Journal of Honcho Biggs - Chapter 17

Chapter 17 of the Journal of Honcho Biggs, titled "Trusting a Tribal".

Trusting a Tribal
That bastard. That absolute bastard. Taking the caps me and Niner spent months earning. Literally, none of the caps he took was earned by him. And the bastard decides he needs it for his "destiny". Cut that bullshit.

"Get your caps taken again, Biggs?" Caleb said smirking. Look, that was just one time, and that involved a drug addicted whore from North Vegas. Never again, I said. But it just looks like I traded one bastard for another.

"Everything alright, Honcho?" Francine asked, emerging from her office. Despite the wild night of partying, she appeared to already be in business mode, wearing her suit and her hair tied back, ready to go.

"The man - the tribal, the tribal I was with last night took my caps," I muttered.

Francine shrugged. "That's the way it is with tribals. Especially Khans."

"Good for chems and little else," James Garrett said from behind his register as he got it ready for the day. "If a tribal ever crossed me, I know I'd give him a fierce pounding for it!" James declared, ignorant as always of the double meaning of his words.

"Right..." Niner said. He turned to me. "What are we gonna do, man? I only got a few caps left."

"Any chance you know why he stole them?" Francine asked.

I sighed. "His friends-" I cut myself off, realizing that mentioning the Courier might not be a good idea. "They got killed by an NCR patrol in Boulder City. He said his destiny was on the Strip," I said, knowing that at least there was some truth in that.

"Probably looking to settle a score at the NCR Embassy," Caleb said, cleaning his gun. "Maybe we'll hear about him on the radio soon."

"I know it won't get your caps back," Francine began. "But the weekend on the House is still there. His Securitron gave us Strip passes with the caps. Two. I guess he knew you were getting help." Francine handed over two cards to me and Niner. They looked like they were from before the war. There were two figures, one handing over a card to a cop that wore a Vegas badge. The cop was pointing to the doors to Vegas. Typed below them was,

"Enjoy your stay," Niner read. Good for him. But that doesn't get us any caps.

"Thanks, Francine," I said. She waved me off, telling me not to worry about and all that, since I was the one that earned them in the first. Well, now that she mentions it, I did earn them. I thought about the lit up Strip. I dreamed of entering since I was a kid. And now I finally got that chance.

And just like the Courier, I got a score to settle there, too.

But first things first. Gotta stick to the plan. "Niner, we still gotta deliver the water," I reminded him.

"Oh yeah, let me get it," he said, heading back to the room. Remember, he still offers valuable services as a pack mule. He came back down with the water container strapped across his back above his pack. "Let's get this deal done right this time," Niner said.

We waved good bye as we left the casino. The wave of Freeside air hit us once again as we stepped out onto the broken streets. We walked by rundown buildings and empty chem containers as we headed through Freeside. Bombed out buildings, with all of their destruction not necessarily a result of the big bomb drop 200 years ago, loomed over us. Locals scrambled in and out of buildings. We were still in Kings territory, which was relatively safe compared to the extortion and violence in the west side.

Of course, relatively safe. I recognized trouble was coming when two thugs came 'round a corner and immediately locked eyes with us. "Should we ice them?" Niner asked. I held by hand out, stopping both of us. I told him we should hear what they have to say first. Maybe we could avoid any trouble if they realized the danger of attacking an enforcer for the Atomic Wrangler, which, of course, was allied to the Kings, big bosses of these parts.

"Saw you come out of the Wrangler," the bigger one said, a tire iron in his hand. "Not something smart to do in times like these." I guess he didn't realize the danger of attacking an enforcer for the Atomic Wrangler.

"And what times are these?" I asked, my hand sliding toward my holster. Among the various weapons I picked up during my journey to Vegas, my favorites was the 10 mm pistol, the 9 mm submachine gun, and the baseball bat. The pistol would be best for this situation.

"Times when the NCR rolls over Freeside, and wipes out any dirty local," the smaller one said in Californian accent. Things were tense for a moment.

My hand was faster. Reached for my holster, and soon the bigger guy got a gunshot to the thigh. The other guy rushed with his sledgehammer, but Niner was just as quick with his gun and melted the sucker. The big guy lost his weapon and was rolling in pain, a slight moan coming from his lips.

We stood over him. I planted my leg on his wounded thigh and rested on it, causing a pretty loud yell if I do say so myself. "What did you hope to accomplish here today?" I asked.

"The locals, they call us 'squatters' when I don't see a goddamn thing here saying Freeside is there's," he muttered. Sweat and blood covered his face, which must've obstructed his view of the massive Kings' building that clearly marked their territory with its massive logo. He coughed up a few more words. "It's time...us...the NCR...takes what belongs to us."

"Well, unfortunately pal, the only thing that's gonna belong to you today is this," I said, brandishing my baseball bat. His eyes widened, but his protests were cut short when it slammed into his skull. Little bits of gore got onto the suit unfortunately.

Me and Niner stepped back and surveyed the carnage. "Kind of badass," Niner observed. "But that last line was a little...I don't know..."

I shrugged. "An artist is only as good as the materials he has," I said, pointing at the splattered remains.

We moved on toward the delivery point. All the way, I was cursing myself for trusting a tribal.