Chapter 2: When You're Down and Out

South Wasteland was her home, but Fort Travis was what she liked to think of as an office. A place where the work shows up, it's done, and where you should go to receive the paycheck. Smiling Jenny was a well-known figure in the dirty and ruined streets of Texas' former capital. She'd been living in there for about a year, but kept changing her address constantly. At first it was a common room inside the ruins of a small shopping mall. There she met her first associates and got her first jobs. Then, she would move to a shack in an improvised residential area, where it was safer to keep her hardware. After another series of changes, she would eventually end up getting her steadiest safe house since the first; this time, the basement of a weapons store. A nice an inconspicuous place to be, as what she liked to call for dramatic purposes, "a hideout".

Jenny never really spent a lot of time in the other cities of the former Texas Commonwealth. Other than a collection of small settlements, trading posts and smaller towns, the only places of true interest in that side of the South Wasteland were the three major cities: Fort Travis, The Metroplex and Headstone. Fort Travis was a relatively safe and low down place, raised from the dust that was made of Austin. The Metroplex was surely the biggest of the three, since it was composed by the remains of three cities: Dallas, Fort Worth and Arlington. Headstone, former Houston, was South Wasteland's major trading post. Merchants of all sorts and from all places would go to Headstone to trade whatever is worth anything.

In the end, Jenny didn't have any particular reason visit those places. Trading weapons in Headstone and looking for new jobs in the Dallas Block sounded like good plans for the future. Still, as long as there was money left to be made in Fort Travis, there was no reason whatsoever to leave.

It was about nine o'clock in the morning when she arrived in the outskirts of town. The desert's sand below her feet was now a hard and dry pavement, scarred with cracks left by time and covered in dust from the desert's wind. She walked slowly across the old road that led to the city, watching the horizon while the skeletons of the old buildings of Austin grew in front of her as she came closer. She soon saw the small shacks and worn-out houses that covered the sandy ground in the near outskirts of the former metropolitan area. Walked over the road that crossed the group of randomly positioned small buildings, observing the people of that humble community. An old man sitting on a rocking chair, resting in the shadow of the porch while observing that strange black ghost that she was for his eyes. A skinny and unhealthily pale middle-aged woman washing clothes in a bucket of infected water, looking at Jenny with suspicious and sad blue eyes. Little boys playing joyfully in the middle of rode, laughing and mimicking gunshot sounds with their mouths, firing unloaded revolvers at a third one with a bizarre greenish brown rag mask over his head, who swings a broomstick while roaring and running like a frenzied Yao Guai. That's it boys, she thought, give that Super Mutant some of the good old Texas medicine. A tall and strong black man, in the back of his house, teaching his two skinny sons how to use a hunting rifle, the three of them taking turns to shoot empty Nuka Cola bottles over a box in the other side of the backyard. Another three kids just ahead, this time two healthy and mud-stained boys running after a cute freckled girl, the three of them laughing and giggling while running around in deformed circles. They stop when they see Smiling Jenny coming, looking at her with fear and fascination. She ignores them, walks past them as they step out of her way. She finds it funny the way she goes past that sight so frequently, yet people still look at her as if she was a suspicious outsider.

Finally, she reaches the city itself. The damaged pavement slightly less sandy, the morning sun sticking through the breaches of the ruined buildings. Across the streets, all sorts of people. Farmers and general everyday people having breakfast or drinking in the small improvised bars and restaurants around the empty street block. Merchants dragging their caravans to the commercial side of town, followed by their employees and packs of brahmin carrying the merchandise. Some hobos in the alley, a couple of them still sleeping on the rubble while the others improvise their day's first meal out of a dead Radroach and bottles of hot beer. Some settlers and farm workers, either heading off to work or getting home from the night shift, going in and out from the busted apartments and common houses in the residential area.

