Mark and Veronica made their way back to the 38. Veronica stopped off at the Presidential Suite, while Mark headed up to the Penthouse to speak with Amata. When he stepped off, he heard light jazz music playing around the Penthouse. Checking his pip-boy again, he saw that Amata was in the bedroom area, so that's where he went.
The suite was a large open area just up the stairs from the office. On either side of the doorway that he entered through were two non-functioning protectrons. There were large bay windows that gave an excellent view of the Strip and the rest of the Mojave. Straight ahead of him as he walked in was a king-sized bed with nightstands with lamps on either side. Beyond the bed was a wooden desk with a terminal on it. To his right were bookshelves full of books. On the far left was a lounge area with two couches that faced each other with a coffee table in between them.
He saw Amata sitting on the couch that faced towards the bay windows. He quietly put down his bag and tip-toed over to her. When he got close enough, he could make out that she was engrossed in a book. He covered her eyes with his hands. "Guess who?" Amata, who had been aware that he was sneaking up behind her, decided to tease him.
"Hey, Butch! How'd you get all the way out to the Mojave?" "Butch?" Mark scoffed as he removed his hands. "Butch wishes that he had hands this manly. His dainty fingers are perfect for his burgeoning career as a hairdresser." She laughed and turned around to look at him. "Yes, I know, Mark. You are the epitome of manliness. All other men pale in comparison to you."
Mark hopped over the couch and sat next to her. "And don't you forget it," he said as he gave her a kiss. She marked her page and closed and set down the book before snuggling close to him, resting her head on his right shoulder, his right arm snaking around her waist. "So, is everything good with Sarah and her brother?" she asked. "Yeah, they're good. Sheldon's a decent guy. Told him that I'd bring you and Abby over some time to meet him. And just for full disclosure, one of his assistants, Kate, hit on me."
"Oh, she did, did she? Do I need to go over there and knock some sense into this woman?" Mark chuckled. "No need, babe. Veronica pretended to be you and made it quite clear that I was off the market. I think she got the message." Amata smiled. "Mmm, remind me to thank Veronica later," she replied. "I will," Mark said, "and as much as I would love to see you knock some sense into her, I don't want anything happening to the precious cargo that you're carrying."
He put his free hand on her stomach, and she covered his with one of her own. "We've never talked about names for the baby, have we?" Amata asked lazily. Mark thought back. "No, I don't think so. With everything that's been going on, we never really got the chance, but now's a good a time as any. What were you thinking?" "Well, I was thinking James for a boy, and Julie for a girl." Mark smiled. "My dad and your mom?" Amata nodded. "I think they're perfect. Just like you."
She giggled. "What about middle names? What do you think?" she asked him. "You want me to pick?" he asked her. "Yeah, it's only fair, I guess. I picked the first names, you pick the middle names. I have final approval, of course." "Of course, babe. Wouldn't have it any other way." The room became silent as he thought. "Let's see…for a boy, I think Owyn, and for a girl, I think Emily would be good."
Amata didn't say anything as she continued to stare out the window. "What, you don't like them?" Mark asked. "No, it's not that. I was trying to figure out your reasoning." "Well, Owyn is for Elder Lyons. I'm not sure if I told you this already, but when I was training at the Citadel with Sarah after my dad died, he and I talked a lot. We talked about our lives, the Brotherhood, and he gave me a lot of good advice. He was kind of a second father-figure to me, and it meant a lot to me that he took time out his day to do that."
Amata nodded. "And Emily?" she asked. "Sarah's mother," he said. "Why not your own mother? I'm not saying that you have to pick that. I'm just curious." "I had thought about it, but, I mean, I technically only met her once, and that was when I was in the coma after I got shot. Don't get me wrong, I love her, or maybe just the idea of her, but there was never any true emotional attachment like there would be if I had grown up with her."
"Sarah, on the other hand, did know her mother, and I can tell that she misses her. Plus, Sarah wouldn't be here if her mom and my dad didn't, well, you know-" "Get smashed and then got busy?" Amata quipped. Mark snorted. "Yes, that. I think Sarah would like it, and I don't think that my mom or dad would mind."
Amata patted Mark on the chest. "I think that Sarah would like it, too. And before you ask, yes, I approve. So, it'll either be James Owyn Franklin, or Julie Emily Franklin. I like them. Although Abby's pretty certain that it's going to be a boy." "Doesn't matter to me, babe. Boy or girl, they will be surrounded by people who love them."
Amata didn't respond, instead choosing to snuggle closer into Mark, thanking the fates that she got to meet the wonderful, kind, sensitive man that is her husband. "Mark?" Amata said after a few minutes of silence. "Yeah, babe?" Mark replied. "I love you." Mark kissed the top of her head. "I love you too, Amata, and I always will."
(30 minutes later)
"So, what's next on the agenda, Mark?" Arcade asked as the group, minus Cass, who was still in bed, and Abby and ED-E, who were keeping Cass company, sat down to lunch. "Well, there are a couple things that I believe require immediate attention. The first thing is that negotiations need to be set up between the Kings and the NCR, assuming that the NCR wants to negotiate. I have a feeling that they will."
"Where would these negotiations take place, assuming that they do happen?" Veronica asked. "As much as I don't want to, I'm thinking of holding them here at the 38, on the ground floor. The Strip is considered neutral ground, except for the NCR Embassy, and the 38 is the safest building on the Strip. I had considered asking Sarah if we could use the vault, but I don't want to intrude on her hospitality. I'm thinking of limiting it to three representatives per side, and all weapons will be confiscated prior to entry. Don't need any incidents, after all." "When do you plan on holding these negotiations?" Amata queried.
