Chapter 4 - Minnie the Moocher's Wedding Day

The Lone, fuckin' Wanderer.

I had won the lottery. The kid had racked up a respectable bounty of twenty thousand caps, and he was sittin' right in my camp, wearin' a slave collar. After nearly two decades in this goddamn business, I could finally sit pretty in Tenpenny Tower, with all the booze and whores caps could buy!

Even better, I'd be a legend. The one that bagged the Messiah himself. Nobody would dare fuck with me again. Maybe Jabsco would even let me a body part to frame over the fire.

"Sergeant?" Johnson - one of my mercs - interrupted.

"What is it?!"

"The, uh, prisoner wants to talk to you."

I froze. That was the last thing I expected to hear. What was he plannin'?

"He mentioned something about slave collars." Johnson said.

"What about them?" I asked slowly.

He winced. "The self-destruct code."

I could kiss all those whores and booze goodbye if he died. He was bluffing of course, but I couldn't risk it. Whoever put the hit on the kid wanted him alive for some reason, probably so he could kill him himself.

I sighed. "We need him alive."

With my two biggest mercs in tow, I entered the Lone Wanderer's tent. He was sittin' Indian style on the ground, with both hands tied and head still very much intact.

I lit myself a cigarette. "Well, well, well. Word is ya know somethin' about slave collars. Thinkin' about offin' yaself already?" My mercs laughed and I took a well-earned drag.

The Lone Wanderer stood bolt upright, and with one puff, blew out my cigarette.

"What the hell was…"

"Smoking is bad for you, you know?" he interrupted quickly. "I just saved your life. How about you let me go and we call it even?"

The slower merc gave a faint laugh.

I relit my cigarette. "Listen! You've got until the count of…"

It was knocked out of my mouth by a boney fist to the jaw. "Or what, bitch? You think I didn't hear you one tent away?"

My mercs raised their guns defensively.

I called them off and once again relit my cigarette. "What is it ya want?"

"Well, now that we're being civil," he began condescendingly, "I want to know where you got this from." He held out a pulse grenade.

My mercs raised their guns again.

"Where'd ya get that!" I demanded.

"Mail order catalogue. Your turn."

I froze for a moment, weighin' my options, before rememberin' that I didn't owe him anythin'. Sure, he was the Lone Wanderer, but he was still wearin' a slave collar.

"Kid, ya've got balls of steel." I said, taking a drag, "But ya'll have to do better than that."

We locked eyes. For the first time, I noticed that they were mismatched. In those shitty posters, they were always light blue. Still, they were just the same as they were in the poster: Absolutely impenetrable.

He had an iron will, and had killed better mercs than me before, but all it took was one glance to his neck to assure myself that he was harmless. I socked him right in the gut. My mercs burst into laughter at the fallen messiah.

"See, boys?!" I boasted, "He's nothin'!" I gave him a swift kick to the chest as he struggled on the ground.

Johnson burst through the tent door. "Sarge! There's a…"

There was a bloodred flash, and I was coughing up the dust that was Johnson's head.

I was struggling with my chinese assault rifle when a merc screamed out in pain behind me. I spun around to meet the Lone Wanderer, who was holding a combat knife to my throat.

"Let's talk this out, kid." I said, as three more laser shots were fired.

Wordlessly, he drew a key from my pocket, removed his collar, and threw me against the tent wall.

"What's your name?" he growled.