Alain and T Money spent the rest of the day lounging around the luxurious apartment and unpacking the clothing and other items they had brought with them. Mr. Woon brought their front door keys to them later that evening but after the plane ride they had no interest in going out anywhere.

Instead of leaving, T Money celebrated by introducing the apartment to marijuana, or pot, and Alain hooked up her laptop and plugged the cell phone into the wall so it wouldn’t lose the charge it had.

They were hours behind their time zone, too, and jet lag on top of that made them crash early, around six. Alain woke up early the next morning and woke T Money so they could go out and explore the city.

The sun was bright in the sky when they left, taking the elevator to the lobby. The front desk man, Nick, was leaning back in the chair with his feet on top of the desk. He had strong, but cold, features, with dark brown hair and eyes. His face was a mask of neutrality when Alain and T Money introduced themselves to him. One tan finger of his pointed to the nameplate on the desk that read ‘Nick Armstrong’ instead of returning the vocal introduction. Exchanging confused glances, Alain and T Money ignored the how rude Nick was and left.

When Alain stepped outside, the sun was still shining but it was cooler than she expected. She told T Money and T just laughed.

“Did you not see the icebergs yesterday? I didn’t have a window seat and I noticed them. Warm cities usually don’t have icebergs. And you didn’t bring a coat, did you?” T shook her head and buried her hands in the pocket of the hooded sweatshirt she wore.

“I saw them,” Alain replied defensively, hunching against the cold breeze that made her thin tee shirt flutter around her frame, “but I didn’t really think about them. I was having a crisis, you know, with the possibility of death.” They stood in the courtyard for a moment, glancing around and trying to figure out where to go.

“Maybe you should pay more attention next time, hmm?” T murmured, walking to the middle of the courtyard. She glanced down the alley they had taken in yesterday, and then looked at the alley they didn’t come through. “Where should we go?”

“Why don’t we walk that way?” Alain pointed to the alley they didn’t walk through. “Mr. Woon said that came out on some street with a car garage, didn’t he?”

T Money nodded. “Yeah, he did.”

They walked toward the alley and passed another alleyway, leading off to their right. It was lined with storage sheds and ended at a road. At the beginning of the alley was a ramp that led to another level — they glanced up at it and saw car garages.

“Should we check that out? Or keep going?” T asked.

Alain shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me. As long as we don’t get lost…” She trailed off and pat the pocket of her black slacks, checking to make sure she had brought the cell phone with her. Its comforting, bulky shape was there.

“Yeah.” T glanced up at the second level of the alley. “We can check it out another time. Let’s keep going.”

They walked between two large buildings. On the right, halfway down the alley, was a small opening with more car ports. The alley ended almost immediately after the opening and they found themselves on a busy street.

In the distance they could hear a tolling bell, signaling something they couldn’t see. Horns blared and tires screeched around them and the muted conversations from other people walking down the sidewalks could be heard. Brief snatches of banter could be deciphered if they listened hard.

Dozens of cars whizzed by, cars of every make and model. Alain spotted a few glossy sports cars, jacked up trucks, regular cabs and older model taxis. Some of the models of cars she recognized but others she didn’t; either Liberty had its own car company or a lot of the citizens bought foreign cars.

Pedestrians strolled down each side of the street, obliviously passing the staring women. Jamaican men with dusty, desert army fatigues and fluffy dreadlocks carried bats while they sauntered down the sidewalk, business women clutching purses power walked down the street in their clicking high heels, shoppers of every shape and size carried arms full of bags as they tried to hail cabs, and police whistled as they twirled their bobby sticks and patrolled the sidewalks.

The buildings lining the street were large, anonymous buildings; probably corporations or more apartments, Alain thought. She expected to see businesses but when there were no shops, she figured the stores were toward the southern end of the island.

Down the road, on their left, Alain could see stoplights and intersections. To their right were an intersection and a construction site. She turned to T Money.

“We should probably walk that way,” she nodded toward the left, toward the southern end of the island. “Maybe we’ll find a restaurant down that way.”

T Money looked down the road. “Yeah, maybe,” she said.

