Around. Around. Steep mountains and rocky cliffs may have gotten them closer to Novac and avoided certain danger, but it was a task like no other for the young man. Not even as a courier did he face such resistance. Most roads still paved and whatnot. Even the most rural, remote places were flatter than this hike from hell. Lawrence, however, was unaffected. Yet from those cliffs, dying smoke of the razed town of Nipton darkened the skies behind them.
Gravel paused crunching beneath the ranger's boots. Vincent squinted, reluctantly watching the man climb to a higher rock. "What are you doing?"
"I can see Nipton from here."
"How bad is it?" The boy groped the rock. Sweaty hands refused to find a grip. Even without aching legs, those scant muscles couldn't pull him up anyway.
"Mojave outpost still hasn't made it down here," he said. A hand slid in his duster for the inconspicuous radio hidden on a shoulder. A patrol ought to be here by now. Investigating, searching for Legion remnants. They never went this far west…
Vincent groaned. Finally giving up on conquering the rock for the shadow it cast instead. A tiny oasis in the desert. At least until the greedy sun would steal it away. Noon encroached. Slowly, shade receded as the sun claimed its high throne. Feet burned. Aches came in pulses. He flexed and squeezed exhausted muscles; the next best thing to the massage he'd promised to give his feet at the end of the day. Frankly, he had walked enough. His routes mostly kept him around the Boneyard at its farthest farmsteads. Sometimes further north. Until Vincent decided to take this job. Once he saw that number though, he couldn't turn down the caps. He didn't want to be a courier forever. That decision was cemented by a pesky bullet to the head.
Vincent sighed. The wind whistled through the mountains, picking up dust and gravel as it rustled patches of sagebrush. Radio static intruded on his rest.
"Shit…"
"What happened?"
"I can't get—"
"Lawrence!" Vincent jumped to his feet. Gaping eyes locked on the creature as it limped closer. Slow. Staggered. Labored. The conglomerate of ghoul-flesh with more hands and arms than any normal once-human had lumbered towards him. A face no longer bore any resemblance to the human it once was. Obscured by sagging skin and radiation burns. Breathy grunts and groans respired from vein-webbed and flaking lips.
The boom wracked his ears and the thing dropped in its path.
"We need to get out of here."
"What was that?"
"I've seen them before," Lawrence mentioned, undisturbed by the sight. "Only a few times. Strange things lurk in the hills. I think we just wandered a little too far from the main road."
"You said you weren't too worried about them!" Vincent tailed Lawrence, stealing occasional glances behind him as if the mutated mess of flesh would get up and start after them again. Or worse…
"And I still ain't." Lawrence tugged him along. "Let's get back on the road while we can. Then we have to take another detour."
"Back in the mountains?" Vincent whined, already exhausted from the mere thought of more impromptu hiking.
"Can't go through Searchlight." Rough breaths broke up his voice on the descent. Dirt and debris kicked up by his boots flung to the wind. Vincent followed his haphazard course. Abrupt stops paused him every so often to regain his balance.
"I thought Searchlight was our territory," Vincent huffed between labored breaths. Feet finally met solid ground.
"It was," Lawrence groaned. Brows narrowed over the rims of sunglasses. Vincent stared at his own reflection. "Fuckin' Legion did something and the whole place is irradiated to shit."
"Oh."
"Let's scope out that cluster ahead," the ranger gesture down the road. "Take a breather for a bit."
Right, the war. Round two of the showdown four years passed. The enemy; Caesar's Legion. A vicious, zealous army painted in blood by the newspapers, the voices on the radio, and now the ranger in Vincent's company. Terrifying and grisly. Inhumane, if those stories were right. The New California Republic won the first standoff at Hoover Dam. For a time, it seemed quiet. The republic had the largest source of water and power in its grasp. Some leviathan structure left over from the old world, but more importantly, the NCR could keep up with its hasty expansion. Plenty of work to go around drew people out of California and into this new land of opportunity. But the Legion doesn't give up. Now they gathered strength across the winding Colorado. Marching up from foreign lands further south they called Arizona.
Black top simmered on the horizon. Metal frames winked back at the two. An ancient wreck of old-world machines. Gutted, looted, robbed by man and time. They were everywhere. Skeletons he vaguely pieced together a living form by what remained. Some found new life being salvaged, others were a pipe-dream-project by some wastelander convinced he could revive the things for easier transportation.
The ranger slowed his steps and overtook Vincent. He whipped a pistol from its thigh holster. Cocked. Rigid arms aimed forward. He warned the boy about it ahead of time. These scenes were ripe for ambushes out here. Stumble upon a twitchy prospector and they might not be so hesitant to shoot either. The ranger brought him to the cover of a long metal box. Mangled and twisted where it barely remained attached to its head. Lawrence paused. The wind settled. Stagnant heat crept in. Lawrence took to a crouch and peaked under the desiccated machines.
He returned to his feet, resuming the inspection around the graveyard. Lawrence rounded the skull of the rusted carcass. A daring peak leaned out from his cover. "All clear."
Plopping down in the shade, Vincent let out a relieved sigh. Dormant aches resurfaced. Along with them, a drifting mind wondering if it was all worth it. But something happened that night in a shallow grave. Visions he couldn't escape even in sleep. Memories that once came out, ignited a fury like no other inside him. His expression so slightly contorted, enough the ranger knew the young man lost in thought. Lawrence lent the open tin can to Vincent. Jiggling it, the supply of nuts brought the boy out of his trance. He looked up to the ranger. Wide-eyed, like that of the most unfortunate orphan seeing generosity and kindness for the first time. Dainty fingers plucked out a few.
Lawrence grunted disapprovingly. "There's plenty to go around."
Vincent pulled out a palmful then looked to his bounty. A variety of wild nuts and bits of dried mutfruit sweetened the chalky pinyons. "Thank you," he sheepishly added. The ranger only responded with a hum as he scanned the horizon. Something about that grunty-hum brought a smile to Vincent's face. Much like a cactus; a prickly exterior guarded a soft inside. "So, what's the Legion really?" He looked at Vincent, one dark brow arched over the rims of his lenses. Barely the outline of his eyes caught in the backlight. "Well, I mean I've read the papers and listened to the radio. I've heard some people say they're a cult and then others say they're just organized raiders."
"They're a bunch of tribals," Lawrence stated. "Organized, yes. All started with the jackass they follow—Caesar. With every tribe he's conquered, he gets more numbers and bodies to sacrifice. Practically worship the guy."
