"You keep flinching," Lawrence reminded through a cloud of smoke. "The gun ain't gonna hurt you as long as it's pointed at the target." Vincent groaned and lowered the pistol. A heavy sigh drew out a frown. "You've been getting better, so don't fret it. It'll go away in time." Lawrence patted the boy on his back. At least the ranger was more patient than most with teaching.
"I'm lining the sights, but when I shoot, it's completely off." The makeshift target seemed to mock him at this point. He hadn't hit it once today, but he fared better the last few days. Vincent shoved the gun back into its holster. A quick brush of his hair adjusted the fluffy mop. Then his hand found the scar. A constant reminder of what was stolen from him.
Time. Confidence. What else was missing he had yet to discover?
He couldn't lie; having the ranger around didn't make him feel safer, but he lived longer on his own without the man just fine. Yet, with only one day left, uncertainty never bogged him down so much. He needed to be better.
"Don't just line the sights, they can be wrong sometimes." Vincent hummed. Arms raised again. Eyes evaluated the sights, then the dummy target down the range. Boots skidded against asphalt. Lawrence stood behind him, hunching to Vincent's height. Vincent froze. "Line up the barrel with your eyes." Hands set on his shoulders. A light touch under a few rough calluses. Flutters tickled his back and arms, savoring the man's unexpected touch. Hoping he hadn't noticed the timid quivers. Then those hands set upon his own. Curved to his grip. "Relax," Lawrence whispered. Gentle puffs brushed his neck. Quivers turned to full-blown goosebumps. "You'll get it. Now…" Could the ranger hear his nervous breathing? Feel the goosebumps? "Keep this posture." Such a baritone voice struck envy in the young man, but also something else with every vibration. Reverberating and shaking those butterflies in his stomach.
Bang!
"Sorry!"
"You hit it!"
Vincent stared at the target. Weathered cardboard, warped and pierced by a line. Oil circles made the bullseye. One circle off from the center, and to his surprise, he hit it.
"Keep using your good eye and you'll be fine," Lawrence said. He returned to the nearby shade of the canopy, following the length of the shooting gallery. "How bad is your vision?" He inquired, searching Vincent's satchel for the water stowed.
Vincent shrugged. "I can see just fine, but sometimes light has a strange effect."
Lawrence took a long drink, offering the other bottle to Vincent when he wandered over. "How so?"
"It depends on the light. I'm better off during the day, but things can look warped sometimes. Like a heat mirage." He took a seat with Lawrence. "I feel practically blind in one eye at night though."
Lawrence unfolded his sunglasses from his pocket. He leaned to the boy, setting the pair on the bridge of Vincent's nose. "How's that?"
He paused. The glare was mostly gone. Vincent scanned the world through new eyes. No longer disrupted by odd imaginary flares and bulges. His gaze wandered to Lawrence, but the ranger didn't change much. Still pleasant to look at. Then out onto the range that was once a runway strip. The distorted sun glare, the warped shapes diminished. He could see long-distance details without interference once again. "It's… better!"
"I'll get you a pair," Lawrence declared. "Gonna need them, especially out in the wastes."
Vincent gave the man a wide smile. The ranger returned the grin for a moment, before his thirst got the better of him. "I've been meaning to say something…"
"Oh?" An intrigue brow peaked. The ranger wore that look often with him so much that Vincent had figured there must have been a correlation between the angle of the arch and interest.
"I didn't mean to upset you when we were talking about your tattoos."
"Don't think anything of it." Lawrence squinted down the tarmac. Sweltering black in all directions. Lengthy lanes stretching towards bleak walls. Gray danced at the farthest end, smearing up into cloudless blue. "Been a while since anyone seen that one."
"I am curious about it, but I won't pry if it's…" Vincent took off the ranger's sunglasses and handed them back. "Not something to discuss."
The boy's timid eyes wandered to the cement beneath their feet, lending Lawrence a better view of the scar that occasionally came out at the right angle. He was quite particular about his hair, Lawrence noted. Always needing to cover it. Checking its status here and there. Lawrence chuckled as Vincent did just that. Vincent brushed wavy locks to the side then met the ranger's eyes.
"What'd I tell you 'bout that curiosity of yours?"
"Sorry, I won't bring it up again."
"You'd be more convincing if you kept eye contact," Lawrence stated. "When you ask someone something that might make them or you uncomfortable, hold their eyes. It'll get them to tell you what you want and then some. Those funky pupils or yours can be used for good or evil."
"So, I should keep staring at you?" Vincent chuckled. "Because of my 'funky pupils'?"
"I'm something to stare at."
"I'm not saying you aren't." Vincent's chuckle turned to a laugh.
"Takes one to know one."
Vincent's smile lingered. Goaded out and put on a spotlight after those words. The man slouched back in his chair. "Marcus was a ranger." Vincent inched off his seat. "We became close. Much closer than regulations permitted. We were together for a while. Six years." He leaned elbows on his knees and stared at the runway. Sweltering black asphalt danced. A shimmering mirage, polished like a mirror that gave no reflection back. "He was killed a few years ago. On a mission. I wasn't there."
"Oh…" Vincent muttered. A pang of guilt struck him. He should have known better not to bring it up with those looks the ranger wore around the subject. Yet, Lawrence talked about it. Admittedly, a better reaction than last time. If Lawrence decided to talk about it, then maybe he didn't mind Vincent so much. Maybe the ranger had gotten used to the company. After all, he had come this far with Vincent. Much to the boy's surprise. "Legion, I suppose?"
Lawrence nodded. "It's also why I've been out here while on leave. I'm out for revenge too." He leaned back in his chair. Plastic and metal squeaked together. "Another thing we got in common, huh?" Lawrence chuckled, hiding the obvious sting behind that forced grin. "I'm going off a two-year old description of a decanus who murdered him. So, uh, haven't gotten anywhere."
"Well, I can understand why you're doing it," Vincent assured. "I want my revenge for what was taken from me. You want the same, but having someone taken from you feels a little different. I'll help you find him."
Eyes flicked up to the young man. A smile tugged Lawrence's lips. "Guess I ought to keep you gettin' good with a side-arm."