"I think three days from now at noon. I need to make contact with the King and Colonel Hsu." Mark paused, and a thoughtful look come across his face. "Actually, you know what? Veronica, Boone, either of you have any plans for the rest of the day?" "Not really, no," Veronica answered. Boone merely shook his head. "Would you two mind heading to the King's HQ and McCarran to deliver the invites?"
"Uh, sure," Veronica said, looking at Boone, who nodded to her, "but why us? I think it would be better coming from you, more so the NCR than the King." "True, but the King already knows that you two are part of this team, and Boone is a former NCR soldier, which may make things go smoother with the brass at McCarran. Besides, I am the Captain, and it is well within my power to delegate tasks. I can't do everything, after all."
Veronica nodded. "Alright, but I think it would be better if we actually had a handwritten note or something, rather than just telling them." "That's what I figured as well. I'll have something written up. The second thing, which I think that I'll do while you're doing that, is to investigate the Ultra-Luxe, and the people who run it, the White Glove Society." "Ooh, I've heard about that that place," Veronica said. "It's supposed to be really upscale, and their steaks are the best around."
"Well," Mark said, "I haven't heard about the steak thing, but yes, they are upscale, and they do have a dress code, which means that I'll have to forgo the whole "commando" look." "Going with the suit, Captain?" Veronica asked. Mark shook his head. "No. I'm going into a situation where I may find myself needing to fight, and while the suit looks good-" "I'll say," Amata said, smiling and reminiscing about Mark in his suit. "-it offers very little in the way of flexibility, so I'm going to need something that looks good as well as something that I can fight in if the need arises."
Mark looked over at Amata beside him. "Was there anything like that down there, you think?" he asked his wife. "Yeah, I think so," Amata said as she stood up. She waited for Mark to get up as well, but he just continued to eat. "Uh, Mark, you coming or what?" Amata asked. Mark looked up at her. "Why? You know what looks good on me and what fits me. Just pick out what you think is best. I trust your judgement."
She put her hands out in front of her in a pleading gesture. "Oh, come on, Mark. There are so many choices and I want to see how you look in them. Please?" She then gave him a sad puppy-dog look. Mark closed his eyes and sighed. She wouldn't stop until he gave in, so he decided not to fight it. "Alright, fine, I'll come." She smiled as he stood up. Mark looked over at the others, their faces showing various degrees of amusement.
"I thought that you were immune to that look," Arcade said, the mirth evident in his voice. "Yeah, you're one to talk, Mr. I-got-outsmarted-by-a-seven-year-old," Mark retorted. Veronica burst out laughing. "Oh, he's got you there, Arcade," she said, slapping him on the back. Arcade sputtered before giving up and leaning back in his chair. "Come on, Mark," Amata said happily, grabbing his hand and dragging him out of the kitchen.
(45 minutes later)
Mark had silently bemoaned the fact that he couldn't resist that look that his wife gave him when she wanted something badly. He didn't dare complain out loud, as with her hormones being out of whack due to her pregnancy, one wrong comment would see her screaming at him like a banshee.
She had him try on what felt like everything in the store. He figured that there was only one possible reason that she was going this crazy over clothing. It was most likely that she had only ever worn blue-and-gold vault jumpsuits for most of her life and was making up for lost time. While she was enjoying it, he found it to be painful, and it would've probably been more fun to face a deathclaw armed only with a switchblade.
For forty-five minutes, she kept throwing clothes at him and shoved him back into the changing room. She wouldn't let him change out in the open, as that would eliminate the "wow factor," as she put it. When he asked what that was, she just told him to shut up and keep trying on the clothes.
Eventually, she settled on one that she liked. It was a dark green polyester polo shirt with a pair of dark brown khakis and a pair of all-white sneakers. Amata nodded appreciatively as she circled around him and gave him a once-over. "Yup. I think that's the one," she said. Mark jumped for joy internally and examined himself in the mirror. He liked it as well. Amata truly did know what looked good on him.
Amata then stood in front of him and pulled him in for a passionate kiss. They made out for a bit until the lack of oxygen became an issue. When they pulled apart, he had a dazed look on his face. "Not that I'm complaining, but what was that for?" he asked. "Do I need a reason to kiss my handsome husband?" Mark chuckled. "No, I suppose that you don't, but that did get me a bit excited. You up for a quickie?"
She smiled and patted him on the arm. "Nah, I'm kinda tired right now, and you need to go investigate another casino. Maybe later, though." Mark groaned. "You're going to be the death of me, woman." She rolled her eyes. "Oh, cut the dramatics. Now come on, let's go."
(30 minutes later)
Mark walked out onto the Strip, heading for the Ultra-Luxe. He had written a couple of short letters for Veronica and Boone to deliver to the King and Colonel Hsu. He had also given them the holotape of the Elvis music to deliver to the King. The duo had left a few minutes before Mark did. Before long, he found himself standing outside the Ultra-Luxe Casino. He had passed by it multiple times, but never really examined it closely, as he had other things on his mind. It stood on a plot of land between Las Vegas Boulevard Station and the NCR Embassy. Directly in front of him on the ground was a sign that read "The Ultra-Luxe" in golden-colored cursive, with a white backlight.
Beyond that was a fountain with a stone obelisk in the middle, shooting water into the air. Mark frowned at that. That was an extreme waste of water. He would have to look into shutting that down. Beyond that was the entrance. The entrance to the Ultra-Luxe was squat and circular, with the steps up to the doorway being illuminated. The rest of the building was curved and stood imposingly behind it.
Mark walked up the stairs and opened the door. Closing the door behind him, he looked around. The ceiling was domed, with dirty glass windows. The room was three-tiered, with the lowest part, where the bar was, was in the middle of the room. That section had what looked like marble flooring, Behind the bar was some giant blue plant that nearly touched the ceiling. The middle section, which had a green rug with interlocking circles, was where the table games were. The outer section, also with the green rug, had large doorways that led to other parts of the casino.
