Chapter 1: I am a Winner
My name is Winner to some, One-Eyed Winner to most. My father claimed he named me Winner because I came out of the womb of a whore with a dead twin brother. He said I was special. That I had a great future ahead of me. That destiny had something special in store for me. I'm pretty sure he would be disappointed if he could see me now.
I have been a caravan master for the Crimson Caravan company for six long years. Caravans have been my life ever since I was five years old, when my father first took me on a run to Junktown from the Hub.
Today, I am inside the collapsing walls of Shadysands. It is December 10th 2161, about 8:00 in the morning.
I slept with a young woman who was noticeably pregnant last night and I feel a little guilty. Not for very long though. I've done worse.
I reach over her into my filthy pile of clothes and I find what I am craving. A crumpled pack of cigarettes. I pull one out and light it with a timeworn lighter that doesn't work half the time. I realize that I only have six left. Cigarettes are rare to come by and go for 75 caps a pack in most places. I know I should conserve, but I like to indulge in the finer things in life, if there is such a thing in this decaying world.
After feeling the buzz from the first cigarette of the day, I move onto my next vice: Mentats. I only use to take them during high profile trades to keep my senses sharp, back when I was just starting out. Now, I have to take three or four just to make it comfortably through the day.
I pop one into my mouth and chew the red bitter tablet. I know the pregnant girl stole a few last night while she thought I was sleeping. I considered punishing her, but she has a hard life as it is.
I put myself lethargically into the only outfit I own: A pair of tattered breeches, a sweat-stained tank top and a red leather jacket I found on a corpse when I was seventeen. A pair of dusty boots cover my blistered feet and I put on an eye patch over my right eye socket.
Now, I must say that I have not described the most appealing leading-man. No worries, I am no ghoul. On the contrary, I am quite handsome in most regards, in a rugged kind of way. I have no problems attracting the ladies. Well, that might be stretching the truth, but I have no problems attracting the easy ones at least.
Lastly, I strap on a decorated belt with duel holsters on each hip. Inside the holsters: twin antique Raging Bull high-caliber revolver's. Since I ran out of .454 Casull cartridges long ago, I carry them mostly for looks. My father gave them to me and told me that they had been in the family for many years. Later, I learned that story was bullshit, he stole them from a man named Hightower.
Just in case your wondering how I defend myself, having two unloaded guns strapped to my hips and all, I do keep a loaded Magnum under my jacket when I'm on the road, but when I find my self in shit-holes like Shadysands, I just keep it in the cart. You would have to be nuts to mess with a trader inside the walls of a town.
Anyways I'm dressed and I'm ready to meet the challenge of another long day.
The room that was lent to me by the town's leader, Aradesh, can hardly be described as a room. Its more like a musty closet with a filthy mattress crammed into it. He tells me that this room is exclusively for traders. What an asshole. I bet they stick brooms and junk in here after I leave.
I leave the "room" and I am greeted by Aradesh's daughter, Tandi, who is setting the dining room table for breakfast.
" Good morning. I think your friends are by the gate, Winner. Anything I can do for you before you leave?" She says more out of boredom than concern.
I can think of a few things she could do for me.
"Not friends, employees rather. And I'm fine thank you." I respond politely. "You guys sure did buy a lot of ammo this month, trouble in paradise?"
"Radscorpions, Raiders…take your pick." She tells me somberly.
"Hmmm…I have a feeling that things well get better soon, you'll see. Now…would you care for a good-bye kiss before I leave?" I say with my most charming smile.
"Ha!…you wish. You know I'm with Seth now, silly. Plus, there's no telling where that mouth of yours has been."
"Ouch…oh well…can't blame me for trying, sunshine." I say clutching my chest as if she broke my heart. I'm going to do her one day I tell myself over and over.
"My father will be out shortly to see you off, One-eye. Be safe on the road. See ya next month."
"I'll be seeing you in my dreams before that, gorgeous." I say as I swagger out the door.
Time to round up the troops.
My caravan consists of six ragtag members not including myself. Their names:
Beamer: When I was given my first caravan to master, Beamer came highly recommended by Keri, Demetre's daughter (Demetre is the man I work for). I have seen many come and go, even seen some unlucky souls bite the dust, but Beamer has stuck with me through thick and thicker. He has good eyes and a strong back. He loads and unloads the carts and serves as my sniper on the long road.