They walked down the street in silence, taking in the sights and sounds. It was like most other cities in the fact that it was large, full of people and businesses. The odd thing about Liberty, Alain thought, was how it had it’s own brand of stores and vehicles. From the ads she saw lining the road, Liberty didn’t have chain stores that could be found in most other major US cities. It had clothing stores called Zip and Now, restaurants called Bolt Burgers and Happy Blimp, and movies Alain had never heard of. Upon closer inspection, some of the cars resembled typical Fords and Chevrolets, but they weren’t by any company Alain had ever heard of.

As if T Money were reading her thoughts, she said, “Does this place seem… weird to you? It’s like it’s—cut off from the rest of the States or something. I don’t even see a McDonald’s.”

“Yeah,” Alain said, shivering as a particularly cool gust of wind blew by her, “it’s eerie. Like we’re in another country.”

Continuing down the street in silence, they kept glancing at the buildings around them. The first building the passed on the left was the parking garage; an attendant sat in the entrance booth, staring out the glass window of the booth in and filing her nails in boredom. The second booth, an exit booth, wasn’t guarded by anyone.

They walked for two blocks, passing intersections and numerous buildings, and finally came to the busiest intersection they had seen so far. The third intersection had a large sign next to the stop light. “Callahan Bridge to Portland Island,” the sign proclaimed, with arrows pointing left. They glanced down at the bridge. Cars were going and coming from it at a steady pace.

Precariously, they crossed the intersection, avoiding speeding cars and other pedestrians who walked blindly past them.

On the other side of the intersection, the buildings opened up into glassy shops with bright signs. Their side of the street had a large, two story internet café while the other side of the street had a small strip with dozens of stores and restaurants. Unanimously, they decided to cross the street.

Small outlet stores and pawn shops dotted the tiny strip mall, along with a Central Perk Coffee Shop and a Radioactive Taco Shack.

“Radioactive Taco Shack?” T Money was amused. “Man, we have got to come back and eat there.” She stared at the pictures of tacos glowing neon green.

Alain grimaced and glanced back at the coffee shop. The thought of a nice, warm cup of coffee was too tempting to resist. “Sure. Just not — right now. It’s too early. What do you think about Central Perk Coffee Shop?”

T gave Radioactive Taco Shack a wistful, lingering glance. “Sure.”

A bell tinkled, announcing their arrival, when Alain pushed Central Perk’s door open and she inhaled the warm, homey scent of fresh coffees and baked goods. The coffee shop had a comfortable aura about it, with couches and old recliners dotting the room. There was a row of swivel chairs around the wooden counter, which was covered with glass serving dishes that were showing off freshly baked pastries.

“This wasn’t a bad choice,” T remarked as they walked toward the counter.

Alain grinned, rubbing her hands together to rid herself of the chill she brought in with her. “I know.” She hopped onto one of the swivel chairs and picked up a laminated menu that was sitting on the counter. T Money took the seat next to her and peered at her own menu.

As Alain read the menu, she couldn’t help but overhear the two men sitting next to her as they spoke over donuts and coffee.

“…so she turns around and says, ‘Is that a gun or are you just happy to see me?’ She seemed sad when I told her it was a gun and flashed my badge.” Out of the corner of her eye, Alain noticed that both of the men were dressed in stark black police uniforms.

T Money was staring at them, too, barely controlling peals of laughter that threatened to spill over at their ludicrous conversation.

‘Are they for real?’ she mouthed and Alain shook her head, unsure, and dissolved into a fit of giggles.

When the waiter came around, Alain and T Money ordered cappuccino and danishes. After they were finished with the light breakfast, they headed back to their apartment. Alain wanted to get on the internet and look for a car while T Money was more interested in spending the day with her mind altering substances.

On their way back, Alain stopped at a newspaper stand, dropped two quarters in, and grabbed a newspaper. When she got back to the apartment, she started flipping through it. She learned that the mayor of Liberty City was Mayor Donovan and a large social contributor was Donald Love, the owner of the Love Media Corporation. The paper reported small time crimes and local scandals but she paid no special attention to them.

