Tommy prepared himself for the final battle, or whatever would come over the next few days. He stocked up all the weapons he had, and piled them in a secret closet he installed in his office. And he waited.

Tommy knew it was time for things to get wrapped up, when he was driving over to the Cherry Popper Factory, when he received a call from Lance.

"Tommy, we got big problems. Come here right away." Lance told him briskly, and shut the phone.

Tommy grabbed the M4 from his trunk, and slipped on a suit of body armour behind his Soiree outfit. Then, he drove back to Vercetti Estate.

He met a rather-worried looking Ken, and Lance sitting calmly.

"What's going on?" Tommy asked, waiting for the obvious truth to come.

"Tommy! Oh good. Listen, listen. Uh, listen." Ken began, stumbling over his words. He continued uneasily:

"I like fish. I love fish. I love them as pets in bowls, or as food on a plate, but as much as I love em, I don't want to sleep with them. Okay, but right now your Italian brothers are coming from up there to fit me with some cement shoes, and I..."

Tommy interrupted his mumble-jumble and asked Lance.

"It's your friends up north Tommy. They ain't too happy you capped their man. They're coming down to see the business today." Lance explained calmly.

"They took longer than I thought... Guys, we gotta make this final we gotta leave no doubt that this is my operation. Mine! Ken, you get the first run of counterfeit cash and put three million in briefcases. Lance, you get the guys together." Tommy ordered.

Ken and Lance both scrambled to their jobs, and Lance soon had his gang waiting for him. Ken went over to the Printworks in his white Admiral to grab the three million dollars worth of counterfeit money. Tommy gathered up all his weapons, and he shoved all the money he had in his safe. All he could do for now, was waiting.

The boys had a silent lunch, Tommy ordering about twenty pizzas. They sat at the bar and around the mansion, eating silently. It didn't even seem as if they tasted it. Tommy looked around at his men. Never had he seen them look so tense. He just had to hope this business affair with Sonny would go with no trouble. But Tommy knew it would.

Finally, with the sun setting down in Vice City, Tommy spotted three limousines pull up outside the mansion. He ordered his men to take their places on the rooftops, and all around the places. Then, he got Ken to grab the three briefcases of fake cash, as Sonny and his two henchmen got out, heading up the stairs towards the mansion. Tommy, Lance by one side and Ken by the other, walked over to meet his old boss, who he hadn't seen for fifteen years, before he was given that mission.


"Okay, Tommy. I want you to kill this Leone Mafia asshole. He lives in an apartment in the Red Light District, and he is going to catch a flight soon." Sonny told the young Tommy Vercetti, brandishing a photo.

"Why is he in Portland? Wouldn't he choose a place beforehand in Shoreside Vale?" Tommy asked.

"Don't worry about that-you're going to kill him anyway. Now get going." Sonny told Tommy firmly.

Tommy, grumbling and slightly suspicious, un-holstered a .45 pistol and a shotgun. He also had an RPK-47 sub-machinegun for any rapid-fire work. A lot of firepower, but this was what he had got accustomed to during the few months he had worked, and gained respect in the Forelli Mafia. He got in his Banshee, the latest 1971 model, and he drove off, following directions carefully.

He arrived at the apartment, and concealing his weapons, he slipped a silencer on his .45 just in case, and he crept upstairs. He could hear voices. Italian, Mafia-like voices. They were getting closer, and coming downstairs very quickly.

"We gotta get out of here. That bastard is going to arrive any minute," he heard a voice say.

Shit. How did they know he was here? Sighing, Tommy pulled out his shotgun, and cocked it. He crept out of the building, and waited for the men to come out. When they did, Tommy had a close look at them. They were well-equipped, with shotguns. Tommy pulled out his RPK-47, and opened fire.

Three of them were swept down by his quick fire, and he rolled out of the way as the remaining eight blasted shotgun shells at him. He pulled out his .45, and he fired a couple of accurate shots into one man's skull, and then he swivelled and made a run for the apartment. Close-quarters fighting would be his best chance, with the numerous numbers making easy picking for his shotgun. He slipped the pistol into his pocket, wielded the shotgun, and waited. Two of them met the powerful weapon with a blast in the face. He pulled out his RPK-47 and wiped out the rest of them.