Boxer: As his name implies, he use to box for Gizmo until Gizmo traded him off to me for a rare 9mm Mauser I found on the corpse of some guy in a leather getup. He is not the brightest man I've come across and he sometimes mutters nonsense, but he is the strongest of my group. He serves as a loader and my personal bodyguard during trades.
Cecil: an ex-addict I picked up at the Falcon Maltese one year past. He is ugly as a deathclaw's mother and is unpleasantly smelly, but he has a silk touch with the three brahmin that pull the carts. He guards the goods at night and is in charge of feeding and handling the brahmin.
Handsy: Is tasked with taking inventory and making sure people get what they pay for. I caught him stealing from me two years back and didn't have it in my heart to put a bullet in him. Instead I gave him a job I dreaded doing anyway. He is the youngest in our group so he gets all the shit jobs.
Creeper: A friend of my father's and somewhat of an uncle to me. When he's not falling down drunk he is half way pleasant to be with, but those instances are far and few between. He is an incredible burden on my caravan and most of the group would breath easier if I was to get rid of him, but I can't. He knew my father.
Bislane: None are more beautiful or smarter than she. Bislane is a skilled bargainer and negotiator and can charm the pants off of anyone. She was a waitress at some bar called the Skum Pitt in Junktown and somehow swindled me out of a few crates of liquor for half the price I was asking them for. I tried to convince her it would be more exciting to join us than wasting away in some dump. A few weeks later she caught up with me and joined. She is the only one in my group who can read and write (Including myself, I just pretend I can.)
This is my family. This is my unit. Together we run the best caravan in all the wastes.
As I step out of Aradesh's hut and the sun's harsh light begins to burn my dreary eye. The smell of manure greets my nose like an old friend. Shadysands is a shit-hole in my opinion and a pain in the ass to get to, but they treat us well and always spend at least 600 caps when we visit. Its worth it.
I decide that I should check up on Cecil first and when I do, I find him sleeping on the job, nestled between twin piles of steaming brahmin poo near the main gate. I shake my head wearily. Disgraceful little…
"Cecil get your fartsucking ass into gear. Were leaving in five. Get the Brahmin ready to go." I command my sleepy night-watch. He awakens groaning and complaining and I watch his stick figure frame get up out of his bed of feces.
"S-S-Sorry boss, I guess I must have puh-passed out or something. Don't wah-worry nothing was stolen." He stutters.
"How do you know nothing was stolen you dumbass, you just woke up!"
"Uh…that's a g-g-good point boss. I…uh…brahmin will be ready in a jiffy."
I feel a dull headache coming on. I might need another mentat.
By the gate, I see Beamer and Boxer already loading goods into our nearly empty carts. Handsy is marking off items diligently, one by one. Good men. Reliable.
"Good morning gentlemen. Everything accounted for Handsy?" I croak between puffs of smoke.
"Yup. Did really good this month. Sold almost everything we had. I can't wait to get home, boss. There's this chick I want to-"
I decide to ignore Handsy's rantings. The kid never shuts up.
This was a good run I think to myself as I begin searching for Bislane. 9,530 caps in one run: must be some kind of record. Demetre will be pleased. I will get 3,000 of it and my crew 600 each. The rest goes to the Crimson Caravan. 500 of the 3000 caps I receive will go to Decker (don't ask).
I work loosely with the Crimson Caravan at the Hub, have been for most of my wretched life. My father joined me up when I was six years old, working under a hard-ass named Marloft. I did the shittiest jobs he could offer until I was 15. I even had a thing for his daughter Sarah. Once I was promoted to guarding the rear my life took a turn for the worse.
On my second day of being rear guard, our caravan was attacked by raiders. These raiders had a vendetta against Marloft and we all paid dearly for it. The leader of the raiders carved my eye out with a knife and force fed it to me. I got off easy compared to what they did to the rest. Poor Marloft got it the worse.
They stripped me of my clothes, pumped me with stimpacks and sent me running back naked to the Hub to send a message to the Traders. Very bad memories.
A few painful years later I would head my first caravan. One-eyed Winner they would soon call me. I quickly became the best caravan driver Crimson ever had.
Currently, Bislane is waving and saying her charming goodbyes to Aradesh and his daughter. She did good this run. Bonus might be in order. She walks up to me and we begin our morning routine.
"345 caps, 6 bags of Brahmin feed, 9 Stimpacks, 2 feather pillows, a pair of shoe strings, a pair brass knuckles and… Pre-war souvenir nail-clippers from…some place called the Seattle Space-needle." She reports while she looks at me with her dark, but somehow cheerful eyes.
