Miami Vice Tales An alternative world of Vice City for myself and fnchristie81

[JackHemingway]

Introduction Part I

In the vibrant city of Miami, 1986 was a year of significant events. Two, in particular, left an indelible mark on the residents. The first was the culmination of the notorious cocaine wars, which ushered in the era of the formidable kingpin, Tommy Vercetti. The second was the arrival of Hurricane Guillermo in September, midway through hurricane season, a natural disaster that unleashed gale-force winds and dumped over twelve inches of rain in the first hour alone. This cataclysmic event temporarily pushed the rampant corruption and murder off the front pages, capturing the attention of the city for weeks. In the wake of the disaster, there was a massive federal response, but not all those who arrived from Washington were interested in dealing with the current crisis.

The Miami Airport, now known as Escobar International Airport after extensive renovations, became the epicenter of a diverse and extensive federal effort. Every terminal, office, and hanger was utilized by one of the alphabets of federal agencies. These agencies' unwavering dedication and commitment, working tirelessly to restore order and provide aid, was a reassuring sight for the city. Often overlooked in the chaos, this collective effort was the perfect cover for the FBI's Confidential Surveillance Operations unit, the CSO, which ran the agency's undercover operations.

Among the agents sent was FBI Special Agent Mike Hemmings, who was from a wealthy, politically active East Coast family and had joined right after completing graduate school. He was trained as a scuba diver, Swat officer, and helicopter pilot, but in the last few years, he'd become a master at running undercover operations. Among his successes in the previous five years included a gun running case between California and Mexico, a cigarette smuggling case involving Canada, and his most famous success was a human trafficking ring involving Russian gangsters. A dedicated agent happy to take praise behind closed doors and discretely handle matters for those in the corridors of power, he was well-liked and had features. He didn't mind handling all the bureau's dirty deads and quietly took the credit.

It was late morning when Agent Hemmings pulled into the parking lot of Southern Air Freight's office, which was next to a large airplane hanger. His official black FBI Rancher didn't look out of place with the rest among a few civilian vehicles. He got out of his truck with a large accordion file under one arm, a coffee in one hand, and an apple in the other. Hemmings crunched down on the apple as he looked over the vehicle again, secured it, and made his way to the fourth-floor conference room. He was expecting an old friend that day.

 

[JackHemingway]

Introduction Part II

That morning, Agent Hemmings performed his usual routine of jogging, karate workout, and meditation, but today, he received his final confirmation for Operation Great White Shark. The bureau had already spent capital on the Southern Air Freight front and dozens of related expenses but could have easily handled it to drug operations. No, they'd decided to let him implement an operation that would send him to the top of his profession. Now, he was going after the corrupt cops who made up the Miami police department.

As he walked through the offices, he greeted several agents packing up and preparing to return to their respective offices. Soon, this would look like any other small airline, but his people would operate secretly on the third and fourth floors. After this initial meeting, his operatives would be alone and only meet with their handlers in the field. He got to the conference room, laid out all his files, and glanced at "Big Sam," his heavyweight and physically powerful "investigative administrative assistant." Wide over six feet tall, the man was more like Hemming's enforcer. Technically not an agent, he was still Hemming's go-to man for swift and brutal solutions. He didn't talk much, but the pair exchanged customary silent greetings.

The first file he picked was for veteran operative Christina O'Hara, an outstanding police officer in Alexandria, Virginia. The problem was that she seemed to have hit the glass ceiling at work, and her home life had hit rock bottom. She was denied three times for promotion to detective and had yet to make sergeant. So, she applied with the FBI, and it went to CSO. Christina wanted to be an agent but took well to being an undercover operative. Very well.

In their operation in California, Christina played Sandra, the wife of a dead gun store owner moving his illegal stock. She held her own dealing with arms dealers, gang members, and mercenaries. She was able to get people to open up and trust her, and this led to a shitload of arrests and captured firearms. Afterward, she got paid and went home to deal with her unpleasant divorce from a husband who knew how to hide money. She was broke and bored and ready to get back into action.

A different version of Sandra emerged as a partying stewardess who gambled too much and was willing to do some smuggling to cover her debts. Although she was only supposed to work with cigarette smugglers, Christina was an overachiever. She set up a network of corrupt airline workers, including stewardesses, and soon had cocaine and gun runners coming to her. This led to more arrests, including several corrupt police officers and airport managers on both sides of the border. Once again, she was denied agent status despite his best efforts, and a few weeks after being a key player in a larger-scale operation, she was back in Alexandria writing speeding tickets.

While there was nothing wrong with being a patrol woman in a major police department, it was a waste of talent. Christina was as skilled as any detective and understood smuggling, firearms, and criminal culture. She was also an experienced markswoman, had several black belts, and was well-read. Many of those she'd help arrest had no idea she was a police officer, and some even asked if she was alright when they were captured by law enforcement. Christina was also a wonderful woman he'd spent a lot of time with, and with each operation, their relationship grew.

In the last operation, he recruited her from her parents' home in Philadelphia, posing as Mike Hemmings, an old cop friend from the past. He was only supposed to stay for a few days, but it turned into two weeks, and very little of it was selling her on the next assignment. This time, she went deep undercover, where even Sandra became a Candy Apple stripper, model, and cocaine dealer working the clubs of New York City.

As usual, Christina sold it and was undercover for over a year. She danced in clubs, got tattoos and even breast implants, and fought with pimps and thugs in the bars and clubs. Candy's reputation of being beautiful but tough caught the attention of the Russian gangsters who were taking over the sex trade. They made her a brothel manager and had her handle other things like loan sharking and drugs, and she had a seat at the table. She turned over tons of intelligence to the bureau every few weeks, but they left her in the field until she burned out.

When Mike did finally bring Christina in, her debrief had to be in the hospital as she rested and detoxed after what could only be described as a year of long nights. Because the operation was so covert, success didn't filter down to those who'd put in the work. To make matters worse, Christina's reputation took a hit as agents claimed she slept with gangsters, blew customers in the clubs, and was a cocaine user. It didn't help much when he told her he didn't care about all that instead of saying he didn't believe it. Mike drove a tired and understandably bitter Christina to the airport, where she left with just a backpack and a cashier's check for her trouble.

Agent Hemmings continued his duties at the FBI and waited to write or call Christina for a year until this operation came up. He'd heard she had put in her papers with the Alexandria department and was a private investigator. When he got in touch with her, Christina hung up on him a few times before she called him back one night and told him to set it up and not make promises he couldn't keep.

So he did his best to assemble a package for her to make this operation work. Christina would come in as Sandra Wolfe, an out-of-state transfer. Miami was recruiting heavily since officers were quitting in droves or got caught. She'd work through the ranks and give information and evidence to her handlers, including himself. She'd have a beach house, cars, and extra cash for any expenses. They'd already arranged a solid background for her, and he had a network of people to support her in Miami.

When things ended, she'd get a larger cash payout and agent status in the city of her choice, with relocation expenses included. Well, that was what things said on paper, but if you read the fine print, the bureau leaders could change their minds, but she didn't need to know that. Christina didn't need to know he'd get a promotion from this one, and she certainly didn't need to know he now had a fiance. This was business, nothing personnel.

Mike had sent her a business class ticket, fake ID, credit cards, and a special federal permit to fly with a weapon if she wanted. As he was laying out three large files at her place at the table, one of the office staff came in to tell him she'd arrived safely, and one of the airport police officers was escorting her over to the office. He put the contract down with the files and a pen and figured it wasn't to turn down the assignment if she came this far.

He smiled at Sam, standing in the corner stoically, and said, "Smile, Sam; she still likes you anyway. Go meet her, will you."

Sam grunted, headed to the lobby, and met a surprisingly warm Christina who had caught an early morning flight. After getting her a fresh coffee, the pair walked into the conference room and showed her to the lady's room. Sam gestured to the empty chair and held the door. As Christina sat down, Special Agent Hemmings smiled and said, "Good to see you again, Officer O'Hara. How are you doing? How are your parents? Or do you want to get down to business?"

 

[fnchristie81]

Christina gratefully lit a cigarette as she waited at the baggage claim for her things. She felt bleary eyed from getting up just after midnight to arrive in Miami just after the opening of the business day, and the airline coffee hadn't helped much. The smoke was a stop gap until she was able to get some bull pen coffee.

Just as she was pulling her single suitcase off the turnstile, she sensed someone eyeing her. Without appearing to, she scanned the area in front of her and her periphery. Leaving the turnstile gave her the opportunity for the rest of her scan, and thankfully the guy looking at her was a pleasant memory.

Still, it didn't hurt to be careful. She didn't give a hint of recognition of him. Her features undercover were significantly different than when not. Undercover, she used makeup extensively. She could fake bruises and other injuries, make herself appear older (as in the California case) or younger (as in the New York case), harder, softer...she'd even been questioned by one of the cops she had gone to the academy with and he hadn't given even a flicker of recognition. Right now her hair was it's normal mousy brown, pulled back in a regulation bun. Her apparel was semi-official: below the knee shapeless skirt, blouse, and flat soled shoes. Hey, she was travelling after all.

She passed Sam and paused by the area map, scanning the area for anyone following either of them. Finally he appeared at her shoulder and she turned to him with a small smile.

"Hi Sam," she said, pleasure in her eyes at the reunion.

"Hi Christie," Sam replied.

