Back in November, Daniel awoke under a steakhouse awning; crumpled and beaten. No one had come for him in the night. His good samaritan never showed his face again; that mysterious stranger with the .44 magnum. His duster had been the only thing protecting him from the elements.
When he looked down on his broken body, he realized the Sig Sauer no longer resided in his holster. In fact, the entire belt was gone. Also, his rifle's bolt lever had been jammed backwards.
Looks like I'm in the market for a weapon, he decided.
He stretched and popped all the corners of his body. The sticky squirrel stew and the cold water limited his movement, if only by some. The thick rawhide pants probably restricted his movement more than anything.
"Do I really need a weapon? I'm sure not everyone in this town wants to kill me," reflected Daniel to himself. He really had no intention to waste money on a weapon he didn't plan on using, especially because he just wanted to get into Vegas, and if he used that money, how would he? Finally he decided he needed a weapon. After all, people were trying to kill him strangely enough.
Quickly, he started walking. A King, standing across the street near the entrance to their School, saw him. He started, and ran across the street. "Hey, man! Hold up a second!" he yelled. Daniel looked over, groaned, and stopped.
"What do you need?" asked Daniel irritably.
The man stopped a few feet short. He stood in the street; Daniel on the sidewalk. "Look man, sorry about last night and all. The King gets all shook up over you NCR folks, but I guess you aren't that bad. We heard about what you said to them squatters, so here's your pistol back. The rifle is beyond repair, but I figure you won't need a rifle much, if you're staying in Vegas. But if you need anything, my name's Pacer," the greased-up and leather-dud man handed Daniel his Sig Sauer.
"Yeah, thanks, uh...Pacer?" Daniel asked for confirmation. He didn't think he had ever heard a name quite like Pacer. The man nodded. "Thanks and all, but, next time you and your friends make advances like that on me, I think I'll kill you first. Without hesiation," Daniel stared coldly. He holstered the pistol, and walked off down the street and towards the Atomic Wrangler.
Basically, the Atomic Wrangler was a hole in the wall. Only a tall neon sign outside pointed to the door. Other than that, the building had no exterior lighting; just a drab, brown and old structure. The interior reflected the outside boredom.
A few guards stood around, hoping to keep the peace. Daniel sized them up quickly, and figured that, if he needed to, he could take them down. The room the outside door entered to was a large sitting area, with a theater on the left wall. To the right lay the bar and a staircase that led to the upper floors. A woman wearing a black suit and white shirt stood behind the bar. Another man stood next to her, wearing a white seersucker jacket with matching white pants. The suit had faded to a dull gray. Both favored each other, and Daniel guessed they were related.
He walked over to the bar and ordered a cup of coffee. The brother (or so he presumed) had taken his order, and looked at him with a skeptical eye. "Boy, it looks like you need some new clothes. I got some stuff in the back; I could give 'em to you if you do me a favor. Pleased to meet you, I'm James Garrett, owner of the Atomic Wrangler with my sister Francine," he extended his hand. Daniel shook it before looking down at his pants and shirt.
"It depends on what the job is," observed Daniel. James brought his coffee, and Francine walked over.
She leaned on the counter. "If you had come in earlier I would've been able to give you the full job. But, I guess you I'll let you take the second half."
Daniel waited and drank his coffee. He guessed some other errand boy had come in and gotten the "first part."
"You see that poor sucker standing by the door?" she lowered her voice to a whisper, and Daniel looked. A man stood leaning against the wall, a cigarette in his mouth. He wore a duster similar to Daniel's, and a small, brown hat that Daniel wasn't sure classified as a top hat, fedora, or cowboy hat. "His name's Caleb McCaffery. We got a tip that he's thinking about ripping us off, and we need someone to take him down when he tries," informed Francine Garrett.
"How do you know?" Daniel asked curiously.
"We caught one of his cohorts, Santiago, talking about it. Apparently, he's going to walk over into the gambling room, pull off some card tricks, and then walk out. Plus he's already racked up a pretty big tab here. And, he's our current debt collector. We think he has been keeping some of the stuff he's collected for himself. Your call, though. All we would need is the money, and his hat. James would give you his clothes, I'd give you a room for the week. We could maybe throw in a few extra caps," she raised her eyebrows in excitement, and Daniel perked up. He was always in the business for a few extra caps.
