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The stage lights dimmed and the dancers left. About half the crowd settled down at tables around the club, but most returned to the main casino floor to gamble. Lucia led me in the same direction and soon enough she was gambling again. I usually tried to think about my research beneath the constant scanning for any Omerta thugs who might have realized she was counting cards, but of course I found my mind wandering back to that dancer.
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And suddenly, there he was. In the brighter lighting, I noticed a lot more detail about his appearance. In some ways, the shadows of the club had flattered him; he had dark bags beneath his deep-set eyes and subtle but clearly premature wrinkles also around them. He’d lived a hard life so far, maybe as a prospector or just a junkie. A jagged scar split his left eyebrow. The bright light flattered him in other ways. His hair, which had looked black in the dim light, was actually brown and the glow of fire and chandeliers reflected off of it like polished metal. His eyes, likewise, proved to be an unusual sort of hazel. The edges were deep green, but they appeared crimson closer to the center. I noticed this because I turned around and found myself staring into them.
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I’d turned because I’d heard someone moving behind me; I’d had no idea that it was him. He jingled, which was most of the reason I’d noticed him behind me. He’d changed since the show; his particular brand of barely decent leather fetish wear left his chest bare aside from nipple rings attached to fine chains. He also wore leather bracers and a thick matching dog collar with the name tag "Max". I’m not sure which made more noise.
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"Hello." He grinned seductively, cementing my opinion that this guy was both trouble and a prostitute. "I saw you enjoying the show."
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"Yeah...?" I glanced back towards the table and realized that Lucia hadn’t noticed him. I couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. Come to think of it, if he’d approached us, he was probably angling for... well, work, considering what he did.
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The dancer leaned against the gambling table, moving with that same feline grace to place himself in front of me between Lucia and the gambler beside her. He flicked the tag on his collar. "Call me Max." I found it almost suspicious that the dealer barely glanced at him even though all four gamblers and a handful of passersby were staring quite openly.
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I wasn’t really comfortable dealing with him, but partly because so many eyes were on us, I just focused on his name. "Did you choose Max because you’re wearing a dog collar, or did you mean it as a double entendre?"
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I swear that sleazy grin was permanent; even if he was being honest, he looked like he was lying. He chuckled. "Well, it’s my name, or close enough to it, but you can think whatever you want to think."
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Lucia leaned back to speak to him, flipping up a pair of queens as the hand ended and letting the dealer deal the next hand. "Max, huh? I’d like to see how accurate that is."
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Something in the crowd behind me caught his eye and he faltered. "Uh... perhaps some other time." Max and the dealer exchanged a glance that conveyed what might have been a threat for the latter to keep this to himself and the dancer strode off into the crowd, every move tantalizingly graceful. I watched for who he might be meeting with, but instead he fled into the hallway. He must have been signaled by someone, but scanning the crowd, I didn’t see any Omertas looking this way. One of them still must have signaled him, they were just trying to hide it. I glanced down to see if Lucia had seen, but I found her watching someone else in the crowd instead. Trying to follow her gaze, I couldn’t pick out anyone of note in the sea of gamblers and off-duty soldiers.
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Her brow creased as she looked at me. "Did you see who he was looking at?" She might have been tense, but I dismissed her tone as suspicious.
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"No. Did you?"
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Lucia frowned into the crowd, eyes darting around but apparently she’d lost whoever she’d seen again. "Yeah."
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She returned to Blackjack without volunteering an explanation, and I gestured expectantly. "And...?"
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"Doesn’t matter. Now," Lucia insisted, picking up her hand, "What’dya say I win more caps until they throw us out?"
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I loved my job.
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I knelt in front of Nero, listening to his pen tap against the desk above me. I guessed he was keeping track of accounts right now; he alternated between hurried writing and tapping the pen on the table. He might be doing math, but maybe I was just distracting. I did, after all, have his dick halfway down my throat.
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I serviced customers as well, of course, and I performed a wide array of other services for the Gomorra, but really I think Nero just liked having me for himself. Not to say there was anything romantic between us— I don’t think Nero would have been interested in romance even if Cupid stabbed an arrow up his ass— but he was the only one who knew my history and I think it turned him on to have me at his mercy. As if it made the Omertas some kind of serious threat to the NCR because he had me under his desk. I’d become scarily good at reading people and I knew Nero liked having power over me. That was why he had his fingers hooked beneath the leather of my collar, forcing me to take him as far into my throat as I could handle.