She heads for the commercial block, where the city's bounty office lies. More caravans heading from different directions, or different streets. A group of five mercenaries walks past her as they turn around from the corner by the end of the street. They dress dirty beige dusters over their reinforced ranger armors, while their biker goggles and oxygen masks hang from their necks and their weapons from their backs. She recognizes them as members from the fairly-known Sidewinder Syndicate, a group of relatively tame mercs known for it's high number of agents and several branches in the south's main cities. One of them seems to recognize her, smiles and pulls the tip of his old cowboy hat, in a sign of salutation. She salutes him in return, and when they're past her, she looks over her shoulder almost involuntarily; the cowboy smiles while looking at her over his own, his partners in silence, pretending they don't notice her. She reaches the end of the street, spotting other armored or armed men walking around. Probably more freelancer mercs. Others dress familiar outfits, some with logos drawn on them. Most likely a sign they are members of some syndicate or company, most of which she doesn't recognize. Some don't notice her, others have their attention drawn by her presence. Smiling Jenny hears her name being whispered between some of them, while one shouts it towards her. She turns around to see in a distance a youngster she doesn't recognize, smiling and waving to her vigorously. Assuming he was a former partner or a friend of a friend, she waves back and heads back to her way.

After several minutes walking and observing the everyday people of Fort Travis, Jenny reached her destination. The bounty office was a small building with two floors, adapted from an old post office. The man responsible for the bounties was Slim Avery, an old black man who used to be one of the number one lawbringers in the South Wasteland's early years, when the first settlers and Vault dwellers of that southtern portion were still reinhabitting the wasted cities. Avery was associated to the Lousiana Regulators, a company of bounty hunters that started as a mere guild of vigilantes and renegade lawmen, and eventually started to promote bounty hunts all across the South Wasteland. He was the first of them to take the business to Texas, and was to this day their main representative outside of Lousiana. He was now old and slow, but still as sharp as they come. Jenny already threated him like a business associate, or a sort of co-worker. They usually met everyday when she was looking for bounties.

"Morning, Slim." she said, taking the sheet and the goggles out of her face to leave it perfectly visible. He was sitting in a small table in the back of the room, in front of a cup of coffee and a plate with a half-eaten chunk of roasted dog meat. "You open for business or will I have to wait until you finish your breakfeast?"

"Ah, hey there, Smilin' Jenny. No, no, do come in, gal, just gimme a minute." The old man replied, getting up quick and walking to the back of the store to open the shades. "So, what brings ya here?"

"Steiner passed away." She took her two weapons off her back and hanged them in the hanger by the left of the front door. "Just thought I should drop by to mention that, since you two were so close."

The old man laughed, showing his smile full of yellow and missing teeth, accompained by a two or three silver ones. The shades were now opened, and the whole office was filled with the morning sun. He walked acrross the room once again, sitting on the receptionist's desk in front of her. From the stairs by the right of the room came Carol, his daughter-in-law and the one in charge of the office's security. She was still in her pajamas, her long black hair messy, but she held a revolver in her right hand. Probably had it glued to her hand, as Jenny used to think. They both saw each other, but neither of them said anything.

"Take a seat." said Avery politely. Jenny hanged her black duster as well, having now only her grey tracksuit. She pullet the thick sleeves up to her elbows, so her sweaty forearms could get some contact with the fresh morning air. Jenny was usually unconfortable in showing them; they were covered in more tribal tatoos and scars, two things that would call some undesired attention amongst relatively civilized people. But she knew Avery was aware of her lifestyle, and she got some kicks for making Carol jealous of her battle-damaged skin.

"So" continued the old man, grabbing his reading glasses and reading something from a sheet of paper he grabbed from a drawer in his desk. "did he go peacefully?"

"I guess. He was lying down when I shot the back of his head."

"Hmm" said Avery, smiling with his mouth closed. "Got the proof?"

"Yep. Let me just get it." said Jenny, getting up to get the cigarette case from one of her duster's inner pockets. "Ah, hey there, Carol. Didn't see you there."