The next day Alain explored the city further, wandering down side roads and turn offs from the main road they followed the day before. She found a park, a few more shopping centers, and some casinos. That night, she and T Money took a cab to the Radioactive Taco Shack and tried the soft tacos—they did, indeed, glow and they left Alain and T Money glowing for hours after they ate. The woman working the counter of the restaurant had assured them that their radioactive tacos were completely safe, FDA approved, and the glow would wear off overnight.

All in all, the weekend flew by. Monday morning dawned bright and early and Alain woke with a pit of nervousness in her stomach that wouldn’t go away.

“Don’t worry,” T tried to assure her while brushing her teeth, “you’re just meeting a guy. Making connections, that sort of thing.” She waved her toothbrush as she spat in the sink, trying to accentuate the meaning behind her words. “It’s not going to be as bad as you think.”

“But what if it is that bad?” Alain hugged a pillow to her chest, fingers digging into the soft cushion. “I don’t know what to expect at all.”

T Money wiped her mouth, tossed the towel down, bared her teeth in the mirror to check them, and then turned to Alain.

“Look,” she said, “quit worrying. They’re not going to kill you. What will probably happen is this: you’ll meet the guy, he’ll ask what you want from him, you’ll tell him, and he’ll ask what you can do for him. It’s that simple. This is going to be like bartering, trading. That’s what criminal life is all about.”

“‘What I can do for him?’” Alain echoed, following T as she walked to the kitchen. “What can I do for him, T?”

T rummaged through a cabinet. “That’s what you need to ask yourself before you head over there. What have you got to offer him that will make whatever you need from him worthwhile?” She set a glass on the counter and looked at Alain again. “And maybe that’s what you should be figuring out first. What are you asking for?”

“Information, I guess. Connections. I don’t know!” she wailed, flinging the pillow in the general direction of the living room. It skidded across the kitchen table and landed on the floor with a soft thump.

T opened the refrigerator, pulled out a carton of orange juice, and sat it on the counter, next to the glass. She turned to Alain again and put her hands on the other woman’s shoulders. “Okay, first. Quit freaking out. You’re stressing me out with all this drama.” Alain blinked, but quieted. “Now. Think. What do you need? What is going to move you up on the criminal ladder?”

Alain thought for a moment. “Missions, I guess. If I’m going to earn a ‘name’ or reputation for myself, I need something to base it off of, right?”

T flashed a smile. “Right.” She let go of Alain’s shoulders and turned back to the orange juice. “What you’re looking for is someone who needs a runner or a thief or assassin. Someone who needs something. That’s what you’re expecting D Ice to hook you up with. Correct?”

Alain nodded meekly. Her outburst earlier seemed childish; everything was starting to fall into place and it was simpler than she thought.

“Okay. Now you know what you need. What can you offer in exchange for a hook up?” T took a sip of the orange juice before putting the carton back in the fridge.

“I… don’t know,” Alain admitted. “Normally I would say information, but I can’t be seen around the FBI headquarters here.”

T rolled her eyes. “Information. Who wants that in a city of crooked cops? No, you need to offer something baser, something they can’t get from just everyone.” She hesitated, as if she was going to go on, but chugged the glass of orange juice instead. “I’m sure you’ll think of something on the way over there.” T glanced at the wall clock hanging in the dining room as she deposited her glass in the sink. It was 11:05 AM. “Have you called a cab yet?”

Alain nodded, preoccupied. Her mind felt like it was spinning in mud, throwing up dirt and burning gasoline but not going anywhere. “Yeah, he’ll be here at 11:15.”

“Get your purse, or satchel, or whatever you’re taking with you, then. We should head down to the lobby in case he arrives earlier.” T jogged toward the bedroom to get what she needed.

Alain grabbed her satchel, put it on one shoulder, and, as an afterthought, grabbed a jacket. The heavy, black leather jacket she had bought the night they went to the Radioactive Taco Shack was long, it fell to her mid calf, and kept her warm. There were matching gloves that came with it, gloves that fit her hands nicely, but she left those tucked in the pocket of the jacket. The jacket looked chic and it matched her wardrobe of black slacks, skirts, and blouses. It also matched the outfit she was wearing: a black skirt with black stockings, a black blouse, and her heavy black boots.

