The guard on the bridge was loud, boisterous, and big. Even more concerning was the shotgun he had aimed in their direction. He managed to come off as nonthreatening, while still vigilant. "What are ya'll doing Primm?" he asked, noisily chewing on a piece of gecko jerky. Warren stepped forward, arms stuck out away from his body in a gentle posture."We're travelers, but we're here to gamble. Heard about the Vikki and Vance on the road, and figured we might as well try our luck."

The guard laughed. "Ain't no luck involved in those games boys, but I wish you the best. You gonna bring me back something nice when you're leavin?" the man asked, right before launching a wet spit projectile down over the bridge. Abe grimaced; the man was kind enough, but he needed a lesson in personal hygiene.

"We'll bring you some of our winnings," Warren smiled, and the guard laughed.

"Sounds like a plan. I'm Sheriff McBaine. I'll be here all night if you have any troubles. Have a good stay." And with that the sheriff waved the brothers in and turned away, the conversation done.

Abe and Warren entered Primm. A few people traveled up and down the streets, mostly going between the Vikki and Vance and the Bison Steve Hotel. "It's bigger than Goodsprings," Abe commented, observing the nightlife of the city, something that was nonexistent in Goodsprings.

"That's not sayin much," Warren grunted in reply, leading Abe towards the Bison Steve. "We're meeting my guy here. He'll tell us when and where the money is coming in, and then we'll grab it and go."

"And who exactly is your "guy"?" Abe questioned curiously. The brothers spent most of their time in Goodsprings in the fields farming or hitting on the few pretty girls they could find. There wasn't much time to find "guys", especially those who knew crime. Warren hesitated before explaining. "Well, it's Alejandro."

Abe looked at Warren, not comprehending until it hit him. "Alejandro?… Alejandro Chavez? You still talk to that dumb ass?"

Warren shrugged. "A little bit. He's really not that bad a guy." They entered the hotel, with Warren continuing his defense. "He's just gotten mixed up in a couple bad situations." Abe snorted and just shook his head. There was no point in getting in an argument with Warren once he had his mind set. You just had to let him think what he wanted to, and hope that it wouldn't get him into any trouble.

The hotel lobby was cheap, dingy, and dirty- pretty much exactly what one expected from any hotel or casino not in Vegas. Abe appreciated the fact that the receptionist was cute, but aside from that there was nothing positive to be taken from the Bison Steve.

Abe began to approach the receptionist, but Warren cut in front of him, stealing the opportunity. "Hey," he said, flashing a smile, "We're looking for a friend of ours, a Mr. Chavez. Short, little Hispanic guy. Do you know what room he's in?" Warren questioned in a warm tone.

The receptionist smiled in response. "Here, I'll check. Give me one second." She began typing on the terminal in front of her, giving Abe the perfect opportunity to peer down her shirt. She looked up from the terminal a moment later. "Mr. Chavez is in room 102- on the second floor."

More wastelanders searching for a place to stay were shuffling through the door, stealing the receptionist's attention took Abe by the arm, leading him into the hallway- once again grimy and disgusting, just like the receptionist area. Warren pointed towards an elevator jutting from the hall, and he turned in that direction. He reached the gate, pulling it open, and the doors slid open, giving a subtle 'ding' that at one point was probably much louder. "Ready to take a little ride?" he asked Abe.

His brother scoffed in response. "No way you're getting me on that thing, Warren," he said, "We go in there, we're never coming out- I can feel it."

Warren just shook his head in response, stepping in and pulling the gate shut behind him. "Have fun taking the stairs then." And with that the elevator began its ascent, leaving Abe standing out in the hallway, alone. He headed for the stairway - a dank, dimly lit crevice, nearly in as bad a condition as the elevator. The steps were chipped, stained with fluids that's origins Abe could only wonder about. He headed up, breathing out of his mouth to avoid the rotting stench that cloaked the stairwell. After what seemed like hours he found himself at a faintly glowing sign reading 'EXIT'. He stepped out onto the second floor, and found room 102 conveniently positioned right in front of him.

He knocked on the door, which was immediately opened by Warren. "I told you to come on the elevator," he smirked. Abe grunted in reply, shouldering past his brother and into the room. Chavez sat on the couch in the center of the room, making notes on a map. He looked much older than the last time Abe had seen him. His skin was drawn tight over his face, like there wasn't enough of it. His eyes were cold, with a certain ruthlessness behind them. As Warren took a seat on the couch next to Abe, Chavez began to speak.

"Alright," he rasped, "We need this to be quick- we get in, get the money, and are out before anyone knows what's going on." Warren nodded sternly, and Abe felt his heart begin to race. "Once we're out we're meeting at Jean Sky Diving. We'll split the money there, and go our separate ways. The guards are changing shifts in a couple minutes, so we should probably get down there."

Chavez and Warren stood, heading for the door. Abe waited a moment longer before following, hoping they wouldn't see the way his legs were shaking.