"A #2 pencil and a dream can take you anywhere."

-Joyce A. Myers

I don't really have time to make the Chapters the normal 2000 words, aye, so here.
-Rhett

-Tommy-

The door to Ken's office squeaked lightly as Tommy elbowed it open. Ken was sitting peaceably listening to Wave 103, his hair tufted a little ways to the left and right.

"Tommy!" Ken straightened himself in his chair and placed his clenched hands on his desk. "How'd the party go? All has gone well, I hope. Did you meet Mercedes?"

Tommy sat on the chair placed in front of Ken's desk; the chair seemed to sigh.

"It went well, Mercedes introduced some of the important figures in Vice City."

"Ah! Well, I hope you're having a good time. Because I'm going out of my mind with worry here. What did you find out?"

"That there are more criminals in this town than in prison. We need a lead from the streets... And also, I want information on your friend Zeta."

Ken raised a brow, glistening with light sweat. Tommy noticed the sweat but ignored it since a reasonable explanation for sweat would be Florida's heat. The ginger shifted slightly about in his chair.

"Why? Are you suspicious of her? She's as innocent as newborn baby. Ha! You and your suspicions." Ken smirked.

"I'm not suspicious; I just want to know more about her." Tommy tapped his index finger on the desk. "All I know is that she could stab me in the back when I'm not looking."

"Information, well; she's Russian, five feet eight inches, and great in knife fights." Ken smiled. "But she's horrible with a sniping rifle and sub-machine guns. Oh and, uh, don't tell her I told you this, but her real name is Vita."

"Vita? Why did she give herself an Alias? Is someone after her? I want to know more about her before she came to Vice City."

"I don't know," Ken shrugged." maybe, she's just paranoid—

Unexpectedly, Zeta walked in.

"Zeta, have you ever heard of knocking?" Ken leaned toward Tommy. "Gee, this girl is rude, and Zeta! I've never seen you not wearing a white suit, why are you in casual clothing?"

She swatted at the question as if a fly buzzed past her face.

"You were right about Paul."

"Paul?" Tommy questioned.

Ken centered his attention back to Tommy.

"Ok. There's this limey, some music industry slimeball, goes by the name of Kent Paul. Anyway, he's got his nose so far up most of Vice City's ass that if anybody knows the whereabouts of 20 k's of coke, it's this guy, all right? He's always at The Malibu."

" I'll go pay him a visit." Tommy said as he lifted himself off the chair and headed out the office. As soon as the door shut, Vita glared at Ken.

"So, what were you two talking about?"

"Just about the party at the Cortez's boat, the more important question is: What happened to Paul?"

Of course, what else could you have been talking about?

Vita comforted her rear end on Ken's desk.

"He screwed an Italian bird, a Cuban and two other dark women in his apartment." She replied.

"I told you, but you didn't listen to me," Ken pushed her shoulder lightly. "did ya?"

She rolled her eyes. "What now?"

Ken laughed. "You've got a letter from Love,"

He picked up a pink envelope and handed it to her. "here."


I would like you to join me at the Front Page Café for lunch this afternoon at 3:30 p.m.
I'll be sitting inside, table closest to the door.
The Front Page Café is directly north of the Ocean Drive Hotel.

~ Donald Love

Vita sighed and tossed the letter in the passenger seat of her Stinger. Aggravated, confused and tired, her forehead and the steering wheel came into contact. The horn blared and scared pedestrians walking past the Vice Point Langer, an Asian tourist screamed and ran away quickly. Many by-standers were laughing at the frightened tourist as he ran, stirring a feeling of pity in her bosom.

3:00 p.m. … I'll get there early and surprise him. But first, I'm going to change back into my suit…

She turned the key, the engine roared.


Yikes, this may stay as an in-complete story for a long, long time. Fair warning.