"Do you think they outnumber us?"
The ranger shrugged. "Even if they did, they got some aversion to using guns, old-world tech. Only the high ranks carry things like shotguns, rifles, pistols, whatever. Don't ever underestimate them," he abruptly added. "They don't see you as people. You're just an obstacle to them or a tool to use."
Vincent grimaced. "Luckily, I've never met one person."
"You ever do, get the hell out of dodge—"
Ding!
Lawrence yanked Vincent down from their perch. Tugged around the side of the body as another one came. Zipping, cutting through tarnished steel and iron. "Stay low!"
"I know you're out there!"
Lawrence planted himself on the shoulder. Gravel scraped his armor, rusting up tart and dry soil as he crawled to a better view. One eye squinted down the sights of his pistol. Aimed between the gap of the trailer's rotted belly and a cracked road. Two. Two Great Khans. Ugly as sin—Vincent stifled a gag. Unwashed for days. They were more like a raider gang than tribals anymore, especially after the NCR decimated their numbers. Lawrence fired. The warning shot skid between a pair of boots.
The khan jumped back to cover. The second pair of shoes jogged to his companion. Harsh whispers exchanged. "We already killed you once!" The Khan belted out. Hoarse, raspy. A conspicuous twang. One the boy heard not so long ago before it buried him. "We'll do it again."
"Ain't who you think I am!" Lawrence shouted. He returned to his feet. Peering around his cover, one hand told Vincent to stay put.
"It's ours!" The second Khan yelled. He jumped out from the bumper end of their cover.
Lawrence turned his sights on him. Before the Khan could fire, the ranger unleashed a round. With a yelp, the man retracted behind rusted tail-fins. The ranger lingered. Arms slightly lowered as he stared on the horizon. A black cloud. Dark static rolling across the highway.
Straight for them.
"Run." Lawrence whipped around. The frightened boy stared back at him, frozen solid by one too many brushed with death. "Run!" He shoved Vincent and finally got to moving. Stealing glances over his shoulder, the swarm grew. Ominous thrums preceded them. Rumbling through the valley and tripling their numbers. At the faintest buzz, the Khans darted into the desert. Orange wings flashed in black static. Stingers caught the glare of the sun on their tip. Evil red eyes shimmered in the mass. Growing larger and larger as the horde rushed down the highway.
"There!" Lawrence pointed down the highway. Off the side of the road, a dilapidated rest stop. The only cover for miles. He reached the ancient gas station first. Cleared out by time, the main shop emptied. Doors ripped off their hinges. Windows shattered to empty sockets. Only mounds of sand and dust clung inside the breezy structure. Attached to it, a garage. Door intact. Using all his strength, the ranger ripped open the springy metal. He spun around, waving urgently for Vincent merely a few feet away. The boy slid inside. Then Lawrence. And finally he took a breath.
The swarm rumbled by. Rapid drums thumped, echoing the boy's hammering heart. Pressed to the wall, knees hugged to his chest, he stared at the orange glow around the door. Dimming. Fainter and fainter. Until the black cloud choked out the sunlight. Lawrence crashed next to him. A heavy sigh deflated the ranger. Breath finally caught and danger caged outside.
Lawrence looked for Vincent. Dulled by the dark, only the glistening sweat of his skin told of his contours. "You been pissin' off Great Khans?"
"I recognize one of the voices."
"Guy who almost killed you?"
"One of them…"
Lawrence shifted next to him. Taken aback by the statement, he faced Vincent. "How many were there?"
"I think four or five."
"And none of them managed to actually kill you?"
Vincent shrugged, unseen, but heard. A husky chuckle broke the silence and hushed the buzzing outside. "You got some kind of luck."
By the late afternoon when night peeked over the eastern ranges and the heat retreated, they reached Novac. Legs ached. Feet burned. Tomorrow, blisters will surely arrive. With every gust of wind, he shivered under a damp shirt. Only hours ago, he begged for such a chill. Insect noise chirped in the dark. A quiet town, livelier during the day when traders and travelers passed through. Grown from the bones of an even older one. Its lifeline, the trading routes abound in the southwest. Simple, single-story structures littered the roadside. Sturdy adobe and wood mimicked the same old-world styles back home in California. Others newer as their numbers grew. Nothing fancy, but they'd survive the heat and sun of an arid desert.
The local saloon garnered the better part of the town's population. A gentle breeze carried the tells of grilled meat, homebrewed drink, and a faint radio. Wood creaked, gentle back and forth. Sitting on the porch, observant eyes watched two strangers roll in from their rocking chairs. The cacophony of chatter inside the bar hushed whatever the old men whispered. While that scent food got stronger, so did hunger pangs throttle the boy's stomach. Across the way, a hotel. The only one you'd find for miles and with quite the sight to break up the landscape.
A dinosaur towered over the highway exchange. The fading green paint chipping. Shiny silver skin beamed under a basil veneer. Clutched in its claws a thermometer. Probably not a real one, given the giant bite taken out of it. Then in its opened mouth and hidden by weathered triangle teeth, Novac's lookout. Seen only by the barrel of a long rifle resting in the gap of its teeth.
"Huh," Vincent hummed as he stared up at the beast. "Why do you think they built it?"
"Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit!" A booming synthetic voice spooked away any lingering sleepiness. He heard that voice before. A familiar one he found on Goodsprings—or rather found him, in a deep ditch. "If it ain't my pal from Goodsprings."
Vincent looked to the robot, casually wheeling over of its volition from the shade of the hotel's canopy. "Hello, Victor," he squinted under the glare of the bright screen. A cartoonish and happy cowboy to match the voice of the machine. "What are you doing in Novac?"
"Don't rightly know."
Lawrence studied the machine. One of hundreds, maybe more manufactured centuries ago. They were big, bulky things with an arsenal of weapons hidden in utility arms and a boxy body. Bright screens beamed out from the center of the body and typically they didn't have unique faces such as this one. Nor the upbeat voice that grated his ears. In fact, he didn't think any could have a particular personality. Not of their own accord at least. All the more reason to be suspicious. This one had a purpose.
"I just got the notion to make my way to New Vegas! Reckon I'll find out when I get there."
"Huh, well, good luck with that."
"Don't suppose you might be headin' that way too?"
"Doubt it," Vincent shrugged. "I haven't found those guys who attacked me."