"Excuse me, sir," came a posh voice to his right. Mark looked over. It was a man, and the man was wearing a dirty black suit with a white dress shirt and bowtie, had white gloves on his hands, had a cane holstered on his hip, and was wearing a mask. The upper part of the mask was gold-colored and had glittered swirls, while the bottom half was plain white with the lips painted on. It was kind of creepy, in his opinion.
"Welcome to the Ultra-Luxe, sir. My deepest apologies, but I will need you to turn over your weapons for the duration of your visit." "I am not carrying any weapons, but you are more than welcome to check," Mark said. The man patted Mark down, confirming his lack of weapons. "Very good, sir. Please enjoy your stay."
Mark then looked around, trying to figure out where to start. According to the data on the 38's network, the person who ran this place was a woman named Marjorie. However, he didn't plan on just going up to her and saying 'Hi, I'm investigating your casino. What are you hiding?' He wasn't exactly sure if there was anything going on, and if there was, that line of questioning would likely make them clam up.
He eventually decided to start at the bar. He sat down next to an older Caucasian gentleman wearing a dirty black suit with a white undershirt, red tie, and brown cowboy hat. Mark noted that the man looked depressed and was drinking a beer. The bartender came up and asked him what he wanted. After ordering and receiving a Nuka-Cola, Mark opened it and took a drink.
"Excuse me son," the man next to him said, "but I'm looking for someone. You haven't seen a young man with dark brown hair and a white hat on lately, have you?" Mark shook his head. "Sorry, can't say that I have." The man banged a fist on the bar in anger. "Goddammit! Ain't got one brahmin unaccounted for across a dozen ranches, but I'm here for an hour and my son just up and disappears on me."
"Oh, you ranch brahmin?" Mark asked curiously. Despite the man's worry about his son, he sat up a bit straighter. "Yep! Heck Gunderson's the name. Biggest brahmin baron in the NCR." Mark extended a hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Gunderson. The name's Mark." "A pleasure to meet you, and please call me Heck. If you don't mind me asking, what do you do for a living, son? Those are some nice clothes you got on. Not a speck of dirt on 'em."
"I am a courier, Heck." Heck took a sip of his beer. "Didn't realize that couriers made that much." Mark grinned. "I work for a very wealthy client. They pay quite well, and there are some perks beside the caps." Heck chuckled. "I would say so," he said. He then seemed to deflate a bit.
"So, you were saying something about your son?" Mark asked. "Yeah, my boy Ted. Didn't leave him but a minute. Told him to stay put while I went and talked things over with them White Glove folks. He was never one to stay tied down to one spot. Got that from his mother. Got most of my staff out on the Strip looking for him. I'd be out myself, but I keep hoping that he'll show up back here. Course, if he does that, I'll whip him 'til his skinny hide turns to leather for putting me through this."
He sighed. "Don't suppose you'd be willing to search as well? I can compensate you for your time." Mark thought it over. He did need to investigate this place anyway. Besides, if Abby ever went missing, he would tear the Strip apart until he found her. He chugged the rest of his Nuka-Cola. "I'll help you out, Heck. I have a kid of my own, you see. She's seven, and the cutest thing that you've ever seen," Mark said, a wide smile on his face.
Heck returned the smile. "I know that look. That's the look of a proud parent." "I sure am, Heck. I sure am." Mark then looked down and saw a pistol holstered on Heck's right hip. "Heck, how'd you get that pistol in here?" "Got me a special arrangement with the hotel. If they want to do business with me, they got to play by my rules. Got my bodyguard in here as well," Heck said, thumbing over his shoulder. Mark looked and saw a well-equipped man in combat armor. He had assumed that the man was security for the hotel when he had seen him initially.
Mark checked the bartender, seeing that she was on the other side of the circular bar. "Heck," Mark said quietly, "would you mind if borrowed your pistol? I've got a weird feeling about this place, and I think that Ted's likely still in here somewhere." Heck stared at Mark for a couple moments before discreetly handing him his pistol. "Here you go, son," Heck said as Mark put it in the back of his pants and covered it with his shirt. "Just bring my boy back to me, please."
After a quick word with the bartender, he went off to find Marjorie. He was told that she would likely be at the desk outside of their restaurant, The Gourmand. On his way there he passed by the cashier and a creepy-looking guy in a suit and top hat that worked behind the check-in desk. Eventually, he found a set of double doors with a sign that read "The Gourmand" in cursive script next to it. Off to the right of the doors was a desk, and standing behind the desk was a woman.
She looked to be in her thirties, with short brown hair, and was wearing a pale pink dress with a black belt. She smiled as he approached the desk. "Hello, and welcome to the Gourmand. Table for one?" "Uh, no, actually, I need to speak with you. Would you happen to be Marjorie?" Mark asked. "I am, and who might you be?" she asked, a hint of snobbishness in her voice.
Mark gave her his most charming smile. "Forgive me, my dear lady. My name is Mark. If you would be so kind, I only ask for a moment of you time to speak about a most urgent matter." Marjorie blushed a bit. "Well, I, um, I believe I can spare some time for such a polite and well-dressed gentleman as yourself. What can I help you with?"
"Thank you for accommodating me. I'm looking for someone who went missing here recently." Marjorie sighed, and her voice took on an exasperated tone. "This again? I thought this was all settled. I answered every one of that investigator's questions and gave all the help that I could. I know that our reputation hasn't always been spotless, but that's all in the past now. How some people can't get over it is beyond me. For the last time, the White Glove Society has never and will never consume human flesh for any reason. It's written in our charter."
Mark raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, that's oddly specific, considering that it's something that you've never done." She closed her eyes and sighed. "Look, we weren't always the White Glove Society. There was another time-a darker time-when we went by a different name. But that's all changed now! We've…evolved past such base impulses since settling into our new home. I've seen to it."
