Mall Shootout

After that bit of work for Cortez, I become one of his regular dinner guests.  Sometimes he inquired into my past, but usually we talked shop.  He’s running all manner of schemes hiding behind his diplomatic immunity, and seems most interested in guns.

He tells me that his people are doing their utmost to figure out who hit our deal, though I don’t think his ‘utmost’ is much at all. In the meantime I’ve been keeping my head above the water making money however I can, usually driving a stolen taxi I liberated from a cabbie who wasn’t paying attention. It’s not bad money, considering that I don’t pay for a license, I don’t pay a firm, and I don’t pay for gas or insurance or any of the other crap. If my cab breaks down, no biggie. I “acquire” another.

A few weeks into my life in Vice, we had some excitement. A few tropical storms systems in the Atlantic appeared to be moving toward the Gulf and East Coast, and one in particular looked like it was going to hit Vice head on. Cortez called me to his yacht. 

With the storm coming, people were deserting Vice in droves; our side of town was damn near abandoned, and the Colonel said that made tonight an ideal time to take care of some business.  I get edgy whenever he asks me for a favor, given how little he’s given me in regards to the money.

Yeah, ass-slow.

But still, he’ll pay me for the job and put him more in my debt - so I take it. Money’s money. 

The hurricane sent rain hundreds of miles ahead of it, and we were getting the first of the storm when I drove to the mall. 

I arrive at the mall and approach the contact -- who stands out like a sore thumb, let me tell you -- with caution. Cortez warned me that he might try to run off without handing over the merchandise if I seemed an easy mark. 

…yeah, it’s a hurricane, pal. 

I didn’t know what Cortez meant by ‘guidance chips’, but he seemed to think they were important. 

What the f- 

The contact takes off, and these SWAT-type start fucking shooting at us. I jump from the upper deck to the floor of the promenade, chasing the rat outside.

He tries to escape, but I  got his tires. He took off anyway, and I grabbed my bike to follow.

Flat tires meant he couldn’t much go anywhere, and I took the bastard out. Cortez just got his chips without having to make a payment. He’d better come through with info.