3

The Strip. The one place where nothing seemed to matter to me. I could forget about it all, the Khans, the NCR, mom and dad, and that poor little Courier that Benny nearly fucking killed. The fucking bastard tricked me, just like he tricked the other Khans. He swore up and down that she used to work for him at the Tops as a dealer and that she had stolen the platinum chip. Me, being the fucking idiot that I am, believed him; but in my defence, we all did. Even Jessup, who had never lead me wrong.

Well it all turned out that he tried to murder her in cold blood because the chip wasn't just a chip apparently. I had no damn clue what the thing was, but according to Mr. New Vegas, the woman had been carving a bloody swathe across the Wastes in her attempts to find that asshole in the ugly checkered suit. I didn't blame her; I had a similar goal in mind.

I spent my days wandering about Freeside and The Strip, waiting to catch even a glimpse of him, but he had been hiding very low for a while now. Even The Tops was completely devoid of any trace of the slimy bastard. The Chairmen were extremely tight-lipped, no matter how many caps I shoved their way. It was like Benny had never existed; even Swank had stopped talking about him.

My pursuit of him was no longer so intense, but I would catch my brown eyes absentmindedly scanning the casino for him while I cleaned them out. Gambling was my getaway, my vice, my muse. It gave me a little thrill as I raked in all the chips; and it was always so easy because people weren't at all intimidated by me. At 5'3, 120 pounds and with my caramel skin and honey blonde hair, no one assumed I would be the one to clean everyone out.

It was close to ten o'clock as I strutted my way toward the tops. It was my favorite casino for a few reasons; I knew everyone by name, they knew me, and Swank had a hard on for me even though he knew I wouldn't like him unless he was about a c cup. Despite my sexual inclination he would still toss some caps my way occasionally, to "buy myself something pretty."

I wore a low cut white dress, that stopped just above my knee and showed enough of my humble chest to turn some heads. With matching heels, I had no doubt that I would find a woman to go home with tonight. And yet the thought of sharing one night of passion with a stranger depressed me greatly. I hadn't been in a proper relationship since Clover left, and that was years ago by now.

It was embarrassing to still be pining over someone that had long since moved onto bigger and better things. She was tired of fleeing the Legion, and wanted to go somewhere safer. DC it was. And she left without telling me. She knew I wasn't going to leave Nevada; I had ties to the Khans and I wasn't going to flee from some shitheels like the NCR or the Legion. This was my home and I would die here.

I often wondered what she was up to now. If she was safe and happy, and if she found what she was looking for. I was over the bitterness and was now trying to just move on. Gambling and a thirst for revenge kept my heart warm, and I was just fine with that.

As I stepped into The Tops I was, as usual, approached by Swank as soon as I was about five steps in. "Hey hey there, Honey! How is my favorite gambling queen today?" He leaned against the desk, his hair shiny under the lights with all the gel that he had in it. His smile was wide and alluring, I'm sure any other female would love his attention, but he just wasn't for me.

I flashed him a winning smile and his cheeks colored a little. "Swank, how's business? I'm assuming Benny is still hiding in a gutter somewhere."

His eyes traced my dress with curiosity, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes at him. "Yeah...haven't seen hide or hair of him, babydoll; and business is good. We got a new performer, and she's been drawing in a bit of a crowd lately. You wouldn't fuckin' believe who it is."

I glanced up towards The Aces Theater with an eyebrow arched in curiosity. "Oh?"

Swank leaned close, like he was giving my classified information. "It is The Courier...you know? The one from the radio?"

My jaw dropped and my heart felt like it had stopped in my chest, all the blood draining from my face. Swank had no clue of who she was to me obviously, I wasn't even sure if he knew that Benny had tried to murder the poor girl. Struggling to keep my cool, I swallowed thickly. "Wow. That's...something. Why is she here?"

He suddenly looked very nervous, glancing about the casino like someone would kill him if he shared too much info. For all I knew, maybe someone would. Vegas was full of snakes and backstabbing assholes. "Look, Honey, Benny did that girl wrong. Very wrong. She wants him dead, and I honestly can't blame her. She took up a gig here to get close to him, in case he shows his mug again. She's using a fake name, no one knows who she is." He nudged me a little with a suggestive grin. "Haven't you heard, "The enemy of my enemy is my best friend?" Well she's cute as hell; gorgeous even. Maybe she can be your new best friend, if you catch my drift."

I felt like I was going to be sick. The woman was probably going to shoot me on sight. Part of me wanted to run, say fuck Benny and get the hell out of Vegas; but I felt like I owed her. She needed to know that the Khans were not to be blamed for any of it. I needed to redeem myself. "Maybe I should go talk to her, see what the deal is with her and Benny." My voice stayed steady somehow, but my legs felt like jello.