"Look me up if you do!" The machine urged. It raised an arm as if to tip an imaginary hat. "Stay safe out there yonder."
"You too, Victor."
"What was that?" Lawrence inquired. Judging gaze followed the machine-cowboy. A nonchalant stroll down the on-ramp to the highway. An odd one. The same make and model that roamed New Vegas long before the NCR and Legion wandered in. But they weren't aimless roamings. They were ordered to, like scouts and infantrymen. Only after making contact did the NCR realize the robots weren't anything to be trifled with, and not just because of their discrete arsenal hidden inside. But rather, who they belonged to—the mysterious, elusive, and shrewd Mr. House.
"That securitron pulled me from the ditch I was buried in, after I was, y'know" One hand paused on the doorknob. Chills rushed through him every time he recalled that awful night. Like being thrown back into that musty grave. Mouth parched by soil. Panicky breaths gasping for air that would never come. His face twisted to a tight grimace as he shook the thought off. "Might be the only reason I'm alive right now."
"Why am I not surprised the bullet-proof vest on ya didn't absorb a bullet to the head?" Lawrence tugged the boy's vest.
A sharp squint and warning grumbles shooed the man away. Well, at least he assumed Vincent a boy thus far. He knew he had gotten good at hiding it, but there was pressure. Anxiety. Fear of being found out—It was better none knew Vincent too well. The memory of how everything turned sour at home still fresh in his mind reminded him of that, even though five years passed. It was a careful dance he did around others. Making sure the vest was just tight, being overly aware of his own gait, his voice, his looks, the clothes. Everything. The looks dug the deepest—Something he couldn't change or hide so easily as hiding a part of his body. However, being mistaken for a kid sometimes got him out of trouble or outright prevented it—but then there were the strange folks that seemed to gravitate to that. His mind wandered when idle about that hiding. Was it right to do so? Maybe he was the weird one… Yet, those little nagging fears shut that up quickly—He had to. He couldn't be anybody else.
Would Lawrence treat him the same if he knew? He hadn't told a soul in a long time. Last time he did it ended in him running away from home.
"Hm," Lawrence hummed. The front door quietly shut the encroaching night behind them. "Strange that a securitron would drag you out of ditch of its own accord."
"Maybe," Vincent shrugged. "I don't think too much into it counting that he saved me."
Dark brows tightened. Curious eyes investigate their bland surroundings. "That means it was watchin' but didn't intervene." A small little reception. Old, sun-bleached paintings adorned the walls. Colors drained away to a world washed in pink.
"Beggars can't be choosers."
"Hello dear!" A frail, twangy voice greeted him. "Can I help you with anything?" An old woman. Silver haired. Deep lines on a sagging face and tiny eyes squinting behind glasses.
"I hope so!" Vincent forced his best smile in spite of the exhaustion ready to toss him on the floor. He stood on the tips of his boots and leaned on the counter. A parade of green dinosaurs marched on the countertop. A few sported little hats and clay tools. Adorned in dapper little outfits. Miniature black tuxedos sewn together from scraps, crocheted dresses and little bags filled with dried flowers. He glanced at the old woman. Well, everyone needs a hobby… "I'm looking for a man who may have passed through here. Wearing a checkered suit, kind of gaudy looking. Nothing someone with sense would wear."
"Oh yes, I remember! Real rude." She shook her head as lips thinned to a sour taste. "I don't know where they went, but good riddance."
"Oh," Vincent grimaced. "I was hoping to get a hold of one of them…"
"Hmm…" She hummed. "I hope you aren't one of those trouble-makers." Eyes narrowed to the side-eye he got often as a child. The kind a mother gives to her fibbing little kid wearing the cookies they denied eating still on their face.
"Oh, no not at all! He stole something from me—Kind of need it back…"
"I suggest you talk to Manny. I think he spoke to them so most likely knows where they went. Oh, and his shift should just about be done."
"Where can I find him?"
"He'll be coming down from Dinky any minute now," she nodded, another friendly smile stretching a wrinkled face.
"Thank you!"
Lawrence followed him out, a cigarette and match in impatient hands. "I think that's the guy you want to talk to," he noted, cigarette pointing for him.
A wood-stocked rifle hung off his shoulder. Red beret tilted over one brow. Pins flashed with every other step by the dwindling sunlight. Far too tall for Vincent's confidence. Seemed everyone was lately—Lawrence, this guy, that guy. Everyone but him. He took a deep breath. One foot in front of the other marched over to the stranger. Lips murmured a pep-talk to remind him how and why he was here.
"Are you Manny?"
He paused, beating dust off his beret. "Yeah, who are you?"
"I'm Vincent. I'm looking for someone who came through here a while ago. Maybe wearing an ugly checkered suit…" Vincent explained, then stole a glance back to his companion. The ranger kept his distance at the courtyard's gate, content for the moment to smoke. "Heard you may have seen him."
"Sure, but what do you want with him?" Manny's expression refused to betray emotion. The stoic ones were the hardest to read. Just a hint of something to go on would have been nice.
"Well…" His voice trembled. A quick grumble cleared his throat. Knot bobbed as he tried his best to keep it low. "Well, he nearly killed me and stole something from me." He winced at the sound of his own voice. Too high pitched and not intimidating when he needed it to be. Hell, it wasn't even convincing. "I just really need to know where he could be headed to…"
"Nearly killed you?" Manny crossed his arms as brows knitted together. Curiosity? Pity? Vincent would take either at this point if it helped. Brown eyes glossed over the boy; short, thin, guarded by a ratty little Kevlar vest. Half a vault jumpsuit if the faded blue and yellow trim was any indicator. Barely pushing down a nervous smile as he shifted on his feet. His stare halted on the boy's eyes, or rather one. A nasty scar pink, fresh and recent. A lightning strike pointing to one pinpoint pupil.
"Doesn't surprise me," Manny sighed. "Guy's a dick. Y'know, the type to make a lot of enemies the moment they open their mouth. Well…" His voice trailed off as if considering the young man. "I can definitely tell you where he went, but maybe we can do a trade?"
Lawrence grumbled. He tossed another dud match. A breaking glance confirmed the boy's status. The two still chatting, their topic carried away by the breeze.
"Sure!" Vincent smiled, eagerly nodding. "I have a few interesting things I've found in the wasteland," he informed, reaching a hand inside his satchel. "Like these caps with blue stars—"
Manny laughed; the solemn façade finally replaced with a smile. A good sign. "Come with me."