They made small talk, catching up on the major happenings of each others' lives as he led her through a maze of hallways until they came to an extremely well hidden elevator. Inside he turned a key and pushed the button for the fourth floor, then turned to look at her.

"Do you think you're ready for this? It's going to be worse than New York. " He asked.

Christina thought for several minutes before answering. It wasn't that she was questioning if she could do it, she was thinking of how to explain. Going undercover was a rush unlike any she had ever known, and she was addicted to it. There were times she had to split her personalities and give in to the urges that someone in her character would have gone through with in a heartbeat, and once the other(s) in the situation were doing whatever mindless festivities they wanted, switch back on the "cop" part. And the withdrawals were a hell of a lot worse. Yes, "addicted" was the right word.

Instead, she just told Sam that she was with a hopefully not-too-eager smile as he opened a door into a rather large office. And came face-to-face with Mike. The man who had shattered her dreams twice and her heart once. And unfortunately, the only thing that came as close to being as addicting as the under cover work. This time, she would crawl all over him to get the position she deserved. And if led to crawling under him, in front of him, or any other way, she would do just that. And enjoy it.


"Good to see you again, Officer O'Hara. How are you doing? How are your parents? Or do you want to get down to business?"

Christina just sat and stared at Mike, her face impassable. She knew it would give him a mixture of amusement and irritation, but she didn't trust any emotions that might betray themselves, or her.

 

[JackHemingway]

Agent Hemmings realized from her cold response that this wouldn't be a conversation between Chrissy and Mikey or Michael and Christina, for that matter. Christina was here about work, and that was it, and while part of him felt he could get her to warm up to him in the next year or so, now was not the time. He'd give her the package and see what she made of it, but if she came all this way and clearly wasn't here to see him, it was about business, so he began with his presentation. "Well, if you haven't heard Miami or Vice City as the criminal element is calling, the place is the first step in importing cocaine and a host of other narcotics into the United States. The last gang war saw some major changes, and Tommy "Bad Ass" Vercetti, formerly of the Forelli Crime family, who I'm sure you remember from New York, is now king. He has real estate, dozens of fronts, and hundreds of soldiers from New York recruited from the Cuban population. He's previously hired mercenaries and has control over several smuggling routes. He also has ties to the Bikers and sits on the board of one of the largest banks in town. If that wasn't bad enough, he's forming unions for the workers. We will look into all that, but your primary focus, Christina, will be to look into the Miami Police Department. Vercetti can't do any of that without the local cops looking the other way, and we estimate that a third of the force is on the take, and the rest either look the other way or occasionally take bribes. Oh, Christina, there are three files in front of you besides the contract, which I'm sure you're eager to read. The one on your left is our intelligence file on the city, and the one in the center is about all the criminal players, including a few cops. Those don't leave the building, but we'll set you up with an office, secure computer, and phone. I'll give you some drop locations where you can tag and leave evidence, and you'll have an account with the regular post office and Post OP, the shipping company, so you can send express packages here."

Hemmings paused for a moment. While Christina seemed attentive and listening as always, he was dumping a ton of information on her, and she hadn't even said yes. So he cleared his throat, stood up, walked over to a table on the side, poured a cup of coffee, and did as he knew she liked it. He opened a wooden box on the table and walked over to her. He placed the coffee in front of her and two packs of Redwood Cigarettes with a metallic silver zippo lighter depicting the classic Dead Man's Hand from the Old West. "You can keep that. Remember, we bought a box full of them in New Mexico on a break. Well, we still got a lead. That place that was selling fireworks, but also was selling grenades and other stuff. You looked damn good at the hotel pool with the cowboy hat and the bikini, but you know that anyway, let's talk about the contract."

Michael switched from an old friend trying to make a connection back to an agent recruiting another operative for a dangerous assignment. In this case, Christina was someone who knew better. You were under and alone dealing with people who might kill you out of paranoia, never mind if they thought you were a federal agent. What the bureau liked about CSO operatives was they weren't bound by the same rules as an agent who couldn't commit crimes, use drugs, and overlook other criminal behavior. They were given a pass, and many of the bureau's recruits were minor criminals or already informants to other law enforcement agencies. More than a few corrupt cops hung on to their jobs by making deals, and Christina was one of the few who hoped to become an agent by doing the bureau's dirty work. So far, it hadn't paid out much, so he'd have to sweeten the pot. He took her through step by step with the contract and showed her what had changed.

"So if you sign the paper today, I can give you all the operational details, and we can put you in the field right away. If you're not interested, I have a check for you and a nondisclosure form, and I can send you on the next flight back to Alexandria or Philly if you like and give you a letter saying you were taking part in law enforcement training and you don't have to burn any vacation time. Now you do sign, we'll go into these files more, and I'll give you the day-to-day and answer any questions you might have. So, Christina, you'll get the standard deal, which means $120,000 tax-free when the operation is completed and the usual compensation for time to testify, etc, and we'll handle medical expenses. If you need me a new identity, but you've always been pretty good about keeping things separated. This time, as you read, we'll fast-track you through agency training and make you a full agent or send you back to your agency with time credited and recommendations accordingly. From what I've been told, you'll at least go home to a detective shield with time towards your pension credited and some walking around money. Any questions?"

He leaned back and sat on the edge of the table to her right and looked over her as he waited for her to ask some questions or fuck off. He wasn't exactly sure. Christina was the type who would climb on a plane and take a day to tell you off, but she was also the type who was willing to take punishment to get what she wanted. Whether the bureau would honor any of the contracts wasn't up to him, and he secured himself in the idea that he was just the messenger. Operation Great White Shark wasn't the first time the bureau had tried to infiltrate the Miami Police, and every time, they'd failed. Some operations didn't even get off the ground. Informants were happy to talk about the criminals, but they were terrified about the cops, and even offers who'd been caught made it clear they had nothing to say about their peers. Agent Hemmings had sold this plan with the idea that Christina was one of their best, and they now had the resources to make it work. He didn't need to freak her out by telling her how dangerous it really was, but then again, she'd probably sign anyway. Just another secret he'd keep between them that would make things better.

​

 

[fnchristie81]

Christina sat impassively through both the briefing and the contract read through. She noted that Mike hadn't read it line by line, but had definitely been thorough.  Too thorough, but she couldn't fsthom just what was missing. Only that something was.

But still...dirty cops, and apparently a lot of them considering how fast the narc trade was ramping up. Just the thought of them felt like she needed to shower. That was enough to seal the deal for her; she was going to do it. Evsn if the thought did come into her mind to dump the carafe of coffee over Mike's head after failing to get her in as an agent after she'd been left in the human trafficking ring for far too long. But it had been that or let the top echelons get away, and she knew she would have made the same decision if she had been put in charge.


Her memory flashed back to the hotel where she had been playing spotter to identify some of the mid-level runners that needed to be brought in on unrelated charges for some reason or other. She had flagged the runners and enjoyed the appreciative glances she had gotten. Including some from Mike. She knew how he had liked the white bikini. Almost as much as he had liked getting her out of it.

She took a sip of her coffee after Mike had poured it. Black, with a half a sugar to cut the acid to a manageable level. And strong enough to eat the lining of her stomach. Just what she needed.

"What are the initial time frames?" she asked, idly picking up the contract and scanning it. It was too long and convoluted for her to have much of a hope at finding anything amiss, but it made her feel better to do it just the same.

 

[JackHemingway]

Keeping his Agent hat on, Mike reached over, flipped to the last page where the signatures were required, and gestured to it. "Look, I've already told you more than I should out of respect. Nobody knows we're down here, including the local field office. They run an anti-bank robbery crew with several tactical units with members, including retired and active local cops. We don't think they're leaking anything, well, not on purpose, but we need to keep this down low. It's not up to me, Christina. You know I trust you, and you've always done right by me. None of this is being recorded, so I can confidently say I got you back here like I did with the whole Forelli estates mess."

​

The Forelli estate mess got a reaction, if only briefly, out of Christina, but it was enough to let her know all the cards were on the table. During the investigation in New York, there was a lot of fighting between criminals as the Russians tried to take control of the existing skin trade, as well as, importantly, many willing and unwilling women from Eastern Europe. It was brutal as the Mafia and Yakuza had to deal with Russian thugs with experience and military-grade weapons. The Bureau didn't care if they killed each other, but the streets were filled with blood. Christina was resourceful as always, learned how to survive, and even learned where weapons caches were hidden as she discretely learned Russian from listening to the women and the thugs. While all this was happening, the bureau made a few cases independent of their operations and even seized the properties of some of the high-ranking members of the Forelli family. One of the properties was the legendary Forelli compound on Longfellow Road on Staten Island. While it was owned by an associate at the time it was seized, it had always been in the family, but when the feds took it over and put it up for auction, the Russians made sure to outbid everyone on the seven-acre property. If that wasn't enough, they hired a security staff almost completely of former Yakuza members who'd also been bitter enemies of the Forellis and their mom associates.