When Lawrence stirred, morning light had already pierced through the window for an hour. Vincent watched it creep in. Trickling through the neon canopy overhead, streaming in like reflections off water. Soft flashes of color illuminated the smooth white canvas ceiling. Diffused by the curtains, they came in even intervals. Blue became green, then red peeked through for a bit before dimming to pink. Then purple and finally back to blue. A cycle, Vincent noted. A mash of many signs that ignited the night-life of Freeside beneath the screen. A cycle he found applied to much more than mere solicitous signs.
Restless. Tossing and turning all night accompanied an equally restless mind. He couldn't help but fixate on what could happen the next day.
Every part of it…
Being attacked by Benny and his thugs wasn't the first time, just the worst. He found it better to flee when he could. Eventually, he got good at picking up on those subtle hints. A gut feeling. He couldn't fight back—no matter how much he wanted to. He didn't have the strength. Certainly not the numbers nor allies and most definitely not the skill. Would confronting Benny be another one of those times? Would he wind up getting killed or almost killed again? Doomed to always be less than? Weak? Incapable? Helpless?
Lawrence turned on his back, raising arms behind his head. "Take it you didn't sleep much," he pondered, fog of sleep darkening his voice.
"Sorry if I disturbed you," Vincent whispered.
"Nah." He shoved the blanket off. Sitting up, Lawrence rubbed sleep from his eyes. "Let's head over to McCarran."
Mornings were a quiet affair in New Vegas. Chaste and modest to counteract whatever debauchery from the evening before. Those night-walking types had their daytime analogues: Workers strutted out and about like the dancers and solicitous women on their way to cash out. The high rollers were the shop-keepers opening up for the day. Eager to gamble on what they could haggle out of an unexpecting tourist or local. Then there were the day laborers pacing the construction sites, hoping the foremen pick them out of the lineup for the day—a John looking for his fix. The beggars loitering on the street corners, hats turned upside down, keeping to their own minuscule claim of the city. Careful not to step into some other prospector's claim.
Not everything in the city was sparkling glitter, flashy lights, the endless cocktails, and games. Outside the relative safety of Freeside, the desert crept inward. The flats beyond Vegas were farm country. Humble gardens in the crosshatch of streets. Almost enough to support the NCR homesteaders and locals. Other things had a habit of creeping in. Raiders, outlaws, the old gangs of Vipers, Jackals, and all their ilk looking to make a grand comeback when the long rifle of some bounty hunter or soldier of fortune wasn't looking.
He was quiet on the walk to McCarran. Enough to pique the ranger's curious glances now and then. Uncharacteristically solemn, Lawrence hoped his own unpleasantries hadn't rubbed off on the boy. Once Vincent received that passport, brows tightened. He stared at it. A foreign object. Something from another world. A small wrap of brahim hide folded around various papers of Do's and Don'ts, the laws of the strip, and one small square of paper laminated several times over in plastic. A fuzzy black and white rendition of himself. Next to it, his name. The right one that cemented himself in reality for that brief moment.
How easily a trigger finger could rip it all away in a second.
"Never had an ID before?" Lawrence shouldered the quiet boy next to him. He stole a glimpse at the card and then its owner.
"No, never had the need or chance to get one."
"I have too many," Lawrence scoffed. "One they give to the regular citizens. Then I had to get another once I joined. Then I have the dogtags and finally an updated ID when I completed training and really became a ranger."
"Oh, are they different from these?"
Lawrence reached inside his duster pocket and pulled a wad of NCR dollars and caps wrapped around a rectangle. He shoved the money back into the pocket before handing the card to Vincent. Rank, placement, a birthdate of December 6th, 2248—something to remember. Numbers and details about the ranger, although the picture was a younger man. Shorter hair. A smoother shaven face and cocky half-smile somewhat deserved. A softer look in his eyes…
"Why do you have such a long name?" Vincent remarked, a teasing chuckle joining in. "Lawrence David-Ashley Wyatt-Garrett."
"Hey." Lawrence snatched his card back. "Coming from the guy with no last name."
"Suppose I could borrow one of yours? You got plenty."
"My parents couldn't decide on a middle name so I got two."
"And two last names," Vincent noted, eyes wandering to the oncoming passengers. A sparse crowd of soldiers, MPs, and a variety of NCR personnel shuffled through a narrow corridor. "Should I come up with one?"
"How does Luck sound?"
"Ha-ha." Vincent rolled his eyes.
"The McCarran-Las Vegas monorail will now be departing!" A synthetic boomed overhead. Feminine and scratching against speakers hidden in the ceiling. Stipulations of safety concerns echoed across the cars in uneven timing. A similar design and shape to the one that wandered aimlessly below the Boneyard. Empty and never to see passengers beyond the service robots trapped inside.
Outside the window, the world rushed by. A quick palette of the desert. Reds, browns. The endless blue sky. A sudden smear of neon lights and signs. The gradients of concrete buildings. Once the monorail came to a halt, butterflies hatched in Vincent's stomach. Fluttering about as sand rushed through his veins, However, when they finally left the station the awe distracted his nerves.
The glare of grid windows rivaled their buildings' colorful lights. Tall like those he gawked at in the Boneyard once upon a time, but these buildings had more character. Only in the Boneyard did he think these numbers of folks existed. Dense. Hordes roamed the streets of an oasis. Nervously dense. Too many eyes and ears. Overwhelming faces flashing by. The desert and wasteland staved off at the walls. Clashing music and voices. Images danced across leviathan screens. Endless array of advertisements for every one of the casino, the shops, and shows of paradise.
Green. Emerald green grass filled the center divider in a wide street. Towering palms sprung up in even intervals, holding onto a long string of rainbow lights. From the overlook station, he caught glances of a tropical waterfall. Overgrowth crawled across faux rocks while the playful spurts of water came up to water those flowers and vines. Performers wandered. Women in eye-catching outfits of feathers and glitter. A masked magician entertained a crowd outside one casino, enticing onlookers to attend his show. Vendors rushed, busy with eager lines to sell little trinkets, food, and drinks. Unseen against a lively atmosphere were the securitrons. The same build and model as the mysterious one who called itself Victor. These ones wore different faces. Patient and still, they blended in with the unseen bland. Flushed against the walls and hidden in the corners. Then there was the collective stationed outside a white tower.