T Money came out of her room as Alain unlocked the door.

“You ready?” she asked, pulling her hood up around her face and pulling her platinum chain out of the hooded sweatshirt, letting it dangle outside.

Alain nodded, checked to make sure she had her key, and stepped out of the apartment. T Money followed her, shut the door, and waited as Alain pressed the elevator button.

Five minutes later they were walking out to the cab. This time the cab driver was a woman, a heavy blond with a southern accent, and she knew exactly where the payphone they were going to was at.

Alain watched the scenery change from a dingy city to a pleasant suburban area as they left Staunton Island and arrived on Shoreside Vale. They drove through rows of nice, expensive houses before the cab driver took a turn that led them to a less wealthy area. Here was the city again, with tall, dirty apartment buildings and sleazy women standing on the street corners. This area was dominated by African Americans, dressed in typical baggy jeans and color coordinated sweatshirts, and Alain felt a sliver of unease travel through her. This kind of area was one she was familiar with, one she knew quite well. Gangs were rampant in New York City and it looked like this section of Liberty City wasn’t anymore free from the thugs than her own home was.

The woman took a street down a sloping hill and turned sharply at the bottom. She pulled up next to a row of three payphones.

“Need me to stay?” she asked, and she was either oblivious to what they were doing at the phones or she just didn’t care.

Alain shook her head as she dug through her pockets for money. “No, thanks. Here,” she shoved a few bills into the woman’s hand and stepped out of the cab.

The woman took the money and drove off, in search of another fare.

Alain and T Money stood next to the three phones as people traveled around them. Cars sped by, large vans with expensive stereo systems that vibrated the doors with heavy rap music, and people walked past, shady characters that stared at them out of the corners of their eyes. Alain wondered if any of D Ice’s men were out there, walking or in vehicles, sizing the two women up for the gang lord.

Suddenly, the payphone on the far left rang, shrill and loud, and Alain checked her wristwatch. 11:24, six minutes earlier than the time they were supposed to be there. As she picked up the receiver she could feel eyes watching her and she knew that D Ice had people around them.

“Yo,” the voice on the other end said. “What’d you need?” It was a dark, masculine voice that used the velvety slang she heard around her.

With her shoulders set in determination, and just a slight tremble in her voice, she repeated the words M Dog made her memorize. “I’m looking for Phil.”

Chuckling, the voice replied, “Alright. Stand on the corner, wait for the light to turn red, and one of my boys will pick you up in a van.”

Instead of hanging up, Alain hesitated. “How will I know it’s one of your ‘boys’?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t think she was foolish for asking.

“Good question,” the voice said, with a note of respect. “He’ll be wearing a red shirt. We’re the Red Jacks, girl, and you better not forget it.” The line went dead. Alain slowly hung the phone up.

“What did he say?” T asked curiously.

“He’s sending someone to pick us up,” Alain told her. “He said to stand on the corner and wait for the light to turn red. One of his ‘boys’ will pick us up in a van and he’ll be wearing a red shirt.”

T glanced at the stoplight. It flickered from green to yellow but no van was in sight. “I guess we should head over there.”

As they approached the corner, a van pulled up behind them. It looked like a few of the other vans they had seen pass them — it was a large, white van with personalized graffiti on the side. Alain could hear the dull thumping of the base from where they stood, feet away.

A black man, wearing a red sweatshirt, leaned out of the window. “Y’all comin’?” he yelled and they heard the electric locks pop.

Alain took a deep breath to steady herself and followed T Money to the van. As she stepped inside, she realized there would be no turning back.

The van door shut with a loud bang. Alain flinched and T put a firm hand on her shoulder.

“Just relax,” she whispered as the light turned green and the van turned up the hill they had just come down in the cab. “Everything will be fine.”

Oddly enough, Alain knew that no matter what happened, everything would be fine. The thought comforted her immensely.

When the van slowed at the top of the hill and turned into one of the seedy looking apartment parking lots, Alain was no longer afraid. She was still cautious and anxious, but fear was absent from her emotions. With determination fuelling her step, she stepped out of the van, ready to face whatever lay ahead of her.

***

© 2003 Brianna Jackson.