The ranger's eyes followed the boy. Manny nodded. A friendly gesture for Vincent to follow. The kid smiled. Something the ranger had come to like seeing—"Shit!" He hissed. Burned fingertips flicked the match.
12 seconds. He did it in 10 once and had yet to repeat that. The ranger hummed as he inspected the standard issued pistol. An assortment of dirty rags, a dented tin of lubricant, and a splayed multi-tool the company around him. He reassembled the pistol before tending to the sniper rifle next. It was his favorite. His pride and joy he saved up mounds of caps to get. Not to mention all the bells and whistles. He learned eagerly, earnestly, and with great expectations placed upon himself to master the rifle before he concluded to get his own. Yet, still not the best of the best. Even with plenty of successful missions and tales behind him. Stories he didn't get to share with the one person who should have been proud of him.
The slow creak interrupted regrettable thoughts. Vincent peered around the door. Despite the hour, the lights were still on. Radio quietly sang its tunes. Lawrence eased his shoulders and returned to his task. "Found out they're headed to Boulder City," Vincent said. He paused. Full eyes hooked on Lawrence. The man sat in just a tank and underwear, not that Vincent complained. A chorus of urgent reminders begged him not to stare echoed in his head. Especially not down south—Well, maybe just a peek…
"Bout six hour walk, but you gotta penchant for going places you shouldn't."
His forearm twitched as he spun the multi-tool against a screw. Nicely shaped like Vincent wished his own were. With every move, black down flickered along the curve of his muscles. A map of superficial veins gleamed and bulged beneath the skin of strong hands. Hands he wanted to feel on himself—Vincent turned away and hoped the ranger didn't notice his admiration. Or worse—could somehow read his mind.
"What are you doing?"
"Just some maintenance," Lawrence muttered. Black sheen of the rifle glowed in his hands. All matte and long. Plenty of gear added beyond just a typical scope, none Vincent knew the names or purpose of. "Your gun need cleaning'?"
"Yeah, probably." Vincent set his satchel aside before plopping down with the ranger. "I don't actually know how to do it myself."
Lawrence looked up to him. "No?" Cocked head and drawn brows paused his hands. "Even my useless father showed me that." He set the rifle aside, "I'm done, so get your gun and I'll show you."
The walk to Boulder City was as long and hot just as the ranger knew it would be. The same scenery he saw a hundred times before. The distant mountain ranges faded to blue on the horizon. Simmering asphalt like quenching water tricked the eyes. The mile markers blended together. Rough and sandy stone. Sun-bleached and pocked by shadows, a new one found every time looked. All under the expanse of bright blue. Not a cloud in the sky. Even with the sun overheard, a peacefulness could be found in the views of jagged mountain line. Hope grew in the yellow-green fields of prickly brush, cacti, and the odd cluster of vibrant pinyon and mesquite. And then there was the ranger's curious companion. Every scene so new to the young man full of questions. Head spun about like a swivel, absorbing all that the desert beamed under the sun. Washed out and dry lake beds, tall saguaros, and squat barrel cacti.
Life wasn't completely wasted out here.
Even if Vincent's almost was. In spite of nearly dying via eating a bullet, Vincent didn't appear put down by it. If that had happened to Lawrence… They'd end up like the eight other times he was ambushed; attackers dead and left to rot somewhere in the wasteland. But Vincent wasn't a ranger with decades of experience.
"What are you going to do once you find this guy?"
"Ask him why he tried to kill me."
Lawrence looked at Vincent as if the boy was a little soft in his head. "That's it? Ask him why he tried to kill you?"
"Well, not just that," Vincent added. "I am owed a few grand in caps and coincidentally from the guy who almost killed me!"
The ranger grunted. "Suspect."
"He's supposed to be my contact once I got to the city—New Vegas, I mean," Vincent said. "Not to mention, this whole thing seems really suspicious. What's so important about it that he would rather kill me than just the usual mugging?"
"Hm…" Lawrence hummed, staring down the distant road and blinking away streaming droplets. "That securitron seemed suspicious too. I thought I saw one earlier when we were in the mountains on the way to Novac."
"Really?"
"On the road, but didn't think much of it," he explained. "I've seen a few here and there out in the desert. Rather not approach strange robots, y'know?"
"Maybe I'll kill him," Vincent pondered, yet it felt just like that—all talk. "This guy seems to have a reputation for being an asshole. I might be doing people a favor."
Kill him.
It's what a real man would do. Without a doubt, he knew a real man wouldn't let himself be pushed around so much.
"I'll be frank, Vince," Lawrence looked to the boy at his side, stifling the smile tugging the corner of lips. "I really doubt you've ever killed anyone, even if self-defense."
"Well…." Vincent's voice weakened, too high and uncomfortable in his throat. "No, not really—Not that I know of…"
Lawrence nodded, biting back a joke only he would find funny. He flicked the cigarette butt off the side of the road. A first kill, whether out of vengeance or self-preservation, was only easy for a psycho. Remembered his with an uncanny clarity, the strange mix of emotion faded in time. Not something the ranger would discuss over a game of poker and not something one could prepare for. Not everyone, no matter how hardened by life and the wasteland could take a life. Even if to save themselves. And the boy seemed a little lacking in that area.
Maybe the ranger ought to stick around a little longer… At least on the long walks, the boy's incessant questions about the NCR, rangers, his travels, and this and that—It was difficult to focus on other troubles.
Planted in the middle of nowhere, not a soul for miles. Sun barely peeked behind the western mountain ranges, taking any lingering warmth of day with it. Black clouds rolled in from the east. Night swallowed dying red skies. Soon the nasty things that lurked in the night would emerge.
"We ought to stop for the night," Lawrence halted in the intersection as Vincent continued on, oblivious while eyes glued to the ranger's map. The ranger tugged Vincent back by the loop of his vest. "I thought we'd make better time today, but we got a late start."
"Aren't we close to Boulder City?" Vincent pause back to the ranger with hopeful eyes.
"Creepy crawlies and night stalkers don't make good travel companions," Lawrence shook his head, then waved for the boy to follow down a different path. "There's a ranger station a few minutes west of here. We'll continue in the morning."
Vincent sighed. Map crinkled as it fell to his legs. He stared down the northbound highway. A long black road stretching into the dark that eventually swallowed it. No moon tonight. No stars either. Only encumbering black. A howl echoed around them and suddenly dinner and sleep wasn't so bad.
