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THIRTY-SEVEN
Atomic Wrangler
July 10th
11:41
Holy shit she'd slept almost 'til noon!
Watkins' side of the bed was empty, and no noise came from the bathroom. The initial headache from jumping awake slowly faded back to its familiar faint throbbing. Why had she jumped anyway? Sure, she'd overslept, but it wasn't like she had to go to school or anything. Realizing she had all the time in the world, she lay back down on the bed and closed her eyes for five more minutes, then took a shower, peed (holy shit she almost didn't feel anything anymore!), hitched herself into her heavy leather gear and headed down for breakfast.
Melissa was the only one still sitting at a table, slowly drinking a cup of coffee and staring intently at something on the tabletop.
"Hey Melissa."
"Mm? Oh, hey jillaroo."
The object she'd been staring at was the copy of the history of New Arroyo En had brought along and given to Meyers for his perusal. Oddly, she wasn't reading the book, just looking at the front. Or no, the back cover. Reading the synopsis, maybe?
"Whatcha doin'?"
Melissa's eyes stayed on the back cover. "Oh, just… lookin'."
Wait a second. She wasn't looking at the text on the cover, she was looking at the photo. Of course! "See anything you like?" En asked with a grin.
"More like 'love'." Melissa held up the book. "I assume this is your famous statue girl?"
Looking back at En was the old polaroid her father had retrieved from the lynched police chief's belongings. The statue girl was on it, smiling broadly, her eyes slightly squinted against the sun, the light catching her tousled black hair and reflecting in her pale blue eyes. Her at-the-time husband, the police chief, had been on it too, but after consulting the two remaining survivors of her old group, they'd opted to only put her on the cover, since it was, after all, her story first and foremost. "Yeppers, statue girl. Right there."
Melissa looked at the photo again. "Hey jill, would you mind if I came back to your town with you when this is over?"
The question took her by surprise, but it was a pleasant one. "Uh, what? Yeah, sure, of course not, it'd be awesome!"
"She should be around forty now, right? No matter. Girls like her, they stay gorgeous their whole lives anyway."
Oh, dear. Ohhh, dear. Looks like Melissa hadn't been listening when En told Sunny and Ringo about the statue girl. "Uh… Melissa?"
"Yeah?"
"The statue girl, she… well, she's been dead for almost twenty years."
En couldn't believe her eyes when she saw Melissa's face showing a bit of genuine hurt. "Figures."
"Uh, Melissa? It's just a picture, right?"
Melissa put the book down and took a sip from her coffee. "Yeah. Yeah, it is." She turned to En. "En, do you think it's possible to fall in love with a picture?"
En almost never heard Melissa address her by her first name, so she must have been conversing on a very personal level all of a sudden. "I… 've never had it happen, but I suppose it's not impossible. I thought you weren't the kind to fall in love?"
"Not with real people, no," Melissa admitted. "Because it's never real love, is it? There's always a selfish aspect, an urge you need fulfilled personally. It's not really love, it's… an arrangement. A need." She was silent for a moment, then said, "In a way, that's she's dead is a good thing."
En blinked. She hadn't pegged Melissa for a necrophile. "Excuse me?"
"There is only one kind of real love, and that's love for the truly unattainable."
Oh, like that. "I… guess?" It was a bit awkward to see butch, tough Melissa waxing all emotional. Well, as emotional as you could ever get if you were a double-bemohawked, tattooed, muscled biker bitch from Hell, anyway.
"It is. It's love that expects nothin' in return. Can I hold onto this for a while?"
"The book? Sure, I lent it to Meyers but if he's okay with it, why not."
"Ace, jillaroo."
"So where the Hell is everyone?"
Melissa slid the book in her pack and grinned. "Doin' what you should've been doin' at ten AM."
Ah, shit the passes. "Yeah, I uh… overslept." They should've just woken her up, so she didn't feel guilty at all.
With a shrug, Melissa said, "Means you needed it."
"So, you feeling better?"
"I always feel good," Melissa said with a cocky smile.
"You know what I mean. Did you get some rest?"
