Once Upon a Time in New Vegas, Money? Money never changes... Options

[Colonel Mustard]

Greetings and salutations, good folk of Chorrol.com forums! I return once more to these fair forums bearing a tale I would add to your vaunted archive of work, a tale of the Mojave Wasteland, a story of intrigue, betrayal and greed, a prelude to the epic chronicle of the Courier. For who were the people who made the great changes wrought upon this place possible? Of course, we all know of the plotting of Mr. House, the ambition of Caesar and Benny, the hopes of the NCR, but what, I ask you, of the little people who made all of that possible? What of those who brought all of these grand plans together, the real unsung heroes of that great story?

Sit back and relax, my friends, and prepare to be told the tale of those who made everything possible, a true tale of the Mojave Wasteland and of New Vegas, first told by the Softworkers of Bethesda and related to you now, in the hope you might take pity on a traveller and grant him food and shelter for a night.

Prepare to hear the tale of Anston and Co.

"Lack of money is the root of all evil."-George Bernard Shaw

Chapter 1

"Oh god, please I'm begging you, please stop, just please stop, please, I-"

The length of wood thumped down and silenced the pleading, reducing it to nought but whimpering through broken teeth. The figure on the floor curled up in a ball, trying to shelter his head from the blows the two baseball bat wielding individuals standing above him would bring down. It did him little good, another slamming into the back of his skull with painful thud.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Michael exclaimed, snatching the bat away from Ripley's hand before he could hit him again. "We were paid to mess his face up, not kill him, idiot!"

He shook his head, before prodding the prone figure with the tip of the bat.

"He still alive?" he asked.

"He's still whining like a little kid, if that's what you want to know," Alex said, nudging his victim in the stomach with his boot.

"Good," Michael said as the pleading began once more.

"I've got caps," he sobbed desperately. "You want them, take them. Just please, damn it, please stop. I'm begging you here."

The nudge became a kick.

"Shut up, pal!" Alex snapped, snarling. "Jesus, some people don't get the hint, do they?"

"Way you've been hitting him, I'm betting he's not gonna be taking many hints all that easy now," Brutus remarked with a chuckle. "Mike, how come I can't have a go on him?"

"You're six and a half feet of muscle and steroids, that's why, idiot. You'll kill him with one damn hit," Michael replied with a dismissive shake of his head. He sat down on his victim's bed, smoothing down the lapel of the dirty suit he wore, before he said; "You know why we're here, George?"

From his place on the floor, George shook his head.

"Because you're a moron, that's why," Michael said. "Because you didn't think about who you slept with, and now you've got to pay for thinking with your damn loaf of bread."

All he got was a whimper of frightened pain, and he shook his head. He wasn't expecting much else anyway.

"Hey, boss, I was doing a little thinking of my own," Alex said, pushing George onto his back where he clutched at his ruined face. There was the same smile on his face that he always wore when he was thinking of something particularly nasty. "You know you've got that saying yours, about importance of the customer?"

"Oh yeah," Michael said. "'The customer is the most important part of the job,' that's the one."

"Yeah, right, well I was thinking, maybe we should do a little more on George here," Alex said, prodding his prone victim's crotch with the tip of his bat. "Y'know, going the extra mile for the customer? I mean, seeing as our friend here thought of this before anything else, maybe we could make sure that our, uh, offending article could be made to think twice."

Michael nodded, a slow grin crawling across his face.

"Of course," he said. "I mean, hey, what does Anston and Co. value more than its beloved customers? We're always willing to do a little extra for them, Alex, always. We've got a reputation to keep up, after all." Alex smiled, before the bat thudded down and George screamed.

"Hey, I think I just realised how good maintaining customer relations feels," he announced cheerfully.

"Value the customer, that's what I've always said," Michael said. "And speaking of which…"

He pressed a few buttons on the Pip-Boy 3000 on his wrist, tuning the inbuilt two-way radio, before he said into it; "That Mr Palson there?"

"It is," came a gruff reply. "Who is it?"

