Juliette left the State House feeling more buoyant than she had since she'd stepped out of the Vault. Gratitude to Hancock hummed through her. Daisy had been right. There was more to him than chems and a stolen name. Just the knowledge that there were functioning detectives left in the ruins of Boston was a huge comfort. There was someone out there who could help her find Shaun! And Hancock, who'd shown himself willing to lend a hand. It changed her outlook on the Commonwealth. Hope that she had resisted before, now began to grow. And now that she had a plan, the dull, scratching panic that had been building in her chest began to recede. It felt like she could breath again.

However, all of Handcock's goodwill and advice would come to naught without careful thought. As soon as she stepped back out onto the uneven brick street, she set to work. There was much to be done.

She'd gratefully accepted the chems Hancock had offered her, despite the fact that didn't really intend to use them. It hadn't seemed wise to turn them down, and she was glad she hadn't. She kept some of the Med-X, which might be useful if a fight ever went bad, but she took the Jet and Buffout down to the Hotel Rexford where she traded them for a room and a good amount of caps. All together, that brought her stash up to nearly 400. She was hoping that would be enough to hire this Maccready character. Of all Hancock's advice, the mercenary seemed like the most questionable. But she had little in the way of options, and if he knew his way around a gun and around the Commonwealth, he could be an invaluable help. He had expertise she needed. She'd just have to take a chance on him.

She didn't leave her room right away. She wanted to collect herself. If she'd been back in 2077 she would have showered and changed into something eye-catching. As it was, with no running water and faded, dirty mirror, she did the best she could. She shed her armor and clothes, cleaning off with a wet towel. She used her fingers to brush the tangles from her hair, and pulled it neatly back. She tried to beat the dust from her flannel shirt and jeans.

All in all, she looked a little worn, but still like herself. She had a winning smile, a nice figure, a confident swagger. And a sharp knife. She opted to leave her ragtag pieces of leather armor behind, locked in a trunk. It was just a bar after all, even if it was a bar in Goodneigbor.

Just before leaving she emptied her stash of caps onto the bed. Carrying them all in a bag had been convenient up to this point, but it made it difficult to count them out in a hurry. She'd noticed the residents of Goodneighbor kept them on strings and ropes, counted out in increments of 5, 25 and 50. She didn't want to embarrass herself counting them out individually to the mercenary, like an elderly woman paying in pennies. Doing the best she could to mimic the local style, she made six cords of 50, and 4 of 25. Hopefully, it would be enough.

Night had just fallen as she stepped out of the hotel. The air was liquid and warm. Streetlights offered light only in hazy patches, and she walked with care, alert for any sort of movement in the shadows. The feel of it brought back an old memory from her college days. A friend had wanted to meet at a bar downtown. She'd sat there waiting for a couple hours, ignoring the stares of the other patrons and the drunken pick-up lines, only to finally get a call that the friend had gotten sick and forgotten. She'd chosen to walk home rather than take a cab, taking a strange pleasure in the possibility of danger that lurked down every alley. The "risk" had suited her mood. How foolish she'd been then. How foolish they'd all been. Worrying about deadlines, and vacations, and looking fashionable. How pathetic, how shallow it all seemed as she stared down the ruins of that long-dead life. Where she'd once chosen to walk in the darkness to enjoy the thrill, she now walked it by necessity, scorning the wanton recklessness of her former self. All she wanted now was her son. But she shrugged the memory off, and her foul mood with it. Much like everything else these days, bitterness wasn't a luxury she could afford.

The walk was not a long one, and she found her way into the Third Rail with surprising ease. The bouncer ushered her in with a nod and a sharp jab of his thumb toward an inoperable escalator. (Would they just be called stairs?) She took them slowly, enjoying the echo of song that drifted up to meet her. Live music. That was a treat she hadn't been expecting. The closer she got, the clearer it became. Jazz music filtered through a sound system, and a sultry voice sang vocals on top. It was a delicious warmth in her ears, a feeling she'd forgotten. Indulging herself for the first time since she'd woken up, she took a seat at the bar, ordered a drink and decided to listen.

I see you lookin' round the corner

Come on inside and pull up a chair

No need to feel like a stranger

Cause we're all a little strange in here

Have you got a history that needs erasin'?

Did you come in just for the beer and cigarettes

Or a broken down dream you're tired of chasin'

I'm just the girl to make you forget

So I'm glad you dropped by

Come in, loosen up your tie

Have a drink

Or maybe just one more

But if you're searching for something

To bring you comfort

Well, I'm the one you're looking for

The singer, beautifully reminiscent of Snow White, looked like she'd stepped right out of the old era. Her skin was smooth perfection, her smile dazzlingly white, and her dress… it shimmered and danced like flame on her slender body. Watching her in the spotlight, engulfed in warm song, was a kind of magic. It was almost enough to make her forget where she was.

But the spell didn't last long.

"She said Maccready's in the back. Quit gawking!" A male voice hissed behind her.

Juliette kept very still, but turned her focus to the men shuffling past a few tables behind her. They were both tall and imposing, carrying large guns openly on their hips.

"Fuck off, Barnes. Ain't like he's goin' anywhere."

"We got a job to do. Get it over with so we can get out of this zombie shit-heap."