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It wasn’t comfortable, actually, I could barely breathe, but he wasn’t Big Sal, who lived up to his name, and I knew from experience that I could take more before I passed out. I’d never told him, but I did like that he was rough with me. I was hard myself, or as hard as my nearly skintight shorts would allow. I loved sex under any circumstances, or at least that’s what I told myself at the time. Beneath Nero’s desk, I focused on the velvety texture of his skin and the smell of his crotch. He actually kept himself very clean, much cleaner that most of my clients so I was much more willing to do this. Not that I let him know I didn’t mind, I don’t think he would have really enjoyed this if he knew I was willing. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Nero had a great pokerface and aside from pausing to tap his pen, I’m not sure even I would have realized he was midway through a blow job if I’d seen him from any other angle.
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That was probably why Big Sal just walked in and closed the door before launching into a rant about what they were planning. Nero’s hand balled into a fist, locking my collar in place with a force that told me I was dead if I so much as moved. I froze obediently. Mostly I was hoping my knees wouldn’t give way; they really started to hurt when I’d been kneeling this long, even on carpet. I tried to breathe silently around his cock.
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Living and working at the Gomorra, I heard more than my fair share of confidential information, and I admit, I wasn’t above selling it to further my own goals, namely keeping myself alive, but the bosses’ plans were information as dangerous as plutonium. I didn’t want to hear what they discussed, but curiosity got the better of me and the certainty that they’d kill me just for hearing them led me to listen for anything I might use against them. In two minutes, Big Sal explained more than I’d heard or ever imagined before Nero got a word in edgewise.
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"Give me a moment to finish these accounts, I’ll meet you in my suite and we can talk." For a split second, Sal must have hesitated, but everyone followed Nero’s orders around here or they turned up dead. I heard the door close and once it shut, Nero hauled me off his dick and stood. I half expected to be shot before I caught my breath, but I lived to look back up at him. Nero had already made himself presentable and I wouldn’t have expected certain death if I wasn’t so familiar with the way the Omertas worked. "You’re gonna fucking stay here and we’ll finish this when I get back."
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I nodded, desperately hoping my expression looked more subservient than calculating. Whether he believed me or not, he left, but I heard the door lock behind him. He’d designed the office to lock from either side; he just had a skeleton key to get out even if someone tried to lock him in. He’d taken that key with him.
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I climbed into his chair, grateful to at least get off my knees while I pondered my predicament. How did I always get myself into these messes?
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He’d be back soon, or possibly whoever he’d sent would arrive soon. I doubted it would be Troike, we both knew I was friendly with the arms dealer, but Clanden was more likely. That sick bastard liked killing, and even though I could probably deal with him unarmed, I didn’t expect to be able to escape after that. No, by the time Nero sent someone, the guards at the door would have been told. I needed to get out of here now.
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The door might be less of a problem than I’d thought. Looking at it carefully, I realized I might be able to unscrew the hinges with Nero’s letter opener. He’d probably stabbed someone with the thing at some point, but that didn’t make the blade any less suitable for this task. It was a good thing I worked fast with tools like that. I pulled the door inward so no one would see it fall into the room outside and by some miracle there was no one in eyeshot. In the Gommora, nobody noticed me walking towards the door. Every glance my way, I foresaw a shout, or some gun trained on my back, but none came. They had reason to expect me to stay; I wasn’t being held here against my will like most of the others. If I left, they’d assume I had permission, or was just dancing outside. The secretary even waved at me as I stepped through the door and as a final fuck you to the Omertas, I waved back. I hadn’t really expected to make it this far.
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Outside the smokey, humid heat of the casino, the desert air seemed to draw the water from everything it touched and the sunlight left me momentarily blinded. Where was I going?
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Home wouldn’t take me and anywhere under NCR control was just as dangerous. I had a chance in the Legion, if I could get there, but they weren’t exactly taking recruits and I’d probably be killed just trying to reach them. There weren’t a lot of places the Omertas couldn’t touch.
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The answer came to me with the stench of whiskey on the afternoon breeze. Cassidy, one of the companions of the famous courier walked past and whistled. She was already drunk, no doubt returning to the Lucky 38, and her whistle was just a catcall, probably to myself as the other dancers were both women. She looked away as the sound left her lips, veering up the stairs towards the tower. That had to be the safest place on the Strip, and right now I had the perfect opportunity.