"This why you starin' down deathclaws? A li'l' too eager for revenge?"
"Pfff!" Vincent dismissed the Ranger with a wave of his hand. "It was just an overgrown lizard."
Lawrence scoffed as he shoved the boy along. "Hah! I'll remember that next time we encounter one."
The ranger station was a small outpost planted in a canyon crevice. Fortified by repurposed frames and sheet metal. Black apparitions wandered the ramparts. Disembodied steps clamored on hollow shelves. In the center of it all, one building.
Once a highway patrol station, now it had been converted to living quarters for the rangers that guarded it. Cozy, lit by lanterns and filled with the gentle hum of the radio welcomed from the night.
"Howdy." A hoarse voice greeted the two first. She manned radio equipment set on a desk pushed adjacent to the door. A pile of files occupied one corner while an open notebook and pen sat in front of her.
"Been quiet over here, Mel?" Lawrence
She turned around. Horror washed over Vincent. Wide-eyed and fixated on the animated corpse. Moving, walking, talking. Hollow eyes, black and maroon flickered on him. Mel nodded, "Rightly so." Vincent stepped back, taking cover behind the ranger. "Let's hope it stays that way."
"Hate to be the bearer of bad news," Lawrence said, taking an unfortunate step towards the ghoul. Remaining flesh clung to a skullish face. Pitted, pocked, and peeling. Nose withered away to two slits. "Legion's got a hold of Nipton. Already told Mojave Outpost but nobody's been out to secure the area."
A parched hum grumbled loosening cartilage. She looked to Vincent, much to his dismay. "Survivor?"
Lawrence chuckled as he leaned against the doorway next to her desk. "Not from Nipton, no. I didn't get to close to the town. They razed it. Lots of crosses out there."
"I'll radio Mojave," Mel acknowledged. "Who's your friend? What a cute little thing with young and fresh skin." She chuckled, baring time-stained teeth and wrinkling dehydrated skin. "What are you doing out here, girl?"
He grimaced at the word. Before he could correct her Lawrence stated, "I found Vincent wrestlin' a deathclaw. We're stayin' for the night before moving up to Boulder City."
"Oh, my bad," she laughed off her slight. "Only got one open bunk though."
"It'll have to do," Lawrence shrugged as he gestured for Vincent.
He crossed the small office, eyes still fixed on the ghoul, unable to peel off of her even by his own will. She retrieved her bulky headphones and brought them over her ear holes. Looking up at the two, she smiled again, "Goodnight."
Down the hall and passed a few closed doors was one open one. A storage room really. One flickering light. One bed. A mattress without a sheet. Dusty and springy, surrounded by hordes of supplies and junk left over from the previous tenants. Staring at a it, a whole new fear crept in Vincent's mind.
Lawrence groaned. A hand rubbed the back of his neck as he surveyed the room as well. Then he pushed through, shrugging off his burdens to the floor. Then he grabbed a crate and pulled it to the side of the bed. Testing out his idea, he lay horizontally. Long legs sprawled on the crate with the rest of him on the mattress. "Welp, it's gotta do."
Vincent followed his example before settling in on the foot of the bed. Lawrence stood up, shirking off his duster and then unlatching the chest piece. The bullet belt came next. Followed by the holsters and the hunting knife. All neatly stacked on his duffel bag. Vincent glanced to himself. Just one gun and his satchel set between them.
"It's ok for me to be here?" Vincent inquired.
Lawrence returned to the mattress, cozying under his duster as feet pushed off his boots. "You one of them raiders, warlords, outlaws, or all of the above we lookin' for?"
"Uh, no"
"Then get comfortable, just don't wander off, unless it's for the latrine."
"I just thought only rangers could be at the stations."
"Good thing I'm a ranger then," Lawrence noted. Nightly ritual complete, he looked at Vincent. Then the brow arched. "You worried you gon' get shot in your dreams?"
Vincent crossed his arms. "I just like my vest."
"Alright," he muttered, turning his head back to face the ceiling as the flickering tube finally went out. Vague shadows darkened, cast by a light washing a white walled hallway in a foggy orange. Interesting shapes took over. Like finding animals and things in the clouds, vague faces morphed in the flutter. At least none as terrifying as the ghoul's.
"I hope I didn't offend Mel…" Vincent muttered. "I didn't mean to stare."
Lawrence chuckled. "Never seen a ghoul before?"
"Not up close. There weren't any in my town. They lived on the outskirts because people didn't like them."
"Sound like a bunch of assholes in your town."
"Yeah," Vincent sighed. "You're not wrong. Kind of why I left."
One reason. One of many, honestly. Argument after argument with his mother. The looks. The gossip. The reason he hid under a ratty Kevlar vest, cut his hair short, and abandoned a name that fit him worse than own his skin.
The sun hung heavy above them. Relentless. Still. Licking bare skin with a fiery tongue. Soaking their bodies for all it was worth. Hot and stagnant. Barely a breeze to grace them. The ruins of Boulder City shimmered on the horizon. The once quaint, small town and gateway to Hoover Dam now reduced to rubble on a maze of fractured streets. A tiny section quartered off from the rest of what remained stood surrounded by a makeshift fence of relocated rubble, chain link, and soldiers awaiting orders. Beyond the stand-off, trading posts and a saloon skirted concrete borders. The town never to rebuilt. Too many still mourned the loss.
"So tops send in a ranger?" A soldier remarked as they approached the crowd of tents. "Lieutenant Monroe, sir."
"Call me Lawrence." The men exchanged salutes before shaking hands. "Just passing through, but what's the situation here?"
"Two Khans took hostages; I don't know if they're alive or not, but I'm not about to let them go."
"Where are they hiding?"
"In the last standing building. We have them surrounded there."
"Well, good thing I was wanderin' on by," Lawrence mused, a cocky tint to his voice. "I might be able to take them out."
"Wait hold on," Vincent interjected. "I need to talk to them, remember?"
"Don't know how you think you'll do that," Lawrence retorted. "They just put themselves in a situation they ain't gettin' out of."
"Why do you need to talk to them?" The lieutenant asked.
"They know someone I'm looking for—" The boy's face lit up. A smile tugged his lips as an idea ignited inside his head. The perfect idea. "Why can't we negotiate with them? Guarantee no one has to die."