"Hello, Smiling Jenny." she answered in a bitter tone. "I'll talk to you later, I better go wake up Tommy."

"Tell your husband I sent my regards." she replied, opening the little case and getting the severed finger.

"Will do. Later." said Carol, goin back up.

Jenny sit down, and laid the finger on the table. Avery wasn't paying attention, he was looking at Carol over his shoulder as she went back up.

"Ahh, poor gal, young Carol. Married to Fort Travis'ses number one slack-jawed bottle-hitter." He turned back at her and grabbed the finger with the left hand, while searching for something inside one of the drawers.

"Eh, Slim, I think you've been going too soft on your boy. Tommy drinks whiskey as if it was free purified water." Avery was now analazing the finger tip's closely with a magnifying glass. "He must drink twice as much as me."

"Imma get him back to his job." He said, looking at the fingerprint marked on the sheet of paper he had in his table. "Nothing gets a fella straight back to his tracks than the good ol' act of workin' to pay for his family's goddamn bread an' butter."

"Amen to that. Talking about work, can I have my payment now?"

"Sure, sure, this is Steiner's finger, alright. Lemme get your paycheck, back'ere."

Avery raised from the desk, and walked to the back room were the safe was located. Jenny crossed her arms, looking around the room dumbly. She remembered last night's meeting with Lee, and how she was supposed to find out what was Steiner's business with the strange men Kowalski met.

"Hey, Slim." she shouted. He could hear her properly from the back.

"Yeah?"

"Was Steiner working for someone? I mean, some sort of group, or maybe some syndicate?"

"Well..." he replied, stoping to think for a couple of seconds. "His record says he use'ta sell stolen pre-war guns to a buncha' major merchants in Headstone. My guess is that he had sum sorta' deal with them folks, but I dunno if that's what ya mean."

"Headstone, eh?" she said, seeing him come from the back carrying bag full of coins and getting up to get her coat and weapons. "That's interesting. Look, I should be going now, they're expecting me at home and all..."

"Just don't forget your money, gal." he said, throwing the bag at her and letting her grab it. "So there it is. Thanks for the service, Smilin' Jenny. I still have a couple've hunterless bounties, case you're interested."

"Thanks for the help, Slim. And the proposition too." she said, dressing her coat and placing the bag inside one of it's pockets. "But I think I need a break for now. I guess I'll spend some of this money in Jonesy's, me and Holster deserve some liquor every once in a while."

"Hah, yeah, go for it, then. Tell Ghoul-boy 'ah said hello."

"Heh, alright. Be seeing you, Slim." Jenny hanged the weapons on her back once again, as well as placing the sheet around her shoulders and neck, this time without the goggles. She walked through the door, hitting back the streets of Fort Travis.

The Groovy Guy Russel was a weapons store in an undisclosed street in the metropolitan area. Jenny assumed the unusual name of the store was the name of the owner, when it was still pre-war Austin. Probably this good man Russel was a gun nut just like she considered herself, and probably wanted to name his store as if it was one of those saloons named after their owners. Jenny found the place a couple of months before, while simply drifting around the abandoned residential area. Her attention was drawn when she realized it was weapons store, but the place was already looted ages ago. All she found was a pack of old Radroaches that she proceeded to step on and an interesting pathway that lead to a sort of basement to the store. That basement was bigger than the store itself, and most likely worked as a storage. It was divided into five rooms, some of them filled with empty crates and another one with old dysfunctional boilers. A couple of days of cleaning and she was already sleeping in there.

Jenny arrived at the place about an hour after she left Avery's office. She grabbed from one of the coat's outer pockets a key ring containing two rusty keys. The first one to unlock the heavy padlock holding the front door. She entered the dark empty shop, the windows closed, with all the light coming from the breaches of the walls. While taking off the rag of her face, she held the other key and opened the door to the back. The back room had that little and straight stairway that leaded to her actual home.