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Trusting the booze to dull her senses, I jogged over and followed Cassidy inside, less than a meter behind her. I timed my footfalls to match her own, although, being barefoot, mine hardly made enough sound to notice. I paced her to the elevator and my heart skipped a beat as the securitron tried to warn her about me. Cassidy drowned him out. "I’m not having any sass about where I was and why I was drinkin’ this early, ya’ hear me?"
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"Now, I ain’t tryin’ to sass anyone. It’s just—"
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"That’s what I thought!" Cass snapped, failing to notice one robotic arm starting to point towards me. The elevator arrived and she staggered inside. In her disorientation, I managed to stay behind her even as she turned back to face the door. The doors closed before the securitron could speak again and the elevator started to rise.
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I spent the ride debating exactly how I’d reveal my presence. To the courier herself, of course, or maybe just the greatest number of people I could find. The more of them I dealt with at once, the greater the chance that at least one person would object to shooting me long enough that I could talk them out of it.
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Far too soon, the elevator doors slid open at the courier’s suite and Cass staggered out of the elevator. I followed her into the hallway out of fear that the elevator would close and I’d have to deal with robots to get back here. Instead, I was spotted. In the space of the next few seconds, I met most of the courier’s crew.
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"Cass!" a burly man warned as he leveled an NCR service rifle at my head. He’d been sitting on a chair in the hallway, perhaps waiting for the courier and planning to leave with her. He had soldier written all over him, most likely sniper, maybe special OPS. Maybe Bitter Springs veteran, judging by that dark and disillusioned look in his eyes. I didn’t have time to process my dislike.
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Cass spun around, or rather stumbled to face me, catching herself with one hand against the wall. The fury on her face became a flirtatious smirk as I raised my hands and tried to look nervous. "Hey,—" Cass began, but was interrupted before she could say something flirtatious.
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The Follower I’d met before when the courier had won a few thousand caps stepped into the room, "What’s—?" His gaze lit on me and I didn’t fail to see him blush. "Oh. Hello, what are you doing here?"
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"It’s a long st—" Opening a door that washed us in the distracting scent of baked desserts, a ghoul joined us in the hallway, followed closely by a super mutant.
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Seeing me, he laughed, "Cass, you’ve got good taste, but I don’t think you’ll get any privacy here."
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The super mutant following him growled, "Little Jimmy? What have you gotten yourself into? Grandma will need to make more cookies."
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"That won’t be necessary!" The door directly in front of me swung open towards the end of my desperate attempt to stop the super mutant from baking anything for me. I found myself facing the courier, decked out in Van Graff combat armor with a powerful-looking pistol in one hand. She lowered it when she recognized me.
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"I didn’t realize they started renting you out."
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I had no idea if she was joking or not, but before I could decide how to react, a cyberdog charged at me from another open door. Cass caught and restrained him long enough for the courier to calm him down with a single command. In that time, a gleam of moving metal distracted me. "Oh, you have an eyebot—"
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I didn’t have a chance to finish my sentence before the last of the courier’s gang hit me in the back of the head with a throw pillow. "What the hell are you doing here?!"
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I caught the pillow out of habit and turned to see one of the last people I expected. "Vero?!"
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From four speakers at once, came the yell, "You know each other?!"
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Vero frowned at my insistence and glanced at the name tag on my collar. "Max? You’re going by Max now?"
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"Yeah," I did my best to keep my voice perfectly neutral and almost polite, "Max. I’m going by Max. I thought my other name wasn’t the best idea especially considering the Gomorra."
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"The Gomorra?" She shook her head. "Is that where you ran off to?"
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"Oh, come on, where else did you think I’d go?"
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"Well..." She glanced at my outfit, "not the Gomorra..."
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"Yes," the courier snapped, getting straight to the point, "he’s a stripper. Now how did you get in here?"
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For all I knew, the dog and the eyebot, and maybe Veronica, wanted to kill me, but only the courier and that NCR soldier looked openly hostile, which was a relief. I really had expected that something or someone would kill me before I had a chance to explain. I raised my hands again in surrender, holding the throw pillow to cover my left palm. "I followed Cass, I’m here to tell you something and also, honestly, to ask if I could stay here— or really anywhere in the Lucky 38—."