However, his trouble was continued when he heard the wail of police sirens outside. He headed upstairs, but SWAT members were descending down from the ropes of a police helicopter. Not wanting to cause any more trouble, Tommy had to meekly drop his weapons and raise his hands in the air. The SWAT members handcuffed him, and walked him downstairs, where they drove him over to a temporary holding cell.

Tommy jerked himself back into reality, and walked down to meet Sonny.

"Tommy!" Sonny happily greeted, making a pose as it he was going to hug him. When Tommy refused silently, he asked sarcastically:

"What? No big hugs for your old buddy?"

"I've had fifteen years out of the loop. I'm a bit rusty on family etiquette." Tommy replied, trying to push the anger out of his voice, but failing.

"Always angry, eh Tommy. Didn't I say your temper would get you into trouble, huh?" Sony piped up, noticing the sharpness of Tommy's words.

"There's three mil in the cases…"

"How many was it? Ten? No, eleven men. That's how you get to be called the Harwood Butcher! Heh-heh-heh!" Sonny laughed to himself, out loud.

"You sent me to kill one man, ONE MAN. They knew I was coming Sonny…" Tommy furiously replied.

"Tommy, Tommy, watch your tone. Anyone would think you blame me for that unfortunate set of circumstances."

"Just take the money…get the damn cash."

"You know, Tommy? I did what I could for you; I pulled strings, called in favours. I was your friend, Tommy. I hoped you'd see sense; see what's good for business. I trusted you, Tommy, and you disappointed me." Sonny calmly told Tommy.

Tommy stared, hiding his surprise. Somebody had ratted on him and told Sonny about the counterfeit cash.

"But at least someone in your chicken shit organization knows how to do business. Isn't that right Lance?" Sonny asked Tommy's partner-in-crime.

"I'm sorry Tommy. This is Vice City. This is business." Lance said to Tommy.

"You sold us out…" Tommy said in barely a whisper, trying to keep calm.

"No. I sold YOU out, Tommy, I sold YOU out. The real cash is upstairs in the safe." Lance told Sonny.

"Tommy, what was the big plan? You think I'd just take the fake cash? Save face and run away with my tail between my legs?" Sonny mocked.

Tommy, calmly as he could, got close and personal with Sonny, glaring at him.

"No. I just wanted to piss you off before I kill you." Tommy retorted. He stormed back to his office, going to grab his weapons.

Shit. Where was the key to his weapons locker? Lance, Tommy thought. That son of a bitch! That backstabbing mother! Before Tommy could explode, he calmed himself as best as possible, and noticed an M4 and a Colt Python lying on the table. He grabbed the two weapons and waited for somebody to come. Sonny and his men had gone over to grab weapons and then come to steal their cash. Tommy primed the Python, and waited. When the first man stormed through the mansion door, Tec-9 blazing, Tommy pegged him with a powerful headshot. Three more men came running in, two from the main door, and one from the side passage. They were cut off by the .357 that Tommy wielded so accurately and with so much deadliness. He chewed right through the Mafia men. His Vercetti men, perched on the sides, were also helping, not much, but taking out a couple of thugs here and there.

After about three waves of Mafia men had been held off by Tommy's Python, it was empty, and that was the point when he spotted that familiar white suit, this time with a formidable Ruger assault rifle.

"No one to cover your ass now, eh Tommy?" Lance spat.

"You're going down, you backstabbing prick!" Tommy yelled, pointing his Colt Python at Lance.

"Oh, you think so?" Lance shouted back, and made a run to the rooftops.

Taking out the two Mafia men that had come with Lance, he yelled for his men to cover the place while he went to the rooftop. He didn't have much ammo for the Colt Python, and he headed towards the roof, yelling at Lance:

"Come here, you double-crossing piece of shit!"

"You're history, Tommy, history!" Lance screamed, firing his Ruger as he ran.

Tommy had to dive out of the way of shooting Mafia men with pistols. They had killed his own guys, and taken their weapons in the process. Tommy wasted all of them, except from Lance, where he got a couple of clean shots at, but was absorbed by Lance's bullet-proof vest, before his Python went empty. Damn it.