"Holster?" she shouted while coming down the stairs. "You awake?"

"Kinda." replied that strangely familiar monotone voice. She could see a light coming out from one of the opened doors. There was Holster, Jenny's Ghoul slave, leaned over the workbench.

"You up this early?" she asked, laying her weapons on the old dinner table in the center of the room. "Working?"

"Hah, it's not really what you're thinking, ma'am." said the Ghoul, leaving on the workbench whatever it was he was working on. He turned around on the stool he was on, facing her through the doorway, with the shining silver light behind him turning him in a shade. "I didn't sleep at all."

"You mean you couldn't or you just didn't want to?" asked Jenny, getting the bag of coins and the bullets out of her coat's pockets and leaving them on the table.

"I don't know, maybe a bit of both. I cleaned your pistols and fixed that old Jackhammer of yours." He got up from the stool and turned off the light of the workbench. "Took me the whole damn night."

"Ah, way to go, Holster." she said, hanging her coat and then pulling a chair to sit. "Did you remember to eat?"

"Not really, ma'am." He replied, walking to the table too. He sit in front of her, and she could see him properly now. His skin was light grey, and a bit greenish. It was covered in scars and opened wounds, exposing his dark green flesh in a disgusting way. His eyes were big and constantly sore. They were light blue, almost white when seen against the light. He had a constant skull-like grin, since he had no lips, displaying his big and dirty brown-ish yellow teeth that looked like nasty fingernails. His head was bald, save for a bunch of plucks of light brown hair. Just like Jenny, though, he was short and skinny, but was exceptionally strong. But while she was strong enough to fight, all he could do was carrying weight. Jenny called him that exactly because of his ability to carry many weapons at the same time, and thus working as her live and walking holster when the two of them were in a gunfight. Other than that, he was her personal mechanic, doing all the fixing and cleaning of her collection of weapons.

"I see. So, aren't you gonna ask how was my work today?"

"Ah, yes. Heh, I forgot about it." he said, lighting a cigarette while holding it with his front teeth since he had no lips. "So I'm guessing you did a work on them, eh?"

"Yeah, Steiner was one hell of a pushover. He and his guys." she said, while getting up to get a bottle of beer from the room's old refrigerator. "They had the numbers, and a pretty steady set of pieces. I mean, we're talking about mounted 'sixties, sniper rifles and stuff, right? And there were like ten of them. Guys, I mean. Ten of them, all armed. Thing is, they were one sad pack of amateurs."

"Didn't break a sweat, if I know you." said Holster, bumming his cigarette.

"Not even a drop." she replied, drinking a bit of the bee and sitting down once again. "You see, there were these guys who were in charge of the machine gun, right? So, instead of leaving..."

"Uh... Jenny?" asked Holster, confused when he noticed he interrupted herself. She looked down the table and saw the bag with the coins.

"You know what, Holster?" she said, grabbing the bag and getting up. "I'm not feeling sleepy. Let's waste this money right now."

"Well, sure. How about some liquor in Jonesy's?"

"My thoughts exactly, old chap." she said, dressing her coat. "Come on, I tell you the rest of the story in the way."

The two of them left home and headed to Jonesy's saloon in the merchant area of Fort Travis. They talked and laughed all the way through the city, the morning sun shining over their heads. People couldn't understand why Jenny treated her own slave, and a Ghoulish one at that, as some sort of friend and business partner. Thing is, that was exactly how she saw him. She bought Holster for two thousand bucks from the company of slavers in the Den, back in California. She could see he was smart, skilled and useful in the battlefield for knowing to use a gun, loosely fix it in less than a minute, and being strong enough to carry all she couldn't. She took a liking on his tasteless sense of humor and how satisfying he'd find to serve a woman, even though both of them knew he wouldn't get any closer to her than she would find physically pleasing for him to be. In other words, Jenny liked him as a loyal sidekick. She knew men who treated their slaves, especially the Ghoulish ones, like rabid dogs. Not that such things bothered her, but she couldn't see a reason to treat him like that. A slave so functional, sound and, most importantly, that cared about his master, was something absolutely impossible to find in the entire Wasteland. That little gun-addicted hideous 120-year-old was worth his weight in gold.

