The feral and rangy cats which had taken up residence in the dried and unworking fountain outside the Bellagio had been temporarily displaced by the Trashcan Man's appearance. Within three or four days they were back; homeless and starving like everyone else, Lloyd supposed, they sought out any semblance of kindness or shelter. Julie and Whitney and some of the others had taken a particular shine to them, christening them and feeding them daily from cans, sometimes cat food, usually whatever was left over from their own meals. Lloyd himself tended to stay away from them, as he did with all animals; his track record with them was less than perfect. He stood in his room on the uppermost floor of the Grand and watched them wind their way around the fountain and the legs of the various people surrounding them. Desperate for affection and touch they were willing to come to anyone for a scratch behind the ears. It was harder to equate his own needs in that department with those of the cats.

He reached up and fingered the amulet which hung around his neck. His thumb found the rough groove in the center and he stroked it, over and over, as he stared at the blood spill of the setting sun to the west. None of the others had a flaw in their amulets. Flagg had found him first; he'd called to him first. He could claim he needed Trashy all he wanted but in the end it was Lloyd who—

His radio buzzed. Lloyd dropped the amulet and depressed the button at the top.

Lloyd. Through the static over the airwaves Flagg's voice sounded more animal than human, and more devil than animal. Could you come down to the dining area, please?

"Right there, boss," Lloyd said. But after he disconnected the call he took a moment to stand and watch the sun slip furtively below the mountains. A few weak lights came on as the sky took on a more lavender tint. Flagg had said within a month they'd have most of the electricity running again if everyone pulled their weight. Then he'd clapped Lloyd on the shoulder—his strange long hand searing hot through Lloyd's shirt and his jacket—and he'd said, and my man Lloyd here is going to make sure all of you do. Aren't you, Lloyd, and Lloyd had nodded, and not bothered biting back his smile when Flagg ruffled his hair. That was before Trashy—

The radio crackled again. Lloyd, you're not making me wait, are you?

"No, boss," Lloyd said, and hurried to tug on his shoes. The amulet hit his chest as he bent down and he stared at the red flaw. It was so close to the color of Flagg's eyes. Trashy didn't have this. Julie and Whitney and Bobby Terry didn't have this, Flagg's eyes on them all the time, in the shower, in bed while they slept… Just Lloyd. For once, he'd been singled out for reasons other than selfishness and ulterior motives. For once, he was special.

He checked to make sure his face was set in an appropriately neutral position. Then he headed downstairs.

The dining area was usually one of the most crowded sections of the hotel, especially at this hour, but tonight it was shockingly empty except for Flagg and—Trashy. As Lloyd exited the stairwell and approached the pool table where they both stood he had to force his face to remain in that neutral position from his room. Trashy was leaning against the table with his forearms on the felt and rolling a ball back and forth between his hands. Flagg was next to him standing with his hands on the wood surrounding the table and his ass against the side. His hat was lowered as usual over one eye in the manner of Carly Simon's vain lover and he was laughing at something Trashy was saying and Lloyd's chest was tight, tight— As he approached he called Flagg's name and the way Flagg turned and the expression on the visible half of his face was—

"Nice of you to finally join us, Lloyd," he said, and Trashy echoed:

"Nice of you to join us," and as Lloyd rounded the table and came to face them—Trashy turning halfway—he saw an amulet hanging down from his neck. An amulet which swung with Trashy's movements to reveal—

It was a little like being hit in the back of the head with a sledgehammer. Someone else Lloyd might have—might have—been able to understand more: Julie was gorgeous, and so was Jenny, and even Bobby Terry had a sort of… vaguely masculine appeal, Lloyd supposed, but—Trashy? The fucking Trashcan Man? He resembled nothing so much as ground Spam and he was eccentric bordering on insane and Lloyd didn't like him and hadn't liked him since he first appeared. He'd kept up appearances of tolerating him to set an example for the others but what the fuck could Trashy do that he, Lloyd, could not? Burn shit? Lloyd knew how to work a fucking lighter, too. He could strike a match across concrete, and fuck knew there was enough of that here. Hell, they were in the desert; probably all it would take was one lightning storm on the right piece of dry wood and the whole place would go up in flames. Is that what you want? he wanted to ask Flagg as they stood there the three of them facing off, Trashy smirking from beneath his scarred fucked face and Flagg staring with his eyes glowing beneath the shadows of his hat, twin cigarette ends. You want me to blow all this shit up? You want to displace all of us again—the ones that survive? Why would I care? Everyone I ever knew is dead in their cars and eaten by flies or rats or

(me)

whatever the fuck other creatures lived through the pandemic. The others might have people here they don't want to lose but I could blow all of them up and not care as long as—

"Nice necklace," Lloyd said, and he didn't bother keeping the bite out of his voice when he said it. The visible half of Flagg's mouth did something resembling amusement. Trashy narrowed his eyes at Lloyd over his own smile and Lloyd thought, cunt. He wished Trashy could hear him.

"Is that jealousy I hear, Lloyd?" Flagg asked.

Lloyd's face burned. "No," he lied.

Flagg pushed the brim of the hat up enough to where Lloyd could see one eyebrow, which was tilted at the corner. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Lloyd said.

Flagg leaned against the pool table with his hip. The way he was looking at Lloyd made it clear he knew he was lying. But he said only, "Good. We don't have time for all that anyway. I called you down here because I need a favor from you. Would you like to do me a favor, Lloyd?"