"It's Michael Anston, of Anston and Co." Michael answered. "About a certain individual you asked us to deal with."

"You got him?"

"Bleeding, rolling on the floor and crying like a damn baby," Michael said. "Hey, Brutus, pick him up and get him over here, will you?"

Brutus reached over with his massive robotic arm, the pincer at the end roughly picking up his victim by the shoulder and hauling him over to the bed.

"Georgey," Michael said to him warmly as he was dropped next to him. "I've got Mr Palson on the other end here. Y'know, the man whose daughter you dishonoured? I reckon you've got something to say to him, haven't you?"

George nodded slightly drunkenly, before he said; "I'm sorry for messing around with your daughter, Mr Palson sir. It won't happen again."

"It had better not," the voice of Mr Palson said. He chuckled. "Sounds like you did a real number on him there."

"Well, we take our job seriously," Michael replied. "But believe me, he won't be luring any decent young women into his clutches again any time soon, don't you worry about that."

"Glad to hear it," Palson said. "You head back here and I'll settle your payment."

"Just give it to Doris, she should still be around," Michael said. "Remember, redhead chick? She'll be picking it up for us."

"Oh, your young lady friend," Palson replied. "I'll get it to her, don't you worry about that. Thanks very much."

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr Palson," Michael said. "Be sure to hire out Anston and Co. for all your future violence-based needs."

"I think I might just," Palson said. "I'll have someone contact you again if I ever need your, ah, services. Palson out."

Michael grinned as he flicked it off, before he stood up and crouched next to George.

"Now, Georgey," Michael said cheerfully to his victim, who was near falling into unconsciousness. "What have we learned today, then?"

"Not to…not to mess around with…the wrong ladies," he managed to slur in reply, looking at Michael with unfocussed eyes.

"Very good," Michael replied patronisingly, patting him on the head. He grimaced as his hand caught a smear of blood from the hair, and wiped it off on George's shirt. "Now don't do it again, or we'll have to come back and finish the job, and we don't want, do we?"

George shook his head.

"Atta boy," Michael said. "Glad we've got an understanding, eh? Now you keep out of trouble, friend!"

He straightened up, adjusting his fedora before he strode out of the door, with a triumphant announcement of; "Gentlemen, our good deed for the day is complete. Now let's go and collect our well-earned reward, shall we?"

He led the way through the grimy corridors of Freeside's Weatherly Hotel, tipping his hat to the old woman who sat the ancient desk at the foyer of the hotel. She simply watched him go warily, the small sum of caps Michael had given her in exchange for George's room number already disappeared into a strongbox.

Being paid made everything look better, Michael said, even as he looked upon the dingy slum that was Freeside, baking in the heat of the Mojave summer. The sun shone down mercilessly, beating off tarmac and concrete, and most of the residents that could be indoors were hiding to escape the heat, while beggars and vagrants huddled in the shade afforded to them by the ruined buildings.

"How come I had to come along for this job?" Brutus asked as they made their way down the cracked and worn street.

"Freeside ain't safe, is it?" Michael said. "People would be trying to jump us all over the shop if you weren't here to scare them away." "I could," Alex said.

"Alex, you're a goddamn kid," Michael replied. "A baby molerat isn't gonna be scared by you. I mean, three guys going along here by themselves, they'll think we're not too hard a target. But if there's four of us, and one of them's some big guy with a giant pincery robot arm, then they're gonna think twice about it, aren't they?"

"But I like the Strip," Brutus protested.

"All you'd be doing is gambling your hard-earned caps away or spending it to get balls deep in some guy in Gomorrah," Michael said. "I'm doing you a favour, buddy."

"He's gonna be doing that anyway," Ripley pointed out. "I was planning on it."

"Since when were you into guys?" Alex asked.

"I meant with a ghoulette, idiot," Ripley snapped back. "God, you're stupid sometimes."

"Hey, shut up," Alex retorted.