"Can't I just shoot him now and be done with it?" he asked. Since his sheriff days, he always wanted the easy way out. Daniel was notoriously lazy, especially now that he wasn't the law anymore.
Francine chuckled. "You can, if you want the rest of these guards to gun you down. No, you'll need to keep your eye on him. And maybe if you call him out, then that'll provoke him. Either way, you'll get the payment."
Daniel thought that sounded fair, so he agreed. Uprooting from his post at the bar, he moved into the large seating area in front of the stage. Picking a large cushioned chair that offered a view from McCaffery to the entrance of the casino room.
So, he waited. All day he sat there. The Garretts and their workers kept him fed and continuously brought drinks to him, free of charge. A variety of magazines littered the table in front of him, so he browsed. The ghoul comedian, Hadrian, tried to make a show out of his poor act, but Daniel wasn't a fan.
Finally, eleven o'clock rolled around, and McCaffery made his move.
Just like Francine Garrett had said, he left his wall post, and made his way to the gambling hall. Daniel followed. McCaffery sat at the blackjack table after buying some chips at the bank. Daniel noted a slight bulge inside his right wrist in his duster jacket.
The game began, and the dealer dealt the cards. And so, McCaffery began his trick. He started by using sleight of hand. Every time he wanted to try his luck with a different card, he would flip the two cards he carried, take one from his sleeve in the motion, and hide the card he replaced in his opposite sleeve. The speed astonished Daniel, who had known a few card cheats in his sheriff days. Smiling, he walked back to his chair in the lobby and waited for McCaffery to leave.
Almost two hours passed before he did. Two hours he spent cheating, and when McCaffery cashed in, Daniel could see he carried a considerable amount of change in the pack he wore. Sighing, Daniel stood and walked over to the door. McCaffery was at the opposite end of the bar when he spoke.
"Hold it right there, McCaffery," Daniel told him. "I know you've been cheating in there. And normally I'd be too tired to stop you...but I got hired," he winked at Francine and James behind the bar.
"Kid, I have no idea what you're talking about, so step aside before I make you," ordered McCaffery, who palmed the revolver on his hip. Staring, Daniel thought it was either .357 or .44. Either one would put a quick end to him if he got in the way. Daniel let his right hand slip down to the Sig Sauer in his holster.
"Now, I don't want any trouble. Just hand over the caps, and I'll let you slide."
But McCaffery would have none of it. He drew, but Daniel had already known he would. Drawing a semi-automatic pistol was definitely easier than drawing a revolver; you have less to draw. Daniel cleared his leather half a second before McCaffery cleared his. Sidestepping left, Daniel felt McCaffery's poorly-aimed bullet pass. He took his time in aiming, and fired twice before McCaffery could readjust. The bullets slammed into McCaffery, hitting him square in the chest less than four inches apart. For a long second, Daniel kept his smoking gun trained on McCaffery, who struggled to stand.
After a brief moment, he fell.
Daniel holstered his weapon after ejecting and reloading. Cooly, he walked to the body and rolled him over. Taking the pack, he searched until he found the bag of caps. Counting by tens, he tallied an exact two thousand. He also relieved McCaffery of his revolver and, finally, his hat.
"Nice work," Francine Garrett told him while two guards took the body away. "You're fast with that pistol of yours. Why don't you keep the hat? It suits you. And, you may as well have the caps. We make enough money around here. James, get the man his new duds," she told her brother. James walked to a door behind the bar, and disappeared. Francine still looked at Daniel.
"Those caps can buy a ticket to Vegas. Head over to Mick and Ralph's, on the east side of Freeside. They'll make you a passport."
It took a moment, but Daniel finally realized he was holding his ticket to Vegas. After two days of people wanting to kill him, he was going to get his wish. Vegas, baby. Sitting back down at the counter, Francine filled him a glass of wine. And Daniel smiled.