Chapter Thirty
The two day trip to Winnipeg was very uneventful, minus whatever funny or interesting story Vince told. With the alcohol on offer on the train, he may have gotten a bit of a buzz. Hell, maybe more than that, but he was still mostly functional, and able to think mostly straight. And it gave him something to do. Besides, it wasn't like he was a full time drunk.
The train ride was just like every other train ride he had: the carriages rocked, the benches were okay but not anything anyone would call comfortable, the food was mostly edible, the staff was mostly polite, and the ride was only somewhat delayed.
Going up by train through towns like Atwood and Vault H, both places that were maybe not on the best of terms with Patrick, made him uneasy and concerned that something was going to happen to him. Hell, he was concerned that some BoS saboteur would try to destroy the train and ensure he died for good. But nothing like that happened, and once the train left Vault H, Patrick was able to relax, somewhat.
Which was good, because as soon as he and Vince got off the train at Union Station back in Winnipeg, two fully uniformed RAMP officers were at the platform, waiting for him. They were tall, and had a face that seemed to be set almost in a permanent scowl.
"Uh, did I do something wrong?" Patrick asked the female sergeant as they came up to him.
"I don't know. Did you?" she asked. Patrick didn't answer, so she went on. "We're here to take you to RAMP HQ to allow you to freshen up and get briefed on why the Defense Committee wants to talk to you."
"I've been wondering that ever since I got the radiogram," Patrick admitted. "Do you-"
"Sorry, but the Commissioner should be able to tell you," the sergeant replied. Patrick sighed, but honestly didn't expect much more than that.
They started to lead Patrick outside, and Vince followed, but the female sergeant stopped him. "Where do you think you're going?"
"He's with me," Patrick replied.
The sergeant looked over the old, one-eyed man, who flashed a charming smile. She rolled her eyes, but didn't stop Vince from following.
Patrick was lead outside, only getting a few cursory glances of the travelers and staff as a simple farmer was flanked and hustled by two smartly dressed police officers, an older man with an eyepatch trailing behind. A white Fusilier wagon with the red RAMP painted on it was waiting outside, with two black sleipnir's patiently waiting. Another RAMP officer held the reins, and watched as the three people came out of the stone building and loaded up on the wooden wagon. When the doors slammed shut, the driver whipped the sleipnir's into action, and off the wagon rolled.
The ride wasn't comfortable, just hard wooden seats, and felt very awkward. No one wanted to talk, but everyone had something to talk about.
Fortunately the ride of the RAMP HQ was only a few minutes. The Fusilier came to a halt, and Patrick and the RAMP sergeants were unloaded in the stable area, and they walked into the complex. Patrick looked up, and noticed the window with plywood and black scorch marks where he and the legless detective had managed to avoid a bomb earlier.
But Patrick was hustled to a different part of the building, and separated from Vince who was lead to a waiting room somewhere else. Patrick and his guide took wild turns, going up several flights of stairs, and possibly at one point backtracking, but Patrick had no idea where he was being lead anyway, so what mattered?
Eventually they arrived at an office on the sixth floor of the part of the building called Lockhart. The female sergeant knocked on the door, and opened it for Patrick.
And just like that, Patrick found himself in the office of the Commissioner of the RAMP, Jennifer Raymond. The first (and only) time Patrick saw him, she had met Patrick when bringing Colonel Granger to Winnipeg for the first time, and at that time she seemed taller, more splendid than she did now. The difference was easy to tell though. She was in a less ornamental red uniform, one without all the gold braid and ornaments, but with the same rank markers on her sleeve. It was plain, standard, like anything else she had seen here in the RAMP HQ. She was tackling a pile of paperwork, using a pair of glasses to read the typed or handwritten reports, and only looked up for a moment to see who entered.
"Ah, Auxiliary. Just one moment," Commissioner Raymond said, motioning Patrick to a chair in front of her. Once again, the soft voice startled Patrick, but he took the seat anyway. The Commissioner adjusted her glasses, silently mouthed to himself what the paper in front of him said, before he nodded, and grabbed a pen and scrawled what could have been her signature, or the approximation of a four-year-old's doodle, and then set it in the outbox.