"Oh yeah, sure. Was doin' a small bodyguardin' job yesterday, made us some money. A hundred, not much, but it should let us sit at the tables a bit longer tonight."
That was good news. "Cool! But… Meyers said you'd been shacking up with a doctor at the Old Mormon Fort."
Indignant, Melissa let her mouth fall open. "He did? Ah, the old weasel. Well, it's arse. I was playin' bodyguard to the chick, nuthin' more."
"Nothing more?"
"Nuthin' more. I admit I've body-guarded uglier chicks in my life, but it was purely professional."
"Heh, alright."
Melissa looked back at the book. "Pay for my coffee, yeah?"
Oh, right, she had the caps. "Only if I can drink one too."
She ordered a new coffee for Melissa and one for herself, and brought them back to the table.
"So jill, if we end up in Vegas and you get the chance to do Benny over… what happens? You made a decision yet?"
En put the coffee to her lips, then winced from the heat and put it back down. It was a question she'd been thinking of for a while. "Not really, no. I mean, I'd like to say I'd stay calm and just tell him to answer me, but… I don't really know what I'd do. What would you do if you were in my place?" She realized it was a dumb question as soon as she asked it.
"I'm not the person you should be askin' this to," Melissa said evenly. "But if I was, I'd tell you to shoot the mongrel in the face."
That was… unexpected. "Wh at, shoot him in the face?"
"Yeah. I'm glad you didn't do it to me, but I deserved it. You know I realize that, so stop bashin' my ear about it." She had a point.
"Alright, sorry. I'm just saying, I don't know what I'll do yet."
Melissa got up, finishing her second coffee. "Well, you might wanna start thinkin' about it. We'll find him in Vegas. You know that."
She was right, it was time to start making a decision, but the thing was, she simply didn't know whether or not she'd be able to hold back. The bastard had shot a hole in her skull and condemned her to headaches and seizures for the rest of her life. And all for a tiny little object he already had. It had just been so arbitrary, so unnecessary. And even though she didn't want it, she felt anger and hatred welling up inside her simply by thinking about it. She closed her eyes and pushed the hate back down, the headache again lessening with it. Then she rose and went to drop the necessary caps on the counter.
"Hey, girl?" the bartender asked. It was the sister this morning.
"Mm?"
"Couldn't help but overhear you're going into Vegas, and that you've collected a few bounties. I got one more for you if you like?"
"Uh, sure, I guess?" Some more money couldn't hurt. This wasn't an official bounty licensed by the NCR military, though, so it might not be an actual murderer or criminal, and there was a thin line between bounty hunter and hitman.
She slid a polaroid over the counter. There was a middle-aged man wearing a fedora on it, with a brown-gray horseshoe moustache. His face was weathered and rugged, and he didn't look like a pushover. "Who is he and what's he done?"
"That," the bartender said, "is Caleb McCaffery. Supposed bounty hunter himself, but the last bounty he brought in walked into my god damn bar two days later. He's a cheat and a liar, and you don't mess with the Garret twins."
"So you want us to bring him back?"
"No," she said coldly. "I want you to shoot him in the dick and then in the face, and bring me that hat as proof." She tapped her finger on the polaroid photo. "Five hundred caps in it for you."
Five hundred was a lot of money, but killing someone over a business dispute? That was a little exaggerated, wasn't it? "You want him killed because he told you a lie?"
"Yes."
"Uh… we'll see." En had no intention of killing a man just because he'd been a bit dishonest. Still, not turning it down out of hand seemed like a more diplomatic solution than just telling her to stuff it. Look at that, she told herself, here's me being diplomatic.
With a shrug, the bartender took the photo back. "Well, no obligation. Just sayin' he's worth a lot of money if you see the sonovabitch."
"Yeah, yeah," Melissa said. "We'll keep it in mind, yeah?"
They headed outside, into the leaden midday sun, and saw four people and a dog coming towards them. One of them broke into a run, madly waving her arms and the booklets in them. "Ennie! Ennie! Look what we got?"
