"10,000 caps!?" Six muffled in surprise.

Sue and Six were walking down the roads of Outer Vegas, a block or two away from Freeside's East Gate. They had to stay silent for the early parts of their waltz. Ever since the NCR annexed the Mojave, patrols have increased around the Vegas Area. It's a surprise that they haven't cleared out El Rey of the junkies, McCarran was just two-dozen paces away and surely they should be sick of the stink by now.

"Aye, ten-fucking-thousand bottle caps. Rusty shine and all. Jingles in your pockets. Fresh off that wasteland dirt. Did you think I was kidding when I asked for an assassin? This is some serious business." whispered Stilton Blue.

"But Mr. Blue, I-"

"Sue. It's Sue. Please, I don't do that 'Mr. Formal' crap."

"Sue, how important is this guy be? I mean, I'm not the sort of guy you want; look at me!"

The men stopped on their tracks. They've arrived at the Gate. The Ghoul took the time to eye the vagabond-like Courier in all of his drunk, smelly, duster-wearing glory.

"Listen boy, from what I heard, you walked the Mojave and beyond drunk, after coming back from the dead; two bullets in your skull. People say you killed the Monster of the East at the Second Battle of Hoover Dam with one hand around his neck and the other holding a bottle of whiskey. You didn't do all that because you had a hard-on for the NCR, however, but because they promised you wealth, women, booze and chems. Wealth, women, booze and chems are my specialty; you're exactly the guy I need." whispered Stilton, zombie hands on Six's shoulder. They both turned their heads to the screeching of the Gate. "Like I said: 10,000 caps."

Shi-it. I hit the jackpot - I think. Guy's got a grimy business suit; must be some Pre-War zillionaire philanthropist - hopefully. He coulda given House a run for his money - maybe. thought Six in excitement.

As the men walked through Freeside, the usual questions were asked. 'What method do you want me to use?', 'Should I get rid of the body?', 'Should I make it look like an accident?' and 'Will there be any penalties if I fuck up?'. So on, so forth.

As they walked past the King's School of Impersonation, towards the Strip's Gate, they came at a stop to face each other. Securitrons with the cartoon faces of NCR soldiers on-screen guarded the entrance.

"But who is this guy? Why's he so important."

"Don't worry, Sixer. Sixer, I can call you that, right?"

"Courier Six, Six, Courier, the Courier, the Courier Six, Sixer McCourier... You can call me any variation of 'Courier Six' you want. I'm pretty used to it. Or you could call me Dave. It's what my mom named me."

"Huh, never expected the Great Courier Six to be a Dave..." chuckled Sue.

"No, but seriously, who is this guy? Why the high price? He some sort of big shot? Evil overlord trying to take over New Vegas? Mob boss gone wild? Oh! Let me guess: Enclave! Those guys pop up everywhere, I swear..."

"No, it's better, much better, more better. Listen," hushed Sue. They were at a halt in front of the Strip Gate. Sue looked around to make sure no one was listening before he whispered into the Courier's ear: "This guy, your target, he's a fucking menace. Don't take him lightly, he's the most dangerous thing I have ever encountered. And that means a lot coming from me. I mean, look at me; do I look like the type that gets fucked with?"

"Who-who is it?" quivered Six.

"Behind you, Dave."

Six turned to see a grizzled old hobo sat at a fire in a squatter camp.

You have got to be kidding me...

Author's note: If anyone has noticed: yes, I have been publishing a new chapter once per week, much to my dismay. It's surprisingly fun making this off the top of my head, fresh-off-the-typewriter. Expect more to come. No promises that it'll remain on a consistent schedule, if at all.

Hope you enjoyed. Comments and criticisms are welcomed.

UPDATE: I've removed the part 'Attempts by Six to negotiate a higher price were surprisingly never rebutted. Back and forth, the pay went from between 10,000 to 25,000. But eventually they reached to an understanding: 10,000 for the job and an extra 15,000 if he's not seen. The bourbon they shared in the walk probably helped the Ghoul's generous approach to negotiating.'.

Why? Because. Because I didn't like it.