"Fine. Just lay off."

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched them walk towards a back room. A piece of plywood hung over the doorway, roughly marked with the letters VIP. From what she could tell, the taller, dark skinned one was Barnes. He seemed to be marginally in charge. The other was pale, with a pronounced underbite and a bad haircut.

She had a decision to make. Maccready obviously had company that was less than friendly. In other words, baggage. She had enough of that to spare. It seemed unwise to get involved, especially when the problem included two thugs like that. But… Hancock had said he was a good guy. Hancock's recommendation was the only thing she had to go on right now. She needed the help. Maybe he needed the help too? Maybe they could come to some sort of equitable arrangement. Maybe.

She watched as they disappeared behind a corner farther into the room. She had to choose.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath. If he really was a good guy, she couldn't sit her while he got bum-rushed by two assholes like that. She slid out of her chair and made for the back. She kept her free hand curled around the handle of the knife in her pocket. This could go one of two ways, and she needed to be prepared for them both.

She got there in time to catch the tail end of the point they were making.

"-just here to deliver a message."

Yeah right. And she was here for the stimulating conversation. She rolled her eyes, moving as quietly as she could, standing just around the corner, beyond their sight. Two thugs like that, just to deliver a message? Bull shit.

"In case you forgot, I left the Gunners for good." She could hear the shifting of fabric as Maccready stood from his chair.

"I heard. But I also heard you're still taking jobs in the Commonwealth. That arrangement isn't going to work for us." Still Barnes.

"I don't take orders from you… not anymore. Why don't you take your girlfriend and walk out of here while you still can."

She admired his spirit, but it wasn't helping to diffuse the situation. Bad Haircut growled under his breath. He was obviously getting pissed, but she couldn't see what was going on. She needed eyes on the situation. There was nothing for it but to make herself seen.

Trying to appear unconcerned, she sauntered around the corner, acting entirely oblivious to their conversation, examining a painting on the wall. She could feel eyes on her back, but ignored them, sipping from her glass. Finally, she turned, leaning on the wall and pulling her knife out, using it to clean under her nails. Barnes and Bad Haircut had returned their attention to Maccready.

"Barnes, we don't got to listen to this shit!" Bad Haircut flexed and unflexed his hands, dying for a chance to let loose.

"Listen up, Maccready. The only reason we haven't filled you full of bullets is that we don't want a war with Goodneighbor. We respect other people's boundaries. We know how to play the game. Something you never learned."

Maccready smirked. "Glad to disappoint you."

Barnes chuckled, but it was hollow and fell flat. Maccready was getting under his skin. "You can play tough guy all you want, but if we hear your still operating in Gunner territory, all bet's are off. You got that?"

"You finished?" Maccready asked, still smirking.

"Ya, we're finished. Let's go, Winlocke." Barnes turned, but Bad Haircut lingered for a few moments, seething. She thought he might punch Maccready, but the moment passed and with a growl he turned and followed. They passed Juliette, offering nothing other than a dark look.

Maccready watched them go, only turning to her when the sound of their footsteps had faded completely. His smirk was gone and he just looked tired. "Look lady, whatever your sellin', I'm not buyin'."

She took a moment to size him up. He wasn't a big guy, not much taller than her, but he carried himself with a confidence that was impressive. He obviously wasn't lacking for wit. The rifle at his side was worn, but clean and well kept. All good signs. She pushed off the wall and moved forward to face him.

"Actually, I was hoping to do the buying. Hancock sent me, said you were a good shot and you wouldn't stab me in the back while I slept."

He looked at her more seriously this time, giving careful consideration to her knife as she slid it back into the leather sheath in her pocket.

"Consider me touched that our illustrious mayor would give such a glowing recommendation. You know how to use that thing?"

"You want to find out?" she asked, bristling at the barb. She'd just stepped in here to watch his back and he was going to give her a hard time?

He chuckled.

"Easy now, don't get your feathers in a ruffle. I'm surprised you'd still hire me after that little display." He eyed her with open curiosity.

It was a good point, and one that she was all too conscious of. She didn't really know anything about him. She was here for no other reason than Hancock's good word. It's not like she relished the idea of going up against two thugs like that either. But, if she was being honest, the scene had impressed her a little. Maccready, despite being smaller and out-numbered, had clearly been ready to fight. He didn't lack for confidence. He either had the skill to match, in which case he was worth the risk, or he didn't, in which case she would know shortly and he would probably get himself killed, taking care of the problem for her. But, if he'd run in a gang with guys like that, something told her he had the skills to back up his smart mouth.

"Ya, well, I had a display of my own a couple of hours ago with some dirtbag running an extortion scheme. It happens. I came to you because I need someone who I can trust. I don't know if that's you yet, but your the closest I've come so far and I'm willing to take a chance. The Commonwealth's filled with assholes. What's two more?"

He laughed again, louder this time. "Admirable attitude. Fine. But how do I know your not going to stab me in the back while I'm sleeping?"

"You'll have my word, but you'll also have my caps. That good enough for you?"

"250. Up front."

She said a silent prayer of thanks to Codsworth for stashing caps all these long years, and pulled 5 strings of 50 from her pocket, dangling them in the air between them. He grabbed them with a smile. "You got yourself a deal, boss."