The Lucky 38.
Salient white beamed like a beacon, forcing any gazing on to a squint. A dizzying throw back of the head was needed just to take it all in. Little beyond its apex seen through the glare. Only from their good distance at the monorail station and under its shade, did Vincent ponder what lay in the roulette wheel top. Slanted windows. Vague and dark. Peering down on the city, dwarfing all other sparkling towers.
"Tops is that one over there," Lawrence pointed further down the strip. Through the jungle, Vincent saw the sign first. Dancing jacks twinkled like stars. A round entrance hall attached to a bland tower complex, wedged between shops, restaurants, and all manner of enticing enterprises. He had made it. Now he could finally enact revenge for what was taken from him. Yet, something kept his feet from moving forward.
"Well howdy, pardner!"
The cheery cowboy's voice yanked him outside his own mind. Victor wheeled over from a fountain plaza at the end of the station's stairs. Dodging people and others of his kind as he navigated to close the short distance. Almost as if he were waiting there...
"Victor?"
"Glad I caught you here!" He exclaimed, halting at the last step.
"Uh, why's that?" Vincent glanced at the robot then to Lawrence; Lingering suspicion scrunched his face beneath the shades.
"Consider me your personal welcome wagon!" Victor cheered as he extended his arms. The rubbery tube housing squeaked. The clamps at the end turned according to their programming. "The head honcho of New Vegas, Mr. House, is itchin' to make your acquaintance."
"Who? Mr. House?"
"Mosey on in, pardner. Mr. House isn't someone you want to go on snubbin'." The securitron warned. A stagnant grinning cowboy flickered on his screen. He spun in a tight circle and wheeled away towards the high tower.
"Things just keep on gettin' more interesting," Lawrence remarked.
Despite a welcoming front garden of lush green grass with not one flaw upon its face, none approached the tower closer than the distant sidewalk. Flashing white lights under the steps showed the way to the door. Glossy red and signed by a 38 planted on a roulette wheel.
"Right this way." Victor waited patiently at the door, "But, just a word to the wise, Mr. House won't let your friend inside."
Vincent turned to Lawrence. Facing the unknown once more. This time without the man who seemed to bring out his old nerve he thought he lost for good. Vincent had walked longer and farther without Lawrence. Although, to lack his company so suddenly. Well, it felt rather like being accosted by an unexpected chill on bare skin.
"What do you think this about?" Vincent urged. "What's going to happen?"
Brows twitched over wide eyes. Vincent stared up at Lawrence as if he had all the answers. Yet the man stared back at him, dumbfounded. He looked over Vincent and to the robot. A securitron. Everyone of them. Answering only to Mr. House. His own personal army. And one, albeit a unique one, yanked some courier out the clutches of death. A quirk he could attribute to its unique programming, but then to follow that courier on a long path that ended here.
"I'm sorry," Lawrence finally spoke. Shaking his head, he squeezed Vincent's shoulders. Nothing about the events of the last month were happenstance. "I don't know. But I'll be down here if you want to go."
What little anybody knew about House wasn't enough to anticipate what awaited him in the Lucky 38. People only referred to him by other names: Mr. Vacancy, Not-at-Home, the boss. A man in the lofty tower overlooking New Vegas from the saucer, only known as Mr. House. Plenty to say about him but saying nothing at all.
Cold, stale air, better than the sun outside, yet the silence be damned. Not a single soul besides him. Securitrons guarded the floor instead. An elegant reception hall for guests that would never come. An expansive gambling floor just beyond the tall deco motifs of arches. As big as it was empty, curving to the width of the tower's base. Rows of slots and tables filled the vacancy. Dim light feigned warmth and vivacity. Slot machines dormant in their tomb. Empty tables, pristine green felt, never used. An eerily quiet bar above the gambling hall. Spiraling up the tower, floors circled around the elevator. Row by row. Silent. A still image frozen in time. Leading on forever to the tallest point in the tower.
"Right this way." Victor led him to an elevator column in the center of the casino hall.
Light boots disturbed dusty carpet and tile. Jumpy eyes widened, staring into a palette of red and white. Expecting ghosts of a bygone era to manifest before him at any moment, ready to play the slots and tables for as long as the casino remained. Dreadful silence. Hearing only his own blood rushing around his ears. A faint heart, embedded deep, quickening for fear of what lay in the unnatural stillness. Whirring of the securitrons' internal workings is barely louder than his thoughts.
Four stood around the center column. Elevator shafts stretched the height of the tower, one long central vein branching off to helix floors. The ride was too long. Heart thudded against ribs. Anxiety radiated through his limbs. A high tide pushing then dragging out. His pulse plummeting into tingling fingertips. Being stuck in a transparent box ascending the tallest tower on the strip. The tallest tower he'd ever seen, let alone step foot in. An unfocused mind raced with too many thoughts, too many scenarios, and possibilities. Red walls swallowed glass windows, then it stopped altogether.
A single ding and the doors withdrew.
Legs turned to lead as he walked out of the box. Daring to work no further lest he turned around. Daylight graced sensitive eyes. Unable to look away even as eyes teared and stung. Not a single wall. The entire breadth of the Mojave before him. Distant mountains fading to blue. The expanse of Nevada plains beyond them. A glint of Lake Mead's waters as he rounded the catwalk. A hint of California to the west. Blue skies as endless as they were humbling. A scene captured in the serenity of a time capsule. A penthouse, vacant and preserved, hosting only one young man…
Vincent paused as he came to a new corridor. What he could only assume was once an office. Pristine book spines filling shelves pushed against the wall between symmetrical stairwells. A conservative desk of solid wood. Bare, albeit for the dust it gathered. Opposite to that, covered from floor to ceiling; computer towers. Lights flickering. Mechanics humming and whirring inside. Monitors consumed a blank wall above them. And all of it, guarded by a collective of securitrons. Taking in all the wondrous sights and curiosities, Vincent turned back to the monitors. Screens flickered on. He hopped back, gawking up at the portrait filling the largest center monitor.