"I'm glad you were able to get back to Winnipeg as soon as you could," Raymond said, taking her glasses off. "I'm sorry to hear what happened near Grand Forks. As far as I know, it's the first time since the last war that a Brotherhood team tried to destroy a train. Usually it would be a Dakotan liberation group, or some bandits trying to find easy pickings."
"I'm okay now," Patrick said. But then the thought popped in his head: a disaster that killed about two dozen people, could have resulted in his death, and fighting for his life afterward to ensure he didn't die… and he was okay with it? What was he turning into?
"Anyway," Commissioner Raymond said, pointing a finger at Patrick. "You have been a bad boy, you know that?"
"What? What do you mean?" Patrick asked.
"Well, officially, we are at peace with the Brotherhood of Steel," Raymond began matter of factly. "Officially, that means we can't have anyone associated with the Royal Assiniboian Mounted Police or the Dominion of Assiniboia running around, shooting up their soldiers, trying to cause towns that are acknowledged to be under the Brotherhood's protection to defect, and otherwise interfere with their internal matters. Then whatever happened in Bomber City, which, as far as the RAMP can gather, you showed up, then the commanding officer of the battalion stationed in the city is suddenly killed. While officially, the RAMP can't, as of this moment, investigate the circumstances of the late Lieutenant-Colonel's death due to the Army claiming authority, it should raise a lot of serious questions, right? All those discrepancies is why you are being called to answer to the Defense Committee. And that can lead to a lot more serious punishments which I can't even begin to describe to you."
Patrick grimaced. For all he knew, this was when he was going to be arrested by the officers outside the door, or just thrown from an open window. There were the stories, decades ago, of an RAMP commissioner who had the "traitors" against the certifiably insane Prime Minister Calvert thrown from the roof of the old Richardson Building in Downtown Winnipeg. The second last person to face that was said RAMP Commissioner when the Prime Minister finally lost power. PM Calvert was the last one, but it's still rumoured that the punishment could be used again.
"Officially," Commissioner Raymond continued, "I can't give a pat on the back for everything that you've done, even if it is rather unorthodox and does raise some issues."
Patrick blinked. "W-what?"
"Auxiliary, Assiniboia knows we are going to be at war with the Brotherhood of Steel soon. Very soon. All evidence points toward that. So everything you've done down south should cause some confusion and issues with the Brotherhood, while helping Assiniboia, in some way or another." Raymond grinned. "And we wouldn't want that now, would we?"
"But what about Bomber City?" Patrick asked. "Isn't that an issue as well?"
"I don't know. Is it?" Raymond asked. "Did you kill Lieutenant-Colonel Rochford?"
"No, ma'am," Patrick answered.
"Even in self defence?"
"No."
"Did you go to Bomber City with the intention of killing Lieutenant-Colonel Rochford?"
"Nope."
"Then I, as the head of the RAMP, doesn't see there any criminal issue that will affect yourself. You are fine there."
Patrick looked at the Commissioner. Something seemed a bit fishy about this. "There's something about this, isn't there?"
Raymond stared at Patrick. "Well, yes. A few things, actually."
"Such as?"
"Well, we have an issue that we need you to look into, on the quiet," Raymond said.
"What sort of issue?"
"Kildonan."
Patrick raised an eyebrow. Kildonan, almost ever since the War of 2077, had been part of Winnipeg, but not really part of Winnipeg. The US Army blew up the bridges that crossed the Red River after reports of the bombs falling reached the city and the pro-Canadian resistance rising up, and then in the panic afterwards buildings and cars were turned into a wall along one of the major streets on the south and east, cutting the entire north-eastern half of the city off. After that it was basically taken over by the Five Gangs of Kildonan, a looser version of the Syndicate, just less violent and trigger happy. They had done a surprising amount of work to improve the standard of living of those in Kildonan, if just to keep the people living there content and working. Of course, turf wars and blood feuds will occasionally flare up and rage for weeks, months, even years before a truce is agreed to. Just because the standard of living was okay in Kildonan doesn't mean that it was a good place to live.
"What do I have to do?"
"Should be straightforward," Commissioner Raymond said. "The Mallers, the only gang in the area that will work with us, has an important message they need to give us."