Lawrence scoffed as he exchanged a glance with the lieutenant. Even the lieutenant gave a chuckle. "That could make the situation ten times worse," the ranger shook his head. "Khans don't negotiate."
"Well, maybe if you do it," Vincent's glare accented his protest. "I don't think those Great Khans want to get mowed down."
"And who do you suppose is gonna talk to them, assuming they'll stop to listen?" Not only did Lawrence not give his idea a chance, but the way the ranger towered over him added insult to injury. "Great Khans will kill any NCR soldiers on sight. It's a miracle those ones aren't dead already."
"I can!" Vincent rolled his eyes. "I'm not a soldier and they can answer my questions. I need to speak to them."
"Have you ever dealt with Great Khans?" He turned to Vincent, chest broadened as hands hung on his hips. "Oh, wait! You have. You wanna get shot again?"
Vincent groaned. The man had a point, but how else could he move forward?
"They haven't killed the hostages yet!" Vincent proclaimed. "They obvious don't want to be killed. Not a lot of them around lately if you haven't noticed." His face flushed rushed as his voice turned to a screech. "Oh, wait! The NCR is responsible for killing them—"
"Hey!" The lieutenant lurched towards him, face scrunched and ego bruised.
Lawrence raised a hand to the man. Eyes squinted. "He's got a point," the ranger reluctantly admitted.
"If they wanted to go out in a blaze of glory they would have killed those hostages and probably more of you," Vincent stated. "Let me deal with them."
The ranger's stare was relentless, but it may have met its match. "Alright!" He threw up hands. "I'm covering you from up high. Don't get shot and don't say I didn't warn you if you do." He turned away before Vincent could sputter a quip.
Vincent trudged through the rubble with determination. Despite the adrenaline and fear rushing through his veins and the odd glances from the soldiers, he had the good sense to prove to Lawrence wrong. Whether that was worth being shot again… He only hoped whoever he was talking to didn't have the best aim—hell, given the last few encounters with Khans, maybe none of them did. Determined feet lost their motivation merely steps away. Unless the checkered-suit was in there… He could end his journey here. Kill him. Find not just the physical thing he stole, but also something else he took from Vincent that night. Put another notch in the belt that would determine his manhood. His confidence. His capability.
"Hello?" He knocked on the door. "I'm just here to talk. Not a soldier."
A weak start to a delicate situation goaded out a sigh. Maybe he just made another stupid mistake, but now he'd have to see it through or probably return to a smug I-told-you-so-look. He opened the door. Slow and careful, nothing sudden to raise suspicion. Hands shot up. Two barrels set their sights on him.
"What the hell?" One jumped, shaky rifle in the stranger's hands drew Vincent's eyes. "You again!"
"I knew you was following us," the second one butted in. The horse twangy voice he could finally put a face on.
"Yeah, I unfortunately remember you two…" Vincent sighed. The same Khans who nearly killed him. The same men that stood with his attacker and dug his grave. They took orders from the checkered suit during the fateful encounter. Typical lackeys became even more dangerous as cornered animals. Oh, this was absolutely a mistake. Yet here he was… "But! You guys want to make it out of here alive right?"
"Jessup, just kill this fool—"
"Wait!" Vincent raised his hands again. "I can get you out of here, but if you kill me then those soldiers out there will open fire." They glanced at each other. Stoic faces didn't buy whatever the boy was selling, but guns had yet to fire. "The lieutenant out there already agreed that if those hostages leave here intact, then he'll let all of you go."
"We damn near killed you. Why would you help us?"
"You're after him," Vincent blurted out. Stumbling over his words, he quickly found his balance. "You're after Ugly Suit too, right?"
Chalky rubble tainted the air. Thick and coating the back of his throat. A waste of a town he vaguely remembered before blowing it to bits. Now it was eerily silent. Nowhere even the wildlife roamed in. Another scar on the land. Another reminder. The door opened. Lawrence honed in on the figure.
Vincent.
Alive. No new holes, but no hostages with him either. He turned around, hand up to his brow as if looking for something. Then he stopped. Squinting and waving his arms he jumped up. "Lawrence!"
Lawrence pulled away from the scope. Staring down at the scene as if his own rifle were lying to him.
"They want to talk to you!"
His face soured. Was he serious? Lawrence glanced around, meeting curious eyes from the soldiers. Each wondering the same thing he was.
"Lawrence!" Vincent shouted louder as he gestured more widely for the ranger. Lawrence sighed and began packing up. Of course he was serious. "Yes you. Sniper-guy—"
"Shut up!"
A distant holler crossed the ruins. Vincent winced, brows narrowed before he muttered to himself, "Rude."
The door bounced off its hinges behind Lawrence. Disarmed as promised, but the ranger still wielded a sharp glare. "The hell is this about?"
"Is it true?" Jessup asked. "You just pick random kids up off the side of the road?"
"What?" Lawrence looked to Vincent then back to the odd pair of Khans. Bandanas clearly a little too tight around their head. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm not a kid. I'm twenty-one," Vincent grumbled.
"What really?" The Khans muttered. Then some nonsense about being relieved didn't actually kill a child since that's only when murder's regretful.
"Can we get this show on the road?" Lawrence butted in, hand rotating rapidly as it would speed up things.
"Hey!" Jessup and the other stared him down. At least the guns were put away. Maybe the boy could negotiate. "I ask questions— Why you with this kid, ranger? You looking to get in on Benny's stash?"
"No, I ain't lookin' to get in on someone's stash. I stumbled upon him and plucked him out from under a deathclaw a few days ago. Look at him—" Lawrence crossed his arms. Eyes scrutinized Vincent. Curious brow arched as he wondered what he said to the Khans to make it this far. A disapproving scowl met Lawrence's stare. "Boy's one card short of a full deck. I can't let him go out alone, so he's hitching a ride to Vegas with me."
"Damn son. We tried to kill you then you go out finding deathclaws?"
"You got some bad juju," Jessup shook his head. "Wait, why were you guys tailing us then?"
"We had no idea you guys existed until you stumbled on us and then the Cazador swarm came," Vincent noted. "Thought you'd gone off with Benny."
"Nah, that bitch ditched us."
"Didn't pay up either," Jessup added. "Alright," he squinted, eyeballing the two behind a foggy haze. "We'll give up the hostages, but we go free. But the Tops's vault is ours!"
"You know what, you guys take whatever he's got stashed. I only want the chip," Vincent explained. "In fact, take the whole damn casino and your family will never have to be running from NCR guns again. You'll be swimming in caps and you won't even have to lift a finger!"
