what was his surname?

2: In GTA3, Joey's mission revolve around pissing off a rival Mafia family. What were they called? I have a feeling that Sonny was a member of that Mafia family?

1. Yes he was called Sonny Forelli

2. Joeys missions were about pissing off the Triads weren't they, damn i've forgotten too. Well anyway, the Don of the Mafia in GTA3 was Salvatore Leone, so the Leone family Mafia..

Your fanfic is amazing.

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2. Joeys missions were about pissing off the Triads weren't they, damn i've forgotten too. Well anyway, the Don of the Mafia in GTA3 was Salvatore Leone, so the Leone family Mafia..

No, Toni was about pissing off the triads. Joey's were about pissing off the Forellis. Thanks though, I've got what I need to know.

So, the Cartel piss you off by betraying you, then with Joey you piss off the Forellis. Toni helps you piss off the traids, then with Salvatore you piss off the Cartel. Asuka and Kenji want you to piss off the Cartel and the Leones, and Donald Love just pisses off everyone for the sake of a profit. In the end, everybody in Liberty City is pissed off with everybody else. No wonder there's so much crime.

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Behold, part 18. Feel free post comments, suggestions, constructive criticism, or just congratulate me on being such an awesome writer. ;).

Part 18: Down to business.

Alex Obbarius was a man of the world. All his life he had run a mostly legitimate business, which he had inherited from his father. His work had taken him all over the world. And, unfortunately for him, today it was taking him to the United States of America. America was, to say the least, not his favourite country. In his youth, he had had many, very good reasons for disliking one of the world’s only two superpowers – but now, twenty years later, Alex was old, senile, and suffering from mild Alzheimer’s, and had forgotten all the reasons. All he could remember about them was that they had been very convincing reasons, and so as he descended the steps of his private jet and put his feet onto the tarmac, he looked around at Vice City’s scenery with disgust.

He walked through the airport lobby with a brisk pace. The crowd naturally opened up in front of him and closed again behind him. This was a tall man, of fairly muscular build, dressed in a neat black suit with red tie, cufflinks and freshly polished shoes. His hair was neatly combed back, and he carried a medium-sized briefcase. The contents of the briefcase were obviously valuable, because not only was the briefcase handcuffed to the man’s hand, but two heavy, faceless, sunglass wearing, earpiece-donning bodyguards flanked the man, both with suspicious handgun shape bulges in their inner pockets. Everything about the man screamed one thing: he meant business.

Rather than go through the bother of airport security, he simply flashed ID and was let through a small barrier normally reserved for airport staff. It didn’t matter if he was smuggling drugs or weapons, or taking dangerous items onto a plane – he was rich.

His limo was waiting just outside the airport entrance, just as planned. His plane had arrived late, and the limo was blocking one of the main routes in the airport carpark, so it had caused quite a tailback. But it didn’t matter if he held up the traffic at one of America’s busiest airports for ten minutes – he was rich.

He entered his limo. His bodyguards sat opposite him, staring at him, dreaming of the day when someone actually threatened the man they were supposed to be guarding, and they at long last got a chance to put their extensive training to good use.

“Guten tag, Max,” said Alex. His chauffeur nodded without turning round. “Take me straight to the place. No detours, no stops, nothing,” said Alex in heavily accented English.

He turned to his bodyguards, and this time spoke in his native German.

“If anything unexpected happens at all – and I mean anything, whether it’s a car crash, if we get stopped by the police, even if a road is closed – if anything unexpected happens, I want you to treat it as if it’s an attempt to steal the briefcase. You hear me?”

The bodyguards nodded blankly. Max started the engine.

Alex stared out the window, watching Vice City’s not-so-luscious scenery pass him by. The deal had to happen. Everything had to run completely smoothly, and if it did, he would be 100,000 dollars richer. But this deal had to be just as secret as it would have to be smooth – because, although Alex ran a legitimate business, sometimes he had to abandon morality for the sake of a profit.

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