This situation didn't stand for long, though, and one night, a large group of Forelli henchmen got together for a beer bass not far from the old compound, and the more they drank, the better idea it seemed to storm the fortress of a home. They got organized with cars and weapons and put out the call to everyone in the tri-state area. While he never got the reason from Christina directly, people speculated why she was a guest at the estate that night, ranging from being some Russian mistress to stripping at a party to turning tricks for the hired help. For whatever reason, she ended up being the mother of all gunfights, and while she'd tell the FBI, she just ducked and ran. Nobody believed it. The NYPD found her barefoot, clad in only a high-end bra and panties, just a few blocks from the scene with a switchblade in her waistband, two empty handguns, and plenty of cuts and bruises. She kept her cover so well that the cops thought she only spoke Russian until she demanded they call her lawyer, who was one of her other handlers, Special Agent Audrey Larabee. Larabee had worked as a defense lawyer and a prosecutor before coming to the bureau, so she played her part perfectly and got Christina out and to a safe house, only to go back under cover two days later. She was another person who said Christina should have been pulled out, but she stayed another six months. He believed the two women maintained a friendship, but neither would discuss it.

"What are the initial time frames?" she asked.

Good, she didn't say, Let me run this by my lawyer or think about it. Either way, he would have marched her to the terminal himself. This was just semantics she was in, and they could start work. They were still vetting and recruiting operatives, but the less Christina knew about that, the safer she'd be. The time frame was fairly open, but they needed results, so the sooner she was in the field, the sooner he could show that the operation was bearing fruit. He smiled and reached out to her with his American flag pen and smiled. "Well, aboard. I'd love to have you in place in the next few days, but I know you must put something in order at home. So, counting today, I need you back in seven days. I'll have all your cards and IDs ready by then, and the transfer request will be processed. I'll give you the fake bio of Sandra Wolfe for you to learn, and I've made you a veteran of a smaller department near Alexandria so you'll be familiar. I got you a bit of a run-down beach house, but it has everything in place, and we've been through it thoroughly. You don't need to bring anything. I ordered you clothes, the firdge will be full, personnel weapons, and two personnel cars. All will fit who you're pretending to be. Also, before you leave, I'll give you a secure satellite phone with numbers programmed already. If you want to adjust your bio or need anything, call here, and it will be done in 24 hours. You can always reach me through here. It's manned twenty-four-seven."





https://gta.fandom.com/wiki/Redwood_Cigarettes#:~:text=Redwood Cigarettes appears as Tobacco,in Grand Theft Auto Online.
https://gta.fandom.com/wiki/GoPostal
https://gta.fandom.com/wiki/Businesses_in_GTA_Vice_City#Storage
https://gta.fandom.com/wiki/Little_Havana_(3D_Universe)

 

[fnchristie81]

Christina put the pen on the table with the contract-without yet signing. Something about the deal stunk to high heaven. But it was right up her alley. She knew that Mike knew he had her, but that didn't mean she had to make it easy on him. She studied his face.

"I still haven't had breakfast," she said finally. "And I want a driving tour before I sign. And probably a couple of minor stipulations added to the contract-one of which is an 'immediate evac' clause. If I need out, I want out, right now. No dicking around like last time. The coke they shot me with was high grade and almost killed me. If it hadn't been for the timing of the raid, we wouldn't be having this discussion now."

True to her word and nature, Christie had been on-site when the final arrest raid happened, with the intent on getting the teams in fast and almost undetected. She'd done her job to disable a couple of alarms and unlock a few doors and windows, but then was forced to attend the party that was the timing for the raid. There were too many men for the girls that had been supplied, so she had been "drafted" herself. And in the process drugged with minimally-refined cocaine shot right into her arm while she was tied down to be enjoyed by the men. Something to "give her a little fight" was what the man doing it had told her. Before that night, she'd never shot up, although she had painted it on her teeth a few times. Just enough to show the effects and prove herself. And always street grade coke, never stuff that hadn't been cut repeatedly.

That setting was where most of the rumors had come from. Buzzed out of her skull but her heart racing at over 200 beats per minute, a fresh needlestick in her elbow, and tied nude to a bench with cum leaking from her pussy and ass. It hadn't been a bad party until the coke, she reflected to herself.

Her eyes focused suddenly on Agent Hemmings. "So just those few things, and I'll sign. Maybe one or two other things, maybe less. But definitely nothing  before I eat something to soak up this battery acid you call coffee." The last was a running joke to let him know that she wasn't going to be a hard ass on the additions to the contract. Stuff that made sense, but nothing that couldn't be initialed and signed by low-level agents. Which Mike was definitely not. He had the pull to make some serious changes without first seeking approval.

To be honest, going undercover was already beginning to seep into her. Driving around would give her a sense of the local fashion so that she could make wardrobe suggestions. It would also help to orient her to the new city, which would soeed up her processes better than going in blind.

 

[JackHemingway]

Frustrated, Agent Hemmings stood up and walked by the seemingly pointless windows. They were armored glass; you almost looked at the white hanger beside the building. They made no sense, but that was government for you, and like everything else, nothing was simple. If he'd been on better terms with Christina, like still sleeping with the lonely divorced cop who had some substance abuse issues, he could have talked her into it, but she remembered all the crap from last time, and she wasn't just going to give in because she liked him. Hell, she knew all the dirt about him and shared memories. He walked back to the end of the table, picked up the phone, and asked for the assistant to ring the main office in Washington and then direct the call when the deputy was available to talk to his office. He sat down, looked at her, and gestured something with his hand, perhaps dismissing what she'd said.

"I'll talk to him for you and see what we can do, and legal will respond with something new, but I don't promise you anything. You don't get to decide when operations are over, but if you're in danger, I know you won't call premature, but we better get results. I want information and evidence bags quickly. Also, you're on patrol in Little Havana. There's plenty going on there and plenty of opportunities to get promoted. If you do things for the right people, you could have a gold shield in no time. Breakfast is no problem, Christina. I'll have one of the girls give you a menu, and you will get a tour, but I will do that after you agree. I can tell them there is a yes here once a few points have been clarified. I've already ordered you clothes, two cars, and a place to live. You'll have spending money and access to buy money, weapons, and whatever you need. I sold you as a rockstar to them, and not to believe the crap, you better come through for me."

Agent Hemmings didn't get frustrated by Christina knowing what to do and didn't like it. She made some excellent points, but he should have to be putting up with this crap. He expected her to sign, have breakfast and coffee, and maybe see the city, and he'd be enjoying an afternoon delight in time to get back to the office and call his fiance. He got up and walked past her and said something about being back in ten minutes, and he yelled something in the hall before heading down to his office. Less than five minutes later, a young woman with brown hair in a ponytail walked through the door wearing an F.B.I. blue pocket t-shirt, khakis, and sensible shoes, yet ugly government shoes, with a revolver on her hip. Christina had been around long enough to recognize the type. She wasn't an agent but a Field Training Associate. When you became an F.T.A., you agreed to a low-paid internship where you could get shot at occasionally. They handled all the menial work for agents, and after a year, if they liked what they saw, they'd bring you into the training program, and even if you didn't, you had a leg up on most law enforcement candidates, so college kids put up with it. Christina had seen Hemmings use them to fetch coffee, get his dry cleaning, guard crime scenes overnight, and search through swamps for dead bodies. It appeared they were the majority of the staff at this outpost.

The girl smiled and said, "Good morning, Ma'am. I'm Field Training Associate Velma Spears. I hope you had a good flight. Agent Hemmings told me to get your breakfast order," she reached out and handed Christina a menu for the Airport Bar & Grill. "I always eat there, and the specials are delicious." She then nervously handled an oversized Miami Tourist Guide Book flagged with many brightly colored notes. "It has a lot of gang data and other information, I'm told. It can't leave the office, but a lot of work went into it. I put a note by where your house is in Little Havana. It's on the beach and many locals fish. Oh no basements here in Florida, but you have a hidden safe room I worked on your place and even stayed there. I'll be on midnights soon, so you can call if you need anything."

She paused, took out her notepad and pen, and smiled. "I'm sorry. What do you want to eat and drink?"

 

[fnchristie81]

Christina accepted both the reference book and the menu. She flipped through the reference book just to get a feel for its layout as she perused the menu, eventually deciding on fresh fruit and an omelet. Saying as much to the F.T.A., she smiled her thanks before turning her attention sol
First she looked at the maps to get an overview of the city. Several-ok, most-of the businesses seemed to have gang affiliations, and they were wide ranging. Restaraunts, laundromats, car washes..all good for laundering money, she knew. But good places to lay eyes on some of the suspected cops. And regardless, convenient for their public functions. She should be able to find ways to either enter most of them unnoticed, or if the situation demanded to be impossible NOT to notice.

She looked into the gangs themselves next, slowing down to read more of the details-especially after breakfast arrived. Especially the suspected ways of coercing cops to work with them. Intimidation and blackmail were high on the list, with blackmail seeming to be a very intricate operation for the gangs. That would require some finesse, as she had leanred during her time in New York. There were going to be a number that had been innocent until compromised simply due to naivete on the part of the cop. She recalled several who had been drugged while on a jog or washing their car, then brought to the brothel and put into bed with one (or more) of the girls and photographed. While complicit due to helping the cartels, she could still sympathize with the way they were pressured into doing so. She'd make handling any of those officers one of her contractural caveats.

She checked over the photos of beach houses. That could be an issue. She knew Agent Hastings knew his stuff, but this was really upscale, especially on a cop's salary. Still, she was supposed to be a dirty cop she supposed, so maybe it was for the best. She would have to pay careful attention to her cover story to see if anything needed changed.

By the time Hastings reappeared, she had a list of notes scribbled on a napkin.

