Many people think that the Wasteland has only four caravan traders but there's actually five.
Thievin' Tim came into Moriarty's last night. He's the thievingist fucker I ever met in my life. I once saw him steal someone's sense of youthful optimism, and there aren't too many who can do that.
Some years back I worked as his bodyguard after he'd had a bad accident and spilled a load of hot plasma on his face by having his face held in the hot plasma because of some money he owed to Moriarty. I used to offer him protection until I learnt my own lesson about his thieving ways. Its easy to forget, as a gainfully self-employed gadabout, what a vast range of people you meet.
Last night Jericho had to go away and see his eight year old son up north in The Pitt. There was some kind of issue, he'd been hanging around the wrong kind of people and a .38 pistol had been found on him. Jericho had to go up and sort it out. 'No son of mine is going to be messing around with guns...well, not while there are perfectly good plasma rifles available'.
Thievin' Tim came up to the bar.
"Hows it going 101?"
"Fine Thievin' Tim, how are you?"
"Ah sure, you know. Ignorance is bliss and all that."
"Get your hands where I can see them, you filthy fucker."
"Hahaha, fool me once, eh 101?"
"Just get away from me. You could will the wallet out of a trader's back pocket."
"Is Moriarty around?"
"He's around."
"Ah good, it was booze I wanted to talk to him about."
So we shot the breeze for a while. I kept all valuables as close to me as possible. I even made sure I didn't think about anything bad because that fucker could steal your thoughts. Moriarty came back then.
"Moriarty", said Thievin' Tim, "I may have just what you're looking for."
"Three-Dog's heart on a stick?"
"No. Booze. A few bottles came my way recently and I thought you might be interested."
"I may well be. I'll take the whiskey."
"Sorry Moriarty, I sold the whiskey to Joe Porter in Canterbury Commons."
"Fuck ya. Give me the vodka then. It's a bit fruity but I can usually fool my customers into drinking it at some stage."
"No can do. The vodka went to Belle Bonny in Rivet City."
"Then what the fuck have you got?", asked Moriarty.
"Banana liquor. All yours. Great price too."
"Banana liquor", said Moriarty.
"Yeah", said Thievin' Tim.
"Why would come in here and sell me banana liquor? Do you think I serve the residents of Tenpenny Tower?"
"No Moriarty. I just thought-"
"Do you think I'm a resident of Tenpenny Tower?"
"No, honestly. It was just that-"
"Because who drinks banana liquor, Tim?"
"I – er – uhm..."
"Who drinks banana liquor?"
"Tenpenny residents, Moriarty. Tenpenny residents drink banana liquor."
"And you think I would let banana liquor drinkers in my bar, because there's no other reason you would try and sell me banana liquor. You must think I've got a market for it and if I let banana liquor drinkers in here than that makes me a banana liquor drinker. That's why I'm asking why would you come in here and try and sell me banana liquor."
"I...I'm sorry Moriarty."
"Hold him there, 101."
"Now wait, 101. Let go. Come on, please. Let go. Please let me go. Let me go, let me go."
"Good man, 101."
"Not the cellar, Moriarty. God. Jesus. Not the cellar."
So Moriarty took Thievin Tim down to the cellar and nobody has ever seen him since. And that's the tale of the fifth Wasteland caravan trader.