Swank winked at me. "Go get 'em tiger. And not to be nosey either, Honey, but you never told me what you wanted Benny dead for either."

I was already off, strutting up towards the theater. I looked back over my shoulder at him, "He tricked me into helping him do this courier dirty."

Swank's grin dropped as fast as my heart did. I looked away, my eyes locked on the door. There was a sign by the door, advertising the courier. Friday and Saturdays, only at The Aces Theater; Lana Leigh.

My heart was pounding out of my chest, my hands impossibly sweaty. I was a normally unshakable woman, and after everything I had been through in my life, not a lot scared me, but I was absolutely terrified to meet her. If this was where my life was going to come to an end; so be it.

I wrenched open the door and wandered inside, greeted by one of the most perfect looking women I had ever seen up on the stage. It was almost impossible to tell that it was the same woman. When I last saw the courier, she was a sorry sight. Her clothing covered in dirt and mud and blood, her eyes puffy from crying. And then she was dead, at least that is what we thought. Two rounds to the head, and her face was soaked in her own blood, the same crimson spattering the dust of the Mojave before we tossed her into a shallow grave like she was trash, not knowing she was still breathing somehow.

And here she was, perfect and pristine, like nothing ever happened. Her blonde hair was loose about her shoulders, hiding half of her face. She wore elbow length white gloves as her fingers danced elegantly across the ivories of an old piano. Her creamy white strapless dress hugged to her humble bosom, a long slit going up the side to expose one of her long legs. "Play the guitar, play it again, My Johnny."

A voice low and sultry, smooth like silk, but smoky with seduction. I could barely believe I was in the same room as her, and I thanked God that she was still alive. I had heard the song a million times before, but nothing compared to hearing The Courier sing it. I had cold chills up my arms as I made my way through the maze of tables to sit down.

She looked up at me, a single sapphire eye meeting my own and making a chill shoot down my spine. I expected her to stand then and there, knocking over her piano bench and to fill my skull with holes, but instead she gave me a warm smile that made my blood boil. "Maybe you're cold, but you're so warm inside."

Her voice carried the melody perfectly, melancholy and longing, yet sultry and somewhat teasing. The most mesmerizing thing I had ever heard. The thought of her body in that shallow grave hit me, and it made my eyes start to tear up. I swallowed hard, struggling to choke back my emotion. As her song drew to a close, she stood to an audience that exploded with cheers, a few men wolf whistling at her.

The Courier gave a curtsy, waving to everyone before her eye locked on me one last time. Her hair was gently pushed back into place, and then she was strutting offstage and up to the bar. Tommy Torini took to the stage to introduce the next act, but I was out of my seat and following "Lana" up to the bar. There was already a well dressed man to her left, offering her a drink.

I came up on her right side, giving the man a long look and trying to determine if she seemed interested or not. Her voice was low and smooth, completely unlike when she had been screaming and begging for her life. My heart was so full of guilt and regret, my stomach twisting sharply.

"I'm really not interested right now, darling, maybe another time." She gave the man a winning smile and he gave her a defeated look as he scooped up the drink he offered her and walked away. As he picked up the glass however, I noticed it was fizzier than it should have been.

"Good thing you didn't take that." I blurted out the words without much thought, and she looked over at me in shock, like she didn't see me sit down next to her. I waited for the recognition to flash in her eye, but it never did.

Instead I was greeted with a warm smile, her gaze scanning my face and lingering on my lips for a moment. "And why is that?"

I felt my cheeks coloring a little. Did she seriously have no clue who I was? "It was fizzing an awful lot for whisky, I think he slipped something extra in there."

She looked away quickly, searching for the man but he was already out of sight. "Bastard. It's only my third night performing here, and he has come up to me after every performance making forced conversation."

"He got a name?"

The Courier gave me a bit of a grin. "Calls himself William, but I'm honestly not too worried about it. I dare him to try anything with me." That sultry voice became sharp and dangerous, and a little thrill went through me. I gave a nervous laugh, my skin felt like it was on fire. She seriously did not know who I was; unless she was playing nice because we were in public.

"So...I'm Carmen, but you can call me Honey if you'd like. Most people do, especially here in The Tops."

She smiled a little, her gaze lingering with mine. "Honey. That's cute. You can call me Lana, maybe we can get to know each other better. I'll be back here tomorrow, 9 o'clock."

My pulse was racing. It felt like she was flirting with me, but I was unsure. Maybe she was just being friendly, but either way it felt like I was sweating bullets. "How about we have a drink?"

Her voice was kind, but firm. "Maybe tomorrow, I'm going to head back up to my room tonight." It was odd, she seemed to be in a hurry to leave. Part of me was worried that it was something I had done, or if she did remember me and was fleeing.