 

[JackHemingway]

Special Agent Hemmings spent roughly twenty minutes on the phone with one of the CSO department heads, and most of it was spent being yelled at for delaying the senior manager's launch with his peers. The short answer was to give her what she wanted to sign, but he made it clear: Give her what she wanted to get her to sign on, get in the field, and get results. The bureau could always override everything, push her out the door with a bit of money and a confidentiality agreement, and classify the whole matter. It wasn't fair, and it was barely legal, but they could make it happen, so with someone from legal on the phone, he banged out something on his desktop, printed it out on department stationery, and headed back towards the conference room. After printing, stapling, signing it, and giving it one last read, he headed back towards the conference room and stopped by the cubicle of Field Training Associate Velma Spears, who was sorting through some intelligence report binders.

"Spears! Didn't I tell you to watch the operative and get her breakfast!"

The young agent in training dropped the reports on the desk, stood up, and replied. "I did, sir. I gave her fruit and an omelet; she had already finished three cups of coffee. Ah, she didn't want any toast. She's already halfway through the travel book, so I thought I'd bring her more files."

"I see. Well, next time, do what I tell you to do. I control what information she has from this office. Christina is a police officer, yes, but she's an operative who goes deep undercover, and sometimes having less information is best. Keep this up, and you'll be in stilettos and a short dress working hooker duty on Vice Point."

Velma nodded and began putting the books back and locking the file cabinet that was part of her cubicle wall. "Sir, that file needs to be updated about mercenary activity and the King Cobra Club, especially regarding the incident with the Sharks two weeks ago."

"Spears, when I want your opinion, I'll ask for it, but right now, someone using three gunships to kill a lot of gang members and blow up their weapons cache is an ongoing investigation. When we complete the analysis, we'll filter down the information to the rank and file in the field."

"But, sir, there are some very dangerous people on the streets besides the gang members and gangster crews."

"Enough," was the last thing she heard as Hemmings stormed down the hallway to the conference room. Velma kicked the trash can and sat down at her desk chair. He should be concerned, but as usual, he didn't want to listen to any memo from Washington. He did everything it said to the letter. She grabbed the weapons request form and began finishing it. She wouldn't bother him with this, though. She knew how to do his signature already and was worried enough to upgrade her firepower. Also, she had no trouble dressing like a slut for an operation. It could be fun, and she liked Christina. She treated her like a human. The thing was, while there wasn't very much detail about events leading up to the cocaine war, even Tommy Vercetti, according to some informants, had complained about the competition using real mercenaries, not street soldiers. Some even claimed a violent well, well-equipped outside faction operating in the shadows of Miami. In the brief few months the Midwest College girl had been in the city, she developed a few sources of information on the streets and in the police department. As one put it over a pack of cigarettes and a coffee, there were a lot of new faces at the King Cobra Club.

Hemmings walked into the room, dropped the modified contract in front of her, and placed the pen on top before walking back to the other side of the table and sitting down. "You good now, Christina? You got all the riders you wanted like a rockstar. You can pull out any time you want, but if it's before the operation is done, it will only be $100,000, but that ain't nothing. They'll cover medical for a year after, so you'll be fully recovered. Now you can either become an agent, go back to Alexandria, or there is the witness protection option with more money to start over and job help. So, is there anything else, or can we get things started?"

 

[fnchristie81]

Christina was tempted to come up with something out of spite. She well knew how Agent Hemmings hated to have to run back and forth over minutia. But just the brief highlights she had been given so far had her ready to get started.

She steepled her fingers and rested her chin on them, fluttering her eyelashes at Hemmings.

"Then I guess it's just a chocolate donut and I keep your pen," she deadpanned as FTA Spears came back in. Christina slid her eyes to the young woman, tilting her head towards her as well. "What's her role in all of this? She's wasted being a glorified secretary and errand girl. If you're not using her to your advantage, I want her as one of my assets. I'll figure out the 'what' and 'where' for her when the need arises.

If nothing else, there was enough resemblance between the two women that with the right makeup, they could establish some confusion if needed as to which one was where.

 

[JackHemingway]

Special Agent Hemmings wasn't about to let Christina get to him, and they had boxes of fresh donuts and coffee brought in every day, so he gestured to the pen. "You can have as many as you need for your office here, Christina. The donuts are in the refreshment area. Spears here will show you where you can go and your office, and if you want her, you can have her."

He turned his chair slightly, looked down at Spears, and smirked. "Take this as a learning experience, and don't get killed. I'm not calling your parents in east-bumble fuck. Start wearing civilian attire and withdraw some concealed weapons. You two work out a cover that will let you associate semi-regularly. I don't care what it is, but it has to hold up without spending a fortune."

Hemmings swiveled his chair back to Christina without waiting for a response from Velma, who looked pleased and nodded anyway before smiling back at Christina. Before they could talk, he began again and said, "She'll be your contact, but we'll have regular meetings, and I'll give you other informants to work with and potentially recruit. You'll still be talking to me regularly. We will have some safehouses up and running soon, not counting the one you'll be assigned for use you to use. Also, you know Fieldcraft, so you have some backups but don't even tell me. Spears here can put you in touch with people who handle stocking and supplying such places. Also, I assume you have read at least some of the guide. Patrol Investigation Group handles almost all the private security in the city. We have a front that supplies security needs like computers, cameras, and weapons. Velma has a fake identity and works with them, so she can help you with access to the Airport and other locations and another cover if you want it. Anything else, Christina?"


https://gta.fandom.com/wiki/Patrol_Invest_Group

 

[fnchristie81]

Christina smiled sweetly at Hemmings. Sticky, syrupy sweet. "No, I think that'll about do it. Velma and I will get changed, I'll take that tour, and I can start making plans right away. I'll keep my hair for now, but I'll take an appointment for when we get back this evening. And I trust that there's grooming services included." She keaned forward again and batted her eyes as Mike. "The right hair style above and below makes you guys think and act with the wrong head so easily it's child's play," she teased him.

Christina signed the contract, and true to her word pocketed Hemmings' pen. She linked her arm through Velma's and tugged her out of the conference room.

"Come on girlfriend, show me my office, then we'll go turn into beach girls and go exploring. You can fill me in on the way!"

Velma showed Christina her secure office. Pretty standard, a computer terminal, lockable filing cabinet, desk, uncomfortable looking chair, and lock on the door. She knew that the lock was just a formality and made a note to show Velma how to make sure that nobody had broken in.  If Velma proved trustworthy. That's part of what bringing her along would help determine.

The two women next went to wardrobe, where they were outfitted. Christina took care of her own hair, using plastic curlers and most of a can of hair spray to make a pile of curls atop her head. Wardrobe gave her a hot pink tube top and lime green mini skirt to wear, large hoop earrings, a thin gold chain, as well as a pair of heels that laced around her ankles. A touch of makeup, and she was ready.

Velma required extra help. They ended up giving her more of a fallen-spiked style. She changed into cutoff jean shorts, an off-the-shoulder neon yellow top, and strappy heels as well. A dark metal necklace and bracelet with dangling crystal earrings completed her look. All of the outfits would be returned at the end of the day since this was reconnaissance rather than actual undercover work.

Velma drew an '84 Chevy Malibu from the lot and drove. Near the airport, things were pretty unremarkable. Little Haiti was where they first saw true gang loitering, which worsened when Velma drove into Little Havana. There, the catcalls became continuous and the illicit activities more obvious. Christina recommended to Velma that they be flirtatious, but just enough to appease the men without being inviting. Port Vice was bustling, with throngs of people coming and going, semis hauling shipping containers making their way to all points, and the smell of the harbor.

The girls stopped and ate lunch at The Burger Shot so that Christina could get a better feel for the people. A couple of guys approached them, and again the girls did some light flirting and the guys got a bit handsy, but since the girls did nothing to really draw the men on, and they soon left.

After eating, they crisscrossed the city, taking time to do a driveby of Christina's-Sandy's-beach house. Returning to the airport, Velma checked the car back in while Christina went to brief Hemmings.

 

[JackHemingway]

While Christina was on her tour, Agent Hemmings reviewed all the material he had so far regarding the case. Once she returned, he'd get into some specifics, including individuals he wanted her to look into and perhaps make cases against. There was a time when he might have been bothered sending Christina into dangerous situations, but that was no longer the case, regardless of his feelings for her. Now it was about covering his ass, making the situation look better, and figuring out how to advance himself. Christina was a good soldier and did her best work in the field. She didn't need to be in charge or run operations. She was better suited for fieldwork, and she'd never understand that. The cops that operated in the cocaine-flooded streets of Miami operated in a gray area where even an honest cop had to do things that might get their hands dirty or have them questioning their morals. Well, he could be flexible, and if he could bring it all down, he would.

As he patiently waited for Christina to return, he called his fiancee, who was bouncing back and forth between New York and Paris with a group of friends. He reviewed his own local intelligence that he was gathering separately from his bureau sources and went over Christina's file. You had to read between the lines with it, and it was also a matter of what wasn't in it that mattered. There were several photos, though, and he also flipped through them. From the investigation out west, he had bikini photos of her and ones of her posing half-naked with weapons to remote sales in the underground economy. She thought they were destroyed, but he kept them hidden. The smuggling case where she was a stewardess was his favorite, and he had dozens of pictures of her and her other stewardess friends in bikinis or their underwear running around. His favorite was of her in a white bra and panties and tan nylons, running around a hotel room with a mini bottle in each hand. The policies for agents and operatives were left vague on purpose so you could charge someone or ignore their actions depending on the situation, and when it came to Christina, looking the other way was the best route if you wanted results. The New York part of the file was overflowing with pictures of Christina dressed as a stripper or club attire, and he even had pictures of her in a veil and white teddy and fishnets for a bachelor party. He quietly took select photos, put them in an envelope, and put them in his briefcase. He ordered some food and waited for Christina to return.