The laughs were now replaced by a somber silence. But only between the two of them; the Jonesy's Saloon was filled with people, most of them the usual suspects. Jenny used to go there pretty much every day she was in town, usually one time in the late morning and another around midnight. The place was run by Jonesy, an old and seemingly constantly annoyed Scotsman, and his young black bartender Leon. The two of them weren't usually happy when she would bring Holster along, since Ghouls tend to scare or gross away potential costumers, but mainly because he would insist in smoking his old and stinky hand-made cigars. Now they didn't care if someone bummed a cigarette inside the joint, after all the men who usually happened to be there were also old smokers. But when a permanently rotting man would start smoking rolls of tasteless tobacco, the patrons would inevitably start smoking, complaining, or simply leaving.

That morning the place was pretty busy; Some people having coffee, some others alcohol, and a couple of guys who would go up and down the stairs to check their rented rooms. The air was filled with the smell of the strong black coffee and the jolly sound of the musicians. Old Bart was one of the main attractions of Fort Travis, since he was easily the best guitar player around. Rufus was the slightly younger and considerably fancier piano player, and the two of them could be seen playing in Jonesy's joint pretty much every day of the week. Bart seemed a bit tired, but very relaxed by the happy and slow sound of his own blues, while Rufus seemed agitated. Jenny liked that song they were playing, even though she wasn't really sure if she knew it or if she even heard it before. Her attention, though, was on the conversation she was having with Holster while sitting in the bar.

"The old man is getting slow in his old age." said Holster, taking another shot of that expensive liquor. "Steiner was a fucking joke. Wasn't him?"

"Yeah, well, that's how I see it. I mean, I killed him and his guys like a ring in a goddamn bell. I can tell they were small timers, but it's just that... I don't know, that's not like Lee."

"As in...?"

"You know, that whole deal. Of being beaten up, captured, held hostage... I mean, the guy taught me how to fight, how to shoot how to do all this stuff I never fail at doing and... And the guy was from the Brotherhood of Steel, for Christ's sake. He received the most hardcore training available in the Wasteland, and I know he's like 70 today, but he didn't seem in bad shape for me. At least not that I could tell."

"Maybe ol' Lee is hitting the bottle."

Jenny stopped for a second. She looked at Holster, who turned his face when he realized she was offended by that guess.

"I beg your fucking pardon, Mr. Holster?"

"Look, sorry, ma'am, it's just that≈" he started saying, but she grabbed his head by one of his little plucks of hair. She clenched her fist as tight as she could, feeling his old dead scalp ungluing itself from the skull like wallpaper on an humid wall. He growled in pain with his squeaky voice, trying hard not to fight back.

"You weren't supposed to answer, you maggot-infested walking used condom. You don't start talking about Lee as if you knew him. Because unlike me, you didn't. And I say Paladin Lee Roosevelt is a fine man and the biggest badass that ever walked this land."

"Jenny, for fuck's sake...!" the Ghoul was now screaming. Everyone in the bar was listening, but ignoring. Even Bart saw it while Rufus was distracted by his own music, but that didn't bother him enough to stop playing. She was now distractedly looking at the fingernails of her left hand while pulling his hair.

"I just want you to now, Holster, that you are a very valuable associate of mine. But most importantly, you're a good friend. Now, if you want to ruin our beautiful Slave-slash-Master, Ghoul-slash-Human relationship, go ahead. Keep saying bullshit about Lee."

