Chapter 20
Trippin' Through the Trials
"I don't know where the hell Arcade got off to…"
Sandra and Niner were several beers in now, both of them joking around as their minds and mannerisms began to loosen up. Neither of them had seen hide nor hair of Arcade for a long while now—so, they stood and headed out of the dining area, making fun of the White Gloves' creepy masks in hushed voices and snickering childishly as they did.
After a bit of searching, the two tipsy friends wandered up to the counter where Mortimer stood.
"Oy, buddy," Niner barked, slapping the countertop. "We're lookin' for someone."
Mortimer slowly lowered his clipboard, releasing a heavy sigh. "What else is new…"
"What?" Niner rounded on him. "You cockin' an attitude with me? D'you know who I am? I'm Major Tom Young, motherfucker!"
Sandra laughed and waved him down, straightening up and facing Mortimer properly.
"Sorry… a friend of ours got separated from us," she explained. "Followers doctor, glasses, blonde hair, green eyes… you seen anyone like that?"
Mortimer gave her a blank look, then a nod. "Why, yes, I have. I'm afraid he isn't here now."
Sandra and Niner traded eyes.
"Whaddoya mean, he isn't here?" Niner asked.
"I mean just that. He left the UltraLuxe," Mortimer lied masterfully. "It seems he was searching for you as well. But, when he wasn't able to find you, he chose to leave the casino. His own words."
Sandra and Niner swapped faces again.
"Doesn't sound like him," Niner surmised, squinting at Mortimer.
"No. It doesn't," Sandra uttered.
Mortimer merely stared at them, offering a dismissive shrug. "That's all I know. Now, please… if there's anything else we can do for you, do let us know."
"Well… we could stay the night," Sandra mumbled to Niner. "Poke around while we're here…"
Niner nodded, pulled out his chained wallet, and dumped several pressed-together bottlecaps onto the counter, making them break apart from one another and sending them scattering about. Mortimer stared down at them, then gave Niner a vacant look.
"Big suite, two beds, no waiting," Niner smirked with a salute. "Chop chop, worker boy."
Mortimer narrowed his eyes, then sighed disdainfully, bending down and collecting each cap before sliding a card out to them.
"This is our only free room at the moment," Mortimer disclosed. "Enjoy your stay."
"Thank ya' kindly," Niner said, taking the card and sauntering off with an odd sense of importance. Sandra swallowed a snicker as she followed.
Once the two of them were out of earshot, they spoke.
"You act like the king of Vegas when you're wearing your good duds, you know that?" Sandra chuckled. "Totally changes your whole personality."
Niner flashed a smug smile and proudly flicked his collar. "Ye'ap. I'm what's known as man-pretty, Six. Babes swarm all over me and blokes see somethin' important in me. I can't explain it. It's a gift is what it is…"
Sandra choked out a laugh. "Man-pretty?"
"Yup yup. And lemme tell ya' somethin' else—if I swung the same way as our doctor man, our little group would be a whole lot more disgusting," Niner cackled. "'Cause that motherfucker's man-pretty, too."
Sandra gaped at him. "Dude. Are you telling me you'd bone Arc—"
"No," Niner yelled quickly. "I'm sayin' if I swung that way, I would."
Sandra nodded. "Okay… no… that's still weird."
"Why's it weird? You got a problem with gay dudes?"
"No… I have a problem with you saying Arcade is like a brother to you, then turning around and saying you'd—"
"Aaaah, man, stop it. You ruined it. You ruined it, Six."
Sandra giggled as the two of them headed back to the dining area.
They both fell silent once they walked inside, seeing a young man at the front counter, carrying on a heated conversation with the woman behind the register. Sandra and Niner glimpsed at one another, stopping and eavesdropping on their argument.
"I don't know what kinda misunderstanding would make that happen," the young man growled, thumping his fist to the counter so hard, his cowboy hat went crooked.
"And I'm afraid I don't know what you're referring to," the woman—Majorie—replied curtly.
"Are you kiddin' me?" the young man—Ted Gunderson—snapped at her challengingly. "I was just locked in a damn deep freezer for hours—your creepy-ass ghost-faced employees shoved me in there and left me to freeze! Then they let me go and say it was a misunderstanding? That's bullshit! My daddy's gonna raise hell up in here! Mark my words!"