"Why can't they just send it to you by some other means?"
Raymond sighed. "I've asked that many a time too. But they have reasons. Radiograms are too insecure and expensive, the gangs can't trust anybody, even the hired guns and loyal followers in their gangs, because they may be double agents. You can send an ordinary person to deliver it, but if one of the other gangs find out about it, they could be robbed, roughed up, interrogated or killed… or worse. And you can't even use a damn pigeon to fly over the wall, because they will just get shot down. So, every time they have something for us, we have to send someone in undercover to go get the message. It's a bloody pain in the ass, but we have no other choice."
"But what about the committee hearing?"
"We'll stall. It shouldn't take too long. A few hours, maybe half a day, tops. Then you can get back here, and then take you to the Legislature." The commissioner grinned. "Besides, the committee hearing is a formality. Behind closed doors, and I'll be there to take whatever heat they want to give. Besides: almost everyone in that building has a reason to hate the Brotherhood."
Patrick took a deep breath. "Well, it doesn't sound that hard."
"Just keep your guns close and loaded, and you should be fine." Raymond agreed. "Now, the contact you are looking for is code named Brutus, and you are Julius." She then gave some other details, and a cover story to use. "You should be able to find them at the docks when you go there. Good luck Auxiliary." They both stood up, and she gave a stiff salute. Patrick did his best version of a salute, which to the bemused smile on Commissioner Raymond's face, wasn't anywhere near professional, but respectful enough to not require a chewing out.
"Oh, also," Commissioner Raymond called out, poking his head out into the hallway as Patrick was lead away. "I took the liberty of ordering your Sleipnir, Demon, back here to Winnipeg from Melita. He's currently in the stables."
Patrick nodded. "That was very nice of you, ma'am."
The Commissioner grinned. "A member of the Royal Assiniboian Mounted Police, even an Auxiliary, is nothing without his mount." She then ducked back into her office.
Patrick was lead through the maze of hallways and corridors by the female RAMP sergeant until they got to the waiting room that Vince had been left in.
"So, where to now?"
"Kildonan. Should be a simple job." Patrick said, though partially to reassure himself. A lot of the things that he had been asked to do didn't exactly fall under "easy." He hoped this was the exception, but knew better than to actually say that outloud. Some higher being may just take it as a challenge.
The riverboat that was used to ferry people from The Forks to Kildonan had seen better days. Years really. It wasn't even one of the fusion powered boats that normally went up and down the river, but an ancient wood burning contraption that powered the engines that could have most likely been made before the War of 2077. It sputtered, it clanked, it may have smoked several times, but the driver ignored it and powered on through. Patrick was afraid that the thing was going to explode and send them all to their deaths, though by either burning or drowning, Patrick wasn't sure.
But the boat made it to the half-demolished bridge that was used as a dock for the entire north-eastern half of the city. Notably, it was the only part of Kildonan that wasn't walled off in some way or another, and the only place that you could enter the city. Officially, that was: many tunnels and other routes were rumoured to exist, usually under the control of one of the Five Gangs of Kildonan. Battles between the clans over the tunnels, either to keep them open or to destroy them, was just one side of the hostile, never ending war over the area.
Patrick and Vince climbed off the boat and onto the asphalt and steel structure. Several armed guards were nearby, all of whom wore one of five coloured bands or handkerchief on their arms. It was the closest to a uniform that the Five Gangs used, different colours for different groups. Two of them, one with a red band and one with a green, stopped Patrick and Vince.
"What is your business here?" The man with the red band, roughly 30 years old and wearing a pieced together leather armor and holding a long double barreled shotgun, asked Patrick and Vince.
"Here to see family on Hazel Dell Street," Patrick replied, using the cover story that Commissioner Raymond gave him.
The guard looked over Patrick and Vince. Back at the RAMP HQ, they had to leave their backpacks, and were only allowed to carry one gun into Kildonan, as per the rules the Five Gangs could agree on for those entering their turf. Patrick felt almost naked without the heavy backpack and the assault rifle, laser rifle, and other weapons he had gathered over the past few weeks. But he kept the .44 Magnum on his hip. Vince, who packed a lot lighter than Patrick, had an old M1911 .45 pistol that he affectionately named "Lil' Bertha." Otherwise, they looked as dirty and ragged and poor as anyone else on the boat.
