Bullet With My Name On It
Benny slept uneasily. Perhaps he could chalk it up to the recent long walks through the Mojave with the Khans messing up his sleep schedule. But no. Something deeper occupied his mind. Something existential. Karmic. Yeah. Like some wrongdoing from his past was out to get him. Benny shrugged off the thought. Nothing booze can't fix, he mused as he rolled out of his bed and put on his trademarked checkered jacket. He felt the Platinum Chip in his jacket pocket. The oversized chip felt uncomfortable there, for some reason…
"Yeah, some booze is what I need…" Benny declared, before realizing that he was talking to himself. Was he the kind of person that talked to himself now? No, stress, he was just stressed. That was all. He looked at the shelves and and table in his room. No drinks to be seen. Scanning around further, he found there was nothing alcoholic anywhere in his room. Damn… he thought, I'll check the restaurant.
He made his way down to the Tops main floor. Walking to the elevator, he saw that the Casino's floor was almost empty. It must have been sometime after midnight, when only the most perseverant gamblers stuck around. His chairmen, who guarded the casino, outnumbered the place's customers. Lately, gamblers had been afraid of the upcoming battle and many shied away from New Vegas, preferring the more safe areas of the NCR. This meant less money coming in from gambling, and therefore less money to pay the guards and dealers. Benny made a mental note to take some of them off of payroll while walking. He found the restaurant.
"What's on your mind, Benny baby? You look like you've seen a ghost." The bartender greeted him as he sat down in front of him on a stool. Now, normally Benny didn't discuss anything personal to his underlings, but he felt different tonight. And besides, anybody who gave him free drinks (even though an employee) earned a certain level of trust from Benny.
"Pour me something strong and I'll tell you." Benny ordered. The bartender quickly complied, whipping up a Vodka and Sarsaparilla mix and placing it on the counter. Benny took a sip, decided that the drink disagreed with him in just the right way, and then took a second, bigger drink.
"Well, I recently went on a, uh, business trip, dig? And it went about as well as I could have expected. I secured an item that I consider essential to the chairmen's future enterprises and I'm almost sure that I tied up all loose ends. But still, I find something bugging me. Nagging me at the back of my head. Like someone's coming after me. That's why I can't sleep and that's why I'm sitting at your bar." Benny explained. He instantly regretted his words, thinking that he had said too much. He didn't like to talk about his feelings or mention any vulnerabilities, preferring to cast a suave, tough image. Benny knew that the bartender was a trustworthy guy and wouldn't say anything, but at the same time he made sure to check his words in the future.
The server of drinks paused for a bit, pondering his boss's words. A few times before he had listened to the man in the checkered suit wax about his problems, but nothing involving his feelings. He considered his advice carefully.
"Well boss, while there's a line between protecting yourself and paranoia and, you don't seem paranoid to me, if I may be so bold to say. Still, it wouldn't hurt to up your security. The strip's been unstable lately, anyway." Benny nodded, but grimaced. He didn't want to spend extra caps on hired guns. He wanted to make cuts. But maybe peace of mind was worth the sticker price. He would see about adding bodyguards in the morning. He thanked the bartender and headed back out to the main floor, deciding to observe the scant gambling from up the stairs.
A couple of gamblers sat at one of Benny's blackjack tables. Perhaps they could be a married couple, both of them wearing shabby gambling attire. Definitely NCR vacationers. Not many other types passed through the Tops doors. The man appeared to be down on his luck, Benny saw him lose a couple hands, and smiled. Suckers never seemed to know when to quit. And Benny had assigned one of his best dealers to that table. The gambler's wife seemed to be watching instead of playing. That was fine. Her husband was bringing in income for the Tops. Maybe Benny's mood was improving.
"Hey if it isn't King Benny! How's it going baby? Celebrating our 'ole 'business trip?'" Swank asked, strolling up behind Benny, who jumped at Swank's first word. "Woah there, easy now. I don't bite, unless I'm very drunk."
"I'm alright!" Benny defended himself quickly. "A bit jumpy, that's all." Swank didn't say anything else, opting to observe the big loser at the Blackjack table, who appeared to be decreasing in chips and increasing in anger. They watched in silence for a few minutes.
"Say, Swank…" Benny broke in, "you ever get a kind of ominous feeling?" Swank eyed him quizzically, and stated that he didn't really understand what Benny was getting at.
"Well, there's that old saying, dig, I think it goes something like 'Somewhere, everyone has a bullet with their name on it.'" Swank nodded, familiar with the phrase. Benny continued, "Well, it's supposed to be just a saying right?"
"Of course, baby, ain't nothing but some old saying." Swank agreed, simply wanting Benny to quit yapping. In Swank's mind, Chairmen weren't supposed to talk about their feelings, or hopes, dreams and fears. "What's gotten into you, anyways?" he inquired.
"I'm just nervous, that's all. I'll be fine." Benny replied, thinking about the Courier he had shot through the forehead a week earlier. He shuddered, and felt Maria, his 9mm at his side, to make sure it was still there. The gambler and his wife had lost all their chips, and the man angrily stormed out of the casino, followed by his wife who apologized to the doorman. Benny concluded that everywhere there was a loser, or someone who was plain unlucky. He thought that might justify killing the courier. But then again…
"I'm sorry I'm bothering you, Swank…" Benny began while Swank sighed inaudibly, "but I can't shake the feeling that somewhere out there, there really is a bullet with my name on it."
The following day…
A man strode towards the bench outside of the Gun Runner's shop. He moved like a shadow, like death himself. He wore a black, rounded desperado cowboy hat which covered up a scar on his forehead. The scare made a shape like a bullet hole, which drew a lot of stares and questions from passersby. This man was not the sociable type, and preferred to keep the scar covered. His duster wrapped around a bulletproof armored vest on his torso, and around the duster wrapped a bandolier. He looked so deadly and serious that venomous radscorpions were known to take one look at him and crawl the other way. The mystery man set to work at the bench.
With his fingerless gloves he withdrew a pouch that was tied around his waist. He withdrew the 9 milimeter case that he had searched the ground for at the Goodsprings cemetery a few days back, and set it down. Then he withdrew a bit of lead which, using the press on the bench, he shaped into a bullet with an opening at the back. Then he poured first some gunpowder into the opening, and then a primer. Before he placed the bullet in the case, he took out a small pocketknife and scratched a single word into the side of the bullet:
BENNY