Majorie swiped her wavy brunet hairs aside, giving Ted a displeased stare. "For the last time, young man… I have no idea what you're talking about. Period. Now, if you'd like some form of compensation, I'd be delighted to offer you a free night's stay—do visit the hot springs, if you get the chance. It works wonders to alleviate tension."
Ted gaped at her in angry astonishment. "Are you deaf? Do you not hear what I'm sayin' to you?! Your little goons are snatching people outta their casino and locking 'em up in freezers!"
Majorie glared at him silently, a few of the nearby customers turning their heads and staring at the argument interestingly. Sandra and Niner exchanged thoughtful looks as they continued to listen.
"Why're you locking people up? Huh?" Ted spat, leaning on the counter and fuming at her. "Why do y'all shove people in them freezers? I was locked up with all kinda meats, and fruits, and whatnot—why is that? What, were you plannin' on eating me or something?! Is that what you do? You eat people?"
Majorie glimpsed around at all the people staring, wearing a deeply-etched frown. Then, she slowly leaned forward, lowering her voice to a serious hiss.
"We remain the pinnacle of courtesy even under scrutiny of the wickedest accusations," Majorie grumbled. "And we, of the White Glove Society, have never—and will never—eat human flesh. It's written in the charter, for Heaven's sake."
"Why in the hell's that written in your charter?!" Ted hollered, not bothering to lower his own tone. "Why do you gotta make a specific rule about eating people?! Unless some of your people like to go cannibal."
"That's enough," Majorie snarled through gritted teeth. "You're making a scene. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave. Now go, before I call security."
Ted scoffed and tossed his hands up. "Oh yeah—yeah, fine, I'll go. I'll go have a talk with my father—and I'll make damn sure you're all starved out."
At that, Ted stormed away, marching between Sandra and Niner and bashing the double-doors open. Several people stared after him as he departed the dining area, Majorie sighing and shaking her head.
"Well that was cheerful," Niner murmured, making Sandra snicker. "Oy, lady—whaddid you say about some hot springs? You lot have a hot tub in here or something?"
Majorie massaged her temples, giving Niner a nod. "It's an indoor pool, complete with hot tubs on the left side, steam rooms on the right. Just down the way, there… through the opposite doors."
"Sweeet," Niner grinned, he and Sandra heading off to the swimming area hastily.
After crossing the dining area and entering the next wing—a humongous room of blue and white tiles, an elongated in-ground pool, and several rooms along either side—Niner beamed as he peeled his outfit off, eager to swim. Sandra stood by, staring down at the water and pondering on everything they overheard.
"You really think that guy was locked up in a deep freeze?" she mumbled.
"I'unno," Niner shrugged, stripping to his boxers. "I've made up crazier shit for attention."
Before she could answer, Niner darted forward and dove into the pool with a loud splash. Sandra sighed and sat at the water's edge, merely watching as Niner swam around.
Their earlier conversation still lingered on her mind—Niner's deceased brother, Sandra's long lost father, and the strange familiarity that Arcade brought to both of them. The longer she pondered on it, the more she found herself thinking of their night in the Novac motel—that single, blissful night of mental adventure and chem abuse. She couldn't know for sure exactly what she experienced that night, but she did remember feeling one certainty.
During that night, she felt wholly reassured that she remembered everything she'd forgotten about her past.
By the time she awoke the next day, the memories were gone once again—but for a single serene night, Sandra remembered feeling entirely at ease as she thought of the faces of her past, recalling them all clear as day, images that refused to revisit her now.
As Niner swam underwater, Sandra's eyes drifted over to his satchel.
Then, she smirked, splashing at the water and grasping his attention.
"Hey—you got the stuff for another Denver Triple-Dog?" Sandra asked him.
Niner perked up, his eyes sparkling with a sudden excitement. "Really? I thought you wanted me to lay off that stuff."
"Yeah, I do… but it's just for tonight," Sandra replied honestly. "It's just an experiment I wanna try out."
"What for?"