"This meeting has been a long time coming, hasn't it?" The computer spoke. Not a synthetic voice. But the portrait… Not a flesh and blood image either. A still painting. A thin layer of dust coated glass, fading the green tint of the image. An unusual face. Lacking in time and age. A face he'd expect to see in the old-world pictures remaining on ancient billboards and playbills. Cautious steps brought Vincent closer to the screen. "I have to ask—now that you've reached your destination, what do you make of what you see?"
"Vegas? This tower? Or you?" Vincent inquired, head swiveling about, ogling every screen before him. A long row of cameras focused on the strip. Live footage of everything happening below. Flooding with crowds. Dazzling signs dancing. Then feeds focused on the Lucky 38. Peering down the helix of floors and its grand entrance and Lawrence waiting on the steps… "Nothing like I've ever seen—Vegas or you."
"Vegas always was one of a kind."
Was this the elusive Mr. House? A collection of machines and screens? Or was there a real person in there? But that somber tone. Nostalgic and reminiscent. An AI? An old-world magic trick?
"What you see down on the strip is just a fraction of the city's former glory, and yet more than an echo. I preserved its spirit."
"Are you a machine?"
"I am Robert Edwin House, President, CEO, and sole proprietor of the New Vegas strip. Make no mistake, there is a man behind the curtain. I am no wizard. Not a machine, nor dictator."
"Alright then…" Such a loaded response felt more like a parade of accomplishments. "Why am I here?"
"One of my employees has stolen an item of extraordinary value from me, and I want it recovered."
"Oh, I don't think I'll be of any use—"
"But you already have been," Mr. House corrected. "This item is what you were supposed to deliver until Benny intercepted you early."
Vincent cocked his head. Staring at the screen as if it were a real person he could somehow read. Dumbfounded. Speechless. Ruminating through past events that led up until now. Victor. "You've been keeping tabs on me? You knew what Benny did."
"Benny was my protégé," House confessed. "There was little I did not know about him—his ruthless ambition being one of those unforeseen traits."
"And how do you expect me to get the chip?"
"That is exactly why I had you directed here; to help you prepare," House said. "And give you an offer to rival any future or past ventures."
"Something worth being shot in the head for?"
"And beyond," he declared, a slight beat lifting a monotone voice. "Retrieve the platinum chip from Benny and comply with my demands and you may have whatever your heart desires. To give you a taste of what I have to offer, you will be given your own suite here in the Lucky 38."
Vincent paused for another look around the penthouse. As if the curtains would come crashing down any moment. Reveal the fraud. Reveal the dream he was obviously having. Was it reality? Had he stumbled upon some grand opportunity? Vincent whipped back to the monitor. A monotone expression and one scrutinous brow raised upon whoever stood before its gaze. "There's more to this though? Has to be."
"You wish to know your payout in this high-stakes game?"
"That's a start."
"I'm not offering you an incentive as crude as money, though there'll be plenty of that," House assured. "What I'm offering you is a ground-floor opportunity in the most important enterprise on Earth. What I'm offering is a future, for you, and for what remains of the human race."
Vincent paused. The timeless image refreshed on the screen. An eager silence awaited Vincent's response. The sole-proprietor of New Vegas made a convincing introduction, but there was always a catch.
"I'm listening."
Cool air met them at the door. A waving draft coming in and out with the crowds. Noon heat staved off at the doors of the Tops. Larger than it appeared on the outside. Beyond the receptionist's desk, the inviting and colorful gambling hall. Neon flamingos walked on the walls. Women in pink sequin and feathers strutted about the floor. Trays of drinks, boxes of cigars, cigarettes, and tobacco clutched in hands. Slots sang and cheered, mixing in with an invisible swinging orchestra. Calling him in, curiosity grabbed him by the nose. Lawrence tugged Vincent back by his vest, "Hold on."
"What?"
"What's the plan?"
"Well," Vincent muttered, all discerning thoughts vacated his brain. "House said he would be skittish if I openly accused him in front of people, but that could go bad."
"Very bad."
"But…" Vincent stressed. An impatient brow peaked as Lawrence waited for the catch. "House also mentioned he received some interesting transmission from somewhere in the Tops and he has a hunch it's Benny."
"Alright here's what we're gonna do." Lawrence pulled Vincent closer by his shoulder, slouching down to meet the boy face to face. "We're gonna go in and pretend we're here for a good time. Every casino is gonna ask to forfeit guns, so don't think anything of it."
"What if we get attacked?"
"I'm always packing some kind of heat, I promise." Intrigued eyes glossed over the ranger. Another tidbit just to send Vincent's imagination wild—he must do it on purpose.
Through the heavy crowd they wandered. Lawrence blended in with ease without the armor and duster to give away his allegiance. Wandering and gawking at all the shiny neon lights, the tables, the flashy floor-girls; nothing beyond the caps burning a hole in his pockets. But the bar had to be weakness by the way he scoped it out the moment they stepped inside. Colorful floor-girls came and went with rainbow cocktails set upon their trays. Each in unique outfits but all the same style: form fitting, boisterous to their assets, sequin leotards flaring peacock tails, and matching heels. But something caught Vincent's eye that the ranger wouldn't' have noticed.
Between the patrons and the glass, a black-and-white checkered suit blared out like yelling neon signs. He tugged the ranger's rolled sleeve. "Lawrence, that's Benny."
"Where?"
"In the VIP lounge, the checkered suit."
"Change of plans."
Lawrence snuffed another half-smoked cigarette. He found a friend in diversion. Just one of many tactics the rangers used and by far one he felt allowed him to be his most creative. A bashful fire grew with his smile. Once the smoke turned darker, he told Vincent to pull the alarm. Lawrence left the men's room first, keeping his attention fixed on the VIP section. The alarm wailed not long after. Guests paused their games, looking amongst themselves and around for the alleged fire. The ranger weaved through the reluctant crowds. Lighting a discreet flame in a planter or trash bin here and there.
Just in time.
A shrill scream drew attention to a planter. Staff rushed over. Crowding around, shouting for everyone to keep back while others scrambled to find a hidden extinguisher. Lawrence paused to search the VIP lounge—semi-orderly evacuation underway. He pressed on against the flow. Three other men tailed Benny. Not like the usual suits in the joint. Not his cronies—didn't have the skeeze-ball look. Across the room, peeking behind the door of the men's restroom, Vincent watched the ranger. Cold sweat wicked his brow. Palms clammy against chilly metal. Just a step behind Benny.