Watkins had run as fast as her well-formed legs could carry her, and she skidded to a stop in front of them. "Passes! Passes for Vegas, baby!"
"Jolly," Melissa remarked flatly.
"Here's yours, here's yours!" Watkins handed her a little bourgondy booklet. En folded it open, tearing the little paper seal on it and saw herself staring back at her, looking absolutely dreadful, dull eyes looking out from a stunned and numb-looking face. With a groan, she said, "Ugh, I look like a teenage boy pop star caught drunk and half asleep."
With a snooty little smile, Watkins said, "I don't look half-bad?" She folded open her own booklet and held it out to her proudly, and En had to admit, how ever grudgingly, that she looked beautiful, looking straight into the camera with an angelic smile, the contrast between her yellow hair and her tan skin coming out wonderfully. Stupid sexy Watkins.
"Here's yours, Melis-sa?" Watkins said, presenting Melissa with her own little booklet, handing it to her with a haughty flick of the wrist. Melissa didn't even fold it open, just stuck it in her jacket pocket.
"Aww, no fun?" Watkins complained. "Come on, show, show!"
"Go away, little ankle-biter," Melissa grunted.
"I'm not going anywhere! Show, show!"
Melissa rolled her eyes and fished out the little booklet. "Here, knock yourself out, yeah?"
"Ooooh, can I?" Watkins took the booklet back and tore it open. She stared at it for a second and then said. "Hm."
With another roll of her eyes, Melissa said, "Yeah, yeah, I'm an ugly bitch, I know."
"Actually," Watkins said. "Well, it's a really nice photo. Look." Without warning, she held the photo to Melissa's eyes who, after briefly pulling her head back, looked intently at the photo.
"You know what," Melissa muttered. "I don't look horrible."
"Not at all," Watkins said, and with a bounce, she added, "We're all really pretty people!"
The others had reached them now, and Sunny said, with a grin that could mean many things, "She rubbing her photo in your faces too, huh?"
"Incessantly."
"Come on, come on," Watkins chirped. "Let's see yours, Sunny! I bet you look totally hot?"
With an embarrassed grin, Sunny gave Watkins her pass. "You'll be disappointed, I'm afraid."
"Mm, yeah," Watkins said pensively. "You… certainly look much better in real life?"
"Better a horrible photo and a decent face than a decent photo and a horrible face," was all Sunny had to say to that. Whether it was a stab at someone or just an observation was impossible to tell.
"Now you, Ringo!" Watkins insisted, completely giddy. When Ringo produced his pass with a roll of his eyes and held it out to her, Watkins frowned and said, "Ugh, was it that much bother just to at least try to smile?"
Without a word, Ringo closed his pass again and put it in his pocket.
"Mine's pretty bland too," Meyers said before Watkins could ask, handing it to her.
"Hey, you look like a kind old grandpa," Watkins aww'ed. "It's totally adorable?"
That merited only a grunt from Meyers as he pocketed his pass.
"So," Watkins said, clapping. "Now that we have our passes…?"
There was no stopping her. And it seemed everyone else was waiting for permission too, all eyes on En. "Yeah. It's time, right?"
Leza squealed and bounced. "Vegas, baby, Vegas!"
"I can't deny I'm looking forward to some games of chance myself," Meyers joined her, though less exuberantly. "Let's go collect our things and hope these passes hold up under inspection."
It was a quick trip to and from the Wrangler, everyone had packed their bags already except En, who had to throw everything in her backpack under the impatient eye of Watkins, who was waiting in the doorway. Everyone was dressed in their casuals except En. Well, and Melissa, who only had one set of clothes anyway.
"Come onnnnn, Ennie!"
"Leza, stop being so nervous," En bit at her while she stuffed her sponge bag into her pack. "It's only one thirty, there's nothing to do yet."
"Excuse me?" Watkins blurted out. "There's, like, shows and stuff. Dance acts, and singers, and all kinds of awesomeness!"
En sighed. "The awesomeness will be there tomorrow too."
She felt Watkins' foot nudge her ass. "When did you become so boring?"
