Your next stop is Ocean Beach. You drive through the bustling streets, reviewing the second juror's file. The image and details are clear in your mind as you arrive at the location. The juror is standing next to his car, engaged in conversation with a woman. You step out of your car, hammer in hand, and approach him.
"Excuse me, buddy," you say, interrupting their conversation. The juror turns to face you, recognition and fear flashing in his eyes.
"What do you want?" he asks, his voice trembling slightly.
"Giorgio can't go to jail," you state, your tone firm and unyielding.
Panicking, the juror jumps into his car and attempts to flee. However, in his haste, he crashes into a passing Spand Express truck, blocking his escape route. You approach the car with the hammer, and he watches you with wide, terrified eyes.
"Please, don't do this!" he pleads as you begin to smash his car with the hammer. The metal crumples under each blow, and the juror's voice quivers with desperation.
"Stop! I'll change my vote, I swear! Just stop!" he begs, his voice growing more frantic with each strike.
You continue hammering the car, making sure the message is clear. Finally, the juror scrambles out of the wrecked vehicle and flees, leaving behind the destroyed car.
Satisfied, you discard the hammer and return to your vehicle, your mind already racing with the next steps.
Walking back into Ken's office, the relief on his face is palpable. He quickly sets down the phone and looks at you with a mixture of anxiety and hope.
"Tommy, you're back. The Forellis called. They're happy with the results," Ken says, exhaling a breath he seemed to have been holding.
You lean against the desk, crossing your arms. "Good to hear. Did they say anything else?"
Ken nods, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow. "They mentioned how efficient you were. Sonny's pleased. He thinks you did a solid job."
"Solid job?" You scoff. "I smashed up some cars and scared a couple of suits. It's a start, but we both know there's more to come."
Ken glances at the door and then back at you. "Tommy, there's something else. Avery Carrington wants to meet you. He has a job offer."
You raise an eyebrow. "We have enough on our plate, Ken. Why should I take on more?"
Before Ken can respond, the door swings open, revealing a tall, imposing figure wearing a cowboy hat and exuding a confident presence. "Tommy, this is Avery Carrington," Ken introduces, his voice a little shaky.
Avery steps forward, extending a hand with a firm grip. "Son, you help me, and any greaseballs giving you a hard time, I'll see to it they take a long dirt nap."
You eye him warily. "I'm already juggling enough, Avery. What's so important about this job?"
Avery smirks, his eyes glinting with determination. "This delivery company's got its depot on some prime land. They won't sell. They're hanging on like a big old prairie rat, so we gotta go in there and smoke that vermin out. Head on down there and stir up a hornet's nest. The security will have their hands full, and then you can sneak in and put 'em out of business."
You consider the offer. Taking down Spand Express could mean more than just a quick payday. Securing prime land for Avery might earn you a powerful ally in Vice City's real estate market, opening doors to new opportunities and influence. Weighing the potential profits and leverage, you realize this job could be a strategic move in expanding your empire.
Ken hands you the mission details file. "Tommy, you'll need a disguise. Head to Rafael's for some new threads first."
You nod, understanding the plan. "Consider it done."
You head to Rafael's to pick up the coveralls Avery mentioned. The shop is a small, unassuming place, but it provides what you need. As you step inside, Rafael, the owner, greets you with a warm smile.
Rafael is a tall, slender man with slicked-back hair and a neatly trimmed beard. "Welcome to Rafael's, Mr. Vercetti. Ken told me to expect you. How may I assist you today?"
"I need some coveralls," you reply, scanning the shop. "Got a job that requires infiltrating and disguising myself as a worker from Spand Express."
Rafael nods knowingly and quickly retrieves a set of coveralls. "Here you go. These should fit you perfectly."
The outfit consists of a blue-green Hawaiian shirt under dark blue overalls with the Spand Express logo on the back. A matching blue cap completes the look. You change into the new threads, the rough fabric itching slightly against your skin, but it's a necessary part of the plan.
"You look the part now, Mr. Vercetti," Rafael says with a nod of approval. "Good luck with your job."
With a nod of thanks, you leave Rafael's, ready to stir up trouble at the Spand Express depot.
You hijack a nearby Admiral car and drive to the Spand Express depot, the mission details clear in your mind. The depot is bustling with activity, workers milling around in tense clusters. The air is thick with the sound of angry conversations and the occasional shout. The depot itself is a sprawling industrial area, surrounded by tall, barbed-wire fences and filled with Spand Express trucks and equipment. The building's exterior is worn, with the company's logo faded on the walls.
The workers' faces are strained, their voices rising in frustration as they discuss the ongoing strike. "We can't let them keep pushing us around!" one worker yells. Another adds, "We've got to stand our ground!"
As you approach, you can see the security guards eyeing the crowd warily. The PIGs, or Patrol Invest Group, are a legitimate security force but also involved in illegal protection services. Dressed in dark blue uniforms with "PIG" emblazoned on their chests, they wield batons and handguns, ready to crack down on any trouble.
You squeeze between the workers, their sweat and anger palpable in the humid air. The smell of sweat and cheap cologne mingles with the tension. Shouts of frustration surround you, fueling the chaos. You grip your hammer tightly, using it to strike one worker in the jaw, slipping past as he stumbles back. Another worker tries to grab you, but you knee him in the thigh and slide away. A third lunges at you, but you swing the hammer into his ribs, feeling the impact before he collapses in pain.
It doesn't take much to provoke the workers; a few well-placed insults and a shove or two, and the riot is in full swing. The workers start shouting and pushing back, their anger boiling over.
The security guards quickly notice the commotion and rush out to suppress it, but they immediately find themselves overwhelmed. The full riot blows out, with workers and security clashing violently. The guards swing their batons, but the workers retaliate with fists and their makeshift weapons. The scene devolves into hell.
In the midst of the chaos, you seize the opportunity to slip past the distracted security guards and make your way towards the delivery trucks. The sound of breaking glass, fist hitting face, the gun shots and the shouts of the workers fill the air as you prepare to complete your mission.
You notice a few oil barrels near the trucks, an idea forming quickly. The riot is in full swing, providing the perfect cover. You make your way to the barrels, feeling the heat of the nearby clashes. With swift movements, you grab a piece of cloth, soak it in oil, and ignite it with a lighter. You toss the burning cloth onto the barrels, quickly stepping back as the flames catch. The fire spreads rapidly, engulfing the barrels and sending a fiery blast towards the trucks, effectively ensuring their destruction.
The explosion rocks the depot, sending a shockwave through the air. Flames lick up the sides of the trucks, which crumple and blacken under the intense heat. The workers and security guards stop in their tracks, the commotion halting as all eyes turn towards the inferno. Faces are illuminated by the flickering light of the fire, a mix of awe and fear reflected in their wide eyes and open mouths. The smell of burning rubber and metal fills the air, the sound of crackling flames and the occasional pop of tires bursting under the heat breaks the stunned silence.
As you toss away the worker outfit and slip back into your familiar palm tree shirt, a sense of satisfaction washes over you. The chaos and the flames at the Spand Express depot left a powerful message. You relish the thought of the power and control you've just demonstrated. The taste of victory is sweet. You straighten your shirt, feeling the fabric against your skin, and set off with renewed determination. "Well, that's one way to fire up the competition," you mutter with a smirk.