My heart ached with all of the different emotions that I was dealing with. Regret, shame, yet there was also excitement and curiosity. Before I knew it, The Courier was strutting off and away from me, leaving me alone with the bartender, and my thoughts.

4

My room at The Tops was nothing luxurious, but it was not like some of the shitholes that I used to flop in. It was actually clean, for the most part. As clean as post-war shit could get anyway. Tonight had been eventful, tips were plenty, I nearly got roofied, and some cute Spanish girl was chatting me up. She seemed awfully nervous for some reason, which I couldn't quite find any explanation behind. The conversation had been pleasant enough, and I was a little more welcoming than usual. I couldn't wait to get back to my room though, I needed to rest and rejuvenate.

Locking my door behind me, I toed my way out of my heels and sighed loudly as I made my way into the bathroom. I quickly unzipped my dress and tossed it out and into my bedroom. My muscles were starting to ache a little, and my head had begun to throb. The Jet I had taken earlier was wearing off, and I was coming down hard.

The elbow length gloves soon joined my dress in my bedroom, as did my underclothes. I looked at myself in the mirror with disgust as I pulled back my unnaturally blonde hair into a messy ponytail. My left eye was covered with my hair whenever I performed for a reason. I had a massive scar above my eyebrow there, from Benny's pistol, and my once blue eye was now almost black. Doc Mitchell said the bullet had damaged some nerves in my eye, and it couldn't focus very well anymore. The blackness was from my pupil, and it made my vision kind of blurry and out of focus, like I had on someone else's glasses. According to the doc, I got off easy, considering the alternatives were being dead or completely blind.

However, it hadn't exactly done much for my self esteem. As if not remembering nearly my entire life was bad enough, I was filled with a burning self loathing. Everyone saw a confident siren onstage, but in all reality I was an absolute mess. As my mismatched eyes scanned body in the mirror, I looked at the various scars that spanned my fair skin, my inner elbow bruised with the wounds of an addict. The Med-X needles that bit into my skin over and over had left their claim on me, and as I looked at them it caused my self loathing to spiral. My appearance led to hatred, the hatred led to the craving for drugs, and the drugs worsened the way I looked. It was a vicious cycle.

I turned on the water to the bath, watching the tub fill with mostly clean water. I slipped into it quietly with a sigh, feeling the hot water soothe my aching flesh. I watched the steam rising into the air for a moment before I slowly sank under the water, letting it wash away my makeup, washing away "Lana Leigh." The stage name had been clever. Surely if Benny was about, he would take no suspicion of this persona I had created. I was just another act at the Aces Theater, a dumb blonde songstress.

I emerged from the water, pulling air into my lungs and reclining, resting my head on the edge of the tub. The Spanish girl crept into my mind. Honey. With her golden hair and skin, I could see how she earned the nickname. I smiled a little to myself as I thought of her. She was pretty, and kind; it would make my night if she came to see my show tomorrow.

I gave myself a quick scrub before pulling the plug out of the worn tub and climbing out. Quickly drying off, I wrapped my hair up in a towel and made my way into my bedroom. Pulling open my dresser, I drew out my small pink nightie and my little black bag.

A few moments later I was reclining in my bed and preparing my bedtime dose of Med-X. The syringe was at my forearm, preparing to give it's cold bite into my skin and fill my veins with bliss, when I heard someone knocking at my door.

My heart skipped a beat and I nearly dropped the damn thing on the floor. "God fucking damn it." I grumbled to myself as I shrugged on my light blue bathrobe to hide my arms and my scantily clad body.

The annoyance slammed at my door again, louder this time, and I fought the urge to open it and stick a pistol in the intruders face. This was my private time, my time to get a fix; and when that was interrupted, I wasn't very pleasant. "Hold on a fucking minute!"

Strutting angrily through my little living area, I snatched my 9mm off the bar and nearly knocked over my bottles of absinthe. Wrenching open the door with a growl, I peered out into the hallway, half expecting to see Swank or even Honey, but there was no one there.

Looking about in confusion, there was no sign of life in the hallway at all, just the buzzing of a flickering light. Something caught my eye, and I looked down to see something in the middle of the hall a short distance from my door.

Cautiously, I stepped out, the plush carpet meeting my cold feet. Stepping a bit closer, I saw that it was a bird. A songbird, with its neck snapped. My blood ran cold and a spike of sheer panic blanched in my heart. I nearly dropped my pistol, backing quickly into my room and slamming the door.

My chest heaving, I turned the deadbolt and stood there on shaking legs for a sold minute. "What the fuck…"

I made my way back towards my bedroom with my pistol tightly in my grip, my stomach heaving as I grabbed one of the absinthe bottles. My bedroom door was quickly locked behind me, and I sat on my bed with my knees to my chest. Pulling the cork out of the bottle, I knew I would not be getting any sleep tonight.