"Yes," Lloyd said. In his mind Trashy's words echoing: My life for you. My life for you. If Lloyd had said something like that, something sappy and slavering, would Flagg like him more? If he'd promised other than his unwavering loyalty and devotion, if he'd sworn other than his undying allegiance, said he was something besides worthy of the flawed stone because he was so good at following orders, and at following… if he'd said something more interesting than just, Mister, I'm awfully hungry… would Flagg have given Trashy the stone with the flaw too? Or would it only be Lloyd's? He was willing to go to the ends of the earth and Flagg knew that; he would never leave and he was better than everyone else, he was more loyal than anyone here, even Trashy, for all that Trashy could appear otherwise Lloyd knew crazy when he saw it, he knew unhinged, he knew Trashy was a fucking time-bomb set to go off at any—

"…the way," Flagg said, and it occurred to Lloyd with a start that Flagg had been speaking for some time, and Lloyd hadn't been listening. He shook his head; face still burning, he asked Flagg to repeat himself. This earned him another amused, nearly mocking look, but Flagg repeated his orders: he wanted Lloyd to show Trashy around, he wanted him to familiarize him with the outlay of New Vegas. It sounded too simple of an order but Lloyd didn't question it. He just nodded, and took Trashy out into the oncoming evening. The cats were setting up a brutal off-key symphony beside the fountain. Julie was cooing at her favorite and she looked over at Lloyd as he walked with Trashy through the steadily dimming street and smiled unpleasantly.

"Enjoying a walk, boys?" she asked, her tone implying she knew, somehow, all the raging burning thoughts in Lloyd's head. He ignored her and led Trashy through the city, showing him the outposts, the guard towers, the water sources… In the end they were back at the Grand, and Trashy said he knew where he was sleeping, so Lloyd—gratefully, resentfully—abandoned him at the entrance and headed up to his suite alone. He undressed except for the amulet and stepped into the bathroom. His hands were shaking; he smelled like ash, for some reason, he supposed from being in such close proximity to Trashy for so long. He stared at himself in the mirror, shock of thick blond hair, face still prison-thin and hollow, the amulet hanging over his chest. The flaw at the center was facing outwards and as Lloyd stared at it in the mirror it seemed almost to shift, to change shape—

He heard footsteps in the doorway and when he turned Flagg was standing there. He'd removed his hat and even in the dark Lloyd could see his eyes.

"You lied to me," Flagg said. Lloyd couldn't read his tone. His heart had picked up double-time.

"I wouldn't—"

"We're alone now, Lloyd," Flagg said, almost conversationally. "You don't have to keep doing it." He walked further into the bathroom and put his hand on Lloyd's bare shoulder. His skin was so hot it burned, but Lloyd didn't dare show discomfort. Most of him didn't want to. Flagg was touching him, looking only at him, at his mouth, at the amulet on his chest, the way it should be. Flagg's thumb skated across Lloyd's skin and Lloyd swallowed.

"You don't like that I gave Trash what I gave you," Flagg said. He wasn't asking, but Lloyd nodded anyway.

"Multiple assets are valuable in a society like this," Flagg said. "If I relied solely on you for all my needs I would be limiting myself and overstraining you." His hand slid upwards, over Lloyd's neck—his heart racing—and into his hair. "Trash has an affinity for fire. I need his skills in that area. I need you elsewhere. I need you in more places than I need him." He tilted his head. "When I found you in Phoenix I saw someone who I could depend on for everything. Someone I could trust to do my work for me while I went off and did other things. Unless I was wrong?"

"No," Lloyd whispered, so quietly that Flagg had to ask him to repeat it, and then he said,

"No what, Lloyd?"

"No, you weren't wrong," Lloyd said. Flagg's fingers were still in his hair, and his nails on his scalp; it felt fucking good, and Lloyd leaned into it, breathing out. He leaned into it like a cat, like the cats in the fountain, desperate for affection, missing their owners, pressing against the first warm body that showed them the slightest bit of attention, dangling treats and toys in front of their noses.

Flagg tilted his head the other way. As his voice on the radio, like this he was more animal than human. But the expression on his face was far from demonic. "Good boy," he said, and Lloyd closed his eyes, biting down on the inside of his mouth so he wouldn't let out the embarrassing noise he could feel welling up within him. Flagg's other hand moved up to his chest, catching up the amulet, stroking the flaw. Lloyd could feel the dual touches all the way down into his fucking toes. He'd been touch- and affection-starved for years, long before the pandemic. He'd always known deep inside himself he'd be very good at taking orders, that perhaps it was what he was born to do, and all he ever would do. Perhaps Flagg had sensed that, somehow. Perhaps as he wandered through the Arizona desert in the form of a wolf or a crow or even like this, strange and hook-nosed and sharp-jawed, he heard, or smelled, or felt, Lloyd's desperation, and his eagerness. He fed off it. He let it lead him to Lloyd. He would utilize it and use it up because he knew, as well as Lloyd did, that he wasn't going anywhere. Flagg could give Trashy the amulet with the flaw and he could give him jobs and Lloyd would get jealous and hurt but he wouldn't go anywhere. It wasn't in his nature any more than it was in Trashy's nature to douse fires. He was only here to do his master's bidding. Flagg owned him. That was fine. Flagg could displace Lloyd in the Bellagio fountain, but Lloyd would return to curl up at his feet and beg for praise.

He thought he felt lips brush his forehead as the long, overheated fingers left first the amulet, and then his scalp. But by the time Lloyd was able to open his eyes, Flagg had vanished. The only sign left that he'd been there at all the faint indentations of boot heels in the thick carpet.