"Well… last time we did that, I ended up remembering a lot of stuff, then forgetting it all the next day."
"Okay… but… if you remember it again, ain't you just gonna forget it again?"
Sandra smiled and tapped her pip-boy. "Not if I record it."
Niner returned her smile and climbed out of the water, shaking his hairs like a dog before seating himself beside her.
"Man, I'm hungry," he grumbled as he dug through his bag. "Ain't eaten for shit all day…"
"Me neither," Sandra uttered, turning and eyeing the steam room just behind them. "Hey, maybe that'll make it easier. No eating, big trip, steam room… we got everything we need to induce a rag-tag spirit quest."
"Wha's a spirit quest?"
"Ah, it's this thing I did in Utah… take drugs, kill a bear."
"What?"
"Don't worry about it. You got all the stuff?"
"Yeah, man, I got it. Let's go."
Niner grabbed his belongings, he and Sandra heading into the steam room. They walked across the empty rounded room inside, seeking the more private area beyond it, a smaller section that was rectangular, with a single elongated bench inside. The moment they walked in, the steam fogged both of their sunglasses; Sandra and Niner shed their glasses, Sandra's hat, and her black leather jacket, both of them wearing little clothes as they sat in the steamy, isolated room. Once they were alone and out of sight, Niner peeked out the door cautiously before pulling all the necessary chems from his bag. Sandra turned on her pip-boy's radio—lowering the volume so it wouldn't overpower her recording—and Niner placed a jet inhaler in her hand. As the music played, they both smirked, met eyes, and began.
They inhaled their jet, goosebumps shooting up and down them as a rush of static-like euphoria coursed through them. Next came the steady, which worked to lull the more drastic side-effects of the jet—and at last came the psycho, priming their minds and making both of their hearts pound.
It wasn't long before the steam felt to be consuming them both, heat encasing them from every direction as every thought, stress, worry and wonder melted out of them all at once. And as their minds went blank and as they lost themselves amidst a thick fog, the misty clouds around them soon began to distort, fading wonderful colors as Sandra's eyes drifted closed.
Once more, the worries of Vegas and the anxieties of her plans all vanished in one fell swoop—and Sandra could no longer tell reality from fantasy, touch from delusion, or thought from fact. The deeper the illusion became, the more she surrendered to it, allowing it to dominate her entirely and praying it would show her whatever she most needed to see.
Her mind wandering far from reality, the delusion soon took her in full.
The dreary wasteland of the Capital flashed through her thoughts—then came the steely walls of the vault, sprinting up and down the halls without a care in the world, chasing Amata's bouncy ball and pitching a hard toy at Butch when he stole it. Time ricocheted to fast-forward—jolting past Sandra's nights lying in bed, her father smiling calmly and reading her bedtime stories…
"Vault," Sandra murmured mindlessly. "Dad… Amata… Butch…"
Instantly—she stood front and center before the shed in Andale, wearing her merc adventurer armor and smiling brilliantly. It was only after she ventured inside did she discover the horrid secret of Andale—the shed filled with human remains, freezers stacked with human meats packed and wrapped neatly inside. She felt it all over again, running from the cannibal townspeople—diving forward just when Charon's ghoulish voice penetrated the atmosphere.
"What's a matter, ah? Can't stand the sight of your own blood?!"
The details whizzed past her recollection—but moments after the cannibals were dead, Sandra found herself crying, clinging onto Charon and sobbing faintly into the front of his leather-armored chest. His arm wrapped around her, a raspy sigh escaping him. It wasn't long after when Sandra, Charon, and Bryan wandered over the bridge leading out of Andale, dropping all the human meat over the edge into the water before departing the area forever.
"They… eat… people," Sandra groaned. "Andale… Charon… Bryan… Charon…"
Memories of Andale seemed oddly persistent in her mind—even the moment she and her friends first arrived in the town, seeing a lot of friendly neighbors grilling burgers outside. Sandra gleefully took a burger, taking a huge bite despite Charon's warning not to.
