Scene 2
The bar was a regular haunt in the post for travellers, merchants, mercs and all manner of travellers and destitutes. It was a dingy den of, well, not quite depravity, but certainly bawdry and rowdiness. There was always a hubbub with folk drinking their guts out and prostitutes on row outside to see them safely to bed and cashless the next morning. As Lawman entered, the doors swinging shut on the early morning mist behind him, a few heads turned. Over at a table in the darker corner of the bar where a cobweb of shadows flickered in the lantern light were sat a few hunched figures, brooding over their beers, dressed in an assortment of leather armour and scavver gear. Their eyes flashed over Lawman and although he didn't recognise them he felt damn sure that they recognised him. The only one of their group that didn't glance at Lawman was the one aiming and throwing his dagger at the dart board, and howling with laughter every time his opponent missed his mark.
"Ha! Better look next time old man…"
The others were clearly irritated by the posturing of this wiry figure with a gravelly voice. Lawman saw that the 'old man' he was playing against wasn't actually that old – in his late thirties at most. It seemed the wiry guy was an expert at winding up his competition and pushing their buttons, as though he willed them to fight him but always had his holstered gun on display as though to say 'Ah ah ah… Don't even think it…'
The only female at the table, her hair pulled back into a greasy wastelander's ponytail, rolled her eyes as she planted her boots on its surface.
"Carter!" she hollered, "when are you gonna stop playin' that fuckin' game and get over here. The guy's just arrived." She motioned in the direction of Lawman as she picked her teeth with a toothpick.
Lawman scanned the bar before stepping over, his hands rested easy on his belt but as always were not too far from his Colt 45, holstered at his side. He swung over and realised how they knew who he was – He was wearing his pip boy. Perhaps what Oswald had been saying about them wanting to steal it wasn't far off the mark…
"Hoo yah!" the man called Carter whooped. "Did ya see that? Bullseye. Dead on point. Hey woah, woah. Don't leave just yet. We only getting started, brother. I tell you what, double or nuthin'. How's that?"
"Carter!" the wastelander hollered once more.
Carter gave her a repugnant look. That was before Lawman's shrewd gaze picked up a devilish glint in his eye. Lawman would become accustomed to that devilish glint. It was the sort of spark that flickered in a void – a void of any emotion or repent. Whoever Carter was, whatever he'd done, Lawman felt sure that it was no damn good. Nothing this guy did was done for good. Except hurtin' someone, he'd sure do that for good.
"Or perhaps we make this more interestin'…" Carter said, in deadly soft tones. "How about it pardner? Care for a little wager?" he shoved the beleaguered 'old man' he'd been playing with in front of the dart board.
"Hold him down!" he barked to one of the men at the table. He did so reluctantly, not wishing for Carter's ire to turn on him, as the shocked man stammered and pleaded for Carter to stop. Carter just waved a hand as though to waft these 'silly suggestions' away. "Now if I get that bullseye just above your head, I get all your caps, you hear?" The man tried to pull away but in vain.
The others pulled away in disgust but didn't do anything. Lawman could read from their expressions that this was typical of the man they called Carter.
"Carter," the blonde, bearded man holding down the older one interrupted, "hey, look, there's no need for this a'right. He's just a…"
"You…" Carter drew his revolver, and Lawman felt his hand drift down to his own as a bead of sweat broke on his forehead. "…Shut up! You hear?"
"Like I said," Carter continued, turning to the man. Lawman's steady hand tentatively touched the handle of his Colt 45. "If I shoot bullseye, ya caps are mine. But if I miss, well then, I dunno… who's yer next of kin?" Carter cackled, and everyone in the bar was suddenly looking over.
Lawman bit his lip. Call it old habits from his Sherriff days, but he knew he couldn't let anything happen to the poor sod. His fingers slid further down the handle of his gun. Besides, this lunatic is a liability…
Carter did a little jig to loosen his muscles. Then he raised his gun and aimed, his eyes agleam with that murderous glint – no, not agleam, aflame. "On the count of three…"
"one."
Lawman clutched his gun.
"two."
Lawman was about to swing out his revolver.
"That'll be enough," came the voice as if from nowhere. Suddenly Carter's gun was knocked dextrously out of his hand by a walking cane, and sent spinning on the table. The others jolted out of its aim as it spun around, before it finally rested still.