"Oh, both of you can it!" Michael exclaimed despairingly. "Y'know, sometimes I wonder why I even bother with you people,"

They drew up at the gate to the Strip, the mesh fencing and crude concrete barricade blocking their way to the jewel of the Mojave. As always, the small guard of Securitrons was manning it, and one of the machines wheeled towards Michael, the cartoonish policeman on the screen at the centre of the bulky blue robot's chassis scowling at him.

++State your business++ it demanded, its artificial voice harsh and grating.

"Just heading onto the Strip," Michael said.

++Credit check++ the Securitron said brusquely, in reply to which Michael held up a slip of paper.

"Corporate pass," he said. "Anston and Co."

There was a whirr, before the machine announced ++Pass verified. Carry on through++

The gate slid open as the Securitron wheeled aside, and four fifths of Aston and Co. stepped through into the most wondrous place on earth.

Even in the middle of the day, the New Vegas Strip glowed, neon ablaze even in the harsh glare of the sun. To their left rose the vacant Lucky 38 Casino, the sign advertising its famous revolving restaurant vandalised by some joker long ago to replace the second 'V' with a harsh black 'T'. On the other side of the street, bedecked in crackling flames of ionised gas, Gomorrah beckoned with the gaudy lure of debauchery and pleasure, while the Tops promised riches galore right down to the suited guards standing outside. Vault-22's unbecoming façade seemed to both hide and flaunt the potential hidden below, while the Ultra-Luxe sat apart and aloof from its base brethren.

Michael ignored these beguiling sights for one that he found standing before him. Sunlight glistened off red hair, pouting crimson lips smiled at him alluringly, and Doris stepped forward from the kerb to grab Michael in an embrace and kiss him. So what if that beauty was through the work of the expensive, rare commodity of makeup? She still looked damn good in Michael's eyes.

"Hey baby," he said after a moment, still holding her waist and grinning at her. "How you doing?"

"I'm not happy, hun," she said. "You know I don't like it when you go off for work when you're supposed to be having fun. And you dragged the others with you as well! That ain't fair on them, sweety."

"Told you," Brutus said slightly triumphantly. "Hey, I got an opportunity and I took it," Michael said defensively, kissing her again. "What's wrong with that?"

"Oh, honey, you shouldn't just waltz off like that," Doris protested half-heartedly. "You know I don't like being excluded from things."

"Hey, it was dirty work," Michael replied. "You know I don't like you getting involved in that stuff."

"So busting Raider dens, doing drug runs for the Khans and getting knee-deep in mirelurks and molerats ain't dirty work?" Doris asked.

"Ah, c'mon, you were having such a nice time at the Ultra-Luxe I thought it wouldn't be fair to drag you away," Michael said. "Besides, you know me; I take an opportunity when I get it. That's why you hooked up with me, baby. You said I was destined for great things, remember? I had the ambition you looked for in a guy."

He kissed her again, and she giggled slightly.

"Forgive me?" he asked.

"Alright, honey, you know I can't stay angry at you for long," she said. "And I suppose we've got the rewards of this little opportunity taking, ain't we?"

"'Xactly," Michael said. "Don't say I don't treat you nice, eh?"

"Hey, lovebirds," Alex interjected. "You gonna give us our caps any time soon?"

"Alright, alright," Michael said. "Doris, sweety, you got 'em? Don't want all my hard work being for nothing."

"Yeah, your hard work," Ripley muttered.

"Hey, I'm the brains of this operation," Michael retorted. "And delegation is part of leadership, isn't it? Besides, I ended up getting blood on my hands; you know how I hate it when that happens."

"Oh boohoo," Ripley said sarcastically. "Anyway, the caps?"

"Sure, sure," Doris said, pulling a pouch from her pocket. "Payment was two hundred and fifty caps, so fifty each."

"Ah c'mon, that's barely enough to get a lapdance or nothin'," Alex complained.

"Hey, they've got slot machines and roulette tables in Gomorrah, haven't they?" Michael asked. "Might get lucky and win big. Besides, what happened to the rest of your cash?"

"Lost it all in poker," Alex mumbled, blushing slightly.

"Typical," Ripley muttered, the ghoul shaking his head.

