It was a beautiful sunny day in Vice City. Nick cruised down Ocean Beach in his newly acquired Stinger, top down and breeze in his hair. He pulled up outside a hotel, lowered the window and flicked cigarette ash out onto the sidewalk. He got out of the car slowly, smoothing back his hair, surreptitiously checking for cops. He took off his sunglasses, ready to do business, and strolled towards the hotel.
The Vice City Inn. A group of suits sat round one of the tables out front. "You Brennan?" a businessman type asked as Nick approached the table.
"Depends. You got the money?" Over the next few minutes Nick negotiated a good price for his goods. He left the table several hundred dollars richer. Easiest money he had made all week.
Nick got back in his car and started it up. He made a U-turn, heading in the direction of the bridge to Little Havana.
He didn't have unlimited funds and Vice was an expensive place to live. His original plan to open a place selling off stolen and resprayed cars hadn't worked out. Turns out Tommy Vercetti had already thought of that. Sunshine Auto's was the only place in town to go if you wanted a cheap and dubiously acquired sports car. Then there was his back-up plan to sell drugs from some kind of mobile goods vehicle, an ice cream van maybe. There was some guy doing that in Liberty a couple of years back. Turns out Vercetti had stolen that idea too. He figured he could always make some money driving a cab, but Vercetti owned the only taxi company in town. So he had fallen back on his one time job of drug dealer. It was work that brought into use his ability to buy low, sell high and his wide knowledge of the criminal underworld. But it had its drawbacks, Vice city's cops were far more in evidence than those in Liberty and in their brown uniforms they blended in with the scenery dangerously well. Also it involved dealing with people, and Nick hated people. It brought in the money, it was ok work for now, but soon he would move on to something better. He was almost thirty-five, it was time he had a criminal empire of his own.
Nick pulled out onto the most southern of bridges connecting the two halves of Vice City. He had no more contacts left so he decided to head downtown, sell some overpriced goods to tourists or teenagers.
Nick drove across the bridge and up along the long coast road to Downtown. He turned on the radio and idly switched between the channels, pop to rock to chat. He didn't much care for music, or chat neither, so he searched through the channels for some news. It paid to keep informed with what was happening in Vice. Finding some he listened for a while but it was only politicians arguing out some issues and he soon got bored and turned over. He stuck with the commercials for a while, then turned the radio off when a song started. He was in Downtown now. He drove through narrow shop-lined streets. The afternoon sun shone down hard, rays reflecting off shop windows into Nick's eyes. This was a confusing area, mazelike, as much so as the Cuban or Haitian districts.
Nick found a good place, in a car park outside an office block, just down the road from the Tacopalypse, near enough to the stadium to guarantee a steady stream of both bored teenagers and bored office workers.
Nick got out of the car and waited. He didn't have to wait long. Goods went fast and within an hour he had sold out. He leaned back against the car and debated what to do next. He had enough money to last him several weeks, or he could spend it all tonight. Spending it tonight seemed like the most sensible option. It was still early though. Not even six. Most places wouldn't be open yet. Well he could go to the Malibu, that was always open. He set off towards the road, leaving the car behind, it was out of gas.
On reaching the road Nick stepped out in front of a pale blue Cheetah. It screeched to a halt. Nick pulled a scantily clad woman out of the drivers seat and she ran off in the direction of Tacopalypse. He got in the car and drove off in search of the bridge to the east island.
In the Malibu Nick ordered whisky and ice and sat down at a table. It had taken a little money to convince the bouncers that his "I'm a regular person not a drug dealer" outfit passed the dress-code but he was in now and that was what mattered. He looked around him. The club was almost empty. The dancefloor was lit but the music was quiet, no-one was dancing. A few people sat at the bar or on the small tables scattered around the club. Nick was disappointed. He liked being around people. Well he liked watching them. Like those two at the bar. A young couple, unsure of what they were doing and what they wanted from each other. The man offered the woman more compliments than she could hold. Everytime she tried to change the conversation to more mundane topics he built it up again. Nick liked to watch people strive, try their hardest, and fall flat on their faces. Fed that part inside that knew he was better. Working and reaching out for nothing. He hated them all. These two might go home together, marry and divorce. Didn't matter, they would be alone in the end, like people should be.
Nick looked away, distracted, as a woman crossed his path. She was blonde, early twenties, attractive enough but too wholesome looking to be truly beautiful. She looked lost. She was just what he needed. She smiled apologetically at him as she tried to squeeze past his table.
"Oh I'm sorry!" he jumped up as she made it past.
"Uh, that's ok." she said, confused.
"I knocked you with the table. Are you alright?" he asked.
"Oh I'm fine, I don't think you hit me, I mean I didn't notice."
This was going to be easy. "Well let me get you a drink to make up for it." He pulled out the chair for her. She smiled up at him, she had a pretty smile. "Malibu and coke please."
He went and got their drinks, slipped a little powder into hers, then came back to their table.
"So you live in Vice City?" he asked.
She told him about herself. She could really talk when she got going. He was glad he wouldn't have to do this for long. In return Nick gave the right answers, yes he was from a small town too, just moved to Vice, didn't know many people neither, hard to get to know people in a place like this. He saw now that she was not as attractive as he originally thought. She was a little too fat for Vice City. She smiled at him again, almost gratefully. No wonder, she was maybe a six, on a good day. He was at least a nine. Didn't matter, he could start off slow, move on to better things later in the night.
She took a sip of her drink and was quiet for a moment. It seemed to be taking effect.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"Yeah" she passed her hand across her face. "Just a tough day."
"Work huh? I know what you mean." There was a pause. He started as though he had just thought of it. "I'm sorry, I didn't ask you your name?"
"Uh, Amy" she said slowly, "Amy Collins."
"Really, that's a beautiful name, it suits you." She was quiet. "So you said you live on Ocean Beach. That must be a nice place to live."
"It is, well it isn't really, you know."
"Yeah. Still not feeling so good?"
"No" she shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong."
"That's ok. Maybe you just need to get some air." He stood and helped her up. He walked her outside, giving an apologetic glance to the bouncers as they passed.
Outside it was still light. Nick propped Amy up against a wall. "Feeling any better?'
She shook her head.
"Good. Come on, I've got something to show you.' He led her towards the alley he had noticed the last time he was here.