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"Hell no." The soldier growled his response and shifted his rifle into a position where it was even easier to level at me.
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I let my smile falter very slightly. "Yeah, I figured as much." I sighed and focused on the courier as she was really the only one I had to convince, "Look, I’ve got information, and this time it seemed like I’d be much better off telling you rather than... other parties. It’s important, that’s the reason I came here and didn’t take my chances with anyone else who might want to know." I tried to imply that I wouldn’t tell her if she didn’t let me stay, and really I might have kept it to myself as a bargaining chip, but only so I could use it to get the NCR to protect me. But I didn’t like or trust them; I wasn’t risking that unless she ensured that none of her crew would hear me out. Even asking one of them for a safe house was better than taking my chances with the NCR. I had reason to believe they’d already been infiltrated anyway, so I wouldn’t be safe in their custody.
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The ghoul spoke up. "Because you’re clearly the most trustworthy source."
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I frowned a little and tried to sound honest. "I’m not denying that I’m a stripper and a prostitute—" Veronica gave me an insulted stare and I ignored her, "—but that’s why I hear things. In this case, very dangerous things that have a lot of people wanting me dead right now." I paused and decided to give them a hint so the courier might believe me, "The Omertas have the means and motive to kill a whole lot of innocent people." I considered Vegas, shrugged, and added, "Or at least relatively innocent."
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The courier was watching me silently, chewing her lip as she thought, her innocent smile gone for once. It seemed like the others must have noticed her expression. None of them said anything until she spoke. "Lily? Raul? Take him in there and keep an eye on him." She pointed. "Everyone else, to the dining room."
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Faced with a supermutant, a ghoul who seemed to have been around the block more than twice, and a cyberdog who trailed after them as they led me to a chair in the other room, I hardly expected that I’d be able to escape even if I wanted to. I just hoped the courier would be helpful.
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* * *
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Lucia wasn’t exactly in a good mood. Everyone could tell that something bothered her about the stripper who’d so casually snuck into her suite, but I was probably the only one who knew she didn’t object to him on principal. With how strongly she’d come onto him earlier, I actually suspected that she just didn’t like thinking that just anyone could tail one of us inside to gain access at any time.
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Once we were all inside the dining room, Boone shut the door and Lucia slapped her palms against the table. "Right. Thoughts?"
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The speaker was Boone, predictably, and I was surprised when Veronica beat me to the retort. "No! He came to us for help, we can’t just—"
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"He broke into the Lucky 38," Lucia insisted, "we’d be within our rights, if we did shoot him, especially in the wasteland."
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I stared at her incredulously, hoping she was only playing devil’s advocate. "So we’re living by martial law? Even if we want to punish him, we shouldn’t jump straight to death—"
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"I agree," Cass slurred, "Shame to waste a body like that—"
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"You’re just biased—"
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Lucia smacked the table, "Okay, punishment aside, is there any reason to believe he’s telling the truth?"
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I shrugged, "The Omertas are always planning something. Even if he’s making this up to save his hide, can we really afford to dismiss the possibility—?"
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"Now yer biased."
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"Okay," I scowled at Boone, "I admit the guy’s very good-looking, but thinking about this logically—"
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Lucia turned towards Veronica, "Vero, can we trust him?"
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Veronica hesitated. "...I don’t think he’s lying."
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"But he lies a lot?"
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She answered evasively. "He doesn’t lie about this sort of thing. We can trust him."
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I tilted my head. I knew she wasn’t interested in men, so they weren’t ex-lovers, but the way they were acting... "Veronica, how do you know each other? Is he your brother?"
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She cringed before she could stop herself. "No! ...I mean... sort of."
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Boone and Cass each quirked an eyebrow. Lucia and Vero exchanged an opaque stare and I guess that told Lucia all she needed. The courier went back to her normally bubbly attitude. "Alright. Let’s get Lily, Raul, and Max in here and find out what he knows."
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When they sat me down at that table, I expected an interrogation. I considered every torture method I could think of and thanked my lucky stars that I’d built up such a high tolerance for pain. Damn. With my luck, I was practically a frumentari without the army to fall back on.
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The super mutant changed my mind about torture as she offered me a plate of cookies and set another plate on the table closer to the courier and her friends. I tried to look polite as I waved her away, "No thanks."
