You step into Avery Carrington's limousine parked at the construction site in Vice Point. Inside, the air is cool, and the leather seats are plush, a stark contrast to the noisy, dusty world outside. Avery, with his trademark cowboy hat and confident demeanor, pours himself a drink from the mini-bar.
"Howdy, Tommy," Avery drawls, extending a hand and offering you a seat. "We've got ourselves a bit of a pickle that needs your special touch."
You settle into the seat, noticing the meticulous detail in the limo's interior. "What's the job, Avery?"
Avery leans forward, his eyes narrowing with intent. "Well, partner, there's this stubborn developer who's sittin' on some prime land I got my eye on. Fella's out there playin' golf at Leaf Links Country Club. I need you to, let's say, convince him to part with it."
You nod, already piecing together the plan. "So, I'm guessing a polite conversation won't do the trick?"
Avery chuckles, handing you a membership card and a golf club. "You hit the nail on the head, cowboy. Here's a membership card to get you in. But first, you'll need to pick up some fancy duds to fit in. Jocksport should have what you need."
Taking the card, you glance at it before pocketing it. "Consider it done. Anything else I should know?"
Avery takes a sip of his drink, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Just make sure he understands we mean business. And remember, blend in until the moment's right."
With a final nod, you step out of the limousine, ready to head to Jocksport and get suited up for the task ahead.
You make your way to Jocksport, a small, tidy sportswear store nestled in the heart of Vice Point. The storefront is clean and simple, with large windows displaying various athletic gear. The sign above reads "JOCKSPORT" in bold letters, promising quality leisure wear.
As you step inside, you're greeted by a young clerk, a slim guy with tousled hair and a welcoming smile. "Hey there, welcome to Jocksport! Looking for something specific today?"
"Yeah," you reply, scanning the racks. "I need a golf outfit."
The clerk nods enthusiastically, leading you to a section filled with golf attire. "We've got a great selection right here. What kind of look are you going for?"
You pick out a pair of white slacks, a green polo shirt, and a matching cap. The outfit is casual yet classy, perfect for blending in at the Leaf Links Country Club. The clerk rings up your purchase efficiently, making small talk about the latest golf trends.
"Hope you have a great game," he says as you leave the store, new outfit in hand. "Good luck out there!"
You nod, stepping back into the sunlight. "Thanks. Hopefully, I won't be digging myself out of too many sand traps."
Later you arrive at the Leaf Links Country Club, an expansive, well-manicured golf course nestled in the heart of Vice City. The sprawling greens are dotted with palm trees swaying gently in the breeze, and the fairways are lined with luxury golf carts. The clubhouse stands majestically at the center, an elegant structure exuding an air of exclusivity and privilege.
As you approach the entrance, the security guards, dressed in pristine uniforms, eye you suspiciously. "Hold up there, pal," one of them says, raising a hand. "We need to check you for weapons."
You hand over your firearms reluctantly. "Just here to play a round of golf," you say, flashing the membership card Avery provided.
"Yeah, right," the guard mutters, but he lets you pass. "No funny business, got it?"
You enter the club, the ambiance a mix of leisure and opulence. Members clad in crisp golfing attire are scattered across the grounds, engaged in lighthearted conversations and friendly competitions. The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers fills the air, creating a stark contrast to the tension brewing beneath the surface.
As you make your way through the winding pathways, you overhear a group of golfers chatting nearby. "Did you hear about the property dispute? It's getting pretty heated," one golfer says.
"Yeah, that developer's not backing down. It's only a matter of time before something happens," another replies.
"Yes, something WILL happen". You mutter. The path to the developer is lined with immaculately trimmed hedges and vibrant flower beds, adding to the serene yet deceptive tranquility of the setting. As you near the developer, your presence doesn't go unnoticed. His security detail spots you, and a wave of tension ripples through the group. The developer himself, upon recognizing you, abandons his game and makes a beeline for his Caddy.
"Hey, what are you doing here?" one of the guards shouts, alerting the others.
You remain unfazed, focusing on the target. "Just here to have a little chat with your boss," you call out, sarcasm dripping from your words.
The developer jumps into his golf cart, and you give chase. The peaceful atmosphere of the golf course is shattered as you sprint after him, weaving between bunkers and dodging golf balls.
The chase is on, your pulse pounding in your ears as you close the distance. You leap into a nearby Caddy, the electric engine humming to life as you speed across the greens. The developer's guards are hot on your trail, but your driving skills keep you ahead, navigating the winding paths with ease.
Eventually, you corner the developer near a water hazard, his Caddy stuck in the mud. With no escape, he faces you, desperation in his eyes. You step out of your vehicle, the tension palpable as you approach him.
The guards rush to intervene, but you're prepared. Grabbing a nearby golf club, you swing with brutal force, the club connecting with a sickening thud against the first guard's head. He collapses, unconscious. The second guard lunges at you, but you sidestep and bring the club down on his knee, shattering it. As he falls, you finish him with a strike to the temple.
With the guards neutralized, you turn your attention back to the developer. "Who are you?" he stammers, backing away.
"Just here to 'convince' you," you reply coldly, your eyes locked on his.
The developer pleads for mercy, his voice trembling. "Please, don't do this! We can work something out!"
"Too late for that," you sneer, grabbing him by the collar. You force him to the ground, pinning him down. Raising the golf club, you pause for a moment, savoring the fear in his eyes.
Then, with deliberate force, you swing the club down onto his face. The impact is brutal, the sound of breaking bones and muffled screams filling the air. You strike again and again, each swing reducing his face to a bloody pulp, like hitting a golf ball with precision.
"Avery sends his regards," you mutter, delivering the final blow. "Guess this really was your last hole-in-one."
As the dust settles, you take a moment to catch your breath, the serene surroundings a stark contrast to the violent encounter. The developer lies lifeless, his face unrecognizable.
With the job complete, you make your way back to the clubhouse, retrieving your weapons from security before leaving the country club grounds.