She let him go. He started scratching his head, ripping off minimal shreds of dead skin off his scalp. Jenny noticed her hand was now filled with hair, as if she ran her finger through a furry cat. Seeing Holster feeling like an useless weak moron wasn't satisfying at all. And she knew he wasn't trying to offend Lee, especially when they didn't even know each other. But Smiling Jenny couldn't deny; she knew Holster wouldn't fight back, and she did like roughing up people around her.

"Don't take it personally, partner." she said, tapping his back.

"You did." he mumbled in response. She laughed and filled both their shot glasses with the liquor from the bottle Leon left on the table. The music kept on, and everybody kept acting like they didn't exist.

"Try to understand, Holster. Lee was the father I never had, the kind that gives a shit. I would be lying if I said I could be where I am today without all he did for me."

"Yeah, so when some random asshole starts raising just a goddamn hypothesis that he'd been drinking when the raiders showed up, you have to pull off his feathers." He looked pretty annoyed. She couldn't blame him, since she just made a fool out of him and knew he would always keep blaming himself for not being able to fight back.

"That's pretty much it, partner." she said, laughing in scorn just to piss him off a little bit more. "After all, you are my slave."

"Yes, Mrs. Jennifer, and the happiest slave in the Wasteland at that." he rebutted, looking just as annoyed. He pull off his pocket one of his cigars and held it with his teeth.

"Nice song this one, eh?" she said, changing the subject and referring to that song the two bluesmen were still playing.

"Yeah, pretty cool." he agreed, a little less angry. "Y'know, I wish Bart and Rufus could earn some money with their talent. Shame people don't pay for music anymore."

"Heh, yeah. Do you know the title of this one? I'm just curious."

They stayed silent for a couple of seconds, so Holster could try to recognize the lyrics. He lighted up his cigar, the stink of the cheap and dirty tobacco assaulting everyone's lungs. Holster listened for a bit, and noticed they repeated "Nobody knows you" twice.

"It's probably 'Nobody Knows You', or something like that."

"Remind me to ask Rufus when he's done. Jesus, are you really gonna light up that thing?" she said, referring to the cigar.

"Already did." said Holster, getting up from the stool. "Excuse me for a sec, ma'am. I better go smoke outside before the fat Scotsman or his pet nigger see me."

Jenny chuckled in response. He left the bar, leaving her sitting there finishing that bottle of liquor. She was distracted by the sound of Rufus jamming with the piano while Bart took a break for a cup of coffee. The clock hanging on the wall behind the bar marked half past 1 PM. The two o them really lose the track of time talking and drinking and having painful discussions. Jenny caught herself thinking is she would end up ripping off Holster's entire scalp if she kept pulling his hair in a regular basis. It'd be pretty harder to look at him with the back of his dead skull exposed, she'd have to convince him to wear a skullcap. She laughed when she realized the unfunny pun.

Her line of thought was cut by a strange voice to her left.

"Howdy."

She turned her head almost automatically. The man sitting on the stool appeared almost literally just like a ghost. Even though she was distracted, she would have noticed someone entering the bar and sitting by her side. Especially such a strange looking figure; The man was all dressed in black, with a long-sleeved button shirt, along with a pair of black silk trousers and slim combat boots. His grayish black hair was short and curly, and he had a wide black cowboy hat covering his head and a pair of strange round dark shades over his small eyes. His face was long, wrinkled, and perfectly shaved, revealing his grayish white skin. He bummed a black cigarette in a short silver holder, while leaned over the bar's table with his elbows.

"Jesus, man," said Jenny, still a bit jumpy. "you scared the shit out of me."

He smiled, not looking at her. The tip of his cigarette glowed for a second, and two geysers of dark grey smoke steamed out of his nostrils.

"You'll have to forgive me, Smiling Jenny. I've never been one for first impressions." he said, revealing ugly yellow teeth inside his small mouth as he spoke. His voice was the strangest sound she ever heard: It was rougher than Lee's, and a lot rougher at that. It was deep, slow and monotone. Like the voice of an old bluesman by the end of his life. But there was something particular spooky about his.