Lawrence reached out and tapped his shoulder. "Excuse me, sir, but you dropped this," Lawrence said, handing Benny a distinct lighter.
Eyes bulged as they darted between the lighter and Lawrence. A lighter he should have never seen again. Before he could escape, Lawrence shoved him through the doors into the women's room.
"Woah, woah! What's going on?"
Lawrence snatched Benny's pistol. An ornate thing. Flashy and overdone just like its owner. He shoved the smaller man in a stall.
"Lawrence!" Vincent rushed through the door. He spun around, shoving it locked and closed. "I spotted some of his friends coming back this way."
"Shit."
"Hey—hey!" Benny protested. "At least wine and dine before you poke and prod me like that." He searched the man feverishly, pulling odds and ends from his pockets. A few cards. A pack of cigarettes. A new lighter and notes crumpled around it. All of it discarded indiscriminately onto the floor. A key ring jingled as it skidded on tile and splayed out at his boots. He snatched the ring, catching a glimpse of Benny on the way up. The weasel met Vincent's glare. His color drained away gawking at the boy like he was a ghost. Wide eyes traced the scar he gouged into Vincent's skull with a bullet. "You're supposed to be dead!"
"Is this it?" Lawrence shoved the poker chip to Vincent. Glossy. Still as shiny as he remembered. The etching of a 38 in its center obscured his reflection. Vincent snatched it and Lawrence promptly turned back to the man one last time. A fist socked their captive. Barely a smear of colors from the boy's peripherals. One hard hard crack and Benny was out cold.
"Alright let's go," Lawrence rushed to Vincent, shoving him along to the door.
A flurry of colors crowded for the main doors. The evacuation neared it end and so did their cover. Lawrence peeked through glass panels. Two goons headed their way from the crowd. He released the clip of Benny's gun and counted the bullets. More than enough. "Get behind the bar."
Vincent retreated. Lawrence followed behind him and they waited. Steps clicked on tile then muffled by carpet. They stopped altogether just shy of the bar. Quiet. Surveilling.
"Don't see him here."
"I'll check the lounge," the other replied. "Look in the bathrooms."
Hinges creaked. The first pair of heavier steps disappeared. The second headed for the bar. "Keep your head down and head that way," Lawrence whispered, pointing to the side of the counter they came in at. Leering at the bathroom door, Vincent slipped around. The ranger stayed low, backing away, pistol raised and ready to fire. The two backed out. Then turned the corner. Carefully, slowly. No sudden moves. No noise. The stranger passed them at the long end of the bar. Crossing the gap and then disappeared into the VIP lounge.
Out of sight.
The Tops' emergency didn't last long. Outside, disgruntled patrons' annoyances in the afternoon swelter eased by promises of complimentary drinks. With alarms ceased, onlookers dissipated in search for the next entertaining scene. Antsy chairmen whispered among themselves while the perpetrators walked unnoticed by them, even lingering for a bit until they collected their guns.
Lawrence and Vincent returned to the Lucky 38, but one remained outside as expected. Departed without words again, just a look of understanding and a nod. The second ride up the elevator wasn't as bad as the first. Intrusive fears of it suddenly breaking and crashing still followed Vincent though. However, nothing compared to the unknown lurking in the back of his mind.
The screens were silent until he approached. He raised his hand, chip pinched between thumb and forefinger.
"Such a small thing, isn't it?" Mr. House started. A small tray pushed out from a console beneath his primary screen. "And yet so capacious. So very dear." In the tray a shallow slot just the size of the chip awaited to hold the precious thing. He set it in the tray, and it receded back into the console. The package he had set out to deliver, finally delivered. "As requested, I will show you what the chip does," House stated. Subtle undertones of pride added flavor to a solemn voice. "Don't worry. You'll like what you see. We have much to accomplish, you and I."
In the shade of the tower, he found a perfect spot to rest. His own little oasis in the heat in the shade of the tower. Vincent finally emerged an hour after he disappeared in the Lucky 38. The silence of the young man was deafening. He said nothing when he sat with Lawrence on the grass, but the ranger knew better than to pry. The boy would speak in his own time. He found it better to observe the young man in the meantime. Admiring a likable face and lithe form. He'd study the scar and pensive look in his eyes when the wind brushed those curls away.
Meanwhile, Vincent's attention fixed on the passing crowds. Each person their own being, someone with a life, and history. Someone who, like him, didn't want to die, but unlike them, he had. That same bad luck that put him in a grave followed him across the desert up until now—Or so he thought. Something of him was left behind in that grave and the further he departed from it, the more noticed it. But what it was, he had yet to find out.
"That was a good plan."
"Fire alarm? Pretty fun. I did it once or twice as a kid." Lawrence chuckled, pulling Vincent's gaze to him. A grim look Lawrence had been waiting for the moment Vincent returned from the top of the world.
"I have to go to Fortification Hill."
"What. Why would—"
"It's not what I want," Vincent declared. "There's something beneath the Fort—"
"Hold on." Lawrence sat up to lean on his palm instead. "Why you? Why in general?"
Vincent looked at him. "What do you think is the best for New Vegas? For this region?"
Brows furrowed. Gears turned in Lawrence's head at what seemed to be a non-sequitur question. "What do you mean?"
"The NCR, the Legion, or staying independent of both and Vegas remains House's." He turned to Lawrence and crossed his legs. Intent eyes stare at the ranger as Vincent mulled over his thoughts.
"There is…" Lawrence shook his head. He sighed as eyes squinted out on the strip's reflection. "Legion ain't even an answer, but if the NCR should be here? I don't know. We need to deal with the real problems at home."
"Oh?" Vincent straightened back. "I'm a little surprised to hear you say that."
"I've been out here too long I guess," Lawrence shrugged. "Too many people have died for a cause I'm not too sure of anymore. Are we fighting the Legion or fighting to take control of this territory and everyone in it whether they like it or not?"