Mark thought about what Marjorie just said and wasn't liking what he was coming up with. People going missing, hints of past cannibalism… "Who have you spoken to about the disappearance?" Mark asked. "There was an investigator who came through last week. He'd been hired by a young man whose bride-to-be went missing during their stay here. She probably got cold feet and ran off. That poor man probably doesn't even have a clue."
'Yeah, I'm sure he doesn't know the half of it,' Mark thought sarcastically. There was definitely something going on in this place. Two missing people in as many weeks was no coincidence. Perhaps some of the White Gloves had not moved beyond their "base impulses," as Marjorie said they had. At least he had a starting point for this investigation. "Would it be possible to speak with this investigator?" Mark asked.
"Why yes, of course, if he hasn't checked out yet. I had our maître d', Mortimer, offer him a complimentary room for the duration of his investigation. You see? The White Glove Society remains the very picture of courtesy, even in the face of impolite accusations. We have nothing to hide here," she finished pompously.
"I would expect nothing less from such a high-quality establishment. I will go and speak with Mortimer. Is he the gentleman with the top hat?" Marjorie nodded. Mark gave her a short bow and smiled. "Thank you for your time, madam. You have been most helpful." Mark then made his way back to the check-in desk. The man in the top hat, apparently Mortimer, had his back turned.
"Excuse me, sir," Mark said as he approached the desk. Mortimer turned around. He had a bit of a pale complexion and had a thin black moustache. "How may I help you, sir?" Mortimer asked. "Hello, my name is Mark. I was informed by Marjorie that you gave a free room to a private investigator." Mortimer tapped his chin. "Private investigator…ah, yes, I remember. He's investigating that missing bride. If I might pry, have you found something that will help his investigation?"
Mark nodded. "Yes, I have critical information for him. I must speak with him right away." "Good," Mortimer said, "I hope that young man gets some closure after all that he's been through." Mortimer looked through the terminal on his desk. "Let's see…it appears that he has yet to check out. He's in room 205. If you go through the doorway on your right and follow the hallway, then go up the stairway in the main hotel area, his room will be on the right."
"Thank you, Mortimer. Have a pleasant day," Mark said as he walked away. "You as well, sir," Mortimer replied. As Mark passed through the doorway, he didn't see Mortimer frown and go through another doorway that was behind the desk.
Mark walked into the hotel section of the Ultra-Luxe. The entire staircase was made up of marble, and the décor was in line with the rest of the casino. As he ascended the staircase, he thought about Mortimer. There was something…off about him. The fact that he looked like a villain from a holotape movie that he watched in the vault didn't help.
He arrived at room 205 and knocked. After waiting about fifteen seconds without getting any type of response, he knocked again. "Hello? Anyone in there?" Mark called out. After not getting any response again, he reached for the doorknob, finding the door unlocked. He opened it slightly and looked in. Seeing a body on the floor, his instincts took over. Looking down the hallway, he saw that there were others, but they were way down and not paying him any attention.
Seeing that, he withdrew his pistol and slipped inside the room, shutting the door behind him. The body on the ground was wearing a trench coat and fedora, leading him to believe that this was the investigator. There was a pool of blood around the man's head. It was clear that a struggle had taken place, as a lamp had been knocked over and there was debris scattered all over the floor. Before he could check the body, he needed to clear the room. He checked the closet, underneath the bed, and finally the bathroom. He put the pistol back in his pants and walked out of the bathroom, when he was immediately set upon by two members of the White Glove Society, both wielding canes.
The both took a swing at Mark, one aimed at his head and one aimed for his stomach. He simultaneously ducked the one aimed at his head and grabbed the one aimed for his midsection and wrenched it out of the man's grasp. Mark then swung the cane at the now-unarmed man's throat, causing him to grasp his throat and fall backwards over the edge of the bed.
The other White Glove took another swing at Mark's head, but Mark once again ducked it and swung his cane into the man's midsection, causing him to double over in pain. Mark the took another swing of the cane to the side of the man's head, sending him crumpling to the ground unconscious.
Mark then tossed away the cane, took his pistol back out and went over to the one remaining conscious White Glove. The man was trying get back up, using the bed for leverage. Mark aimed the pistol at his head. "On your knees, hands behind your head, and if you try to scream, you die," Mark ordered in a no-nonsense tone.
The man, seeing a gun pointed at his head, quickly complied. The first thing that Mark did was lock the door, and then tore off the man's mask. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, with short brown hair and brown eyes. "Who sent you?" Mark growled out. The man, who was now sweating profusely, hesitated. Mark scowled and put the gun directly to the man's head. "WHO SENT YOU!?" "M-M-Mortimer. Mortimer sent us." "Why?" "He-he didn't want anyone else interfering in his plans."
Mark looked over at the body of the investigator. "Did he have him killed, too?" Mark asked, indicating the body. The man nodded. "What is this "plan" of Mortimer's?" "Are-are you going to kill me?" the White Glove asked nervously. "I'm a fair man. Tell me what I want to know, and you live. But if I get the feeling that you're lying, or withholding information, you will die, and I am not fucking kidding around. Mortimer may have thought that I was a soft target. I am anything but. Now, what is Mortimer's plan?"
"Mortimer…he wants us to return us to the old ways." Mark was uncertain what he meant by that, before he remembered his conversation with Marjorie. "Would that include eating people?" Mark asked, knowing what the answer would be. The man's eyes went wide for a second before he nodded. "Who else is in on this?" "Uh, uh, me, the guy you knocked out, Mortimer, our head chef Phillipe, and a couple others." "Marjorie?" Mark asked. He shook his head. "No. Marjorie has no knowledge of this. She would be completely against it."