Then—time leaped around yet again, launching her into the frantic urgency of the Enclave's invasion of Project Purity, a thick glass wall separating her from her father. He hit the glass, ordering her to run as the radiation took its toll on him, making him fall dead to the floor, Sandra helpless to save him… rushing through, crawling through places and sprinting down halls, killing every Enclave soldier on sight alongside her companions, her mind a white hot rage and her body moving of its own volition…
She didn't come to until they stood outside of the Citadel—Charon clasping her arms and giving her a violent shake, ordering her to snap out of it, milky blue eyes and reddened ghoulish visage…
"Charon…"
Sandra blinked several times at the person hovering over her, and slowly, the delusion dissipated as the steam began to part. Suddenly, the steam room came back into full view, and a man with a dark suit and a caramel complexion stood over her now, staring down at her strangely.
As reality returned to her, Sandra sat upright, hunched in the corner and glimpsing over at Niner, who was seated beside her and eyeing the stranger. Both of them stared up at the stranger dazedly, awaiting an explanation.
"Who're you?" the stranger asked.
Sandra squinted at him. "You first."
"Name's Chauncey," the stranger informed. "I'm supposed to meet the investigator here."
Sandra tiredly raised her brows, instantly thinking of the argument she'd overheard. Perhaps this had something to do with whatever shady business was going on in the UltraLuxe.
So, she smirked confidently and straightened up. "Yeah, he sent me instead. He figured I'd draw less attention, since I'm not an investigator… or even a regular here."
Chauncey sighed stressfully, sitting beside her and massaging his temples. "Okay, well… we need to get this done quickly. First of all, I do know what happened to the missing bride. I had to distract her husband while Mortimer and his goons made off with her. I'm not proud of it, but I had to. Mortimer could see that I was having second thoughts…"
Sandra stared at him, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by all this random information. She and Niner glanced at one another.
"So the White Glove Society is snatching people out of their casino," Sandra determined. "Why're they doing that?"
"Well… it's not all of us, only a select few elites on-par with Mortimer," Chauncey stated. "The White Glove Society doesn't eat people, but… we weren't always the White Glove Society. Before we ever had this sweet setup, there was… there was a much darker time. Mortimer and a few of his closest wanna regress back to the old ways… so, he plans to cook one big dinner out of his next captive, serve it to everyone at the elite's dinner table, and reveal the truth after everyone's already eaten. In his mind, this will persuade all of them…"
Niner perked up, suddenly looking urgent. He slapped Sandra's arm and whispered to her.
"Oy—how long have we been passed out in here?" he whisper-yelled. "Where's the doc?"
Sandra said nothing, her expression stony and her heart beginning to sink.
Instantly—her hand shot out, coiling around Chauncey's collar and giving him a hard jerk.
"Who do they have now?" Sandra demanded, leaning closer and baring her teeth like a predator about to pounce. "Who's on the pallet now?!"
"W—well—it was Ted Gunderson," Chauncey stammered. "But I saw him in the dining hall a while ago, which means Mortimer decided to release him. That can only mean they found a replacement—"
"Who's the replacement?" Sandra growled impatiently.
"I really don't know," Chauncey stuttered. "I swear, I don't. Mortimer doesn't trust me. He won't keep me in the loop anym—"
Chauncey's head jerked to the side—his eyes rolling back as a bullet penetrated his skull from the side.
Sandra gasped sharply and leaped to her feet, backing away and dragging Niner with her. The two of them huddled in the far corner across from Chauncey's crooked corpse, Sandra frantically groping around for her hidden handgun—
"Hey!"
Niner reached in between her breasts without warning—whipping out her pistol and cocking it back. A man emerged in the doorway holding a silenced 22 pistol—and Niner opened fire immediately, killing the man in seconds. They both froze as they watched the assassin crumble to the moistened floor.
Sandra stood lopsidedly against the wall, covering her chest as her head spun with shock, the steamy clouds of fog seeming to change and morph all around her. She began to suspect that she wasn't entirely sober just yet… but Niner, on the other hand, had the tolerance of a bull elephant. He spun the pistol around effortlessly before placing it firmly in her palm.
"Y… yeah… okay," Sandra panted. "Little warning next time…"
Niner smirked and cocked his head. "Well, if I could smuggle guns in my boobies, I would—but you're the only one with a rack to pack, Six."