"Ah, just blush like that around a couple of rich-looking ladies and they'll probably take pity on you," Brutus said. "It's what you always seem to do, anyway."

"Hey, I'm a charmer," Alex said. "What can I say?"

"Whatever works for ya," Michael said, handing out the caps. "You guys go and enjoy your night."

"You not coming with?" Brutus asked.

"I'm not letting my Michael into that place with you people," Doris declared. "I'd be a single woman before the morning."

"And be with some moneyed up Chairman by the next," Ripley remarked disparagingly, getting a vicious glare from Doris.

"We'll be at the Tops," Michael said. "You want to meet us tomorrow?"

"Sure, outside the Lucky 38," Brutus said.

"Great," Michael grinned, clapping his hands together. "Go have a little fun, fellas."

The three turned towards the hive of sin to drink and gamble the day away, and as Michael and Doris began to wend their way to the tops the redhead laid a hand on his arm and said; "Hey, sweetie…"

"I know that voice," Michael said, an edge of humorous weariness to his voice. "You're gonna ask me for something, aren't you?"

"You know me too well, hun," Doris said. "I was wondering though; could I borrow a few caps?"

"What? What happened to the ones you had when we came here?"

"Oh, come on, it's the Strip," Doris protested. "What do you think happened to them?"

Michael shook his head despairingly.

"God dammit, did you lose them on the slots again?" he asked.

"What? I like those," Doris protested. "You can win real big."

"Doris, I've told you a thousand times, the slots are a goddamn scam," Michael said. "The odds against you are way too high."

"Hey, people win on them," Doris protested as the couple stepped back onto the curb towards the spacious driveway of the Tops.

"Well yeah, a couple of people win on them so they can fool everyone else like the gullible suckers they are," Michael said, before hastily adding; "Not saying you're one though, baby. But we're using these caps on the poker table, alright? That's how we'll win big."

"Whatever you say, sweety," Doris replied somewhat half-heartedly, but as they approached the doors of the Tops, one of the suited guards pulling it open for them, Michael wasn't listening.

He could already feel the money flowing into his pockets.

This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Feb 28 2013, 01:59 PM

[Colonel Mustard]

This is madness! This is blasphemy! This! Is! THREADOMANCEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

Yeah, it's back. You can blame Eva for this; all the talk of New Vegas she stirred up, plus her story and general struggles with writing the last few chapters of Madgod have got me trying this out for a bit to keep in shape and because Michael and his band of merry mercs have never quite escaped the back of my mind. I mean, it's only been a year since the last update. That ain't too bad, right?

Right?



Yeah, I'll just post the chapter up...

Chapter 10

“Oh thank god you’re alright,” Doris declared as Michael stepped in through the front doors of Anston and Co’s headquarters. She grabbed him in an embrace and kissed him on both cheeks. “We all thought the King was gonna kill you!”

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Michael said. “I had it under control, baby, don’t worry.”

The rest of the company were gathered in the building’s foyer, and Michael raised an eyebrow at them as he stepped out of Doris’ embrace.

“What are you all doing here?” he asked.

“We figured the Kings might come busting down our door any minute, so we decided we’d give them a nice warm welcome,” Brutus said, sliding his machete back into its sheath. “Glad that isn’t the case, though.”

“What happened in there?” Alex asked.

“Long story short, the King and a couple of other eminent citizens of Freeside didn’t like the fact that we’d set up our little base and were worried about what our long term plans might be,” Michael said. “I just assured him that he had nothing to worry about and that we had no intention of making any trouble. As far as I can tell, we’re in the clear so long as we behave ourselves.”

That got a round of nods from the rest of the company.

“Alright, you can get going with whatever it is you’ve got on the go,” Michael said. “Doris, sweetie, can you stay a moment?”

“Sure, what is it?” Doris asked as the rest of Anston and Co dispersed.

“Just wanted to ask if anybody had had any work that needed doing,” Michael said.