"What happened to the missing bride?" "She's…she's dead. Those of us that are in on it have our own private meals occasionally. At first, we took people no one would miss from Freeside, but Mortimer's been getting bolder lately, taking people from the Strip, and even from right here in the hotel." "What about Ted Gunderson? Is he still alive?" He nodded. "Yes, but not for long. All members of the White Glove Society have banquets every night. Ted is to be the, uh, guest of honor, if you will, at the one tonight. Mortimer plans to serve everyone, and then tell them afterwards. In his mind, without any real way to punish everyone, he believes that their minds will be open to eating people as a delicacy."
"Where are they keeping Ted?" Mark asked, the bile rising in his throat. "Most likely in the kitchen, near Phillipe. The man is obsessed with fresh ingredients. Look, that's all that I know, I swear." Mark stared at the man, making him sweat even more. "I believe you," Mark said, making the man exhale. "Yes, you've been very helpful. I just need a bit more information. Where is the kitchen, and how do I get there?"
"The kitchen is in the basement. There are two entrances: one in the members-only section, and one in the main restaurant, and they're both guarded. Only White Gloves are allowed in." Mark nodded. "Thank you. For helping me, I will not kill you, but you will be unconscious for a while." Before the man could say anything else, Mark pistol whipped the man across the head, knocking him out.
With both White Gloves now unconscious, Mark examined the body of the detective. There was a gash on the side of his head, likely indicating that he died from blunt-force trauma. He found some caps and a notepad on the body. Looking through the notepad, Mark found that there was nothing useful. It seems that the detective was being stonewalled at every turn.
Mark undressed himself and the man he just interrogated and put on the White Glove outfit. It was a bit snug, but it would serve its purpose. Using the bedsheets, he bound and gagged the two White Gloves, and then tossed them in the bathroom tub. He also put the body of the investigator in the closet and straightened the room out a bit. Once he was done, he put on the mask, grabbed a cane, and headed for the door. "Seriously? Canes? They're allowed to carry weapons and they use canes? Bunch of idiots," he said quietly to himself as he unlocked and walked out the door.
It was extremely easy for Mark to gain access to the lower levels where the kitchens were. Sure, the masks that the White Gloves wore gave them an air of mystery, but it also gave people who were able to procure an outfit, like Mark, the chance to gain access to restricted areas. Apparently, the thought that someone who wasn't a White Glove could get an outfit never crossed their minds. The guards that stood on either side of the door in the Gourmand simply let him through.
He had come down to a curved, tiled hallway with multiple doors on either side. Before he went to confront Phillipe, he needed to make sure that the remainder of the floor was clear. He assumed that Phillipe was the man at the stove in the kitchen, so he avoided going into the kitchen for the moment. Fortunately, there was only one other White Glove on the floor. With his disguise, it was easy to get near him and put him in a sleeper hold.
After dumping the body in a maintenance closet, he verified that the remainder of the floor was clear of any other White Gloves. It was now time to confront Phillipe. His recon of the floor showed him that there were two entrances to the kitchen. One was directly off the main hallway, which would take him right to the stoves where Phillipe was currently cooking. The other way was through a fairly large storage room, which would put him on the opposite side of the kitchen to where Phillipe was.
After thinking things over, he decided to use the back door. Luckily, it was already open, so Mark walked through as quietly as possible. He approached Phillipe slowly, reaching around for his pistol as he did. The chef was so engrossed by what he was cooking on the stove that he had no chance of hearing Mark approaching him. Once Mark was about three feet from Phillipe, he pulled out his pistol and aimed it at the chef's head.
"Hello, Phillipe," Mark said loud enough so he was sure that the man could hear him. "Well, it's about damn ti-" Phillipe's words died in his throat as he turned around and saw the pistol in his face. He was a couple inches shorter than Mark, with short black hair, and looked to be in his mid-thirties. "Yell and you die," Mark said. "What is the meaning of this? Just wait until Marjorie hears about this! You'll be out of a job so fast your head will spin!" the chef spat out.
Mark laughed. "Phillipe, I am not one of you, so your threats mean nothing to me. Now tell me, where is Ted Gunderson?" "I have no idea who the fuck that you're talking about. Now get the fuck out of my kitchen!" Mark saw him eye a butcher knife that was on the counter near him. "Don't even think about it. Now, I'll ask again, where-is-Ted-Gunderson?"
"Look, I told you, I don't know anyone named Ted Gunderson! Look, what can I give you to make you go away? Money? Women? I'm well-connected. I can get you anything you want." "You have nothing that I want, you pretentious ass, so stop screwing with me. I know all about Mortimer's plan, the one about returning to the old ways, so there's no use in denying it. One of Mortimer's stooges told me everything."
"He told me about the missing bride, and the others that your little group has taken. Is that how you get off? Kidnapping, then killing and cutting up people? Did they beg for their lives before you killed them? You and the group that participated in this sick game are going to face justice for your crimes. Now tell me where Ted Gunderson is!"
It was right at that moment that Mark saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Both Mark and Phillipe looked over at the doorway. There was another White Glove standing in the doorway. Mark swore internally. He forgot to shut that door. The White Glove turned and started running down the hallway. Mark went to chase after him. "Stay here!" Mark yelled at Phillipe.
Mark ran out into the hallway, and not wanting Phillipe to escape his view, fired two shots into the White Glove's back, bringing him down to the floor. He then saw Phillipe running at him, a butcher knife held high above his head in a two-handed grip. He yelled as he went to bring the knife down on Mark, who simply took a step back and stuck out a leg, causing Phillipe to go flying head-first into the wall. There was a sickening crack as Phillipe's head connected with the wall. The knife clattered to the floor, and Phillipe slid down the wall slowly, leaving a blood trail in his wake.
