Chapter Seven – The Side Business

He guessed that he shouldn't have been surprised by the fact that she had left like that. He had not forgotten that he had done a similar thing to her and, not only this, but he had never trusted the broad, anyway. This was a bit of a stretch, of course – he had never so much trusted her as he had come to realize that she knew what she was talking about. She had all the connections that he had strived for so long to glean, and she was going to use them to her advantage, there was no mistake. She had already started to, really.

He folded the note and slipped it under the pillow, unsure of where else to put it, but … well. As he knotted his black tie, he wondered why he suddenly felt like he had no real idea of what he was going to do. He did not want to face up to the fact that she knew more about this, now, than he did, but as he stared over at the deck of cards strewn across the counter, he noted that this was certainly the case. His reason for this, or the best reason that he could come up with at any rate was that she had had the time to study the inner workings of New Vegas in a way that he had not. He finally knew the meaning of shooting oneself in the foot, and this was surely it.

Benny was no fool, and he was not quite so ignorant as he might have projected in the past. Sure, he might not have shot the woman in the head had he known that it would cause all of this, but he knew that it had caused it, and this was what was important. Then again, her delivery of the Chip might have sparked more than this. She might have still managed to become a celebrity, although he figured this would have had much more to do with the fact that a courier of her … well, of her nature had been hired than anything else. No doubt, she would have found a way to ensure she rose through the ranks and then could sit comfortably as the head of Vegas, and she would have done it without having been shot.

"Another broad can't stand your company, Benny?" He knew Swank wasn't being serious, but all the same, it bothered him, mainly because he did not fully understand her reason for leaving.

"Can it. Did you see where she was headed?" For some reason, he didn't like the slight grin that appeared on Swank's face at that moment. It suggested that he knew more than he should, or more than Benny really wanted to know. It was not as though he was concerned, of course. He was just curious, or so he liked to think. He didn't notice that he had sweat on his brow until it was too late.

"Now what would a cat like you want with knowing where a broad like that went?" Yes, he didn't like the grin on Swank's face at all. He thought he might simply have been looking for something to do, because he found himself shuffling the cards that lay on the counter, organizing them into a pack instead of leaving them there. He was giving off signs that were far too obvious, he knew, but he stood by the reasoning that he was not concerned for the woman's safety – the goddamn broad could do what she wanted, but it was what she had promised at the end of the note that interested him most. If nothing else, the prospect of this was more than enough to get him going, wanting to know where she had wandered off to. Broads like her did not simply go grocery shopping, although he severely doubted she had even meant that in the note. It was more likely that she was stumbling back to the Strip as the two of them spoke (however sparsely), barely able to carry all the ammo she had bought. But then why would they need it just yet?

"Nothing," He muttered eventually, making it more than clear that 'nothing' was a lie. "Just wondering when she'll come back. We've got business, you dig?" Still, that grin. He knew that his right hand man was teetering on the edge of saying something, wanted to let it slip. He'd enjoy it way too much. Benny noted how the two of them, he and Swank, were close cats, had each others backs in a way … but when it came to women, they always seemed to be at loggerheads. It didn't really surprise him. Each wanted their chance to grab at a particular beauty whenever one appeared, if only for status if nothing else. He couldn't say that every broad he'd taken up to his suite had engaged in the same activities; sometimes, it was just plain nice to be seen disappearing with a hot broad in tow.

"Yeah. That broad has quite the side business going," Benny raised an eyebrow, almost able to discern what Swank meant, but wanting the clarification all the same. "Not the highest roller, though. Lost more than she's made in this place."

"This side business ..."

"Not anything to worry about, Benny. Just, that white-blonde hair don't mean she's an angel, dig?" If this was all, then it was unfounded. He already knew that she was no angel, she had made that clear more than once. The blonde hair … it didn't suit her, but her eyes were dark. He didn't know what she lined them with, but if there was anything that made it clear she was more demonic than anything, it was this. Purposeful, no doubt.

"This just a way of getting my girl, Swank?"

"You ready to tell her that? That she's your girl?" He didn't like the threat in that. He knew it was a threat because, while he didn't claim to know the courier he had shot so well, she would object highly to being called 'his'. Swank seemed to know this, too, but it was much clearer why he did – he was the one who had spent the time with her. "Benny … pal," There was an edge to his voice even as he said this. "Do you even know the broad's name?" Like he would admit to not knowing. Swank, however, did not follow up his question, even as Benny remained silent – if he would not admit it himself, his silence said it all. "Just ask her about her little side business next time you see her, dig?" He didn't stay any longer. Benny found himself loosening his tie, always seemed to when he was nervous. How many times had he done it when in the company of the Khans? He couldn't even remember.

He glanced over at his pillow again, considered … well, she had said she would be at the Lucky 38, hadn't she? Maybe she had never even left the Strip. As crazy as this sounded, it was just about viable, and Benny wasn't the kind of cat to second guess an idea once it crossed his mind; it was probably this that had landed him in so many tough situations over the course of the past few months, but an idea was still an idea, and he was going to stand by it.