Sandra barely heard him, inching forward and surveying the two fresh corpses before her. First, she closed the door, then bent down and began searching both bodies—finding a mask and a key on Chauncey's person, collecting the silenced 22 and a few loose bullets from the assassin. Once she was done, she handed the gun and bullets over to Niner, strapping the creepish white mask around her neck and letting it dangle around her throat.
"What the hell're you doing?" Niner asked.
"We need to go find this deep freeze," Sandra replied, stuffing her pistol beneath her breasts again. "I don't know if they took Arcade or not—but whoever they took is gonna end up being dinner soon if we don't find 'em first."
"Oh, no, wait a sec—lemme do it," Niner urged, waving for her to hand over the mask. "I wanna be the White Glove. Lemme do it!"
Sandra stopped and stared at him. "Why?"
Niner scoffed and shot her a caustic look, grabbing his feathered fedora from the bench and holding it upright. He tipped the hat and imitated a formal sort of bow. "Hellooo? Major Tom Young, atcher service Madame!"
Sandra gave him a thoughtful look. "Well, you got the broken British accent going on… that does sound fancy."
"And you could pass as my trophy wife," Niner grinned. "Nobody's gonna question a big shot walkin' around with a hot piece'a ass on his arm."
"Okay…"
"We're gonna hafta change, though. I love our fancy duds, but we gotta get some White-Glove-lookin' clothes."
"We have a keycard for the suites," Sandra shrugged. "Maybe we can do some quick shopping up there?"
Niner beamed and nodded in agreement.
The two of them dressed in a rush, dragging the bodies away from the door and hiding them from sight best they could. Once they were dressed—their handguns stowed away—the two of them marched out of the steam room briskly, strolling across the casino's swimming area before reaching the staircase up to the suites.
The widened hallway was extravagantly decorated, though strangely quiet and empty. Sandra didn't mind; she and Niner wandered from room to room, rifling through people's belongings until they found decent enough outfits. Once they were done stealing things, the two of them locked themselves in their own suite, Niner changing in front of the beds while Sandra did the same in the bathroom.
Afterward, they stood before the full-body mirror together, surveying their appearance.
Niner now wore a dark slender suit, matching the deep brown of his feathered fedora perfectly. The White Glove mask was now fixed firmly onto his face, a stringy sort of bowtie hanging from around his neck. Sandra stood at his side, hugging his arm and wearing a new pair of stolen sunglasses, these ones enormous and reflective in various colors, her curvy body fitted with a tight black dress, complete with short sleeves and a wide collar for just the right amount of provocative exposure. Sandra twirled her crimson bangs, Niner flipping a White Glove cane around his hand and catching it swiftly in the air.
"M'kay… if anyone asks, I'm Major Tom Young, a retired NCR major who was honorably discharged after a leg injury, and now I make a living selling top-tier belt buckles in the Mojave. I'm a fancy-ass badass-turned-businessman," Niner explained. "Y'got that?"
"Okay… but I seriously doubt anyone's gonna ask all that," Sandra muttered.
"And you're my wife, Mrs… Mrs. Something… gimme a girl name," Niner requested.
Sandra thought for a moment, a mild headache coming on. She said the first name to come to her mind.
"Amata?" she mumbled.
"M'kay—Mrs. Amata Young, my wife who I met a year ago in Reno. I stole you away from the wise guys 'cause you were set to marry a Mafioso who beats his son, and tragically—"
"Niner—you're having way too much fun with this."
"C'mooon, lemme have this. I'm never this important."
"Yeah, fine, be whoever you want—but we gotta get moving."
"Okay, okay… let's go."
They both set off, marching with a new walk as if they owned every room and painting they passed by.
When they reached the dining area once more, Sandra strolled with her arms coiled around Niner's, and he marched on with a sense of purpose she'd never seen him with before. He greeted several White Gloves in passing, tipping his hat and repeating "Goodday" several times before they found themselves approaching the bar counter.
The bar was occupied by a White Glove man, and just behind him in the corner was a metal door. Above this door was a single inscription, reading KITCHEN.