 

[fnchristie81]

Christina paused to use the restroom on her way to the conference room. Cleaning up, she looked herself over in the mirror. The skirt and heels showed her legs to good advantage, and the tube top did a good job emphasizing the work that had been done during the Russian job. She'd have rather not undergone the augmentation at the time, but since then appreciated the how well it had been done. Ultimately it was one thing she decided not to have undone.

The one thing that would make her stand out was her pale skin. Well, that would fit her cover story of having transferred from another department up north, and extra time on the beach would soon remedy it. She idly wondered if her house had a pool; she hadn't been able to notice one during the drive by, and didn't recall seeing anything mentioned on the sheet of paper from the real estate agent.

Finding the conference room again, she first fixed another cup of coffee, then took a seat at the table where Mike was finishing a meal. His briefcase was pushed to the side while he worked on the food, watching her.

"Rough place," she said, silling her coffee from both hands. "I can get started almost right away. I need two purchases where I don't have to show receipts, and both of those will be over the next day or two. One will be negligible, but a recurring charge. After that, I'm all yours."

 

[JackHemingway]

Special Agent Hemmings wasn't surprised, considering some of the purchases that showed up on her credit cards. He could only assume what she did with the cash Christina got access to. In New York especially, she was handling all kinds of drug and money laundering operations for the Russians. While she wasn't stupid enough to get caught, Christina was a smart enough criminal to get away with it. In the case of the Canadian authorities, all kinds of booze, cigarettes, and airline tickets went missing. He was sure she left with a few bags of extra items, but he also knew those were the things you needed to grease people with, and bribe money to a local cop or paying for a drug dealer's girlfriend's pedicure weren't things you could authorize, but were necessary to get information or complete your role as a criminal. The California operation was such a shit show. When it came to accountability with contraband, he wasn't sure how many guns went missing. With all the scum and operators she'd worked with, he was sure she'd developed safehouse and bank accounts nobody at the bureau knew about, so his answer was simple.

"Look, Chris, we don't have a bottomless budget here, so give me some names to call things, and I'll classify the expenses if you can justify them, and when I say justify them, you bring in case we can use it as part of the case call is confiscated funds. You give leads, and we bring in money. It will make it easier to justify funding, etc. I don't care if you buy the high-end coffee at your place or those expensive high heels you like, but no speed boats or anything. You got me?"

A few islands were technically part of Miami proper, with many off the coast. If you knew enough about navigation, you could go from island to island to the Bahamas, but one everyone knew was Starfish Island. While it was labeled as only a residential island, it was where the city's wealthy and powerful called home, and even the smallest of residences would be considered a mansion by most people. Executives, old money millionaires, sports stars, foreign business tycoons, and most recently, Tommy Vercetti lived on the island where even driving through causally could get you stopped by private security or the police. When Vecertti overthrew Diaz and his organization, he didn't just take over his businesses and drug distribution networks, but he also took over Diaz's home in an overnight raid. By the next morning, he had things legally squared away thanks to his in-house council and was hanging out a new sign out front. Nobody in the neighborhood thought it was odd that a man who'd been in prison just a few years prior was now a successful Miami business mogul stretching out into politics and unions. He was a neighbor now, and people would rather overlook some unpleasantries than risk their property values dropping.


For those who couldn't manage the Starfish Island dream but still had money, there was a lovely strip of coast between bridges away from the more rough and tough areas of Little Havana. It was a stretch of paradise. All the lots on that part of the coast weren't wide, but they were long, and everyone had a section of beach or room for a dock or both. Velma Spears realized they could have access to a property when she was reviewing the computer of a local realtor who'd been busted for moving cocaine as a way to finance his purchases. Depressingly, a lot of the development in Miami was thanks to cocaine money, either through the banks who laundered it for their clients directly or the businesses financed by the capital generated by the drug trade. The simple fact was when you made that much money, you needed to put it somewhere, so dealers set up friends and family with businesses. Some bought houses and left them empty to diversify their holdings. Velma, back at her desk, was happy to be involved with someone who thought she could do more than grunt work and would give her some real-world experience. So she put together a realtor package for Christina so she'd have all the information she needed to move into the place.

The house was a modern rectangular three-story house that fit in perfectly with the neighborhood. It sat on a concrete two-bay garage with a storage unit utility room containing a generator that could run the house in a crisis and a hallway leading out to the backyard. There was a patio and pool before you got to the strip of sandy beach and a long dock out into the channel. There was an outside shower, a few palm trees, and a built-in barbecue. The stairway was up the center of the house, and the first floor off the ground held the kitchen, dining room, and living room, complete with a fireplace. The kitchen was something a chef would love, and a small bar was set up in the dining room. The second floor boasted a home office with armored glass windows, a heavy-duty security door, and a computer that could link up with the agency computer. It looked like any normal home PC, but it was built like the ones placed in embassies, so it had several layers of security and could be wiped clean quickly. There is nothing special about the den across the hall but a large couch and TV with satellite service. There was a full bath with a shower on that level, but the best part was the balcony facing the water, which was strong enough to support the hot tub. The third level had a full bath, a large bedroom, and a room across the hall that the former owner had used as a walk-in closet, which had a vault. The stairway continued to a flat roof, with an area set up for seating and a rail around it.

Velma printed out everything for Christina, from blueprints to photographs of the rooms to the financial agreements and everything from the bank. The whole idea was she could afford the house thanks to offers from banks to attract police officers and others to these communities, but it still was an expensive house. Anyone looking into the matter would see it was a cop with a home in the hole every month if they didn't work overtime and lived frugally otherwise, and the house didn't come with much furniture. Put a few cars out front. You were talking debt in no time. Christina would be someone who would be approached by corrupt cops who would be happy to tell her about all the additional streams of income she could tap into not only to start paying down the bills but even get ahead. Velma also hoped Christina was comfortable in the new place. It had a good security system, plenty of space, and a vault that could hold weapons and a lot more. The realtor was under bureau control, so he wouldn't be talking, and the three previous owners, two drug deals, and one arms merchant were all dead, and everyone on the street knew it, so nobody would be dropping in by mistake. The house was seized by the bank, not the feds, so this falling in the lap of an out-of-town transfer made perfect sense.

​

https://gta.fandom.com/wiki/Starfish_Island

 

[fnchristie81]

Christina listened to Hemmings' back story on "her" house dispassionately. The house was definitely ideal for the situation. She knew she could come up with everything she needed rather quickly. She would have a little extra work done to change the vault into an extra-secure command room, but all that would entail was a few extra TV monitors and wiring, and possibly a false panel. The office was too obvious a place to hide, but would buy her time to lock herself in the vault if needed. Not that she planned on needing to.

When Hemmings described Velma's involvement with acquiring the place, Christina looked the other woman over appraisingly. Yes, she would be a valuable teammate. But also a liability regarding her own contingency maneuvers. Christina didn't plan on straying too far outsjde the lines very often, but one of the feds involved in the New York case had been dirty. He had almost caused her cover to be blown at one of the worst times, and she wanted to have a backup plan in case of it happening again. This case appeared to be closely held, which decreased the likelihood, but once bitten, twice shy.

"I can get moved in this afternoon or evening. I'll play tourist and get settled, then be able to start work Monday. If you're able to make all the arrangements to make that happen," she said to Hemmings.

All the other plans were beautifully laid. Arrive with a small moving van with a few pieces of extra furniture, a reasonable car for her former job but maybe at the higher end-maybe a Datsun-and she would be an almost instant target for being approached by the local dirty cops. Plus, "at work", she wouldn't even have to act. She could be the burned, bitter transplant colleague disenchanted with the system and out to get all she could. With her augmented breasts, she knew there would be several guys classifying her as just a bitchy bimbo who could get her under their thumb. Or so they would think.

 

[JackHemingway]

Part I

Special Agent Hemmings looked pleased and assured her he could put everything in place and make her first day happen for Monday. She could move into the house tonight as the paperwork would be filled out by the end of the day, and she had all she needed to start off as someone new in town moving in. She had a small budget for setting up a house. He told her to go to her office and begin making arrangements from there, and F.T.A. Spears would bring her anything she needed. They'd arrange a rental car so it would appear she arrived on a later flight and drove to the beach house in the evening. The Confidential Surveillance Operations unit had already recruited from the city's internal affairs unit, the state police, and other law enforcement operatives. Her application would appear on the computer as approved and cleared and be signed off almost routinely, and she'd get a call from personnel. With everything already completed for her alias, nothing would be questioned, and the contact number for the smaller police department near Alexandria would go to contacts who knew what story to provide. Christina even received framed pictures of herself and her peers in uniform at her former job after she moved into the house. Later, when she went to her office, Velma took her measurements and put a rush order to the uniform shop and got her six basic uniforms and accessories, including gun belts and boots.



https://gta.fandom.com/wiki/Vehicles_in_GTA_Vice_City
https://gta.fandom.com/wiki/Vice_City_Police_Department_(3D_Universe)
https://gta.fandom.com/wiki/Little_Havana_Police_Station
https://gta.fandom.com/wiki/Weapons_in_GTA_Vice_City

 

[JackHemingway]

Part II
Hurricane Guillermo severely battered, pushing emergency services to their breaking point. The crisis brought out the best and worst in people, and while many new heroes emerged, the old guard was there to keep it together. Detective Sergeant Colt James Hagen, a local legend known as "C.J." to his small group of real friends, was among those guardians.