"I think there's more to it than that," Vincent pondered. "Having access to the dam, the water, the land. It's helping us."
"It's complicated." Lawrence shook his head. "The more people we throw at this, the less we have to defend our real borders. The area we can keep control of when the Legion does come for us. That is inevitable. It won't end here."
Vincent met his eyes. "What if there was a way to make the NCR leave?"
"Mind tellin' me?"
"It would end the war," Vincent said. "If I help House and he keeps control of New Vegas and the dam, the NCR would be forced to back off, but then the Legion also has a huge obstacle in its way."
"Like what?"
"The reason I have to go to the Fort." Lawrence twisted to him. Taut scowl scrunching his face. Words caught in his throat. Gaze flickered between Vincent's eyes as the boy stood up. "Come with me."
Lawrence descended the stairs of the balcony. The room, the suite, was what one could imagine hidden away at the top of the guarded, most exclusive casino on the strip. Walls conformed to the curve of the tower in an open layout. Working lights, running water, even a refrigerator—cold. He didn't think he'd find anything like it outside the republic, yet here it was frozen in time with the rest of the Lucky 38. The main window stood as tall and wide as the bedroom and garnering Vincent's undivided attention. Red velvet curtains framed the scene. Below, a pristine view down on the entirety of Vegas; Freeside, the strip, Summerlin, Westside, and the outer ruins minuscule beneath him. The whole valley… He followed the maze of streets and highways in the distant ruins on the boundary, tracing his own journey that led him to the very room he stood in.
"So…" Lawrence turned his back to the window and leaned against the guardrail. "What's the price tag?
Vincent hummed, glancing to Lawrence as if he didn't know what he meant.
"House is willing to indulge you, as long as you're useful to him," Lawrence articulated. He hung his shoulders in a shrug. "Which just begs the question; what does he want? What does he want with you? He's sending you to the Fort and if it was me going, it's because there's a big reward waitin' for me when I get back or it's something worth dying for."
"He wants to keep control of New Vegas, and only him."
"And what does that have to do with you? Or even that reward I mentioned."
"He promised something more than just caps and a lofty suite," Vincent's voice hushed. Yes, there was a reward. Something the ranger could never fathom. And something Vincent debated telling Lawrence entirely. "It's more about the outcome after the inevitable second war for the dam."
Lawrence arched a brow. He glanced out the window. Never had he seen anything from so high up. The vast expanse of the desert glaring back beneath the sun. A small glimpse caught the mountains surrounding the unseen dam. The priciest thing the desert had to offer and the demanding currency was people's lives.
"The NCR can't win this," Vincent stated. Lawrence's eyes and shoulders tensed as returned his gaze to the boy. Yet he remained silent, as if some part of him agreed. "House can."
"Is that why you asked me what I think is best for this place?"
"Yes." Vincent broke away from the window to give his full attention to Lawrence. "He clearly doesn't care for the Legion, but the NCR can't have the strip either, that's not to say he would oust them or go to war. The NCR can barely support itself as is, it's why we're out here. It's why you're out here."
Lawrence nodded. A heavy sigh weighed down his shoulder as he focused on the carpet. Red to match the curtains, but not the same velvet. Abstract gold stripes cut through the monotony. Collectively they made a much larger deco design that fit in perfectly with the rest of the time capsule. "I could see that much." Lawrence scoffed. "You can thank the president for that."
Vincent crossed his arms and leaned on the rails. He too glanced at the carpet, but he couldn't keep his eyes off the ranger. Lawrence would never feel the same about him after what he would have to say, but they had become close. Or maybe not. Even if that were true, he still had to know. He left everyone who wasn't on his side behind in Yucca Valley and if Lawrence wasn't someone to trust or keep close… It was better to sever that before it would hurt more.
"Well, yes." Vincent paused to find his words. Anxiety warned him to pick them wisely. "I don't want to lie to you, Lawrence, or make you do something without realizing the effect it would have..."
Lawrence pulled away from the window. He tossed his duster aside to the arm of the sofa then found a better spot on the plush couch. A perplexed look lingered as a hand brushed his wiry chin. "It's an army of securitrons underneath the Fort. House plans to use them to take the dam and keep control of Vegas. They'll emerge from under Caesar's camp and, well, you can imagine what happens from there."
"What would keep him from using that against the NCR?"
"He knows the NCR would be more amicable to a treaty," Vincent explained, careful in the way of tone and words as he had learned from observation. "But it's important that the NCR isn't destroyed in this conflict. In fact I think it's crucial to his plans. I don't want to see my home destroyed by itself let alone some other—" Wrist flicked in place of proper vocabulary. "—Thing. Whether it's House or the Legion."
Lawrence leaned forward. Hiding his face in his hands as a groan muffled through his fingers. Vincent paced in front of the window, walking off his own anxiety. He only hoped Lawrence wouldn't hate him, yet he preferred the ranger hate him than attack him. Was he like that? Lawrence had been so generous the weeks they'd been together.
"I know," Lawrence whispered. "I've known for a while."
"Known what?" Vincent muttered as he took a cautious step forward.
"I'm a ranger." He looked at Vincent, shaking his head. "I see everything; the wasted lives, wasted resources—I've been so hesitant to say it aloud." Lips parted, but he had no words. Vincent joined the ranger on the sofa. "This is a waste!" He thrust frustrated hands at nothing. "But I'm too indecisive."
Too indecisive… Vincent never imagined the ranger would be indecisive. Unless it was for a good reason. A good reason that Vincent had given him, or at least reminded him of. "This whole fucking war is a waste." He hid his face, but shame tinted in his voice. "I want the republic to be better, do better, but President Kimball and General Oliver have screwed us. It isn't just the dam they want. NCR wants to expand as usual. They want New Vegas, they want the dam, hell they'd probably try to take all Legion territory with a single soldier's boot on their soil once this is over. The reason always varies," he added, a bitter taste lingered on his tongue. "But the motivation is always the money. Not the people. Not freedom. And I'm… Indecisive."
"Indecisive? Of what you want to do?"