The Khans looked to each other, each seeing the caps in the other's eyes. A slow nod of agreement sparked.
Nothing but a sea of rubble and unsure footing. He kept in limbo of lost then regained balance. Adrenaline had yet to subside from the situation. Hands still shook along with legs.
"Mind the ground—" Lawrence suggested as Vincent carefully stepped on a chunk of drywall, then promptly fell. "Or you'll get hurt"
Vincent grumbled, bending his arm for a better view of his latest damage.
Lawrence opened his duster and searched through the many pouches lining his belt. "Sit down."
Vincent sat on the drywall and Lawrence knelt in front of him. Faint blood trickled down grated pink flesh. Outlined by dust and dirt. Lawrence dabbed the ugly scrape as Vincent winced. Cold whiskey stung against the compression of tight gauze. He pulled the boy back to his feet. "Alright?"
"Yeah," Vincent sighed, evaluating glances darted around. Hopefully no one else saw.
Lawrence looked at him, suppressing a laugh behind a twitching smile. "You managed a successful negotiation to free hostages from Khans, but get done in by your own feet."
"Is that you complimenting me?"
"Sure, take it that way," Lawrence shrugged. He reached into a duster pocket, producing a beat-up cigarette carton.
"Benny—codename; Ugly Suit—is apparently a chairman of one of the casinos in Vegas," Vincent stated. He reached in a pocket, taking out the silver lighter. Lawrence took the lighter, inspecting every corner and bit of it. Typical souvenir he'd find in the casinos on the strip. He flicked it open and lit his cigarette. "The Tops."
"He look as obnoxious as his name sounds?"
Vincent laughed, "Yes. I remember that much."
"Guess we're going to the strip."
"You still want to come with me?"
"What? Am I bad company?"
"Not at all," Vincent chirped, still wearing a smile for the ranger. "Just curious I suppose."
"Ought to keep that curiosity in check. Look where you're at."
"I'm still alive."
The ranger scoffed, turning away to hide his own grin. "Come on, three hours and we can stop in Henderson for the night."
The desert cooled as they walked along the twilight precipice. A fuzzy white halo illuminated the New Vegas skyline. Closer than ever before. A city of paradise and towers. One stood taller than the others. Reminiscent of a needle. White burned brilliantly at its circular apex. So many lights. So many towers. He could only imagine what the city itself looked like. A shiver stole Vincent from his thoughts. Closer than ever before, but still far away.
"Tired or cold?" Lawrence asked, lighting a fresh cigarette between his lips.
"A bit of both," Vincent muttered through chattering teeth. Lawrence pulled off his duster, draping the boy's shoulders in the coat. Butterflies fluttered in his belly. Vincent pulled the warm duster around him. Smiling, complete and content for the moment. The high collar shielded his cheeks from the wind, letting him enjoy a strong, pleasant scent instead. Masculine. Heavy cologne cloaked the smoke. He breathed in deeply, committing the handsome ranger's perfume to memory.
But happiness was fleeting.
The ranger certainly wouldn't offer his coat up if he knew the truth. The truth… As if he was a liar. As if living as himself was some sin or ruse. His truth was, he was happy, for the most part. Imperfect, but better than the past that felt more the like real ruse. Yet it still nagged him, not a terrible burden as it was before when everybody called him by the wrong name. The same feelings still present. The wrongness. Would it ever go away? Would it ever be fixed—Could ever be fixed?
"Henderson is just a stone's throw away."
"Sleep sounds nice…" He yawned again tired eyes closed. Feet ached with every irregular piece of gravel under weakening soles. Once sturdy, now they felt little more than thin paper. Since taking on the work of a courier, with every job his feet learned to ache a little less.
"Mind if I ask you something?" Lawrence looked at Vincent as he pulled the cigarette from his lips. Every angle and curve of a pleasant face highlighted in the faint glow of the lit end. A hesitant hand hovered, biding time till he took another breath from the cigarette. Eyes glanced away. Timid, gathering a question, then, found their way back to the boy. "Did you sleep with the guy in Novac?"
"N-No!" Vincent shook his head. Profusely, repeatedly. Cheeks flushed at the prospect. He huffed with another shake of his head, less dramatic than the last.. "You ever had someone just… Spill their whole life-story on you?" Lawrence looked at him, brow still hung in intrigue. "He was going on about his friend who lost his wife, but then he goes and confesses his love to his friend. Of course the guy mourning his wife is not going to reciprocate that! Let's completely ignore the fact he was married. To a woman. That might be your first sign nothing's gonna happen. And now he's shocked the dude doesn't want to be around him. I get you two were besties n' all, but you gotta have some tact"
An exasperated sigh concluded his rant.
Lawrence stifled his laugh. Sticking his cigarette between his lips to shut up any impending wise-ass remarks. Instead, he choked on the smoke. Coughing and laughing simultaneously, he fanned away the smoke from his face.
"What makes you think I did?"
"Y'all were headin' back to his room."
"I learned a few things from watching the women where I lived." Vincent halted in his steps, "Not like that!" He wagged a finger, urging Lawrence to consider otherwise, but the ranger already wore one of his cheeky smirks. "I mean, how to talk to people. Prostitutes can be quite persuasive."
A gray plume collected on Lawrence's lips, waiting for the wind to soon scare it off into the breeze. He was silent for a moment then stated, "When I was your age, young, poor, and kicked-out of my home, I thought about trying that." Shrug accompanied a laugh. "Figured I was good-looking and horny enough."
It was hard to imagine Lawrence playing the role of a prostitute. The man was made of barbed-wire. Occasionally Vincent caught a glimpse of something more of the ranger. He wasn't submissive or looked the type to let anyone take advantage of him, touch him, let alone even hint they were thinking it. But Vincent had been—oh, no… Did the ranger know?
"What did you do instead?"
"I met a ranger. Convinced me to join and I turned my life around." Lawrence looked down to Vincent who stared at the sun-bleached gravel. "Pretty boy like you would be eaten alive. Don't even consider it."
Vincent's face flushed pink. Warm and fuzzy. A rare feeling. He looked ahead, trying to hide it but relish it at the same time. Pretty boy. He smiled. Lawrence's words echoed in his head. "I'll take that advice. The girls were my friends… Or my mother's. They looked after me sometimes, mostly when I was young and needed it."