After running almost constantly for over two weeks, fueled by cigarettes, caffeine, and cocaine, C.J. was damn tired. He patrolled the streets for looters and rescued families from crumbling buildings with the fire department. He'd searched for missing children in crowded hospitals and dawned scuba gear to locate victims in the channel. He'd also gone off the reservation as far as his leadership was concerned, and he had better be back at Little Havana station on good order by the morning.

So while Officer O'Hara was waking and preparing for her early morning flight and Agent Hemmings was blowing out Caridad, his massage therapist Colt was waking up on the second floor of the Howlin' Petes Biker Emporium. His bed was made of air mattresses and sleeping bags, and he lay naked on top of it, covered with a towel; despite all the rowdy bikers nearby and the sounds of power tools, Colt had been dead to the world for twelve hours. The second floor was primarily filled with boxes, but he was in the office area in the corner.

Honey Ryder Cougar's old lady made her way up the stairs. Her long-time lover made money selling aftermarket bike parts, weed, and guns. The heavily tattooed, overweight man was tough, but he was pretty good to her and was hung. When he wasn't locked up, he was a good provider, but when he was, she shook her ass at the strip clubs and waitressed during the day. She'd met Colt a few years back when she ran some cash to a club friend. Three Haitian gangsters tried to rob her on the street.

Honey had cut one with a switchblade and stood her ground, but they had bats and beat her pretty bad and were going to rape her when Colt arrived as part of the anti-crime patrol. Only one of the thugs survived, and he was in bad shape. Colt knew the score and took her to drop off the cash and then to the E.R. and stayed with her. He paid her bill and brought her home; she never had to answer a question. Honey found out later that he was in good standing with the club, but it was a personal connection for her.

That morning, she'd gone to the Greasy Chopper across the street and gotten a double cheeseburger topped with an egg, fries, two large coffees, and a pack of smokes. Clad in flip flops going up the steel steps, she was sure she'd wake up the guest; otherwise, she was wearing a short denim skirt and pink Cherry Cola belly shirt, her hair sprayed and tall. Honey was looking good, she said to herself, but as she walked into the office, she was greeted by Colt waking from a dead sleep and charging the shotgun next to him.

Honey just shook her head, smiled, and said, "Hey baby, you told me to wake you at 3:00 A.M. I got you food. Mind if I sit down?"

Colt shook his head, gestured to the empty desk, and put down the shotgun. "Sorry, honey. I didn't know who might come through the door."

"All good, babe. You're not the first man to point a gun at me and regret it. Why are you getting up so early anyway? Your shift isn't for a while. A cab arrived for you; they left the keys in it. And my old man gave me the keys to the gun room and said anything you need is on the house. You care to tell me what's going on or it to complicator you don't want me lying in court later."

"Both," Colt replied as he grabbed the towel, got up, gave Honey a peck on the cheek, picked up his food, and sat on the edge of the makeshift bed. "You're a good woman, Honey. I need to take care of some personnel business."

Luz Mariano and his beloved wife Vivian were proprietors of the Quick & Easy luncheonette and were neighborhood fixtures; if you were down on your luck, you could still count on a cup of coffee and a sandwich. When Colt arrived in the city, they helped him out plenty of times, and while he'd repaid them and more, he still felt he owed them, especially after what happened.

With all the chaos of the hurricane, it wasn't surprising to find out the old couple stayed open almost twenty-four hours a day to help out, but a new robbery crew called the Bawdy Band took advantage. Word was they were from out of town and only knocking over small places, but they were more than willing to use extreme violence. They beat the couple to death in a drug-fueled rage for around a hundred dollars in the register. Colt knew Luz would have given up the money without a fight, but that wasn't good enough for the scum.

Kaufman Cabs had dropped off a taxi for him so he could drive around covertly. It wasn't your average taxi cab; it had bulletproof glass, a police radio, and a strong box, among other features. Colt put his department-issued weapons, radio, and badge in the lockbox. Honey took him through the arsenal of modified and illegal guns and outfitted him with a bulletproof leather jacket along with jeans and boots. He had a few items already, but he was going loaded for bear so he took everything he could. She offered to get some boys to accompany him, but he had to do this lone ranger style.

 

[JackHemingway]

Part III

As he drove, he recalled the facts from the intelligence file he took. The Bawdy Band was a violent offshoot of a bigger biker club out of New York City. Their hustle wasn't anything special; rip off gas stations and liquor stores to have money to go to strip clubs. According to a detective up north, they'd robbed a few mob-connected businesses, and the club split up. These guys didn't have permission from the Bikers or Vercetti so that nobody would be missing them. He could hear the music blaring as he pulled up near the fenced-in trailer along the water.

According to informants, these manacis apparently never slept and were always high on something. He disabled their vehicles first to ensure nobody would be getting away and kicked in the trailer door. The better part of the next hour would be a blur for Colt, but for Sergeant Dante Tasis, his quiet night went to hell. He got a radio call from Colt to investigate an issue by the water and walked into a harrowing scene.

The detective had found the right crew, and he had the right location, but what he didn't know was the four members of The Bawdy Band had received reinforcements. What took place was a brutal fight involving bats, pipes, broken bottles, knives, and firearms. The crew members were very dead, and with three more unidentified bodies as well. Never mind a so-called tattoo artist hiding in the bathroom and a few working girls.

After getting other officers to secure the scene and calling the cab company to pick up their taxi, the sergeant collected Colt and his possessions and drove to the station house. He leaned back and looked at the detective, who was bleeding all over his back seat, and asked, "So how are we going to play this one, champ? Oh, and can I please take you to the hospital?"

"No, open the door for first of all. Did you pick up the Uzi at the scene?"

"Yeah, I bagged it and the magazines. Need me to wipe it clean?"

"Well, it never hurts to double-check. It belonged to one of those Columbian hit squads, so I'm sure it has a history and all kinds of possible suspects attached. What about the witnesses and the car?"

"Hey, the girls say those guys planned to rape and dump them in the water. I gave them some cash so they won't be a problem. The future artist, well, he didn't get a good look. They're cleaning the cab right now, and as far as the company is concerned, it was parked in the yard all night. Now, will you let me take you to the hospital!"

"Get me inside and into the locker room. I need a hot shower and a clean set of clothes. I have a shift in a few hours. Call Doctor Kay O'Brien. The hospital will know how to get a hold of her."

C.J. Hagen began to stir and sat on a table in Havana station's men's locker room. He blinked a few times and saw the lovely brunette known to many as Dr. Kay, clad in green scrubs, standing next to him. She put down her coffee and steadied him before saying, "Glad you're awake, Colt. I wasn't sure after that beating. How you managed not to break anything is beyond me. I had to put your shoulder back into place, clean and bandage your wounds, and inject you with a cocktail of drugs that should keep you alive."

C.J. grunted as he moved to slide off the table and grabbed the towel around his waist. "So we're good to go, then what do I owe you?"

She shook her head and put a glove-clad hand on his shoulder. "An emergency off the books call at dawn that requires all this," she said, gesturing to her empty emergency medical bags. "Oh, you owe me plenty, mister. I had to leave the bed of a very sweet and understanding date. And let me guess, there is no chance that you'll go home and rest for a week?"

Hagen just walked to his locker and opened it. After a bit of sorting around, he turned and tossed a large wad of bills to the doctor, who caught it and began fanning it out right away. "That should cover time and expenses," Colt said. He then tossed another smaller wad of cash, which she grabbed and gave him a surprised look.

"What's this for? You always overpaid me, Colt. I appreciate the kids' cancer fund donations."

"Call Mr. Wonderful, and apologize. Tell him you're taking him out to dinner when you have time to talk and want his company for the whole night. Oh, and wear something besides scrubs."

She laughed and collected her things, and before walking out the door, she replied, "I will thank you and take care of yourself. Call me for a follow-up, and please take it easy with the junk."

He let out a sigh and began to get ready for his shift. Doctor Kay O'Brien was another transplant who traded the cold northeast for the warm palm trees of Miami. She was a lovely lady, but she had student loans and a divorce to deal with, so she was always looking for ways to make extra money. She had her ethics but needed to survive in a city that only looked like a paradise.

After getting dressed and checking himself out in the mirror, he entered the station wearing sneakers, jeans, a sleeveless shirt, and a green Hawaiian shirt with his sidearm. He also concealed several other weapons because you could never have enough backups. He made his way through the squad room with a few cheers and whistles. It was good to be the king, even if he didn't feel like it. He walked over to the coffee pot, filled his skull mug, and drank the strong coffee with three pills he'd gotten from a Zaibatsu pharmacy representative he'd rescued.

He was jolted awake by the stuff that was practically legal cocaine and stopped at the desk of Gwendoline Mathews, the captain's secretary. The short-haired blond was wearing a very tight tan police uniform, and her breasts were practically spilling out. Technically, she was a civilian but a member of the police reserves, so she carried, and in a pinch, they could put her on the road. She might have been a slut, but she wasn't stupid and practically ran the office for Collins.