"I think we can dispense with the parlour games," the suited man who'd struck at Carter's gun spoke with an authoritative air. The blonde man released the older one, who made a quick exit.
"Who the fuck are you?" Carter roared, grabbing the man by the shirt collar.
"My name…" the man said shifting his glasses slightly. They flashed. "…Is Mr Kees. I'm acting as Oswald L. Azazel's emissary in this mission. And I'd thank you to kindly release me from your grip." Lawman had to give it to the little fella, he was as cool as a cucumber.
Carter tried to hide his sneer from Mr Kees before he turned around, spotted Lawman's hand resting on his revolver, and paled. Carter fixed Lawman with an icy cold stare. His eyes were still sharp as two shards of ice as his face broke out into a glib grin.
"I guess they don't call you Lawman for nuthin', huh…Lawman?" Carter said in mocking tones.
"No. I guess not."
"You still think you're sheriff in these parts, Lawman?"
Lawman never shifted his gaze. "No. Not that Carter… It was Carter won't it?" Lawman didn't wait for a reply. "I just think your game won' all that sportin' now, was it? Now if you let the man stand there himself instead of being held down by the other fella, maybe it'd be a different matter…" He stepped over and poured himself a stiff one at the bar, and drank. "…but the way I see it you're just out to cause trouble. And besides," Lawman motioned to all the other occupants of the bar who were slowly turning back to their own interests, "we're supposed to be a private party. A secret little shindig between friends, am I right?"
"You sayin' I'm endangering the group. You think you're all hotshot all of a sudden?"
"Nah. That's just somethin' folks I meet tend to learn."
"The law is dead. Stillborn as a three headed Brahmin. I reckon that's a lesson you might learn from me. For free."
And the two locked eyes. The uneasy tension hung over them in the silence until it was broken by the wastelander.
"Carter, baby, sit your ass down already," she hollered, "Come sit next to me."
Carter looked venomous, but only for a fraction of a second, before he suddenly broke out into a glib and steely grin, throwing his arms either side of him as though to say to the world at large 'women, huh. Can't live with 'em and can't live without 'em'.
"I guess that was my bad, Lawman. Just tryin' to act big in front of a cool cat such as you."
He barked a laugh as he threw a pat onto Lawman's shoulder. Lawman brushed it off.
"Yeah," he said. "Don't mention it." Talk about a Bonnie and Clyde duo he and the wastelander made. He'd keep his eyes on Carter… he'd have to keep his eyes on both of them.
Carter swung to the table and sat down next to the wastelander. He drew her in for a snog.
The man called Mr Kees cleared his throat as Carter retrieved his gun and holstered it. "Gentlemen," Mr Kees spoke in clipped English. "It is my pleasure to draw you all together in this quest under the direction and guidance of Mr. Oswald Azazel," he spoke in the tones of somethin' like an attorney. Such occupations exist in the west, of course, but over here in lawless territory, attorneys have about as much luck as sheriffs and fish in a desert. "I see most of you have already met each other. Nevertheless, for the benefit of those who have yet to make everyone's acquaintance, I shall formally introduce each of us to everyone else in the group before we begin…"
Lawman poured another drink at the bar and threw a few caps the shady-looking barkeeps way before he pulled himself up to the table. He needed a drink. His hands were getting the itch again.
"Ahem…" Mr Kees continued. "This is Lawman. Who's also called…"
"No," Lawman interrupted. "No real names. Not from my end. You understand. I'm just Lawman."
"Right. He's a professional merc who takes scavenger missions for the Post."
"Bit old ain't he?" the blonde bearded one called out.
"Experienced. I've been gunslingin' since before you were sucklin' your mother's teat, Blondie," Lawman riposted to a nervous murmur of chuckles.
"He'll be the one to open the vault and to guide the scavenging mission through it," Mr Kees said. "Listen carefully to what he says once he's there. That goes to you too Carter…"
Carter scowled.
"You've already acquainted yourselves with Carter," Mr Kees continued. "He's a former raider and now works as a freelance mercenary. He and his men," and here Mr Kees motioned to Blondie and a darker haired gruff fella with a shoulder tattoo, "will be joining us as security."