"Did you just lesbo-footsex me?"
"Tch," Watkins said, flicking her hair back. "You wish. Come on, let's go, let's go."
En sighed and shook her head. "Giddy as a school girl."
"Me? I was never giddy, even when I was a school girl."
"Would you have made it past the rats?"
"Mm?"
"Nothing. Anyway, I'm ready. I'm just gonna change into my c – "
"No, no," Watkins scolded. "No, you're not. We've been waiting too long. Come on, slowpoke?"
"I swear," En said as she threw her backpack over her shoulder, "One day your heart's gonna beat right out of your chest."
"Well at least that'll happen when I'm happy and excited, so I'll die feeling good?"
The others already stood waiting outside. Melissa was telling them about the bounty, though not very enthusiastically, and when En and Leza emerged, they all waited for the nod of approval.
"Okay, let's go."
Watkins gave a little chirp and they set off, through the broad, shattered streets of Freeside, past a building called School of Impersonation (well, School of I personation, since the 'm' had gone dark), and past a big walled structure which Melissa pointed out was the Old Mormon Fort. At the end of the broad street was a large rusted iron gate, with razorwire on it, and barbed wire spanning the lengths between the gate and the walls. In front of the gate stood two big robots, similar to Victor, but instead of two unwieldy grabbers they had only one, with an undersized gatling gun on the end of the other arm. The monitor set in the middle of their rusty old torsos displayed a cartoonish picture of a police officer's head, rather than that of a cowboy, like old Victor had had.
As they approached the gate, one of the Securitron bots rolled forward and said, in a metal robotic voice, "Present identification, please."
Swallowing unnoticeably (at least, she hoped), En handed her pass to the Securitron unit. God, how she hated robots. A small tube extended out of the machine's torso, and the robotic hand held En's pass in front of the tube. The red fan of a laser reader flashed across the pass, and the robot stood quietly, processing the data.
Then, suddenly, the gatling gun came up with a high-pitched bzzzt, and the robot intoned, "Pass read error. Remain stationary or deadly force will be utilized." En's stomach contracted into a ball. Oh fuck it was gonna detect that they were fake passports and that gun would open fire, every bullet taking a chunk of En's flesh away until she was nothing but a pair of legs with a bloody red stump on top, shredded organs hanging down her pants, standing upright for a few seconds before falling over with a wet splat.
"Commencing second attempt to read pass."
The red laser beams passed over the pass again. There was a moment of silence that lasted for a lifetime, and then the robot intoned, "Access granted. Welcome to Las Vegas. Please abide by all the rules and regulations within and enjoy yourselves safely."
En's breath forced itself out of her lungs with a loud wheeze. Holy shit she'd thought she was done for. The robot extended its grabbing claw to her, handing her the pass back. Then she realized: there'd been a black smear across the barcode, probably some oil or something that had got on her fingers when she hooked her tool belt around her waist. Dammit, she'd almost been shot to shreds because of a bit of oil.
"That… was close," Watkins breathed.
"Yeah. Uh… make sure your barcodes are clean. No uh, smears or anything." She slid her pass back into her pocket. "Man, I almost got turned into chunky salsa."
"You next, Leza," Sunny said, a goading look on her face.
Watkins held her pass between two fingers, looking more than a bit reluctant to hand it to the Securitron.
"Go on blondie," Melissa joined in. "Thought you were so eager to get in."
"Yyyeeeahhh…"
With a chuckle, En told her, "Leza. There was an oil smear on the barcode of my pass. Make sure it's clean and you'll be fine."
"Gah," Watkins gave in, pushing the pass out at the robot. "But if this thing shoots me, like, to pulp, I'm…" she had to think for a second, "gonna haunt each and every one of you and watch you masturbate!"
Despite Watkins' terror, the pass was cleared instantly, as were the ones of everyone else. Every single read pass was accompanied by the same boring bit of advice, to enjoy themselves safely. Whatever, stupid bots.
As the last pass, Meyers', was scanned, the gate rolled open with a deafening clanging, and they stepped into Las Vegas.