"Hey, baby, I have a package for you." She handed him a large number of reports and files that represented at least the official version of the events of the last two weeks.

"Thanks, Gwen. What did this cost me?"

"Not too much, Colt. Everyone was tired but wanted to help out. I took care of the secretaries and the guys on patrol. Karen in dispatch did a lot of filling in call numbers and times, but she's in love with you since you got her a birthday cake."

"Gwen, I buy ice cream cakes for all the women in the building on their birthdays."

"I know that baby, but she is in love with you for some reason. Are you okay, baby? I heard about it last night. I didn't expect you to be here."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I was asleep last night and came in early to work out. Thanks for the paperwork. Find Karen a boyfriend."

"Ah, right," she replied before looking over her desk. "No, I think we're good, no messages or anything. Oh, you want me to call the Marianos' daughter?"

Colt was already heading to the captain's door, stopped, and, without turning, replied, "Tell her things were taken care of, and it's safe for her to come to get her parents' things."

 

[fnchristie81]

Christina and Velma made small talk while the other woman took her measurements-something that had to be done immediately due to the time constraints. Christina related the story behind her bust size, although without mentioning that it had been connected to a past bureau case. Then it was off to wardrobe to pick out some suitable off-duty clothing. More would be coming, and she would buy other pieces as needed, but this would provide her with the basics.

Then it was off to furnishings. Christina opted for a mix of well-worn items with a few more upscale pieces. Not enough one way or the other to cause immediate questions from anyone that stopped in, but obviously pushing the boundaries of what she would have been able to afford on her police salary.

Finally, it was time to pick out a daily driver. She opted for a late model, midnight blue Phoenix. Anything seen individually-or even several together-wouldn't cause a hint of concern, but if anyone was able to take in the full picture of things it would be obvious that she'd had to heftily supplement her income somehow.

Finally everything was arranged. Still wearing the tube top, skirt, and heels from earlier in the day, she stepped into the car with the back loaded with boxes. All had things in them, much of which would be gradually returned to the clandestine office as more suitable items for her persona were located; this was all for the production of her arriving and moving in.

The car was driven around to the passenger side and parked, the agent who did so giving her precise directions so that she would be able to walk right to it. The moving van would be departing the commercial side, and they would link up just outside Little Havana before proceeding to her house.

The plan went smoothly. She arrived a few minutes ahead of the van-enough to use the keys to unlock the door and return to the sporty car and begin wrestling boxes out of the back seat. She was leaned into the car with the second box when the van finished backing into the driveway and one of the "movers" walked behind her to open it up. His hand slapped her ass as he did. These guys were going to be pushing the bounds of being a hired moving crew apparently.

Still, the moving in was accomplished quickly and efficiently. Both men took a few handfuls each of her when they passed by, and made some comments, but on the whole nothing she wouldn't expect from a low-brow moving crew.

After they left, Christina surveyed the disarrayed landscape of her new home. She opted to go get something to eat, and soon found a Well Stacked pizzeria, taking her order to enjoy on one of the outdoor tables where she could watch the water.

 

[JackHemingway]

Part I
Colt Hagen had gotten some sleep and some revenge, and he'd made it through an exhaustive review of the last two weeks with his captain and superiors. Both criminal and legitimate elements in the city were getting back to business, and it was up to him and others who operated in the gray area to ensure everything ran right. The little snotty lawyer from the mayor's office said to do whatever you had to to ensure the city was open for business as soon as possible in the street. That meant keeping the monsters in their cages and greasing who you had to to make it happen.

After lunch, he held court in the parking lot behind Karmen Bakery & Cafeteria, one of three locations better known to the community as B&C. They had the best bread, made huge sandwiches, and you could get groceries, and it was an excellent place to meet to do business. Colt had been interrupted that afternoon, so he made the uniforms, and others wait as he headed through the back door. At the counter, he found a very stressed, embarrassed, pregnant Bianca Velez frantically going through her purse while her other child pulled on her dress.

As the line of customers behind her grew, the atmosphere became increasingly tense. The anger and impatience of others overshadowed the concerned looks of some, their complaints filling the air. The situation was even more challenging by a crying toddler, his wails piercing through the commotion, adding to the palpable tension in the air.

Colt walked up next to Bianca and stared down the line, which immediately began going silent. In Spanish, he politely asked, "What is going on, Bianca? Are you okay, honey?"

Already at her breaking point, she turned to face him and started to explain, but then she burst into tears and put her head on his shoulder. He didn't hesitate to comfort her, his arms enveloping her in a protective embrace. He gently hugged her until she finally began to speak softly. "Joey finally got a job, but they won't pay him until Friday, and he told me to pay the rent since we're behind and get groceries. I swear I thought I had enough Colt, but diapers cost so much, and and and..."

"And you're short, honey, nothing to be ashamed of. I wish you had called me." Colt glanced at the other side of the counter and saw the concerned-looking long-time cashier Maria and the food order already boxed and in bags. He looked over her and asked, "Is that her order?"

"Ah yes, Officer, I'm sorry she's twenty-three dollars short and already owes us from last time. Many people do, and the boss can't always be that generous."

Colt nodded. "Well, that is understandable; okay, let me help you." Colt took out a fat cash roll, counted over a thousand dollars, and handed it to Maria. "Start paying off tabs by those who need it most, okay?"

Before she could respond, he counted off another few hundred. "This is for Bianca, so double her order, ensure she has everything, and deliver it to their apartment."

Bianca was about to cry again when she wiped her tears, hugged him, and whispered, "Thank you so much, Colt. We'll pay you back."

"No, it's okay, honey. Joey earned it. Now go home and get some rest." He handed her a fifty-dollar bill. "Take a cab and tell Joey to keep working hard."

 

[JackHemingway]

Part II
He waved to her little one and walked out the back without any further recognition. Joey was a good informant until he got sober and got back to work, but Colt didn't forget people, and when someone was trying to do the right thing, helping them was how you showed their efforts mattered. Almost a dozen cruisers now greeted him, with at least as many uniformed officers waiting to pay tribute and discuss issues. They all had money and excuses.

A few years back, a government supplier overordered many trucks that met the specifications of the FBI Rancher and unloaded them to the department as take-home vehicles for the leadership. Colt snagged one that had been repainted the same colors as a patrol unit and with a light bar on top, but he kept all the extras the four-door vehicle had. This version sports detailed bodywork, tinted windows, and a race car exhaust. It was armored, flame retardant, had puncturer-proof tires, and an engine and communications system that could handle anything. It also held a mountain of his gear. Most on the street knew it by sight, and it caused fear in the hearts of many a street demon.

Colt returned and sat on the back with the rear doors open and two young Cuban gang members standing guard nearby. Clad in the typical look consisting of a red bandana, a white T-shirt with a red circle in the middle, a brown belt, light blue stonewashed jeans, and white sneakers. His "backup" wasn't necessary, but the local gang leader liked showing his support. Some in the past thought they owned Colt, but they'd been sorrily mistaken.

A few officers came forward and paid their tribute, mentioning briefly how they'd earned it, whether they were behind or getting even with those Colt handled these matters for. They'd put an envelope full of cash in an aluminum attache case, but some also gave gifts, trying to get his friendship and consideration. Colt knew how to find extra work, get a reasonable divorce attorney, and find what you needed discretely. In a city of vice and corruption, being an honest cop was relative.

It was reasonably routine today, but a few people were waiting impatiently and could easily cause trouble. The following two were perfect examples of this. The toxic pair were the Chaos Twins, Justin Rogers and Amanda Parker. How Justin passed the psych exam was anyone's guess, and he was an avid hunter who worked as a mercenary after a six-year hitch in the army. He was an active player in the city's weapons black market. Amanda was a slut who was a cop to pay the bills, worked as a stripper, did amateur porn, and was also disposed to violence and pills. The two work either were fighting or fucking and are fiercely loyal to each other but respected Colt.

Amanda, a bleach blonde spilling out of her uniform with long nails and too much makeup, leaned over and kissed Colt as she put an oversized envelope in the case. Colt looked at her questioningly, and she smiled and replied, "We got lucky and caught the courier and the buyer, so we thought we'd get ahead of the game."

Colt looked over at Justin, who had just smirked. He put down a military-style case on the vehicle and opened it, revealing an army-green MP5 with all the attachments. Justin smiled from behind his Aviator sunglasses. "Silencer, laser sight, and jumbo magazines with plenty of ammo and all the bells and whistles, boss."

"It is very impressive, Rogers, so why are you showing it to me."

As he looked at his partner, Justin Roger let out a cackle that fit any horror film. "See baby, he thought we forgot. This isn't business man Happy Fucking Birthday Boss."

Colt smiled, shut the case, and looked over the pair. "Well, thank you very much. It isn't my birthday yet, but it's appreciated. This deal you interrupted. I won't be hearing about any issues from anyone, will I?"

They both shook their heads, but Amanda answered and said, "No, I got this from one of our informants. He was a small-timer trying to go big and didn't ask for anyone's permission. We were doing him a favor by sending him packing."

Colt doubted he was getting the whole truth, but he took it for now and sent them off. A few more officers walked over and disposed of their business before Michael "Triggerman" Luciano, wearing a red and white tracksuit, walked up to him with a smile. With Vercetti's takeover of significant drug trafficking routes and a lot of other businesses, low-level mobsters from all over were flooding into Miami to be soldiers for the man and increase their earnings. A former boxer car thief who was good with automatic weapons, Luciano was in paradise and was involved with a variety of criminal enterprises.

