Idle Chatting

Vincent and I stood around with the sun beating down overhead. Our guide disappeared into the building after passing a chain-link door barrier and the exterior guards continued to watch us. It was obvious that we weren't allowed inside the building, so I didn't bother to ask. Instead, I sat on a bench next to the main chained off door shaded by the sun while the Mordino guard eyeballed me. Another hour passed, Vincent wandered around in bored idleness, and I sat on that shady bench counting the sweat beads that rolled down my face. I hated the Mordinos because of what they did to me when I entered town, also due to months of Bishop Family propaganda. But, boredom got the better of me, and I asked the guard next to me;

"Sooo… What is this place?"

The thug looked down at me through his sunglasses and said, "None of your fucking business, that's what."

I nodded understandingly and asked another question while looking at the grazing brahmin, "What's with the brahmin here?"

He said smugly/threateningly, "I said, none of your business, and I meant it."

I shrugged, changed the subject by saying, "At least you got the shade?" and took a swig from my canteen.

The man scoffed and replied, "Hmmph, for this shift. Still fucking hot though."

I nodded in agreement but asked, "What you do to your boss to end up out here?"

He scoffed again, "Hmmph, didn't do nothing. Boss trusts me and my pals here to watch over his op… Not that it concerns a fucking Bishop boy."

I said, "Ok… If you're comfortable with it?..."

I paused for a moment and then said, "Just seems like a raw deal considering where you could be?… Desperado is a pretty nice place... Not that I'd ever been in there."

I honestly wasn't trying to start anything. I was just making idle conversation, but something snapped inside the door guard's mind.

He burst out in a hushed tone, "Un-Fucking-Believable!"

I whipped towards the man in confusion, "What?"

He went off still quietly, "I been with the Mordinos for five fucking years working my fingers to the bone to gain their trust! I fought tooth and nail to work my way up. Then they saddle me here in the middle of fucking nowhere to guard that pre-pubescent fucktard's dipshit operation!?"

Eyes wide, I said, "Wh-What are you talking about?"

The other guards were too far away to hear, and this man kept his composure as he continued to rant. "When the Mordinos caught me, they put me through the bullshit for months until I earned their trust! Then some puny little dipshit fuckhead develops fucking Jet and gets the boss's attention?..."

I listened on, "Retard finds out there's some kind of property in brahmin shit that gets people high and the Boss gives him his own fucking setup and all the whores his undeveloped dick can fuck!?... Then! THEN! I am supposed to guard the fuckin place!? How's that fair? Especially since I been nothing but the best for Little Jesus!..."

I asked in a hushed tone, "What's going on? Who are you talking about?"

He went on, "Five years! Five years! I climbed through dirt to save my own God Damned skin!..."

He psychotically laughed to himself, "Five years of bullshit, Haha! Literally all I had to do was tell the Bosses to inhale some cow shit to get a good high and I'd be living the good life! That fuckhead lives it up in his little lab, and I have to roll out the red carpet for the never-ending train of hookers the Boss sends his way!? Shit's running just fine up here, and I don't need fucktard telling me how to do my fucking job while he spends all day getting cash and pussy THROWN at him! Swear to God, next time he tries to get in me or my boys' faces, I'm laying that mother fucker out! Fuck that guy! I'm half tempted to let some of them fuckers go! Don't mind me! I'll just sit back, collect my pay, my drugs, and not even bother with my duties if they're gonna fuck me like that. Five years and I'm stuck in this shit? Mother Fucking Mordino's Golden Fucking Goose! I'll do my fucking job, but I'm half tempted to show Big Jesus what happens when you treat your loyal fucking employees like shit! Sticking me out here after all I-!? Fuck…"

He finally caught my expression at his incessant rant and instantly stopped. I asked almost sarcastically, "Trouble in paradise?"

He physically calmed himself down for a minute and took a few sips of water. He dusted himself off and I noticed the slight shake in his hands. I'd been there before; the guy was clearly withdrawing on Jet. However, he noticed I was still half anticipating an answer and he said, "Yeah, I guess…"

I recalled what little I gathered through the rant and asked, "So, this is where Jet gets produced?"

He remained silent for a moment, but then said very softly, "Maybe… Maybe not. Maybe we test it out here. Maybe this is where we take in shipments of it. I'll tell you what I'm sure of though: you're gonna forget what you heard..."

I nodded and was going to say something when he added, "Not that it even matters, I'll tell all of New Reno about Mordinos Golden Goose. Besides, Mr. Bishop wouldn't've sent you here if he didn't get clued in on what was going on."

I said, "Don't worry, I wouldn't tell anyone anyway… Just kinda interesting to know."

He looked puzzled at my sincerity, "Never met a Bishop who could keep his mouth shut? Don't matter anyways…"

He stopped when I offered the man a hit from one of my diluted Jet inhalers.

I said, "Wanna take a hit? Might ease you out. I recognize the shakes."

He swiped the inhaler from my hand, took a deep hit, and when he released his exhale, he said through a cough, "This aint the pure shit? Where the fuck you get this from? Jules!?"

I simply said, "It's diluted, so it'll at least stop the shakes, and stop more outbursts. Maybe even save your whiny ass."

The guard rested his head against the chain link gate, and fidgeted with his rifle as the drugs took effect before saying, "Whatever, where the fuck is this caravan?"

I meant it at the time when I said I wouldn't tell anyone about the source of Jet in town, but the man was true to his word by telling all of New Reno about "Mordino's Golden Goose." Later on, word on the street about Jet was said to have been the brainchild of a teenager named "Myron." But, I had a job to do at the Stables and passed the time wondering what exactly I was taking part in. Seemed like the Mordinos took a big risk in telling their rival boss about the setup here at The Stables. I wondered if Mr. Bishop had plans to take over the drug operation, but that was above my pay grade, so I didn't trouble myself with the complexities.

The caravan eventually approached through the heat haze rising off the sands, and it wasn't long before the long train made its stop in front of The Stables. This caravan was larger than the one I left Redding with. There were eight brahmin loaded with all sorts of cargo led by ten traders and at least a dozen guards. I met up with Vincent in the little plaza and three bald men in what looked like lab coats left the building with handheld crates (At least I think they were all men). The Stables "workers" placed the crates in front of Vince and I, opening the lids. The crates were packed full of Jet inhalers; at least 40 per container. Just then, the guide leaned down and tossed one to Vince.

The guide said, "Take one back to your Boss to show we keep our word."

Without breaking eye contact, Vince tossed the inhaler back into the crate, reached down to the bottom, and pulled out a different one. Vince replied, "Will do."

The guide smirked again, and we loaded up the caravan ready to depart.

Vincent and I walked back to the busy streets of New Reno by ourselves. We chatted for nearly the whole way except for when we had to let some raiders pass and I told him about the enraged door guard. I just found it funny that the guy so easily ranted about the Jet operation based off a few idle questions. The frustrated guard told me a lot without explaining too many details. The Mordinos set up some kind of facility outside of town that supposedly housed a shitload of Jet. I wasn't sure what exactly happened there, but the place also apparently housed a "Pre-pubescent Fucktard" who received the Mordinos royal treatment due to his actions. None of that changed anything though. Clearly Mr. Bishop knew about the operation at The Stables or else he wouldn't have sent us there. Despite the rant and Vincent and I's little involvement, I managed to piece a lot of things together that day. The Mordinos controlled the Jet supply of New Reno, and though I wasn't sure what exactly went on within the Stables, it didn't matter to me at the time. However, there was somebody else it mattered to.