“Some scientist type over at Camp McCarran said he needed some mercenaries to get something done for him,” Doris said. “Go into an old vault and find some data; said it would pay well.”

“Interesting,” Michael said. “That has the potential to be profitable, definitely, even if it’s just from salvage and loot. Anything else?”

“Not really,” Doris said. “Seeing as the King was getting kind of iffy about us I think people on the Strip and in Freeside might have wanted to steer clear.”

“I see,” Michael nodded. “That’s annoying. Actually, thinking of that, did anybody threaten you or the rest of the company while I was gone? Make any trouble?”

“Alex said that a couple of Kings told him that he was gonna have to watch his back when he was walking through Freeside,” Doris said. “And Red Lucy was getting a bit antsy about Brutus missing his slot in the Thorn, but that was no big deal.”

“Eh, no surprise with the Kings,” Michael said. “Still, they shouldn’t be making any more trouble, hopefully.”

Doris nodded.

“So what you gonna do now?” she asked.

“Get in touch with the contact for the job and let her know that the package made its way to Nipton,” Michael said. “Just wrap up the job.”

“Yeah, how did that go?”

“Coulda been better,” Michael said. “Nearly got gutted by a tusker on the way there and once we did get to Nipton we found the place had been torched by a group of raiders from Caesar’s Legion.”

“Christ,” Doris shook her head. “How did that pan out?”

“Well, turns out they were interested in that package we were delivering,” Michael said. “So we passed it on to them for a couple of Aureii and made our way back here. Though I’d appreciate it if you kept that last part quiet; official company line is gonna be that we got to Nipton, delivered it to the person we were supposed to leave it with and then headed back before the Legion rocked up.”

“Got it,” Doris said. “You’re gonna be off, then?”

“That’s the plan,” Michael said. He her kissed on the cheek. “I’ll speak to you later, honey.”

They parted ways, Doris heading through the doors of the firing range, as Michael flicked the radio on his Pip Boy on and adjusted the frequency to the one agreed on.

“Anybody there?” he called. “Paging Alison Hale, do you hear me?”

“This is Alison Hale,” came the reply. “Who is this?”

“Michael Anston,” Michael said. “You know, of Anston and Co?”

“Is the job done?” Alison asked. “Or is there a problem?”

“The job’s done,” Michael said. “Just confirming it, that’s all.”

“Good,” came the reply. “Come meet me at the bar at the Ultra Luxe, we’ll talk there; I don’t want to say much else over an unsecured channel, not when people might be listening.”

“Uh, sure, see you there,” Michael said. “Gimme ten minutes or so.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

The connection was cut, and Michael raised an eyebrow. After that, he went upstairs to where Brutus had disappeared to. He found him in the room the former Legionary had made his home, hunched over a table on which he had laid his prosthetic arm. The casing was off and he was looking over the servo in the elbow with a screwdriver in his hand.

“Hey Mike,” he said, looking up as Michael entered the room. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Michael said. “Whatcha doing?”

“Just taking a look at the servo,” Brutus said. “Hasn’t quite felt right ever since that tusker tried to rip this thing apart, seeing if I can fix it up.”

“Got it,” Michael said. “Thing is, I was heading to the Strip and I was just gonna ask if you could come with.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” Brutus said. “I’m kind of tired from the journey and I’d rather just get my arm fixed up and then hit the hay.”

“Ah, c’mon Brutus,” Michael said. “If I head out to Freeside on my own I’ll get robbed in a second, and I don’t trust any King I pay to see me through in one piece. I’ll buy you a drink once we’re there, if you want.”

Brutus was quiet for a moment as he mulled it over, before he said; “Alright. Just gimme a minute to get the casing of this thing on and we can go.”

With only his right hand, he placed the thick, reinforced steel casing on the arm and inserted the screws that held it in place in one by one. Each movement was made with meticulous care, Brutus squinting at the screws as he wound each one in with his organic hand. Once it was in place, he lifted the heavy arm up with a grunt and inserted it into the bulky steel port built into the stump of his left shoulder. He flexed the claw a few times and moved the arm about to see if it was still working at its best, and nodded to Michael.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said.