Security? Lawman groaned inwardly. What the hell are you thinking, Oswald… And yet, despite his gut wrenching and every fibre of his being telling him to leave this band of degenerates, he was still here wasn't he. The mission had sucked him in, not only to make sure the Post came to no harm, but because he was intrigued and he couldn't resist it no matter what he did. He found his hands itching at the prospect of riches as much as for the liquor in the palm of his hand. He gulped it down. His new addiction…
"The name of the Blonde chap," Mr Kees said, "is Leicester and our darker haired friend is Vyatch."
Vyatch grunted his greeting as he shifted, leaving his tattoo in a clearer light. It read 'Cazador'.
"Cazador," Lawman inquired, "What's that mean?"
"Who's askin'?"
"A guy who's interested in knowin'."
"It's the name of our group," the blondie Leicester called over. Lawman judged that it was he who was the most level headed out of the terrible trio. He probably didn't want to start a fight. Lawman wondered what drew him into a mercenary pack of cut-throats such as the 'Cazadors'.
"Thanks."
"This crew member," Mr Kees continued, "is Katherine…"
"But everyone calls me Lucky," the wastelander claimed.
"Why's that?"
"'Cause It's bad luck to have a woman on board. At least for all you assholes it might be," She jibed as she took a long swig of her beer. Carter grinned.
The crowd let out another nervous murmur of chuckles – all except for the last man at the table. He was a surly, grave looking fella whose gaze seemed focused intently on the drink in front of him that his big meaty hands cupped. He was, save for Lawman, perhaps the oldest of the group – late forties at least, and looked as though he'd seen many dangerous voyages. There was something else about him that Lawman's shrewd gaze picked up, a certain nervousness or general unease, as though he knew what lay ahead on this journey and wasn't remotely happy about it.
"…The Captain of the Mayweather, Vance," Mr Kees finished. The surly captain just nodded, his eyes latched onto his drink, as though it might be the last he ever had.
"Okay, so what's the story, Kees," Carter swung around in his chair to face him. "How's this gonna shake down? I want details."
"Mr Oswald Azazel has already gone over what our target is with each of you," Mr Kees shifted his glasses. "The general outline of the plan still stands. Vance will take us down the Mississippi on his fine vessel, the Mayweather, and somewhere down there will be our first mark – a vault, hopefully one with more info on how to reach our ultimate objective."
"After that," Vance interjected in wooden tones, "It's all your play…"
"But it were my understandin'," Katherine interjected, "that the fog there sends all compasses into nutsville. No one can make sense of where they are. What with the looming forests, the lakes and mires and the fog how are we gonna keep from walkin' in circles."
"Mr Azazel has procured a guide for this trip…"
"And where exactly is this guide?" Vyatch's gravelly voice rumbled over the assembled company. Lawman could tell from his look that the man was a stone cold killer.
"She's being…" and here Mr Kees seemed to be choosing his words carefully as he pushed his glasses up the rim of his nose, "…fitted out. In any case you don't have to concern yourself with guidance once we're there. We'll get through to her."
Lawman interjected suddenly, "'fitted out'? What the hell is this guide supposed to be? A Mr Handy, or somethin'?"
"No, Lawman," Mr Kees replied brusquely, as though to curtail the conversation at that point.
Lawman locked eyes with Mr Kees as he stood over the table. Mr Kees' face remained impassive.
"What in the goddamn is Oswald playing at?" Lawman asked gravely. "What do you mean, 'fitted out'?"
"You'll find out soon enough."
"What about weapons? What do we need to blow up whatever god's little critters litter the wretched place?" Carter asked.
"Your usual munitions and armaments should do fine. A little extra firepower, for emergencies, wouldn't go amiss."
"Just make sure all munitions are packed within the cargo hold," Vance said. "I don't want to see a single live round rolling on deck unless it's strapped to your belt. Too many ships have been blown to kingdom come because they were overstocked on ammunition. No one endangers my ship, but me. Got it?"
"Does anyone have any further questions?" Mr Kees spoke again.
"How and when do we get paid?" Carter asked.
"When Mr Azazel receives his tech file, then you shall all be paid a share of the profits. Everyone's share is an equal divide. Your team for security, Lawman for scavving experience and vault access, the captain for his vessel, and lastly Oswald, for organising this whole endeavour."
"That's all I needed to know…" and here Carter looked at Lawman. The eerie lantern light danced on his face in such a way that Lawman couldn't make out his expression. It was inscrutable – lost in the shadow of misgivings.
"If that's all gentlemen," Mr Kees said, turning from the assembled company and motioning to the door, "then allow me finally introduce you to the Mayweather…"