The third Billy Creel hears of the wanderer is from Gob.
"She's civil," says the ghoul, his voice all gravel and stones. He's toweling off a beer mug, the glass chipped and clouded with age. "No screeching or hitting or shouting like the rest of you smoothskins."
Billy scowls. "I never treated you bad."
"You never treated me good, either," Gob rasps.
Billy lowers his good eye to the stained wood counter and stares into the shot of scotch between his palms. A rare allowance, the liquid is cool and clear and the smell makes his mouth water. Licking his lips, he brings it to his mouth and tilts back. The bite is fresh on his wet tongue.
"So, she go up and talk to Moriarty?" he asks, savoring the swallow.
Gob's expression sours, the cracked flesh on his cheeks splitting. "What's it to you, Creel?"
"I'm just curious is all," he replies. "Can't deny a man that. Been a while since someone from a vault stayed here, you know."
"A few days ago, you mean," says Gob.
"He left only a few hours after he got here. She seems intent on sticking around, though. It's interesting."
The ghoul makes a congested snorting noise. "A lot of people are 'interesting'."
Billy shrugs. "If you say so."
As Gob slides him a cola down the counter, Billy catches movement from the corner of his eye. Peering over his shoulder in the dim smoky light, he sees Burke move past the bar, dress shoes scuffing the splintered floorboards. A cynical smirk curls the businessman's lips as he tips his pre-war styled hat in their direction, exiting the saloon without a word.
He glances to Gob, asking silently what that had been about. The ghoul only shakes his head in reply, decaying teeth settling stubbornly on his split lower lip.
Billy pops open the cola with his thumb and pockets the cap. Bottle to his lips, a bad feeling begins to nest and writhe behind his ribs.