"Of what the right thing is," he corrected. "I have no idea if that is going along with my orders; gettin' through this hellscape no matter the cost." He shook his head, "I don't feel that's right, but I also can't say if helping House is the answer either." He reached for his sack set aside at the foot of the sofa. Dragging it up, he brought it to his lap. The ranger searched through it haphazardly before discarding it once he found the cigarette pack and lighter.
"I don't agree with everything House says, but…" Vincent watched a trembling hand raise the flame to the end of the cigarette. Loosely hung from Lawrence's lips. "I'm sorry, Lawrence," Vincent whispered. "I can understand, though. The feeling of going against what you've known. What you've been for so long, and probably being ignored or thought of as crazy…"
He took a long inhale from the cigarette. A steady stream of gray escaped his lips and nose as he eyed the boy. "In all the time I've been out here," Lawrence patted the boy's knee. "You've been one of those rare, good things I find." Butterflies tickled Vincent's stomach. An unstoppable smile budded across his face. Before he could say the same to Lawrence, "I'll go with you to the Fort. I can't let you go alone."
"You can't just walk in there!"
"I know. I know the Legion. I know they are ruthless and." Lawrence shook his head again. "I can't let you go alone."
"Well, what if they rather take you prisoner or crucify you or something?"
"I'll think of a way out," Lawrence reassured as he waved his hand. "I'm good at getting in and out."
Vincent wanted to believe Lawrence, but his nagging fear remained unconvinced. Leading the ranger to certain death… And on a mission he may have not been entirely devoted to. Lawrence had no stake in any of this. Was there another reason he would go? Spy on the Legion? Gather intel? If they had been watching Vincent as House hinted towards, they knew Lawrence was with him and they would know he was their enemy.
But it was a means to an end. All part of a greater plan. House could generate wealth from being a tourist hotspot without a doubt. He already attracted a large amount of the NCR's population with plans to steal attention of "post-Legion" territories and beyond. Mr. House could do everything. Anything he wanted with economic power, backed by sheer numbers of soldiers that didn't need to eat, sleep. All for the purpose of rebuilding humanity—But one man's vision is another man's hell.
To do that would also take advantage of humanity. Exploiting their desires. Their needs. Their flaws. Things Vincent didn't agree with. Yet the New California Republic had its glaring flaws as well.
House was simply the best bet.
Vincent had his own ideas, however. Ideas to fix what was broken in a way the NCR, Legion, and maybe even House couldn't or didn't want to. A steady income re-invested in the people. Rebuild the ruins of the old-world to make room for the new, but that would come in time. With all those ideas, restlessness plagued Vincent that night. He tossed and turned, probably annoying the ranger. Not even a shower eased his mind or body. Even the bed as comfortable as anyone could want, still couldn't coax him asleep. The ambience of the wilderness or city usually lulled him asleep. Now all he heard was muffled wind against thick windows and the humdrum of an AC. He sighed, staring up at the array of vague neon lights dancing on a white ceiling.
"Can't sleep either?"
"Guess not," Vincent sighed.
They had discussed details of their trip to the Fort to exhaustion. Vincent questioned him on every little possible scenario to Lawrence's dismay. The difficult conversation brought Lawrence to relax on the luxurious bed and Vincent soon followed—just to test it out as well. Upon such comfortable sheets and pillows, their uncomfortable topic couldn't follow, and different stories arose. After long conversations subsided by tired eyes, Lawrence remained in the grand bed. Even with plenty of other rooms in the permanently vacant hotel. The ranger lingered. Lingered as their voices drifted to gentle breaths.
Lawrence turned on his side and faced Vincent. "Ever hear stories of skinwalkers in these parts?"
"Is that supposed to help me sleep?"
He chuckled and returned to his back. "Just stories. Like the stories about those mutants and monsters in the mountains."
"Oh, like the one we saw?"
"Nothin' to be spooked about." Lawrence laughed. He looked at the boy across from him. "Ever heard of Skinwalkers? They're all over Nevada, Arizona, but I saw them in Baja too."
"Alright," Vincent sighed in defeat. "What's a skinwalker?"
"Strange monsters…" He whispered. "The one I saw looked like a coyote, but it was all wrong. Looked like something was just wearing its hide."
Vincent grimaced. "Did it do anything?"
"I thought those crazy coyotes were hunting me, but only when they got close enough did I realize they weren't what they looked like." His voice fell to a whisper. He turned on his side, inching a little closer to Vincent. "I was sent out to search for a group of settlers headin' to a little place called Rosario in Baja. They were in the company of a ranger too, so that was our first call to go looking for them when they stopped contact. Then there was the radio call for help."
"What happened to them?"
"Don't know," he shrugged. "Never found their bodies, never made contact with the ranger… But those coyote things, there was something weird about them."
"They were following you?"
"Yeah. I was with another ranger at the time as well. He seen 'em and didn't like them either." Lawrence raised his arms behind his head only to be reabsorbed by his pillow. "When we camped at night, I swear we could hear voices in the distances. Heard a few screams, but nothing a coyote or mountain lion would make. Later found out, skinwalkers can supposedly mimic voices. But only the words of whoever they got."
Vincent hummed as he returned his gaze to the ceiling. "This isn't a good bedtime story."
Lawrence chuckled. "Why? You scared?" Vincent groaned and turned his back to the ranger. He still hadn't found any ounce of sleep and wasn't sure he would—skinwalkers aside. "Afraid something's gonna git ya?" The ranger's whisper lurked closer. Vincent could hear that smile creeping on his face. One corner of his mouth tugged more than the other. A playful glint his eye. "Unzip your skin and wear you?"
A nail glided down the back of his neck. Goosebumps crawled across his skin. He flailed about, swatting imaginary monsters. The ranger only laughed at him. "Lawrence!" Vincent hissed. Face bunched up in a scowl, but Lawrence was too proud of his own joke to quit.
Vincent grabbed his pillow. Before he could land a hit, Lawrence snatched it. "No you don't," he teased, yanking the pillow and taking Vincent along with it. "Just for that, you get no pillow tonight."
He flung it behind him and reclined, looking a bit more comfortable than he should. Vincent crossed his arms tightly over his chest. An oversized shirt only did so much to hide his shame. At least in such a dim room, surely Lawrence couldn't see anything odd about him. He had slipped up a bit, probably got too comfortable with the ranger. Even if nothing made him feel suspicious that Lawrence may know… All those looks and flirty banter only made him wonder about something else. Or was he testing Vincent?