"Alright, come on in then. Just keep your noses clean."
Patrick and Vince nodded, and walked off the old bridge, past the gate guarded by several more men - this time with blue, yellow and white bands on their arms of the other three Gangs - and into Kildonan itself.
The area around the gate was a small marketplace, focused around a group of old stores and buildings along Henderson Highway. To one side, there was a store with a heavily armed guard in a polished suit of metal armor standing guard. Past him and through the open door Patrick could see a wide variety of arms and weapons, which was reason enough to have a guard outside. A sign haphazardly painted out front shouted "EVERYONE IN KILDONAN WELCOME!" Across from the weapons dealer was a store with another guard, this time a woman with leather armor and a powerful sniper rifle smoking a cigarette. The sign on the building said "Consumable Products, Ltd." But, considering that it was guarded, the windows were barred and also covered in plywood, and several shifty, shady, and twitchy people were hanging around outside, Patrick had a feeling it wasn't just food and water sold there.
From a bar on Henderson the front door crashed open, and two men, one a very tough and fit young man and a grey haired older man with lots of scars over his body from a lifetime of hard living, were kicking and gouging in the mud, the blood and the beer.
"Fun place, isn't it?" Vince said, glancing at a scantily clad woman - more that the few clothes she wore was basically falling apart than anything on purpose - try to act as seductive as she could to get their attention. When Vince and Patrick walked on, she swore at them rather loudly and bluntly, before turning around to try to get someone else's attention for a good time.
"This is why few people go to Kildonan unless they have to." Patrick reached for his gun, to make sure it was still there. "So, hopefully whatever we have to do, it will be quick."
The two walked into the weapons shop, the glowering eyes of the guard following them in. But he didn't stop Patrick or Vince, so they entered the store.
An older balding man was standing behind the counter, haggling with a customer, with a hunting rifle between them.
"You know as well as I that this gun is not worth anywhere near 150 Pounds! A hundred would still be stealing!" the customer exclaimed, over emphasizing his righteous anger and incredulity. "How about 80?"
"Ai, you may say that," the store owner said, chewing on something in his mouth. "But this is my store, and I say 150. Besides, this weapon has been thoroughly cleaned just two days ago, works perfectly, and never jams. But since you are a return customer, I will give you 135."
The customer and owner bartered and barked and haggled back and forth for another ten minutes, until they settled on 105 Pounds, and five dozen rounds of .32 bullets. The customer, grumbling a bit at the price, grabbed his purchase and walked out.
The gun dealer then turned to Patrick and Vince. "And what can I help you gentlemen with today?"
"I'm here looking to cut out a problem," Patrick said, remembering the phrase he was told to use.
The man's mouth stopped chewing for a moment, his eyes darting all over. "Ah, of course. You need a good solid one, no? Let me take you around back."
The man came out from behind the counter, but not before giving a sharp whistle. Just like that, the outside door slammed shut, and a key turned in the lock. Patrick winced at the bang, and then spun his head around to the store owner.
"It's best not to be interrupted here, Julius," the man said.
"Alright, Brutus," Patrick replied. The man gave a faint smile and pushed open a door that lead to a back room.
It was a small living area, with a bed on one side, a table and several chairs, and a radio, along with dozens of empty beer and whisky bottles piled all over the place. The man removed some from the table, and sat down on one of the chairs. Patrick sat on the other one across from him.
"So, you from the RAMP?" The man code-named Brutus asked. Patrick nodded. "I couldn't expect many other people would know the code name and phrases exactly."
There was a brief pause, as if Brutus was expecting Patrick to admit he killed the other guy and got all the information. But he didn't say anything.
"Anyway, to business," Brutus said. "Ricardo, the head honcho of the Mallers, has discovered a major plot underfoot inside all the gangs of Kildonan, to have more Brotherhood leaning leaders come to power, possibly enough to unify the gangs and attack Winnipeg itself. He himself managed to kill some of the more incompetent people that tried to kill and replace him, but he's certain there is more."
Patrick blinked. "Wow, that's big."