Mark went down to one knee and checked for a pulse. He was unsurprised when he didn't find one. He felt no sympathy for the man. He was a sick bastard that deserved what he got. Mark groaned and rubbed his face. He was having to hide a lot of bodies today. Praying that no other White Gloves came down, he dumped Phillipe and the unnamed White Glove into the freezer in the kitchen. He then realized that whatever Phillipe was cooking was starting to burn, so Mark turned off the stove and dumped the contents of the pan, some kind of meat, into the trash.
That done, he started to look around for Ted. Going back into the storage room, he found another freezer with a terminal attached to it. The terminal had no security on it, so Mark selected the option to open the door. Walking in and turning a corner, Mark came face-to-face with who Mark believed to be Ted Gunderson. He was slightly taller than Mark, looking like a younger version of his father, wearing a brown button-up shirt, jeans, and a white cowboy hat.
He sneered at Mark. "You know that my daddy's gonna kill you bastards once he finds out what you done to me," Ted said in a tone of voice that grated on Mark's nerves. Mark took off his mask. "Listen, idiot, I'm not one of the White Gloves. Your dad sent me to find you." "My daddy sent you? What the hell took so long? It's only one goddamn hotel!" Mark was barely resisting the urge to punch this guy in the face.
"Listen, you entitled prick," Mark growled. "I've only been looking for you for maybe forty-five minutes. Now I would advise you to shut the hell up, because there are a couple of dead bodies down here, and it's only a matter of time before someone comes down and notices the blood. If you want to see your dad again, you will do exactly as I say. Okay?"
Ted was apparently smart enough to realize that Mark was likely his best chance at getting out of here. "Alright, alright, fine. What's your plan to get me out of here?" "Same way I got down here. Now follow me, and don't say a fucking word." Mark led Ted back to the closet where he dumped the White Glove he had first subdued when he had come down to the lower level. He was beginning to stir, so Mark gave him a whack on the head with his pistol. He had Ted dress in the man's outfit.
The two of them then stepped out of the closet. "Alright, here's what's going to happen next: we are going to walk calmly back to the bar. Do not look around, and do not speak. If anyone tries to speak with you, I will take care of it. Walk through like you own the place. Do that, and no one will be any wiser. Got it?" Ted nodded. "Good. Let's go."
To Ted's credit, he was able to follow Mark's directions. The two of them made their way back to the main floor where the bar, and Heck Gunderson, were. Once they got to the floor, Ted took off his mask and tossed it away. "DAD!" he yelled out as he sped up his walk to the bar. Heck looked up, as did everyone in the room. Upon seeing his son, Heck shot out of his seat and embraced him. While that was happening, Mark removed his mask and began speaking into his pip-boy. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the White Gloves run off in the direction of Mortimer and Marjorie.
Heck released his hug and looked at his son. "Dammit, Ted, where the hell have you been, and why are you dressed like that?" "It was them White Gloves, dad. They had me in the kitchens until that guy you hired found me." Heck looked over and saw Mark who was about ten feet form them. He went over and shook Mark's hand. "You found my boy like I asked. I will compensate you like I promised. You can expect a hefty payday."
Mark waved him off. "Not necessary, Heck." "Oh, come on, I have to give you something for a job well done." Mark thought for a moment. "If you insist, how about we say that you owe me one favor to be called in at a later date." Heck nodded. "As long as it's within reason, I can live with that, son."
"Excuse me, what is going on out here?" a feminine voice called out to their left. Everyone looked over, seeing both Marjorie and Mortimer walking through the doorway. When Mortimer saw Ted, he froze, and his face paled. "Marjorie, I want a goddamn explanation!" Heck thundered. "My boy went missing, and he claims that it was your people that done it!"
"I assure you, Mr. Gunderson, that none of my people would ever do such a thing, and the fact that you are insinuating otherwise is extremely insulting!" Marjorie said indignantly. Heck went to respond, but Mark put a hand on his shoulder. "Heck, please allow me to handle this," he said calmly. Heck reluctantly nodded.
Mark saw that Mortimer was trying to back out of the room unnoticed. Mark was having none of that, however. He withdrew his pistol and aimed it at Mortimer, who froze. "Uh, uh, Mortimer. Stay right where the hell you are." Most of the patrons and Ultra-Luxe employees ran for cover.
"Young man, I don't know who you think you are, waving that gun around in here. I'm afraid that I am going to have to ask you to leave," Marjorie said. Mark smirked. "Oh, Marjorie, I am going to show you exactly who I am." He looked over his shoulder at Heck. "Would you mind having your guard keep a gun trained on Mortimer? He's the mastermind behind this." Heck, who was already incensed, ordered his guard to do so, allowing Mark to put down his pistol and press a button on his pip-boy. "Send them in."
The doors burst open, with six Securitrons rolling in. Mark turned to them. "Two of you at each exit further into the hotel. No one else is to come in here. One of you at the front doors, and one of you with me," he ordered. There were already a couple others right outside doors. As they did as he asked, Mark turned back to everyone, who were looking at him in astonishment.
Mark smiled and cleared his throat. He was going to enjoy this. "Acting under the authority of Robert House, I hereby find the White Glove Society in violation of your agreement with Mr. House, and declare the Ultra-Luxe to be closed effective immediately. Everyone except for Heck Gunderson, Ted Gunderson, Marjorie, and Mortimer are asked to step outside. All patrons will be given an opportunity to retrieve their belongings, an everyone staying in the hotel will be given a full refund for your inconvenience."
No one moved, still in shock at the events transpiring before their eyes. Mark sighed and grabbed the pistol off the bar, firing it at the ground. "GO NOW!" he yelled. That brought everyone back to their senses, and those asked to leave hastily made their way towards the exit. Once the room was clear, Mark spoke again.