As they stepped out into the sweltering heat of Freeside, Michael couldn’t help but notice that there were people beginning move about between its crumbling concrete and brick buildings. The sense of tension in the air had abated, and aside from a trio of Kings hanging about by the door of an old apartment building, most of the gang members had disappeared.

“So what exactly did you say to the King?” Brutus asked as they went up the street.

“Basically, he was worried about us throwing our weight around Freeside,” Michael said. “Said that there might be trouble with the Kings if we carried on doing it. In the end, we came to an agreement; we don’t mess with the Kings, the Followers of the Apocalypse, the Van Graffs or anybody important in Freeside and they’ll leave us be.”

“Sounds reasonable enough,” Brutus said.

“Yeah,” Michael said. “I’m just glad we could sort the whole thing out without it ending up being us versus the Kings.”

“That wouldn’t have ended well for us, no way,” Brutus agreed as they reached the gate to the Strip.

“Credit check,” one of the bulky blue Protectrons ordered in its harsh synthetic voice as they approached, rolling forward on the single wheel that supported it. Michael just flashed the corporate pass he’d been given by one of Mr House’s human officials a while back. The robot scanned it over before it announced; “Head on through. Enjoy your visit to the New Vegas Strip.”

“I don’t get why they bother with the whole ‘enjoy your visit’ schtick,” Michael said as the mesh gates that lead to the Strip swung open for them. “I mean, with that voice they just sound like they’re telling you to have a nice time or else.”

“Least they try to be polite,” Brutus shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess,” Michael said as he glanced over the strip. Even in the daylight it was lit up by silent, chilly flames of blazing neon that adorned the casinos, the doors of the massive cathedrals dedicated to gods of money and material gain thrown wide open. They made their way along the cracked concrete road, up to the circular forecourt of the Ultra-Luxe, the area thrown into shade by the shadow of the large, curved building, around the fountain in the middle of the court.

The bar inside the building was probably the most impressive in New Vegas, a ring around a large metal sculpture made to look like some kind of huge blooming flower. One of the suited doormen, the lower half of his face covered by the masks that all the casino’s staff wore, bowed as they entered and said; “Good afternoon, sirs, and welcome to the Ultra-Luxe. Before you go any further, I’m afraid I must ask you relinquish any weapons on your person; it’s casino policy, for security measures, as I’m sure you two gentlemen understand.”

“We’ve just got this,” Michael said, handing over his pistol. The greeter’s eyes flickered to Brutus’ arm. “What, you want him to give up his damn arm?”

“I’m afraid that some guests might find such a thing…unnerving,” the doorman said.

“I don’t see you asking any other visitors to take their arms off for you,” Brutus said. “And I don’t see you giving them a hard time just ‘cause they’ve had the bad luck to be injured.”

“Yeah, you got a problem with that?” Michael asked. “That ain’t fair.”

The doorman’s face flickered with indecision before he said; “You’re both quite right. I apologies most profusely, so please procede.”

He handed Michael a plastic token and added; “Simply hand this in at the cloakroom before you leave to retrieve your weapon.”

“Thank you,” Michael said, as they made their way to the bar. The doorman pulled a walkie-talkie from the inside of his jacket, and just on the edge of his hearing Michael heard him say; “Could do with a couple of extra guys from security up here; got two potential trouble makers that need keeping an eye on. Some thug with a big robot arm and a little weaselly friend of his in a suit.”

Michael ignored them and looked for his contact. It took him only a few moments to find her; a blonde woman at the bar in a long red dress, smoking a cigarette on the end of a long holder. Despite the time of day, she had a cocktail on the counter before her.

“Anston,” she said by way of greeting.

“Good to see ya, Alison,” Michael said, sliding into the seat next to him.

“Nice to see you to,” Alison replied, though her tone of voice suggested that this was merely for the sake of formality. She nodded to the bartender. “Get yourselves a drink, on me.”

“Vodka martini,” Michael said.

“Just a Sunset for me,” Brutus added.