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Seven pairs of eyes focused on me in everything from surprise to suspicion.
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"Nobody doesn’t like cookies." the soldier grumbled, as if this was some gross violation of his moral code.
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The Follower was more reasonable. "There must be some people who don’t like cookies; it’s not illegal."
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The courier saved me the trouble of coming up with a change of subject. "At any rate, Max, what exactly are the Omertas planning?"
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For the barest moment, I gathered my thoughts and then I launched into it, "Nero’s been working with the Legion on something called Operation Racket, they’ve got a room full of guns, mostly thanks to an arms dealer they’re blackmailing— which I had a role in, accidentally, I didn’t know what they were planning to do. The arms dealer’s named Troike and he’s a decent guy, just with a bit of a weakness for drugs; their other guy’s called Clanden. He’s probably a psychopath, and I mean more than most of the people who work there. Clanden’s some kind of chemist with fewer morals than even myself, he’s got a formula to create large amounts of chlorine gas, I don’t know why exactly, but it’s not good. Nero and Sal are planning to use all this to kill a lot of civilians and basically cause chaos in some bid to take over the Strip, most likely coordinated to coincide with whenever the Legion attacks the dam."
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In the silence while everyone processed that revelation, I decided to add, "The secretary might be able to point you in the right direction, but she’s got a debt to the NCR, so Nero might have plans to have her killed. I’ve also heard that Cachino’s doing something on his own, and Nero would probably be pissed if he found out. The Gomorra’s got some big players who drop by occasionally, so I would say be careful when you look into this, but I figure you already know that. Also, I have a suspicion that the NCR might have been infiltrated by Legion spies, or at least one, so I’d be leery to tell them, which is another reason I went to you guys rather than the NCR embassy."
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"Bullshit," the soldier grunted, thought I’m not sure if he referred to any part in particular or if he didn’t believe me at all.
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The courier shook her head. "It makes sense." When the soldier frowned at her, she elaborated, "I saw Vulpes Inculta at the Gomorra more than once—"
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Amid the ensuing cries of shock and outrage, I only heard the Follower’s. "You saw him? When? Was that—?"
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"Yes," the courier replied, "That was the day we first met Max."
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Veronica and a few others remarked with surprise that they’d met me before, but the courier spoke over them. "We need to head this off. Max, you’re staying here. Indefinitely. Arcade, I’m taking you and Rex."
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"I’m not sure I’m the best choice for an assault of this scale...—" The Follower was the one to protest and his name stuck in my mind. Of course this absurdly idealistic, intelligent, and possibly pacifist Follower had an appropriately quixotic name.
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The courier corrected him, "This isn’t just an assault, the one guy’s a chemist. I need someone who knows chemistry well enough to tell me if we find something dangerous."
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I hadn’t anticipated that she’d be that careful, although maybe she just didn’t trust Arcade around me after how distracted I’d made him earlier. "It’s probably a good idea to bring a chemist," I assured her, "Aside from Clanden, Troike can make thermite."
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"He can make what?"
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"Thermite? Thermine? Thermide? I don’t remember what it’s called, I just know it’s some explosive he can whip up. Explosives really aren’t my thing, I never found out much about it."
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"Thermite," Arcade confirmed, "It’s called thermite and I’ve heard of it. I don’t know much about it, but I can probably recognize it and the compounds used to make it. Probably."
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The courier scanned the rest of the group and shrugged. "Probably will have to be good enough. Let’s go. I’m gonna grab my minigun and that weird energy weapon we found for you."
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~ ~ ~
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For the next week, I settled into the Lucky 38. In basic accommodations, it wasn’t that different from the Gomorra, there were just fewer prostitutes and fewer gamblers. And the lack of Nero, Sal, and Clanden made for a decided improvement over my old residence. I learned everyone’s names pretty quickly and hacked the elevator so I could request a securitron to get me the things I needed. That arrangement was temporary; I had a plan for the future, but I couldn’t risk getting caught while I did that. The courier’s companions came and went whenever they pleased and over the next week, they were very busy. The courier herself came back often to switch who she had with her. I heard they killed Nero, Sal, and Clanden, as well as half their goons. Troike made it out alive, I think, at least nobody mentioned having seen him. After the Gomorra, Lucia must have drawn even more attention, because suddenly she was working with NCR.
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