"Now that we are alone, allow me to introduce myself properly. My name is Mark Franklin, and I am Mr. House's right-hand man." "Excuse me, Mr. Franklin," Marjorie asked, "but which part of our agreement have we violated, exactly?" "That would be the clause that states that you will protect your patrons to the best of your ability. I would say that abducting, murdering, and eating the aforementioned patrons isn't exactly protecting them. Wouldn't you agree, Mortimer?"
Mortimer looked around nervously, trying to maintain his cultured façade. "I-I have no idea what you're talking about, young man. Where exactly is your evidence of this?" "My evidence? How about Ted Gunderson being locked in a freezer? How about the dead investigator in his room? Or how about-" Mark tapped his pip-boy, "-the conversation I had with one of the lackeys that you sent to try and kill me?" Mark chuckled. "Seriously, Mortimer? Canes? I've been hit by super mutants wielding baseball bats. Compared to that, canes are like a light tap. Or at least I think so. Neither one of your guys actually landed a blow on me."
Mark shook his head. "Back to the topic at hand. Useful things, these pip-boys. They can act as a map, a Geiger counter, and more relevant to this situation, a recording device. Allow me to play the conversation we had." Mark pressed a couple of buttons, and the conversation he had with the White Glove began to play. Once it ended, all eyes were on Mortimer. Heck exploded. "YOU WERE GONNA EAT MY BOY!? YOU ARE A DEAD MAN!" Heck began to advance on Mortimer, but Ted surprisingly held him back.
"Mortimer! How could you? I thought we were all past that," Marjorie said, the disappointment evident on her face and in her voice. "How could I? How could you? You, and the others, all claim to be connoisseurs yet deny yourself the greatest of all meats! I am ashamed to have once called you and the others family! I was going to bring us back to our glory days, and I would have if it wasn't for this meddling kid."
"I'll take that as a compliment, Mortimer. Marjorie, you told me that cannibalism was banned under your charter. What is the penalty for breaking that rule?" Mark asked. Marjorie sighed. "As Mortimer already knows, the penalty…is death." "Works for me," Mark said. He fired one shot into Mortimer's chest, right through his heart. He fell to the ground, and as he did, Marjorie looked away in horror.
"That's it," Heck said, still extremely angry, "I'm instituting a blockade against the Strip. If you want your damn meat, you're gonna have to get it somewhere else." Upon hearing this, Mark immediately turned to dissuade him. "Heck, don't do that. I get that you're angry, but cutting off the meat supply will only drive them back to cannibalism. Besides, I live on the Strip, and do you remember why I said that I would help you find your son in the first place?"
It took a moment or two, but Heck remembered that Mark was talking about his daughter. He relented. "Alright, fine, no blockade, but I want better prices from them," he said indicating the White Gloves, "and you can consider us even." Mark nodded. "That's fine by me." Mark then turned to Marjorie.
"As a penalty for violating your agreement with Mr. House, the Ultra-Luxe is to be closed for one week. You are fined five thousand caps, and you will give a full refund to all patrons that were staying in the hotel. You will be subject to random inspections to ensure that this doesn't happen again. You are also no longer allowed to wear your masks. As I proved today, anyone can use one to sneak by security. Not to mention the fact that they're just plain creepy. Finally, I will be allowed to carry weapons in here. Do you understand?"
"Is all that really necessary?" Marjorie asked. "Yes, it is. It would be bad for business if it got out that members of the Ultra-Luxe were engaging in cannibalism, and Mr. House doesn't like things that are bad for business. Violating the agreement gives Mr. House, or a chosen representative, a very wide latitude for instituting punishment. If you disagree with the terms, I'll have you all tossed into Freeside and House and I can find new management for this place. Who knows? Maybe the Kings would want to move in."
"Alright, alright, alright, I agree to your terms. There'll be no need for tossing anyone anywhere," Marjorie said. "Glad we could come to an agreement, Marjorie." He looked over at Heck and Ted. "Heck, would you and your group mind sticking around for a bit?" "Sure, son," Heck said. Mark nodded, and then turned to the Securitron near him. "Move the body behind the bar." The Securitron complied. Mark then had Marjorie allow everyone back in and ordered the Securitrons to keep everyone in the room.
He then had Marjorie lead him to the front desk where the intercom system was. He wrote out a short note for Marjorie to read. "Attention, patrons and employees of the Ultra-Luxe. It has come to the attention of hotel management that we have violated our agreement with Mr. House by not maintaining the hotel properly. Structural deficiencies have been found, and as a result, we will be closing for one week so that they may be fixed."
"We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause. As a token of apology, all patrons staying in the hotel will receive a full refund. Please proceed to the cashier's office with proof of your stay to receive your refund. Please do not mind the Securitrons, as they are here for your protection. We ask you to consider staying at one of the other fine establishments on the Strip." She went to read the next part but stopped and looked at Mark curiously. "Just read it," Mark said curtly. "Ultra-Luxe management recommends Vault 21. If you've ever wanted to experience life in a vault, Vault 21 is the place for you."
Mark decided to use this opportunity to give Sarah some more business. "In addition," Marjorie continued, "all Ultra-Luxe employees are to report to the Gourmand to learn how this shutdown will affect you. Once again, we apologize for any inconvenience. Have a wonderful day."
(2 hours later)
It took a while, but the patrons had all been given refunds and left the casino. The other White Gloves involved in Mortimer's scheme had been identified by the White Glove that Mark had interrogated earlier. In exchange for his cooperation, his life was spared, but he was ejected from the Strip. The others were executed by Heck's bodyguard.
The bodies of Phillipe, the unnamed White Glove, and the investigator were collected. The bodies of Phillipe and the other White Glove were incinerated, as they had no other family. The body of the investigator would be released to the NCR Embassy so that they could identify his next of kin and send him back to the NCR.