The bartender nodded and retreated to pour the drinks. Out of the corner of his vision, Michael noticed that a pair of Ultra-Luxe staff had appeared, two bulky men whose suits didn’t fit all that comfortably over their large frames, the leather straps of pistol holsters just visible beneath their jackets.

Alison took a pull of her cigarette with enough ferocity to suggest she had some kind of personal grudge against it, and looked over at Michael.

“So, Anston, you get the job done?” she asked.

“As we were paid to do,” Michael replied. “We got to Nipton, delivered the package and got the cash for it there, as agreed.”

It was one of the best lies, as it was nothing but the truth.

“Good,” Alison agreed. “My employer wanted verification of that from you personally; you have no idea how important that package was.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that,” Michael said as their drinks arrived. He took a sip, savouring the flavour of chilled mint and alcohol. “Who is your employer, anyway? I like to know who I’m working for.”

“My employer is a man who values his privacy,” Alison replied. “And one who knows the worth of agents who don’t ask too many questions.”

“One of those types, then,” Michael said. “I suppose it’s only fair to respect that sort of thing, but, you know, there are some people who might not appreciate the kind of lack of respect I’m getting right now.”

“You know what, Anston?” Alison said. “From where I’m sitting you’re a hired gun with a fancy suit and delusions of grandeur who’s only motivation is simple greed, who convinces himself he’s a civilised man because he asks other people to shoot people on his behalf and someone who is, once you take his suit, his ego and his very shaky code of morals away, nothing more than a gutless coward who brought his ‘roided up tribal friend with him to try and intimidate the ice queen that he doesn’t like but will suffer the company of her because she gives him money. You’ll forgive me if I reserve my respect for those more deserving of it.”

She tapped the ash off the end of her cigarette and finished her cocktail.

“I’m guessing that that’s the long and the short of the situation,” she said.

“You got one thing wrong,” Brutus said.

“And what’s that?” Alison asked.

“Don’t use steroids,” Brutus said. “Never have; Legion doesn’t approve them.”

“So you mean to tell me that you got that big without using chems?”

“Yep,” Brutus replied, taking a swig of sarsaparilla.

“Huh,” Michael said. “Guess I should’ve listened to my mother when she told me to eat my greens.”

“Your friend’s bodybuilding techniques aside, the point still stands,” Alison said. “Stop pretending that this is a conversation of equals when all that’s happening is me giving you caps to do my employer’s dirty work. I don’t have the time or patience for that.”

“And supposing I take offence at that kind of talk,” Michael said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Alison said. “You like the money too much for it to make any kind of difference.”

Brutus snorted at this.

“Hey, shut up,” Michael snapped at him before turning to glance over at Alison. “You’re a real people person, y’know.”

“My employer doesn’t pay me because I’m nice,” Alison replied. “He pays me because I get things done.”

She stubbed out the remnants of her cigarette, all but stabbing the ash tray with the embers, and removed the filter from its holder. She snapped open the satchel that she had stowed over her shoulder next to the pistol holder and inserted it inside the bag.

“More work will be coming up soon,” she said. “I’ll contact you again when I need the services you and your band of thugs can offer.”

“Yeah, fine,” Michael said, a sour edge to his expression. Alison nodded, stood and left the bar. He glared over at Brutus, who was still grinning at him.

“She really put you through the wringer there, Mike,” he said.

“Shaddup,” Michael said. “God, that woman pisses me off.”

“So why don’t you just not work for her?”

“Too good a source of income to turn down,” Michael said. He glanced around at the Ultra-Luxe. “Feel like a hand of Blackjack?”

“Nah,” Brutus said. “I wouldn’t mind heading back to the HQ; I need some rest.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Michael said. “Between talking to the King and Van Graffs down and dealing with the ice queen I’ve probably managed to earn myself a bit of R&R.”

Brutus nodded.

“Let’s finish our drinks and head back,” he said. “Hell, we’ve got tomorrow; brand new day, full of opportunity.”

This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Feb 10 2013, 10:53 PM