"Luciano, if you're here to check on me, I have the situation well in hand, and I'll take care of the deposit."

"I have no doubt about that, Mr. H. I'm actually here about something else. The man wants you to come to dinner at the house tonight. I mean he's inviting you if you're available. We're breaking bread around seven, and we want you to know he's getting lobsters fresh from Maine."

"This business or social?"

"A little of both, as far as I understand, but nothing heavy. The man likes you too much to bother you with shit that could get you jammed up."

They exchanged pleasantries, and Colt promised to be in touch if anything changed. He packed up and headed out, thinking so much for a quiet night at home. Colt wasn't even sure where he'd be staying, but when Colt was done with dinner, he wasn't doing anything else tonight. After a short drive, he arrived at El Banco Corrupto Grande.

Local legend had it that Spanish and Italian fascists set the place up before World War II to wash their money, and by all accounts, the place hadn't changed practices. Colt entered the bank with his case and went to the safe deposit box area. A young lawyer sitting in the lobby with his paper and a matching case nodded to him as he went. Once inside the room, he portioned off the three shares. His share stayed in the case while the two larger shares were divided between two boxes. One box is for the police, and the other is for the drug dealers. It was a simple bank transaction if you didn't think about the ethics too hard.

 

[fnchristie81]

Christina made a point of making known to the waitress that she had just moved in. Beyond that, she was relatively left alone other than some catcalls from guys walking the beach. She waved back at a couple that were cute, but for the most part paid them no mind.

She heard it subconsciously for several minutes before the sounds of an approaching car chase registered. She prevaricated for several minutes between heading out front to observe the action versus remaining at her seat until the sound of a crash. She jumped from her seat and ran to the front, seeing a black Oceanic half wrapped around a light pole. A man, apparently the driver, was slow in pushing the door open and getting out, but after staggering a few steps began running down the alley beside the pizzeria. Christina ran after him, the heels barely slowing her down.

It didn't take long for the man to register he was being chased, and as he turned to look behind him to catch sight of his pursuer tripped and fell headlong. Christina took advantage of his disorientation after the fall to whip him onto his back, pull his arms behind his back, sit on them, and twist his ankle up in a lock to keep him immobilized until the pursuing police car pulled up to them.

The man beneath her was swearing at her and threatening her in a mix of English and Spanish, but she paid him little mind, instead smiling at the approaching patrol officers.

"Hi guys!" she greeted them with a bright smile. One officer briefly met her eyes before his attention became fixed on where she was straddling the young tough, still wearing the mini skirt from her tour of the city with Velma.

"Great...now we've got bimbos playin' vigilante," the second officer said disgustedly, his attention similarly occupied as his partner's.

Christina tightened the lock on the thug's ankle as she leaned forward. "Not quite a vigilante," she said with a hard edge to her voice. "I start in your force Monday. Sandra O'Conner. Transfer from Alexandria. Nice to meet you. Any interest in securing this 'gentleman' so I can quit giving a free peep show?" She nodded to the gathering crowd.

"A free peep show?" the first officer parroted back. "So you're not opposed to it if you're being paid then?"

Christina/Sandra's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Don't even go there," she spat. "I've done my time with dicks like that, and I'm through with it. Because if the next thing out of your mouth isn't respectful, I won't  train hand-to-hand with you, I'll eeducate you on dirty fighting. Got me?"

The officer slowly traced his eyes up her body and gave her an insolent grin. "Yeah, I got you," he said with a cocky inflection to his voice. He approached and took his cuffs off his belt, securing both the tough's wrists but seeming to take every advantage to rub against her ass as he did. Christina/Sandra ignored it, knowing better than to speak up, but after she was able to rise and smooth her skirt back into place she grasped the cop's fingers, folding his hand into a lock but blocking the view of his partner with her body.

"Touch me again inappropriately, and the next time I'll break it," she promised as he grimaced and tried to pull away. "But be a good boy, and after hours some time..." Her voice trailed off and her nose rubbed his jaw teasingly. She held him until he grudgingly nodded, then she released him. The officer led the young prisoner back to his cruiser while the second officer approached and took her statement.

Once the interview was over, Christina returned to her meal-which fortunately hadn't been cleared away. She noticed some hard stares from several young men, knowing that they had her marked for likely intimidation. After finishing her meal, she walked over to one table and flopped down in a chair, lighting one of the Redwood cigarrettes that Hemmings had left with her. She propped her feet on the lap of one of the gang members and blew a cloud of smoke at another.

"Yes, you heard right," she said with preamble. "I'm a cop, and I moved in down the street. But business is business. You do what you do, and I'll do what I do. I needed an in, since I'm the new girl. But unless someone is dumb enough to do something right in front of me, if you leave me alone, I'll leave you alone. When I'm on the clock, anything goes. Fair?" she asked, meeting the eyes of the guy who seemed to be the leader. She studied him, then leaned towards him as she took another breath of smoke. "And it may be I need company once in a while...off the clock..." she said insinuatingly.

A slow smile spread across several of the faces nearby, and she winked.

"I take it we have a deal?" she asked before dropping her voice. "Because I'm not on the clock yet..."

 

[JackHemingway]

Colt pulled up in front of the Vercetti Estate in a distressed metallic and black Phoenix. The property was also known by its formerly name of Diaz's Mansion and located on the south side of Starfish Island. After several bloody gun battles, the island's wealthier residents would rather forget that Thomas Vercetti, an "entrepreneur," took over the property. The house was an armed camp with plenty of Vercetti's crew hanging around, but otherwise, it fit into the neighborhood. The uniformed guard at the gate looked up from his clipboard, smiled, and waved him through.

Inside he was soon well aware of who was making up the dinner party. There were half a dozen limos and many other high-end cars by the garage where he was directed to park, and most of them were surrounded by goons wearing tropical shirts, suits, and, of course, tracksuits. At the very least, all were packing pistols and uzis and trying to look tough. Colt got out of his car with a shopping bag, and when one of Vercetti's security people began making his way toward him, he gave him a look that let him know it was a bad idea. Michael "Triggerman" Luciano, with a glass of white wine in hand, finally came out and walked the detective into the mansion.

Rather than head towards the dining room, they went from the first floor down to the ground floor. Sensing the tension, Luciano clarified the situation to Colt when he said. "The man wants you to stay for dinner, but plans changed he's having some people over who might not appericate a friend in law enforcement as much as we do at the table. Out of respect, though, he's giving you some time before they arrive."

"That's fine, Michael. I like his company. You jerkoffs are just part of the package," Colt replied as he brushed passed the hitman and walked into the indoor pool area.

The indoor pool was actually an Olympic-size swimming pool flanked on one side by a sauna and workout area and a bar and sitting area on the other. Three bodyguards, all armed with pistols, lounged around the pool as Vercetti frolicked with two Cuban women clad only in thongs. The men noticed Colt right away, and Vercetti gave a friendly wave and gestured for him to go sit down at one of the tables.

About twenty minutes later, Vercetti came over to the table where Colt was sitting. The Boss of Miami enjoyed a quick shower and sauna and fooled around with one of his lady friends before he sat down with his favorite cop. In the meantime, Michael, the one Cotl liked, one of Vercetti's bodyguards who was a holdover from the Diaz gang, had brought Colt a large Ragga Rum and cola. While Colt didn't think he was being disrespectful, you were on the Godfather's schedule, not yours.

Clad in only a pair of shorts, Tommy Vercetti had been victorious in the cocaine wars and had the scars to prove it. The Godfather was covered in bullet and knife wounds, along with burns and signs of injury from explosives, mixed in with the tattoos, including an impressive back piece of a Japanese dragon. Martial arts had become part of the man's routine to keep in shape and reduce stress. Vercetti had a fierce reputation, but he prized loyalty and friendship.

Vercetti came over, shook Colt's hand, and hugged him before sitting down, and Michael immediately placed a glass of Tequilya , his favorite brand of Mexican tequila. "Glad you could come sorry about the change in plans, but I have the cook putting your pasta and lobster in some containers along with some wine and other extras. I heard you made a trip to the bank. Also, have you heard anything more about the Feds being in town? Oh, nice work dealing with those punks."

Colt Hagen knew he had to respect the man, and while Vercetti often called Colt a friend, he knew the man had a reputation to uphold. He wouldn't tolerate disrespect. "Thank you, Mr. Vercetti. I'm just taking care of business on the streets like normal. Everyone is getting paid, and things are in order. As to the Feds, my people tell me they're clearing out now that the city is going back to normal. I'm telling my people to keep their heads down, but they don't listen too well."

Vercetti laughed, lifted his drink, and glanced over at Michael, who was leaning against the bar. "That sounds familiar. All these wise guys come to my city to make a fortune but do any of them listen fuck no. Still, I wanted to let you know I'm very pleased with how you're running things in your part of the world. It's much better than Mel Bernstein ever did. That greedy fuck! Anyway, why aren't you enjoying that Infernus I gave you? The boys tell me you came in a piece of junk. Oh, I'm told you rented out El Swanko Casa to Boston George during the storm?"

https://gta.fandom.com/wiki/Vercetti_Estate
https://www.gtabase.com/gta-vice-city/guides/gta-vice-city-top-10-fastest-cars-best-vehicles-ranked