Lawrence lit another cigarette. He surveyed the wide-open plains. "She, uh, a madame?" Empty, for now.
"No, she did accounting stuff. Kept track of the money, but she worked with the madame."
"Ah."
"Thanks, by the way," Vincent grabbed the collar of the coat and stiffened it. "For everything."
"Not that big a deal," Lawrence shrugged.
"Well, I hope I didn't get in the way of your plans…"
"Not at all," Lawrence assured, a light sigh following his words. "Seen one cactus you seen 'em all right?"
It was a sprawling little city. Mostly NCR sharecropper farms. Cattle rearing; brahmin and cattle, bighorners, geckos, and other livestock stinking up the place. Downtown lit like a match in the dark. Busy saloons and hotels, closing shops turned dim with the sun, but the bar rooms were just coming to life. Music flooded out from each glowing door. A jumbled cacophony as they passed each one. Shadows danced to laughs and song, twirling and strutting away the dread of the real world.
Only one held a lit vacancy sign in their window and that was just the one they wandered into. A smaller building, refurbished from its old-world purpose and facade. A lone bartender leaned on the counter in the heat of laughter. Tables hosted strange characters; prospectors, drifters, mercenaries… A game of cards and the pot in the center of each table. Hands lowered once they spotted the two. Hidden beneath crossed arms or guns. Eyes peered low under wide brim hats. The strong burn of alcohol permeated the air, riling up his empty stomach. As they stopped, the bartender slid over. "What can I get you two?" His eyes lingered on Lawrence, but not the way Vincent might have caught himself doing. It was the duster. The NCR armor, and that rifle that made him leery like the rest.
"We need a room for two."
"Any room can be a room for two if you don't mind sharing a bed." Brown eyes twinkled with a thin-lipped, rehearsed kind of smile. He was a tall and lean man. Young too, but crows' feet remained even after his smile faded. Gelled and combed back brown hair, short and curt with a neatly trimmed goatee framing his lips. Clean clothed and fresher than his patrons. "50 caps a night."
"Boy, you're expensive," Lawrence remarked as he looked at Vincent, a smile on his face.
"I have caps!" He quickly corrected while rummaging through his satchel for what measly allowance he still possessed.
Lawrence chuckled, already handing over the caps to the eager bartender. "Don't worry about it, but you can always buy me a drink."
"Just mind the rules," the bartender announced. He pointed to a sign behind the bar and hung between liquor shelves. "Let me know if there's anything else you need."
Vincent looked at the sign. Simple. Black and white on old aluminum. Swirling decals decorated the margins. A single bullet hole pierced the center of dusty metal.
No noise after 10 PM.
No gambling.
No gunfire.
The stairs creaked all the way up to the second floor. A narrow rickety thing, probably liable to lose a step any day now. The walls plastered in old wallpaper; a dull, faded green in a cage of dusty wood panels, adorned here and there with pictures of the old-world. Landscapes captured by colorful paint and textured thick upon their canvases. The room itself wasn't much different than the overall look of the place. The bed at least had clean sheets—or, they looked clean. A table pushed up against the wall held back flowing white curtains from an open window. Two chairs pulled out, welcoming tired travelers to rest and Lawrence was quick to accept that invite.
He angled the bottle on the side of the table and brought down his fist, popping off the cap. Then a refreshing sip. Vincent joined him, two plates in hand covered by bowls to keep warm. The ranger leaned back his chair. Head flung back as a content sigh escaped his lips. Vincent glanced at him, but eyes wandered back and down. He had a strong neck. Thick with a noticeable Adam's apple that bobbed every time he spoke. Light stubble shadowed the underside of his jaw, surrounding the tuft of coarse black hair coating his chin. Temptation crept in. Reach out. Touch him. Feel the rough texture of his cheeks, the masculine slope of his neck—
"Zonin' out over there?"
"Hm?" Vincent caught himself before any more embarrassing thoughts could follow. "Yeah. Just tired…"
"Ever been to Henderson before?"
"No, I've never been this far into Nevada," Vincent explained. He cut into the thick slab of steak. Mouthwatering and impatient for decent food.
"It's not bad, mostly just farming, trading, scavenging from the old-world factories… The locals are a tough bunch and apprehensive to the NCR, but not overtly hostile like you find in Freeside."
"I noticed the no gambling rule on the sign," Vincent said, grinding the dulled knife against steaming meat. Lawrence dug into his own meal, made easier by using his own knife.
"Henderson relied on Hoover Dam's power output and guess who's in control of that?" He explained with a cock of his head. "Only reason the NCR is tolerated here is to keep the power and water on, some of the laws will reflect that. Don't know why we moseyed on in here to take the town."
With a full mouth and soon to be satisfied stomach, all he needed was entertainment. Vincent looked out the window into the night. New Vegas lay in the distance. A bright beacon in the night the highway would lead them to it in the morning. A city of glowing towers and promises. What awaited him there? Another turn of fate he was willing to gamble on?
"You really twenty-one?"
"Yes,' Vincent muttered, suspicious of the man's direction with the question.
"You look younger. I was thinking seven-or eighteen."
"Yeah," Vincent sighed. "I get that a lot."
"Hey, that's not a bad thing."
"People think I'm some dumb kid most of the time."
Lawrence stacked their empty plates in the center of the table. He leaned back again and brought a cigarette to his lips. "Don't worry about what some passing jackass thinks of you, it's seldom anything beyond determining how useful you are."
"Oh, is that from experience?"
A dramatic plume of smoke lit the stick. He waved the match until it died. "There's that curiosity again," Lawrence warned. Arms crossed over his chest. Another one of his sly smiles. Vincent found them to be quite provocative. A warning, but they also looked like a tease. An unspoken try me. A lure for more.
"Don't worry what some passing jackass thinks of you," Vincent echoed him, smile and all.
Lawrence scoffed. A cloud of smoke escaped his mouth. "Yes, it's from experience. The familial kind."
"I can understand that," Vincent sympathized. "Sometimes family doesn't want you to be who you actually are"
Brows peeked over wide eyes and his forehead creased. "Yep."
Vincent vied to know more about the ranger, but he kept his questions reserved. It wouldn't be the same experience. A similar one perhaps. His family didn't want him to be himself. Vincent put himself out there, wore his heart on his sleeve and they still rejected him. Another reason he was out here, far away from home. Despite everything that had happened on the way, he hadn't regretted it. It was his decision to make and the day he did, he knew it was the right one.