Tommy pegged his Python at a barrel, blowing it up, and then, he made a run for the corner, where he had hidden a weapon that not even Lance knew about. It was a katana. He picked up the long, elegant blade of the Japanese samurai sword, and diving out of the way, waiting for Lance to run out of ammo for his clip, or to begin reloading. Then, like a samurai, he made a run for Lance, jumping in the air, landing on top of Lance, and plunging the deadly blade into his chest. Lance screamed in pain, and his grip on the Ruger loosened. Tommy issued punch after punch, and then decapitated Lance's head with a clean cut. Grabbing his Ruger, he ran downstairs to kill the Mafia guys.

All his men were dead, and the Mafia thugs, about five of them, and more running upstairs, they were cramming money.

"Enjoying yourselves!" Tommy asked, as he cleared them with his Ruger. He stuffed the notes back in the safe, and waited for more Mafia men. His Ruger went empty, and he switched back to his trusty M4.

He cut down thug after thug, and he had about two clips remaining in his M4, and a whole patch of death, when Sonny finally made his appearance.

"You took fifteen years from me, Sonny, and now I'm going to make you pay!" Tommy yelled, aiming his M4 at Sonny.

Sonny, with two of his elite henchmen alongside him, and with a Ruger, looked amused.

"You still don't get it, do you? I OWN you Tommy. Those fifteen years were mine to spend!" Sonny calmly replied. He gazed around the mansion, and ordered his men.

"Get him boys, he never understood a thing!"

Tommy ducked behind his office table, and took them down one by one. But he was running out of ammunition fast, and the M4 finally clicked as it went empty.

That was it. Nothing to kill Sonny with, apart from a Tec-9, which he would have to get by hand first. But then, he spotted a cardboard box underneath the desk that he had remembered seeing since working for Diaz. He peeled it open as quickly as possible, and found a rocket launcher. Good old Diaz. That man always had a random scheme, whether it was shooting pigeons, or shooting up VCRs. He drew the heavy launcher, and aimed it at Sony, who was the only person left, with all the Mafia having been slaughtered.

"SAY HELLO TO MY LITTLE FRIEND!" Tommy screamed at his former boss.

He saw the surprise in his former boss's eyes, as two rockets flew towards him, and engulfed him in a massive blast. Sonny was sent flying out of the mansion, eventually landing at the bottom of the stairs.

Tommy, grabbing his M4 anyway, walked slowly down to the bottom stair of Vercetti Estate, and he put his head in his hands. He could see Ken Rosenberg, who had been hiding in the bar the whole time, trying to crawl out unnoticed. Tommy aimed his M4 at him, but knowing it was empty, he shrugged, and drew his weapon away. Ken immediately picked himself up, and started towards Tommy, horrified.

"Tommy? Oh my god, Tommy! What happened?" Ken asked.

"What does it look like?" Tommy replied wearily.

"It looks like you ruined your suit, and Tommy, that was a beautiful suit! Tommy, what on earth happened?"

"I had a disagreement with a business associate, you know how it is."

"Tommy, I have a disagreement, I send them an angry letter. Maybe I pee in their mailbox. I don't start World War III. You know, maybe you should speak to my shrink..."

"That stupid prick, Lance…" Tommy muttered.

"Tommy. I never liked that guy, okay? He's neurotic, he's insecure, he's self-centred - the guy's an asshole! I'm glad you took him out!" Ken admitted his feelings about Lance.

"I don't think we're gonna be getting any more heat from up north either... ...'cause there ain't no 'up north', anymore. It's all down south now." Tommy said, beginning to pick himself up.

"Wait, does that mean what I think it means..? Tommy, baby!" Ken exclaimed.

"What do you think it means?"

"That we're in charge... I mean, that you're in charge. Oh, Tommy!"

"You know, Ken." Tommy said, picking himself up:

"I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful business relationship... After all, you're a conniving, backstabbing, two-bit thief and I'm a convicted psychotic killer and drug dealer," Tommy put his arms around the lawyer's shoulders, and they looked at the setting sun.

"Hehehe I know. Ain't it just beautiful?" Ken asked dreamily.

Tommy slapped him on the shoulder, and told him to get some food. He then went around looking for anybody at this place who was still alive. During this bit, he received his phone calls, just at the right time.

First, it was Cortez. It sounded as if he was doing fine wherever he was now.

"Tommy, Thomas, its Cortez. Que pasa?" came the familiar Spanish voice.

"Things are interesting." Tommy replied happily. And that was an understatement!