Sandra gave the inscription a subtle gesture, and Niner nodded quietly in response. Then, he swaggered up to the counter, planted his hand on the bar, and started eyeballing the White Glove vendor before him.
"Oy, mate—we're gonna be headin' down to the kitchen now," Niner told him. "Just lettin' ya' know, all right?"
The White Glove stared at him blankly. "I'm afraid that area is off-limits, sir."
Niner scoffed and shook his head, leaning even closer. "Ah, here we go again—d'you know who I am? Do you know how many times Mortimer's dinner plans have been screwed up by some shmuck or another tonight? And do you know what it's like to listen to his temper whenever he pops his top? I didn't fight in the war and found my own damn belt buckle business just to be treated like this!"
"I beg your pardon, sir," the White Glove replied, slightly rearing back. "Are you a member of the White Glove Society?"
"You're damn right I am—Major Tom Young, founder of the Cali Buckle & Accessories Corporation, recently sponsored member and close personal friend of Mortimer's," Niner ranted. "And I have it on good authority that he's got some special dinner plans in the works. I gotta get down there and oversee the process. His orders."
"Can you provide me any proof of your claim, sir?" the White Glove asked.
Niner took back, and Sandra sauntered over to him, hugging his arm and pretending to pull a key from his pocket—the key she'd taken from Chauncey's body, which had been safely tucked in her palm this whole time.
"Mortimer gave him a key, smart guy," Sandra smiled, holding the key upright and waving it around. "He doesn't just hand out the keys to his private areas willy-nilly, now does he?"
"Ah, yes… very true," the White Glove nodded. "And who are you, Madame?"
"She's my wife," Niner stated with impunity. "Amata Young. I don't go nowhere without her. Mortimer and I have an understanding about that."
The White Glove paused for a moment, then gave them a nod. "Very well. You may proceed."
"Thank you," Niner concluded, he and Sandra marching past the bar and approaching the door.
Sandra and Niner glimpsed at one another, and then, Niner slowly inserted the key, praying it would work. Thankfully, the lock turned, and the door eased open, allowing them to both march inside.
The two of them found themselves in a drastically different environment, a metallic hallway leading toward a roasting room, where two White Glove chefs were lighting a couple of Brahmin bodies ablaze. Sandra and Niner marched past them quietly, inching down the stairs and approaching a much longer metal hallway.
"Heh," Niner uttered, smirking behind his mask. "That was fun."
Sandra snickered and glanced over at him. "You've been preparing to be a top-dog all your life, haven't you?"
"You know it," Niner boasted.
"Oh shit—heads up," Sandra whispered, tugging his arm and spotting movement down the hall. "Someone's coming."
Sandra and Niner continued to walk as if they belonged here, not minding the White Glove man approaching them. The man stopped and gave them an odd squint.
"You two—what're you doing down here?" he barked.
"You don't get to talk down to me, little man," Niner retorted. "Major Tom Young, sponsored member and close personal friend of Mortimer's. He wants the meal guy moved. That's why we're down here."
"Ugh," the White Glove groaned, rolling his eyes. "First he's too trusting, and then he doesn't trust anyone…"
The White Glove shook his head and marched past them, wandering off and grumbling under his breath.
Sandra and Niner marched on, peeking into numerous storage rooms in passing. Near the end of the hall, they stopped at the final door on the right, peering inside and seeing a spacious kitchen. They slipped inside and shut the door behind them—and then, a man appeared from the back room, a somewhat pudgy man with a balding head and a scowling expression strewn across his face.
"You two—who the hell do you think you are, just standing around when there's work to be done?!" he griped. "Chop chop! Get cooking! Do you think the world just stops when you decide to stand around doing nothing?!"
Sandra and Niner stared at him, exchanged glances, and moved forward. Niner fired out a fist—smashing his knuckles into the man's face and instantly knocking him out cold. Just when the man hit the floor, Sandra pulled the kitchen door closed, locking it and facing Niner again.
"Yo, Six," Niner said, leaning into the back room and waving her closer. "There's a big-ass deep freezer back here."
Sandra entered the back room alongside him, both of them strolling past shelves of food and preserved goods and anxiously approaching the cold, metal door of the deep freezer.