Chapter 2
It took a few hours for the ringing in Ramirez' ears to die down. They'd been running since the prison break and the sun was rising in the sky. They stopped and had breakfast, some cold Gecko Steak, seasoned with Jalapenos and water.
"Muchos gracias amigo!" Ramirez said.
McBain nodded dully.
"So why'd you break me out?"
"NCR wouldn't pay me. So I thought I'd screw them over a little bit."
Ramirez grinned.
"Screwing over the NCR. There's a lot of people who'd like to do that."
"Yeah." McBain said, looking off in the distance.
"Hey amigo, I got an idea. I saw this an old movie. These two guys, they're kinda like us, one's a crook, the other's a…. whatever! Anyway, they have this scam going where the other guy keeps bringing the crook in from town to town, he gets the money, and then when the crook's about to hang, he saves him and they make a run for it, and split the money 50-50. We should do that!"
McBain shook his head. "Wouldn't work. The town would radio it to everybody so we'd both get caught if we tried that."
"But you do want to screw the NCR right?"
McBain shrugged, avoiding Ramirez' gaze.
"You do want lots of money right?"
McBain rolled his eyes. "Who the hell doesn't?"
"Aren't you curious why the NCR was promising to pay you so much for me?"
"Because you were a ghoul porn star. Reason enough for me."
"Hey, if you think that's bad amigo, you should see Super Mutant Porn. They call them Bighorners for a reason!"
McBain shook his head and rolled his eyes.
"Look, amigo. It's because I found out where there's a ton of gold and pre-war loot, locked in an old vault."
McBain said nothing, but his skeptical frown said it all.
"NCR hired me and this prospector to find it. We had a map drawn up by some ex-Enclave guy on his deathbed who said he'd been there and seen it all for himself. He wanted his son to get it for himself, but his son turned it in to the NCR. What a puta!"
McBain's stoic skepticism remained.
"We were supposed to set out with a couple of NCR types disguised as caravaners. 'Cause this vault is in Cheyenne territory."
That caught McBain's attention.
"The night before we were supposed to meet the NCR types, this prospector tried to kill me. No big deal, I was gonna double cross him eventually. I couldn't bury the body so I high-tailed it from there. NCR started chasing me. Then you found me."
"Where's this map?" McBain asked.
"I burned it. I'd rather die than let NCR have it."
McBain laughed. "Pretty good story. But it ain't worth shit 'cause you don't have the map."
"I memorized it, amigo. I have a photographic memory, I'm good at remembering things."
McBain shook his head.
"You know what I was before the war? I was a stock broker. I worked long fucking hours, 14 hours a day, 6, 7 days a week, surrounded by numbers, formulas, insider info. I made money like you wouldn't fucking believe. I can still remember my first trade. Tuesday, October 15, 2071. 9:01 AM. Dumped 200 shares at $2.50 a pop of Westek, flipped it for 550 shares 95 cents a pop for RobCo and then 650 shares at $1.50 for RepConn. Five hours later they announced their merger. Two days later I dumped all those shares, net profit 5 million smackers. Boy, did I party that night! For my company I earned a net profit $534,337,219.23 in my six years there. Still not convinced?"
"No."
"Look, why else would NCR put such a huge bounty on me? I'm nobody. But they want all that gold and pre-war loot. Everyone's always looking for pre-war treasure. Especially the NCR, they're bleeding money and they're spreading like syphilis in a whorehouse. If they had real money, they would've paid you. They can't go in force 'cause its Cheyenne territory and it would attract attention. Indio and his forces would wipe the floor with them. So, they need a quiet way to go in."
Ramirez could tell it was working, McBain's skepticism was lessening.
"How are you supposed to get all this stuff out?"
"Pack-Brahmin's, we pose as caravaners in case any of the Cheyenne run into us."
"We split it 50-50?" McBain asked.
Ramirez smiled. "Si, amigo."
"How far is it?"
"Three days walking, tops."
McBain nodded.
"Alright, I'm in. But you so much as think about screwing me over, I'll bash your brains in."
"Hey, amigo! You saved my life! I'm very grateful! I wouldn't dream of it!"
"Good." McBain reached into his pocket and pulled out a map. "There's a village about 5 miles southeast. We'll grab a couple of Brahmins and start heading towards this vault."
"Excellent amigo! You won't regret this!"
A figure walked into the P-Mont police station, a cyberdog in his wake. Their presence alone caught everyone's attention. The figure wore combat armour similar to the one worn by NCR Rangers, but this was different, dark green, reinforced, a canteen attached to the belt holster, the helm was tinted red, an old world symbol on its side. He wore a rucksack, a strange combat knife buckled onto his belt and a sniper rifle, a variant of the common sniper rifle manufactured by the Gun Runners, only modified with a suppressor and some cosmetic touches. The figure walked to the desk sergeant and unhooked the mouthpiece but kept the helmet on; the face looked young but hard and unshaven.
"I'm here for the job."
"Have a seat." The sergeant eagerly said. He was young with a boyish, immature voice. He voice was grating, like he hadn't reached puberty yet.
The man sat down, the cyberdog kept an alert posture, not trusting the surrounding or its occupants.
The Sergeant looked at him, a strange, disbelieving smile on his face.
"It's you, isn't it?"
"No, it isn't." He replied, anger in his tone.
"You know, there's stories about you."
"They're all bullshit."
"Even the true ones?"
"Especially those."
"Nice gear. Where'd you get it?"
"None of your business."
"I almost wanna ask for your autograph." He chuckled nervously.
"Don't. What's the job?"
"You may have noticed a small hole in one of our holding cells?"
"It's about as small as Supermutant."
"We want you to catch two people. The prisoner and his accomplice. They escaped the night before last and were seen heading into the hills. The prisoner is Tuco Ramirez, here's the info we have on him." He handed the figure a brief with some documents.
"Nasty fellow, assuming this rap sheet is true."
"Of course it is. Why wouldn't it be? We want this one taken alive. His accomplice doesn't matter. Whatever's easier for you."
"What's the pay?"
"10,000 caps if you give us Ramirez alive. Half that if he's dead. The other one's worth a thousand, to cover the cost of fixing the wall."
"I'll need some of that up front. Actual caps, none of that note crap. You guys have screwed me over enough times that I've learned my lesson."
The sergeant frowned. "How have we screwed you over?"
The figure laughed bitterly.
"You don't want to go there."
"Okay… we'll give you 3,000 up front."
"Half or me and my friend here go, and you'll never see this Ramirez again."
"Fine." The sergeant sighed. He prepared a requisition form and gave it to one of his orderlies. The orderly went to the basement, into a sealed room. He prepared the caps, rolling them into paper rolls and placing those rolls into a medium sized container. After signing a few forms he brought the container to the front desk. The sergeant was continuing to stare oddly at the man sitting before him, engaging in futile attempts at a conversation. The man took the box and rose to his feet.
"Hey! You have to sign for that!"
"I ain't signin' nothin'" He started walking out.
"Wait! Can I at least get your name?" The sergeant whined, holding the unfilled release form in his hand.
He stopped at the threshold of the doorway. He waited for a few moments before turning to face the sergeant. Even though he couldn't see his eyes, the sergeant felt his withering stare.
"Name's Morden. Mr. Morden to you."
He walked away, but not before spitting on the poster celebrating the victory at the second battle of Hoover Dam.