"How are you, my friend?" Tommy continued, asking.

"Tommy, it is always a struggle here. Excuse the poor line, we have just had another failed coup. The people are the most demanding mistress of all. So far, we have had three revolutions and four coups since I returned from Vice City. Luckily, I have been promoted each time." Cortez told Tommy. But then, he began talking about his own concern.

"I wanted to ask you about Mercedes." Cortez said.

"Okay, what about her?" Tommy asked.

"Oh Tommy, Tommy. I, I hear these stories, all these stories-I don't know what to think. Maybe everyone is humiliating me. Maybe she thinks she can do what she likes, but Tommy, tell me, is it true?" Cortez stuttered.

"Is what true?"

"These stories I hear. Is she really going to be a lawyer? Oh Tommy, the shame, the shame! You know, we Cortez's are a proud family. We would never allow a daughter of ours to become a lawyer. Please tell me it isn't so. I don't think I could take it."

"Oh Colonel, I can assure you Mercedes is never going to become a lawyer. Don't worry about it." Tommy laughed cheerfully

"Oh thank you, Tommy. Tommy, thank you. The shame would be unbearable. She is a lady, not a parasite, you know."

"I know, Colonel."

"Anyway, Tommy, you must excuse me, the new minister of the interior has arrived. Many years ago, I killed his father in a failed coup so I must be polite. Good day, amigo." Cortez shut the phone.

Soon, afterwards, there was another phone call, this time from Paul, who seemed rather impressed by Mercedes.

"Tommy, its Paulo, how are you? Right mate, anyway, thought I had to drop you a line. Oh my good lord, my son, you will not believe the quality of the brass I just encountered. Street walker or something, just down in Little Havana, mate. Said her name was Mercedes or something. Oh my god, mate. You gotta check this bird out. Could strip the lead out of a pencil. Said I was the best she ever had and all. Keep you potatoes skinned for her. Be seeing you." Kent said, in a flurry of words, and then the call was over.

Tommy was followed up by another call, this time from Earnest Kelly, who they seemed to have done well at the hospital.

"Tommy, it's Earnest. Earnest Kelly." Earnest greeted him.

"How are you?" Tommy asked, remembering his beating.

"I'm doing okay. I'll need a stick to walk, but I should be back at work soon enough."


"I heard about Lance. What a little prick, eh?" Earnest asked Tommy about his opinion.


"Never trust a man who walks the street in his pyjamas. That's what I say. Glad you killed him. I hope it was painful for the prick."

"I think it was. I just didn't think he was like that…" Tommy replied, remembering his ninja-like barge on Lance.

"Tommy, for a raging lunatic, you're pretty naïve. I'll be back at work soon, teach you a thing or two about life."

"Take your time, Earnest. Look after yourself." Tommy assured Earnest calmly, and then he shut the phone. He froze and waited, if sensing another call.

It was Paul, but this time, he was drunk, and he had several things to say to Tommy. It seemed that he was upset with the way he treated him. Poor guy, Tommy thought. Maybe I should have treated him better. Tommy decided to invite him to his mansion a bit while later. But before he could dwell on this, Tommy received a call from the movie director, Steve Scott.

"Tommy, it's Steve." Steve said, with a blossom of happiness in his voice.

"Hey Steve." Tommy greeted.

"Hey indeed, genius. You're a marvel! I'm a marvel! They love us. We are re-writing the record books, pal. We are talking major awards here. Finally, I can put my dad in a home and tell him to shut up."

"Eer, that's cool Steve."

"Cool? It's hot, man. Hot, H.O.T. He never believed me. Never thought I was an artist, and now I've made it. I'm the best damn skin flick director of all time, my friend, and I just wanted to say it's a pleasure to have met you."

"Thanks Steve."

"I love you baby. Don't go changing on me, you hear."

"I hear you. Good bye, Steve."

Tommy grinned, and he flipped the cell phone shut, hopefully for the last time in the afternoon.

He walked to the top of the stairs, and sat down, and then he watched the brilliant sunset over Vice City.

End note: Wow! My second fanfic over. I really enjoyed writing this story, and in that process, doing Vice City all over again. Thanks to ALL my reviewers for their kind comments, and their words that kept me writing.

Well, I'm off to do something else, play Xbox perhaps, or maybe something else. Peace out.