The fiancée of the missing bride would unfortunately not get any closure. He had hired the investigator back in the NCR, and as the investigator was dead, there was no way to contact him unless he came back to the Strip. Mark felt sorry for him, but he didn't want the whole cannibal thing getting out to the public. After dressing back up in his own clothes, having a few last-minute words with Marjorie, and getting a promise out of Heck and Ted not to reveal what actually happened, Mark stepped back out onto the Strip.
Making his way back to the 38, Mark checked his pip-boy. Veronica and Boone were still at McCarran. He made his way back into the 38 and stepped off the elevator and into the Presidential Suite. It was mostly quiet, the only noise he heard was some faint music playing. He went to his and Amata's room, which was where the music was coming from. Entering the room, he found Amata sitting back against the headboard, reading. The song "Let's Go Sunning" was emanating from her pip-boy.
"Hey, Mark. How'd it go?" she asked as she turned off the music. He took off his shoes and laid on the bed next to her. He told her everything that happened. She was shocked and disgusted when he told her about the cannibalism, but relieved when she learned that those responsible were taken care of.
"I'm proud of you, Mark. You've made the Strip that much safer." "Yeah, I guess," Mark replied. "How's Cass doing?" "She's good. Other than being a bit tired, she's the same Cass that we know and love." "That's good," Mark said as he rubbed his eyes. "Where are Arcade and Abby?" "Arcade's in the lab, and Abby is up in the Penthouse with ED-E, listening to some music." Just then, a voice came over Mark's pip-boy.
"Hey, Mark," Veronica said, "how was mingling among high society?" "Well, let's just say that they aren't as classy as they pretend to be. Did you deliver the invites?" "Yup. The Kings are on board. The King told me to tell you thanks for the holotape, by the way. The NCR is still on the fence, but I think that they'll show." "Thanks, Veronica. You guys headed back?"
"Well, that was the plan, but something's come up, and Boone and I are now conducting an investigation." "What kind of investigation?" Amata asked, beating Mark to the punch. "Oh, hey Amata. Well, we ended up interrogating the Legion guy they have in custody, and he told us that there's a spy on the base. I'll explain more when we get back. Not sure when that will be, exactly, so don't wait up."
"Alright, Veronica," Mark said, "good luck, and if you need any help, just give me a holler and I'll be right over." "Thanks Mark, but I think we'll be alright. If we're not back before Abby goes to bed, give her a kiss for me, will you?" "Absolutely, Veronica. Have fun with your investigation," Mark said. "Will do, Mark. Talk to you guys later." The transmission then cut out.
"Well, this day's just full of investigations," Mark said. "Yeah," Amata replied, "cannibals and spies. One thing is for certain: life around here is never dull." Mark chuckled and gave her a kiss. "I think that you mean that life around me is never dull." "Yeah, that too, but I wouldn't trade any of it for the world."
There was a knock on their bedroom door. "Come in," they said at the same time. The door opened, and Abby bounded in, ED-E right behind her. "Hey, sweetheart," Mark said happily as he got off the bed, scooped her up and twirled her around. There were smiles on everyone's faces, and ED-E beeped happily. Eventually, Mark plopped back on the bed, Abby still in his arms.
"Can…can I talk to you guys about something?" Abby asked nervously. "Of course you can Abby," Amata said. "You know that you can talk to us about anything." She fidgeted with her shirt. "I've been thinking about this for a while, and…I want to change my name." Mark and Amata looked at each other confusedly, and then back at Abby. "You want to change your name, Abby?" Mark queried.
"Yeah," Abby said, "not my whole name, just my last name, so that it matches yours." "Abby," Amata said, taking her from Mark, "you don't need to. You are our daughter, no matter what your name is." "I know, I just thought that since my first mommy and daddy had the same name and gave it to me, that it should work the same way with you guys, but I won't do it if you don't want me to," she said, looking downcast at that last part.
"Abby," Mark said, rubbing Abby's left arm, "if you really want to do it, then we won't stop you. We just don't want you to do it because you feel obligated to or anything like that." "Abby," Amata said, "we think that it's really sweet that you would change your name for us. However, we don't want you to forget where you came from, so instead of completely changing it, I think that you should hyphenate and use both last names, if you want to, that is." Abby looked at her, confused. "What does 'hyphenate' mean?"
"Well, Abby, to hyphenate means to use a small line, called a hyphen, to connect two related words. In this case, your name would be Abigail Celeste Fields-Franklin. Mark, type it in your pip-boy so she can see what I'm talking about." Mark did as she asked and then showed it to Abby.
Amata pointed to the screen. "See that little line? That's the hyphen. Like we've said, it is completely up to you. You can keep your name the way it is, change it to just Franklin, or hyphenate and use Fields-Franklin. It is your choice, and it will not change how much we love you."
There was silence in the room for about thirty seconds before Abby answered. "I'll do it. I'll hyphenate." "You're sure?" Mark asked. She nodded. "Yeah. I love my birth parents, but I love you guys, too." Mark and Amata both smiled and gave Abby a kiss, Amata on the top of her head, Mark on her cheek. ED-E beeped, and then both of their pip-boys beeped, displaying the same message on both:
"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."
-William Shakespeare
From 'Romeo and Juliet,' Act II, Scene II
Mark and Amata both chuckled. "Oh, ED-E," Mark said, "never change. Never, ever change."
Hope you all enjoyed the chapter. There is a small reference to the 'Scooby-Doo' cartoons in this chapter, so if you found it, good for you. As for the ending there, at first, I was originally going to have Abby change her last name to just Franklin, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the hyphenated name works better. This way, she still honors her birth parents while acknowledging that Mark and Amata are her parents now. Until next time, and reviews are welcomed and appreciated.