"This could be devastating Julius," Brutus admitted. "The problem is, the Mallers have no idea when the attack will come. But it will be soon, very soon. Any attempts to find out when, where, and who have run into dead ends… or bullets."
"So what am I supposed to do?" Patrick asked. He then turned his head as he heard something up front. There was a loud argument: the guard up front was shouting at someone, maybe that the store was closed for the day.
"Get the message to the RAMP, and Commissioner Raymond. As long as she knows, maybe Assiniboia could be prepared," Brutus said. "That could be the only thing protecting Winnipeg itself."
"What's in it for the Mallers to work with Assiniboia?" Patrick asked. "I'd have thought they would want to be independent."
"Of course we do," Brutus said. "However, this conspiracy is threatening it by having one gang take over the others. We like to be independent of Assiniboia, but we also want to be independent of each other. And for all the problems we have with Assiniboia, at least they aren't trying to force us together against our will. That's what Ricardo is most afraid of."
Patrick thought about it, then nodded. "Okay, I'll leave as soon as-"
There was a gunshot. Not just one, but a half dozen all at once. Brutus started upright, looking to where the gunshots came from. He reached down to pull out a shotgun from under the table.
"Alright, fun time's over. You better get the hell out of here," Brutus said, standing up. "Take the back door you two. And be prepared to shoot your way out if you need to. Now go!"
Brutus went up front, just as the door burst open. He began to shout at the intruders, before he ended up shooting his shotgun, followed by a scream in pain and a volley of other gunshots.
Patrick and Vince had already dashed out of the room, managing to avoid being seen by whoever had burst into the gun store a moment ago, and sprinted around to the back and the back door. Patrick, yanking his .44 Magnum from his hip, Vince with Big Bertha already cocked and loaded. As adrenaline pumped through his body, Patrick ran straight at the door, and smashed into it with his shoulder, making the wooden door splinter and burst open.
Patrick jumped through the old, rotten door and right into the muzzle of several rifle barrels.
"Of course, they always try to climb out the back," one of the riflemen, with a green armband smirked. "What did I tell you?"
"Shut up," a woman, also with a green band on her arm said. "Okay, you two: what were you two doing in there."
"W-we were just buying some guns," Patrick said, hoping his quivering voice wouldn't be taken for the lie it was.
"Then what were you doing talking to the big guy there in his back room, huh?"
"I don't know. He just asked us to go back there to show us a special gun," Vince replied. "It was a nice gun, really expensive though."
"Yeah fucking right," the chick snarled. "You're just some Assy punks trying to destroy Kildonan. We know that the so-called 'Brutus' is a spy for the Mounties, and we know you were at the RAMP HQ."
"How did you…" Patrick started to ask, but the guy smacked Patrick over the face with a backhand.
"Shut up! Now, what did Brutus tell you?"
"He told me nothing," Patrick said.
Another backhand, this one stronger. "Liar! Now what did he tell you?"
Patrick could feel blood dripping from his nose. "He… he didn't get a chance to tell me."
There wasn't a backhand. This time it was a punch to the gut that made Patrick fold in on himself. He would have fallen down had Vince not been holding him up. "What the fuck did he say?"
The door behind them slammed open. Brutus, bleeding, limping, and with a black eye staggered out, shotgun pointed at the gangsters with the green bandanas on their arms.
"I said to fuck you, you traitors!" the angry, bloodied shop owner said, before pulling the trigger and making one of the gangsters fall over, dead before he hit the ground, with another beside him having buckshot striking half his body, and he fell down, flailing and screaming in pain.
The other four gangsters turned to Brutus and began to fire at him. Brutus spun around, shielding himself from the gunfire with the wall, and reloaded his gun.
Vince half dragged, half walked Patrick out of the middle to behind the wall on the other side, and pulled out Big Bertha. He leaned out far enough to see, and pulled the trigger. His .45 caliber handgun struck the woman with the green armband in the chest, making her fall and spasm as she choked on her own blood. He then aimed at another gangster, but the three shots he fired all missed as he noticed Vince and ducked behind a pile of old steel beams and concrete. He and the few other gangsters all returned fire as well as they could to both Brutus and Vince and Patrick.
