Lance Vance and Ken Rosenberg are GTA: Vice City’s worst tour guides

I’d just gotten out of prison, eager to return to normal life, when my business associates insisted I take a vacation. Some time away. They probably just wanted me out of their hair, but I didn’t fight them over a free beach trip. After all, the sights sure beat staring at the bars of my cell, and I thought I could learn to love it down there. I didn’t plan on staying long, but figured any time in Vice City would be memorable.

If I had only known…

Ken Rosenberg met me at the airport in his old, beat-up ride. He’s a squirrely guy, the epitome of a schmuck-y ambulance chaser who probably cheated on the bar judging by the glasses, retreating hairline, and attire. We all know the type — never shuts up, always making excuses or deflecting the blame somewhere else. He said we had to run an errand for our mutual friends, which turned out to be a drug deal where I nearly got shot! I wanted to rip his head off, but the guy was seriously rattled, nervously rambling until I yelled at him. 

I almost felt bad about that. Said I’d stop by his office the next day, but should have gone home right then. I would need help getting the money back for my partners, and Ken said he knew the city, that he was connected. Not the tour guide I was expecting, but I couldn’t be picky. 

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He did score me an invitation to this yacht party where I met Juan Cortez, a well-informed retired colonel. After Juan insulted my fashion sense and called me “old,” I picked up some new threads before heading out. It was nice, especially meeting his daughter, Mercedes, the best host I met in Vice City. She knew what was happening with the important movers and shakers, and I didn’t mind giving her a ride. I thought the colonel and I were cool, but then he asked me to “take care” of someone… with a chainsaw. After I later helped him escape the city, he asked me to keep an eye on Mercedes, which I certainly didn’t mind. 

They sent me to Kent Paul, a cocky Brit with music industry connections who pointed me in the right direction. Seems everyone was keeping tabs on all the dirty business in town, and I was going to use that to my advantage. After interrogating a chef, I recognized Lance, the helicopter pilot from the drug deal gone wrong. He dressed like someone who watched too much Miami Vice. I’d later learn his full name was Lance Vance and tell him how unfortunate that was, especially for someone so braggadocious and self-referential. Sometimes he went by Quentin, I think because he got picked on a lot. 

He said we wanted the same thing: revenge. What had I gotten myself into? I just wanted to relax.

Lance told me it was his brother who had died in the ambush, and that made me want to help him more. He also said he’d watch my back. I wanted to believe him and needed someone a little less scared of his own shadow than Rosenberg. Lance wasn’t kidding about watching; I caught him shadowing me the next day. Good thing, though — we both helped save a drug lord, Ricardo Diaz. I needed to get on his good side because I suspected Diaz was the one who messed up our deal and stole the goods. But I wish I hadn’t given Lance my number, as he kept calling, pushing me to go after Ricardo. I was trying to be smart, but he was so impulsive. 

Just when I thought things were good, Lance got caught, held prisoner at a junkyard, and guess who had to interrupt his shopping to save him? I even took him to the hospital to get patched up. For legal reasons, I probably shouldn’t give details on what happened, but let’s just say Lance and I took over Ricardo’s operation and got that revenge we wanted.

Everyone in that town saw me as a business opportunity when I only wanted to work on my tan. Ken had an issue with some jurors, people who needed persuading. He didn’t even thank me for that little favor, so I didn’t feel bad about scaring the shit out of him when he was sleeping in the office. He introduced me to Avery Carrington, a real estate mogul from Texas with a powerful mustache who had me starting riots and gang wars, and demolishing a building, but at least he gave good advice. He told me to play golf while there, and that apparently involved beating someone up with a 9-iron while wearing a ridiculous outfit.

Kent wasn’t kidding about his contacts, at least. He let me meet my favorite band, Love Fist, whom I helped with a stalker situation. Somehow we didn’t all get blown up. I worked with a biker gang run by Big Mitch Baker, rode with another guy who looked like Danny Trejo, and possibly helped out a woman named Auntie Poulet, but man, I can’t recall what I did for her.

We started acquiring properties, legit businesses to supplement the income. Lance just wanted everything handed to him, while I was out there putting in the work. It sucks being on break and still needing a job in this economy. I drove a taxi and an ice cream truck, both too hectic. If my mother asks, I did not work in the porn industry, but I may have been nervous meeting Candy Suxxx. Also, I’m banned from the North Point Mall now, but we did blow up some shops.

Lance and Mike screwed that one. Lance accused me of disrespecting him in front of the boys, not giving him his slice, but he had messed things up by being a hothead. So, I took him along to see if working together could help, but this unbelievable prick just wouldn’t get back in the damn car while a dozen cops were shooting at us. He did all of this while my old boss was calling, harassing me for his money, and sending guys to attack our assets. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised Lance turned on me.

The moment he did was the last dance for Lance Vance.

No, I’m not saying I killed him, just that he won’t be messing up anyone else’s vacation in the future. Ken said he never liked Lance, but also immediately tried to remind me how much Ken had helped me in Vice City, the suck-up. They were both in it for themselves and their cocaine habits. Sure, I did some bad things, hurt people, got our people killed — I only feel bad about Hilary, the getaway driver — and I may have slept with Mercedes or pimped her out to Love Fist, but I was there to have fun, not babysit awful tour guides. There’s no one normal here; not sure why anyone would ever come. Sure, the girls are in a different class, and the music is incredibly catchy, but I’m using a different travel agency next time.