"Nail-clippers, huh? I'll be damned. I'm sure there's a Pre-war collector somewhere who would love to have those. Not bad. Anything else?" I ask.
"Well…I traded one of our blankets for an old book." She says innocently.
"Sigh…you and your books." I say, pretending to be annoyed. I secretly love watching her read her books.
"That librarian at the Hub might be interested in bargaining for it after I'm done reading it." She tells me like always. I know she has a shelf full of them at her place, back at the Hub. None of them ever see the library.
"Whatever, keep it, I don't care." I say holding my hands out.
She hands me a worn notebook and I sign it. Done deal.
"Have fun last night?" She asks sarcastically. I can tell she doesn't approve of the young woman I shared my bed with. Hell, I hardly approve of it.
"It had its moments. Feeling jealous perhaps?" I tease.
I would like nothing more than to run my fingers through her jet-black hair and kiss her soft lips and make love to her sweet, flat-chested body. But, it would ruin everything between us to say the very least.
I have made a few passes at her in the past (mostly while intoxicated) and she has politely refused each attempt. Oh well, it is said that you never get the woman you truly want to be with. How very depressing.
"I'm fine thank you. The affairs of a lonely man is his business." She smiles. She wants me. Well…I think she wants me that is.
"Winner…what about that thing we discussed last night…you know…abut the Khan's?" she asks suddenly concerned.
"Not right now, wait till we are on the road….where's Creeper?" I ask, annoyed once again that I have to ask this question every morning.
"Not sure. He was up drinking late last night at that den near the front gate. I'll send Cecil to find him."
"Don't bother, I'll do it. Get everything ready to go." I say as I toss my cigarette at some wretch leaning against the gate wall. He scrambles to put it to his blistered lips and takes a long drag.
I find Creeper tits up in a festering pile of his own vomit inside the grimy den located near the main gate. The den smells of many disturbing things and everything seems to be in a state of disrepair. I can only imagine the low-life's that call this dump a home.
Creeper is an unattractive man with a swarthy demeanor and a mouthful of oversized yellow teeth. His stained shirt struggles to contain his bulbous beer gut. I put a boot caressingly to his toothy face.
"Get up old man."
"Wazzah…wachu shayin at meh…Whiner." Creeper says between his floor shaking belches.
Whiner. I hate that name. Ever since I was a child he's called me that.
"I said…Get your fat ass up or I'm leaving you here to rot, you sack of shit! We are leaving in five minutes." I say, trying to remain calm. I really need another mentat.
"Boy, iffin yer daddy could hear shu shpeakin in at me lika tha, shpank you…or sha…whazzah shu sayin." Creeper slurs, drool pouring out the side of his filth covered mouth.
I should just leave him. I swear, if it wasn't for him being friends with my father back in the day…
"That yer man?" says a hoarse voice behind me. Shit.
I turn around to see three hooligans, two brandishing knives and one pawing and scratching at his crotch. I don't want a fight this early in the morning.
"I said, is that yer man?" He repeats. I can smell his breath from across room, smells like a salty piss-bucket.
I twist my face into a grimace and squint my remaining eye. Hopefully, he will recognize me and cool off.
"Do you know who I am, shithead." I say in my most intimidating voice. Its all about confidence when dealing with these kinds of people.
"Yeah, and I don't care either." He says puffing his bony chest out. "Yer man over thar owes me 46 caps and a deck of cards that he mouth-shatted all over."
"Wha…? Ima not goin at pashin shu fuggin…whurs mah gun…teachin shu how at…huh?…where imah at…"
I look down at the pile of filth at my feet and I search for a reason why Creeper is worth this trouble. Nothing springs to mind.
"Deal with it. Consider yourself lucky. Go sit down and shut up. I've killed scum like you for less." I tell him. Of course I am lying. I rarely get into fights that I can avoid. Not that I don't get rowdy every once in a while. I just prefer the odds to be more…favorable.
I reach for my trusty Raging Bull revolvers and I remember that they are empty. I can hear Beamer and Boxer loading the carts outside and consider shouting for help, but I realize that I would come off as a pussy if I did. Got to keep my image no matter what. Show any kind of softness and you lose all respect.
I pull one of my empty guns out of its worn holster and aim it at the mouthy thug hoping that they will back down. As soon as I do three more men walk in, two of them carrying rifles.
This could get ugly.