If there was one thing that his patrons made him all too conscious of as he crossed the casino, it was that there was business wear, and then there was his business wear. There were suits, and then there was his suit. He liked the idea that he could stand out so ostentatiously in a crowd, but it also led to awkward questions being asked in awkward places. Questions like 'where you splitting to now, boss?' and 'how many months you plan to be gone this time?', none of which he answered. He had come to recognize the thin line between respect and mockery, and he was starting to get the feeling that his employees mocked him more than they respected him; while House still called them 'families', there was nothing familial about his own relationship with those around him … the strangest part was, he suspected that they were the closest 'family' on the Strip.

The note was tucked tightly into his checkered pocket as he looked out towards the tower. The damn robot was still there, though he had always suspected this as it was. No matter, showing it the note would more than likely ensure he got in, or at least got answers … whether or not House had programmed it to shoot him on sight was another matter, but the Securitrons hadn't really reacted at all when they had passed through the gate. Ah, but of course. They had passed through the gate, not him on his own, and yet … here he was, still alive.

"How can I help ya, pardner?" Well, he was not dead yet. He snatched the folded note out of his pocket and held it up.

"I'm looking for the blonde broad – she left this for me this morning. Wouldn't happen to know where she headed, would you?" Maybe the pause signaled something, like the robot stopping to think about his answer. If the face ever changed from that cigarette-in-mouth, cheerful cowboy, he was sure that it would have looked thoughtful.

"As a matter of fact, I have. She was headed … that-a-way," One of his robot arms gestured towards the North gate. "Was with a couple of mighty fine looking fellas. Looked like they were making a deal of sorts, they were awfully close to her." Benny glanced around. Of course the robot wouldn't have been able to tell whether these men were friendly or not, seeing as how so many gamblers around were dressed the same way, and so many others were either in NCR uniform or so painfully obviously from farms and ranches. Something told him, however, that the broad had not been making a deal with those men; but then again, what if they had been mercenaries in disguise? What if she was plotting for them to assassinate him the moment they took Vegas? Not for the first time during the day, Benny noticed sweat upon his brow.

"You didn't happen to catch what those cats were jawing about, did you?"

"Cant say I did, pardner. They made tracks pretty damn fast, kinda like you did." Benny scowled and turned away without thanking the Securitron for his efforts. No help whatsoever, and he had not even made it inside the Lucky 38 – but if nobody else had seen her, then she must have been making a pretty good effort to keep everything under wraps. The problem was, none of it really seemed to make any sense; if she had been trying so hard to keep her operations private and disappeared so quickly, she would not have left him a note detailing where she was going to be. There was no way she could have intended for him to question Victor, because if his current idea was correct, then the robot had just led him closer to a solution, rather than deter him. He did not think she would do that. This only really left two possible theories, neither of which he was so sure of, yet. Either she was intending for him to follow her into a trap, or she had been taken against her will; and considering she had expressed how much she needed his help to take over Vegas, he did not think the former was quite so likely as the latter.

As he headed back to his own casino, he frowned and rubbed his forehead, trying to make sense of it. If she had been kidnapped, then she would probably be expecting him to repay the favor and help her out. If he helped her out, then he would probably end up dead … he did not really see any point in pretending that he was any good with firearms, as much as he needed to be when cornered, but he was a man of tailored suits and wing-tip shoes and martinis, now. He was not going to pretend that he was as skilled in combat as he had once been.

And then there had been the issue that Swank had raised, the reason he had actually been driven to head over there in the first place. He thought he knew already what the side business was; she bleached her hair without cause for it, sometimes made an effort to look alluring, and all this aside, he would not deny her the fact that her figure was what gave her the ability to pull men in by the collar and have her way with them, just like she had done to him the first time they had met. He had wondered, at first, how she had been able to afford her equipment but, from what Swank had said … whatever she gave, she demanded payment for. He didn't know why, but he didn't like the idea of this at all; he grew hot, irritated, perhaps he would have called it anger had he not been concerned with so many other things, though mainly questioning why he was getting jealous over a throwaway broad.

Hot damn. That was it, wasn't it? She had the caps, and she had gotten them … why was he feeling this all of a sudden? Surely, he didn't think that she was so closely involved with him that she belonged to him, that she was the only one. He supposed it was the power that had gone to his head; the acknowledgment that once he owned something, it could not belong to anyone else. The belief that, because she had involved herself with him, even after all that had passed between them, he was the only man she had ever been with, or would ever be with.

He slammed the glass down on the table at the thought of it. Usually, he was calculating about these kinds of things. Usually, he would simply sit and brood, but brooding was doing no good, most likely because he had simply been brooding over too much of it. He could not come to a clear-cut solution. He thought he knew what the most likely solution was, but in reality, anything could have happened. He knew that he had started the bartender, but ordered another martini, anyway – or, at least, what was his version of a martini, a pre-War name that, for some reason, stuck to him.

Still, she was bugging him, and there was very little else he could do about it, aside from downing his martinis, quickly as he liked. Soon, it would get around that something was up with the boss. He didn't care. He had more than enough to do, and besides, he was the boss, he authorized, or didn't authorize, everything as he saw fit; Benny noted how this had been his solution from the very beginning, power gave him authority, and authority always solved his problems. Well … almost always.