"I can see that, chief. No offense, but you're not really the kind of guy a middle-aged single mother would hire as a babysitter."

"Heh. You're a funny young broad, Smiling Jenny. It's rare to see a woman with a sense of humor. Especially when she's in the cutthroat business."

"Yeah, thanks, I guess. You aren't any forgettable face, either."

"That's flattering to hear, coming from you. You being a woman that's seen so much. And that's heard so, so much."

She was starting to get suspicious. That man didn't enter Jonesy's saloon for a quiet place to smoke and hear blues.

"How do you know so much about me?" she asked, trying to look confrontational. "You some sort of stalker?"

"Why, now there's a reaction I wasn't expecting." he answered, looking intentionally falsely confused. "Don't you know your own reputation, Smiling Jenny?"

"Look, old man, I really don't have the time to be harassed by some creepy old coot. I've had enough rows with people twice or even four times as old as me in the last few hours."

"It's a tough life for every single living thing walking this devastated world, Smiling Jenny. But you know how the saying goes; Sometimes you eat the bar and sometimes... well," The stranger started slowly turning towards her. She could see that his black shades were in fact welding glasses. And he carried a shining silver star over his heart. "the bar eats you."

She was too confused to care anymore. Without saying a word she got up from the stool and headed to the door. That was when he said:

"So Lee told you about Hemingway."

She stopped.

"Excuse me?"

"Your 'old man', so to say." he continued, laughing a low and deep creepy laughter. "I know what he told you last night. I know what he knows, and above all, that you know it as well."

"Where do you know Lee from?" she asked, as she sit back on the stool. "How do you know we've been talking last night?"

"I don't know Lee. He looks like a nice fella, though. At least from what I hear. I know a couple of people who do know him. As for knowing you've been talking, well... Maybe those very folks told me. Since they had been talking to Lee as well."

Jenny grabbed him by both sides of his shirt's lapel, both hands holding him as hard as she could. He didn't move, didn't even seemed scared. In fact, he had a dumb grin on his face in a sign if scorn.

"Who are you?" she whispered in his face, without bothering to come up with something menacing and witty.

He slowly moved his right arm across his chest, pointing to the silver medal on the left side of his shirt. She looked at it closely, and it read "THE SHERIFF". It didn't say from which town, or anything else at all. It only read "THE SHERIFF".

"Oh" she said. "I see. So you're Mr. Sheriff. Is The your first name?"

"Very funny, Smiling Jenny." whispered back the Sheriff. "But I'm the one dealing the cards in here. If you want to know about Hemingway, you better do as I say."

"Look, I don't know what your little friends have been telling you, but Lee never told me about no Hemingway. So guess what, I don't care. I don't care for this Hemingway fella or whatever the hell he has to do with you and me."

"Now, exactly how sure are you of what you just said?" asked the Sheriff, enlarging his big ugly smile.

"Your point." she replied, shaking him a bit.

"You say you don't know of no Hemingway. But I'm afraid you're mistaken, gal. You know of Mr. Hemingway as much as I and a lot of other equally important men do." She was now dropping is shirt slowly, and he was holding her wrists and gently pushing her arms away. "You just didn't have the pleasure to meet him personally."

Her hands were now away from him. He shook a bit of the dirt of her hands off his shirt. She looked at him as detached the cigarette butt out of the holder, throwing it over his shoulder and placing the holder inside his shirt's pocket. He turned back at her, his left elbow resting on the bar's table, and the right hand on his right knee. Smiling with his mouth closed. The mellow blues in the background.

"Seriously now" she said, now a bit calmer. "Enough of this Hemingway guy. All I≈"

"You'll want to know more about him. Eventually." interrupted the Sheriff, smiling. "And you'll ask me."

"All I want to know is if Lee is fine." continued her, ignoring his statement. She now seemed a bit frustrated and confused, sure that he could see her confusion as clearly as he could see her face.