"Fine then," Vincent shrugged it off and pretended with his best face he did not care. Sleight of hand swiped Lawrence's blanket. Snatched it away faster than a hungry scorpion's pincers. "Then you get no blanket."
The ranger squinted at him. "So, that's how it's gonna be?"
Vincent nonchalantly returned to his side of the bed as he grabbed his own blanket as well. Bundling them up tight against him before he turned his back to the ranger, and lay down without another word. Lawrence tugged the overflowing lump. Vincent's grip only tightened on his loot. Then he tugged a little harder. The boy yanked it away. Bed creaked as the ranger pounced. Vincent held onto the bundle for dear life. He returned Lawrence's laughs with his own. Albeit as fun as it was, Vincent wished the fear lingering in the back of his head was always so present.
The ranger was stronger. He could have ripped away the protective bundle, but Lawrence paused. It was simply too much fun to think twice. A mischievous smile hovered. Planning. Vincent never thought of Lawrence being one to tease, but in light of their previous talks, he was happy to see the ranger smile. Fingers probed Vincent's grasp. When that didn't work, he leaned on the boy with full force. "Give it up," Lawrence ordered, a confident smile goading out one from Vincent.
"Ack!" Vincent groaned, legs flailed and kicked the mattress as he squirmed. "Cheat!"
Lawrence laughed. Cocky, hushed, begging for attention. "You look good under me." He wore that smile too well on those lips. Soft and warm in the dim light, they wanted something. Vincent was surprised a wink didn't accompany his remark.
"Mine."
Another impish chuckle vibrated in the man's throat. The soft glow of bedside lamps highlighted his bobbing Adam's apple. The weight of the ranger on his side lifted. Hands moved to plant themselves above the boy's head. Dogtags chimed underneath his shirt. Orange hues brought out a deeper blue in the ranger's eyes, softening in warm lights when he met Vincent's gaze. The moment and closeness, nearly hypnotizing him. Hands loosened, wanting to reach out to man. Lawrence set a gentle hand on Vincent's cheek. A gentle brush of fingers parsed wavy locks away from his scar. Goosebumps scurried across his body. Mind racing, bombarded by a million thoughts. Half needing to reciprocate. Half needing to protect himself.
What would Lawrence think of him?
Lawrence closed the gap between them. Desire and passion ignited by a kiss. His whole body set aflame by doing the very thing he told himself not to. Something dangerous. Lips welcoming, wanting reciprocity, needing another's touch. Despite better senses telling him not to, Vincent combed a hand through Lawrence's hair. Splayed out at the back of his neck and inviting him to stay for more.
Touches descended to the wad of blanket. Tugged away. Vincent halted. A jolt brought him back to reality. Kiss interrupted. "Wait. Wait. Wait!" He pleaded, tearing away from Lawrence. Vincent rolled off the bed. Stumbling before feet planted on cold carpet. "I can't—" He shook his head, swallowing tears of frustration. As much as he wanted the company of another man, to have a partner in life, he knew none would accept him as he was. It would never work.
"Something wrong?" Lawrence stayed on the bed top. A rare look crossed his face. Confusion turned to a wince. "Did I misread you?"
"No, no. It's complicated and difficult and…" Vincent sighed as he paced to the sofa and took a seat. Bundle of blankets still clung to him as if it was a protective barrier to block any from seeing what he thought was wrong with him. Preventing any from knowing his most glaring flaw. "You wouldn't want me if you knew the truth."
"The truth?"
"About me and my… condition."
"Alright." He sat up, hunched and legs crossed. "What condition? There's little that surprises me anymore, Vincent."
"I'm not a man the same way you are." Vincent pushed the words out. Foreign. Vague on his own tongue as if they were a lie. Those words always left his mouth dry. His legs shaky and urging to run away from his own voice.
"I don't follow…"
"I was just born wrong." He threw up his hands in defeat, already knowing how this would end before it began. More hurt. Just like every time as before; when he told his mother, his friends… "I was born a girl, raised to be a girl, but I'm not. I can't stress that part enough! I'm not anything but—"
"Oh!" Lawrence chimed. A sudden look of revelation, like the lights finally went on inside of a long-time vacant building. Now Vincent was the confused one. "Sorry to steal your thunder, but you ain't the first, not even the second, and probably not the last I've met who's told me the same."
His shoulders relaxed and his grip on the wad of blankets loosened. "Really?"
"First person I met was a ranger I used to work with," Lawrence continued. "After she retired, she kinda just disappeared. Found her one day, didn't recognize 'er cause she used to go by Rob and looked a lot different." He moved to the edge of the bed and let his feet on the carpet. "She had the same fear as you do though," he said, voice softening to reveal the doughy surface beneath a stone facade. "Thought I'd hate her or somethin' but I can't hate the person who helped me be the ranger I am today."
Vincent glanced at the floor. A hint of embarrassment followed such a dramatic flair about the topic. "I've never got to meet anybody who felt the same as me, even if it's in the other direction. I thought I was alone."
"So, nothing new and nothing bad," Lawrence assured him. Slowly and cautiously, he stood up to join Vincent on the sofa. "I take it you've been a little worried about that?"
"Yes," he admitted. "I thought it would change the way you feel about me."
Lawrence smiled. "Lucky, I seem to have a soft spot for you. I wouldn't have guessed it—you just have a young look about you is all." A gentle laugh eased the tension. He leaned back into the plush sofa while an eye stayed on Vincent. A cautious hand reached for Vincent's. "I still like you and I'm not going to let you go to the Fort alone." His hand was happily accepted by a much smaller equally warm one. Worried eyes and a frown dissipated when Vincent looked at Lawrence.
Maybe his assumptions were wrong. Not set in stone. He told himself nobody would accept him and most days he didn't accept himself. Until some breaking point forced him into an existential ultimatum. An epiphany made leaving home behind easier than he had imagined. Nobody knew him by any other name or any other look, but maybe he just got lucky in that regard. A weird kind of luck that led him to the man at his side. Luck, he pleaded, would keep the ranger with him.