Patrick, panting heavily as he tried to catch his breath, with the ache in his stomach, finally managed to pull out his revolver, and add his .44 Magnum bullets that flew through the air. He might have struck a person, or he might not have, he didn't know. A bullet cracked past his head, making him duck reflexively. But he spun around, and caught one of the gangsters in the head as he peaked up to try to see what was going on.
"Vince!" Patrick nearly shouted into his companion's ear. "We got to get out of here!"
Off in the distance in he could hear more gunshots and screams, and he even saw smoke coming from the docks, as it sounded like all of Kildonan was beginning to go up in flames.
"Yeah, good idea. But where?"
"Boats will be locked down, I bet. My guess is to the Mall. Maybe the head guy there could help us?" Patrick replied.
"Yeah, if Brutus was telling the truth." Vince shoved another stick of ammo into Big Bertha. He saw the last two gangsters trying to run away, and he fired at them. But none of them went down. All that was left was the bodies of those killed or injured, and the iron stink of blood and gunpowder in the air.
A momentary silence descended, with only the muffled sounds of gunshots, screams, and the wail of a siren somewhere to get past Patrick's ringing ears. Carefully he stepped out, and looked around.
Brutus was dead now, having taken more lead than any man Patrick had seen before. Patrick took the shotgun still clutched in his cold, dead hands, along with some of the shotgun shells that he had beside him. He might need that firepower, with all his other guns sitting at the RAMP HQ right now. Vince grabbed a submachine gun that one of the gangsters had, and as many clips of ammo as he could for it.
"Hey, look at this," Vince said, reaching into the shirt of one of the men, one that was acting like a leader of the group earlier, and dug out a small metal disc. Patrick walked over and bent down to look at it. It was an etching of the emblem of the Brotherhood of Steel.
"Shit. This isn't good."
"Nope," Patrick said, as he took the dog tag off the man's neck. "I just hope we can stop this soon before it turns into a bigger mess."
Newly armed, they began to walk to the east toward where Patrick, using his Pip-Boy map, was pretty sure the Mall they were heading toward was.
Pip-Boy 3000 Infotracker Note #2917
The Five Gangs of Kildonan: From the Encyclopedia Assiniboia, 2179 Edition
Soon after the bombs fell and the US Army left, a power vacuum emerged in Winnipeg. While the Dominion of Assiniboia was established, it took them years to gain full control of the city from gangs, small self-declared towns or even entire regions that had been abandoned to wild dogs. Northeastern Winnipeg, (composed of North Kildonan, East Kildonan, Elmwood and Transcona) on the other side of the Red River, was no exception. It was quickly filled by several criminal elements which, unlike most other places in Winnipeg, managed to hold on to a form of semi-autonomous independence right to the present day.
The five gangs are most or less identical in goals, organization and weapons. They all want to establish themselves as the preeminent power in Kildonan, but they do not want the other's to gain such an advantage, so often team up to prevent one gang from gaining too much power. They all make their Pounds off of drug dealing, weapons smuggling, extortion, bribery and corruption. Most own some more legitimate businesses, including workshops, stores, hotels, and banks, sometimes with branches in the city of Winnipeg itself.
There have been many, many conflicts between the five gangs, and alliances are always temporary and constantly shifting based on the current situation. While full-fledged battles are common, they usually try to minimize civilian casualties as much as possible: killing bystanders is usually a good way to make the people of the area, who already work long hours, pay high bribes and are addicted to their chems, grow angry and rise in revolt. There is a spot, at the ruins of the Transcona (which no gang directly controls), that has been turned into an arena where the gangs can simply let off steam and fight each other without damaging other areas of the region. All Five almost guard the wall built along Highway 59 and Regent Avenue, to ensure the Dominion does not interfere in their freedom.
The Five Gangs are: The Chief Peguis, named after the major thoroughfare, and are recognized with the colour red; The Mallers based on the old Kildonan Mall and one of the only major greenhouses in the area, and use Green; The Hendersons, another gang named by a major thoroughfare, and using Blue); The Rossmere, named after the golf course and curling club, and symbolized by the colour White; and Eaglemeres, a old-world residential district, and using Yellow.