"Well, in that case" he said, getting up from the stool. "I suggest you visit him in the Metroplex. But don't worry, I can assure his safety for you. My brother and I are lawmen in the Forth Worth block of the city."

"So there's where you're the sheriff from?"

"Heh, I guess you could say so."

"And what are you doing here in Fort Travis? Out on vacation?"

"You could say so as well. Anyway, here's the deal: Meet me in my office down in Fort Worth in about fifty hours. There I'll answer whatever questions you might have."

"Can't we talk right here?" she asked, getting up as well. "Right now?"

"Nah, I don't think so." he said as he opened the door. "There are some friends of mine I think you should meet. Besides, it'd be a nice excuse to visit your 'old man' Lee, eh?"

Jenny didn't say anything. He knew she wouldn't. She sit back down on the stool, still dazed from all the doubts the Sheriff raised inside her mind. Her face was blank, a mix between mildly sad and mildly angry. He was still there, standing at the doorway with that bizarre smile on his face. She was right; he indeed could see her confusion. He liked it. Liked how it had turned out. The way he left her, she'd waste less time and get to the Metroplex as soon as she could. The Sheriff's hunting season was officially on.

"Be seeing ya, Smiling Jenny." said the Sheriff, giving her a tip of his hat and heading out.

Jenny looked around. Leon was in the kitchen, doing whatever it was. The other patrons were all gone, and funnily enough she didn't see any of them going out during her conversation with the strange man. After that she was suspecting her sights were fooling her, her wits getting slower.

But right at that moment, she didn't care about herself. She was worried about Lee. But worried in a way she didn't know until then. Like a mother who doesn't receive letters from the son after he goes to war. Or like a daughter who hears her dad is sick but can't manage to talk to him or anyone close to her old man. She knew Lee was in danger, that someone beat the information out of him. Otherwise, how would that horrible man know that? That they talked last night things she wasn't supposed to know? Although, she wasn't sure if he really knew what he was talking about. After all, who was Hemingway? She didn't remember that name. Her first guess was that it was Kowalski's friend, the one that was captured. But what was his importance in this story, anyway? Doubts kept springing on her mind every second that she spent trying to figure out the Sheriff's words.

The only way to find out if Lee was fine was to go the Metroplex and look for the Sheriff. If Lee was indeed in a tight spot, if he was indeed captured again or even killed, that man was the only one she knew that had a clue.

"Guess it's safe to come in now." said Holster, sitting by her side. She didn't see him coming, but she didn't care anymore. "So, who was the freakshow back there?"

No reply from her. She was still thinking about Lee.

"I see." said the Ghoul, filling another glass with liquor. "You don't wanna talk about it. No prob, ma'am, I'm not 'ere to ask you embarrassing questions or whatever."

Still no reply. He was getting a bit worried, it wasn't really like her to do the quiet type.

"Hey Rufus!" shouted Holster, when he saw the pianist stopped playing.

"Hey, Holster, what's up?" replied the suited black man, taking off his and his shades to wipe the sweat off his face and his bald head with a small towel.

"What was the name of that song you'ere playing a couple of minutes ago? That one that had somethin' 'bout champagne and wine, and repeated somethin' like 'no one knows you'."

"I think you mean 'nobody knows you'." said Rufus.

"Ah, yeah, that's it. Jenny here was curious about the title." Holster said, pointing to the catatonic-like Jenny with his thumb. Rufus also found a bit weird to see her like that.

"It's called 'Nobody Knows You When You're Down and Out'." he replied, talking to Holster but pretending to be talking to Jenny. "It's by Nina Simone, but me and Bart prefer Eric Clapton's version."

"Ah, thanks, Rufus." said Holster. "Hmph. 'When You're Down and Out'..." he said to Jenny, like someone talking to a plant or a deaf person in coma. "Big fucking difference. I'll still call it 'Nobody Knows You'."