Journal of Honcho Biggs - Chapter 11

Chapter 11 of the Journal of Honcho Biggs, titled "Strange Fellows".

Strange Fellows
Fortunately managing to avoid hangovers, me and Niner bid our farewells to James, Ada, and a few other settlers that cared to see us leave. "Whaddya think, Biggs, think they finally accept us in Novac now?" Niner said with a wink.

"Well, hopefully if we ever come back they'll be giving us drinks on the house," I answered. We passed by the scrapyard and some massive factory looking building known as Helios One. But we weren't interesting in any more scrapping, so we continued up the road. Fortunately, we were once again entering a path of destruction cleared by the Courier and his new companion, as if he needed any help. Scattered bodies of Vipers and other raiders littered the road towards Vegas. They centered around a pre-war gas station which must've been the Vipers hideout along the highway. Crazy that there was a time when fuel could be pumped right then and there, easy as a Freeside whore. I guess the Courier and Boone couldn't carry no more as there was still some loot that could be picked up.

With the new loot, we headed toward the 188 Trading Post, a little camp for caravans between Novac and the Strip. The Trading Post was sleepy with little activity. Guess the daily caravans hadn't arrived yet. Some redhead approached us. "Welcome to the 188 Slop & Shop. Name's Michelle, how can I help you?" Me and Niner sold her the scrap, then Niner asked if there was any alcohol for sale. "Sorry, but my dad handles all the alcohol."

"What? This ain't pre-war, no drinking laws no more," Niner protested. She shrugged and got her father to help Niner. While they haggled over prices, I tried to pry some information from Michelle.

"Did you happen to see a courier come through recently? He might have a muscular looking tall fellow with him."

She looked in thought for a moment. "Yeah, I did." Well, I guess I didn't really need to pry, more like just ease open. "I remember all muscular fellows, and this fellow definitely looked the part. Lot of pent up rage that looked like it was released recently, gave him a perfect looking face, I love that in a man."

"I'm more interested in the Courier-" I began, when someone sitting on the bar's stool interrupted me.

"His name's Boone. Worked with me in the NCR while I was a Desert Ranger." The man had a eyepatch and some serious scarring on his face.

"You should invite him here sometime, Russell. I would love a chance to talk to him, since you kept him all to yourself!" Michelle said jokingly.

"Actually, about the Courier-"

"Good man. He's taken, though, so don't get your hopes up. Actually, wait, I'm sorry, but his wife passed recently. Though I don't think he's looking for a new girl."

I left the two and searched for anyone else. A man with spiked hair motioned me to sit next to him on the bar. When I saw the Great Khan jacket, I realized he wasn't a man, but a tribal, a Khan. Civilized tribals that can make a mean chem, but tribals nonetheless. "You looking for the Courier?" He asked, toying with an empty glass of whiskey.

"The courier?" I asked in confusion. Usually, they ask with a courier, not the courier, ya know?

"The only one that matters. The one that came back from the grave," he said as he watched Michelle's father refill his glass. "Quite a legend, there. And only growing."

"You know him?"

"We were hired by the son of the bitch that shot him," the khan growled, downing the whiskey.

What the fuck? "What..." I tried to say. I couldn't even process it. "Were you...after his package?" And he was working for who? So many questions.

"Strip fucker hired us for a job. We ambushed the Courier outside Goodsprings, took his package, Benny the bigshot puts two bullets in his head. Normal men don't get up after that. The Courier - he's something else."

"This package. What was in it?"

"Some poker chip. Don't know why it's so important. It is made of platinum though."

That didn't have any answers, but other questions remained. "He's heading north. Almost caught him in Novac. Did you run into him here?"

"Not here. Boulder City." He downed another glass. "Benny ditched us without giving us the other part of the payment. Left us as pickings for an NCR patrol. They chased us into the ruins at Boulder City, we took a few hostage, a showdown ensued."

"And the courier?"

"I was providing overwatch when I saw his mug enter the ruins. Damn near couldn't believe my eyes. Was gonna give a warning, but my voice - just couldn't form the words. Man should've been dead. I guess the NCR wanted him as some sort of negotiatior to end the standoff, but a few minutes later there's a hail of bullets. Courier dives out of the bar, takes down a few Great Khans like it was nothing. The NCR rushes in, and there's some damn sniper picking on us."

"Did the Courier live?" I held my breathe, my future more or less depended on the answer to this.

"Walked away like it was nothing. You know what he left behind? Two dead hostages, a dead NCR soldier, and four dead Khans. When everyone left the ruins, I was the only survivor."

"How did you survive?"

"An explosion blasted me off the roof and into some rubble. Sore like a bitch, but not dead. I stayed still til night time, then I risked moving. It was empty though. God, Jessup, McMurphy - all dead. Just me. I got here this morning and ordered the best whiskey they had."

"Fuck, man. Sorry," I offered. Tribals got what they kinda deserved though. "What are you gonna do now?"

"Nothing to do. My friends are dead, man. Gonna drink here, gonna drink at the Strip, die in the arms of some whore high on some chem. No other way to go."

"Well, before you go...we are traveling to Vegas. Me and the...reforming junkie over there," I pointed to Niner, who was currently feeling up two different bottles of wine. "Promise, we're nice guys. Just rather have some strength in numbers as we approach Vegas."

The Khan was quiet as he downed a bottle of beer from his pack. "Fine," he finally said. "I'm in." He held out his hand. "Hared," he introduced himself.

Last thing I want to do is slap skin with a dirty tribal, in fact I only wanted him for the shotgun he carried, but I guess sacrifices had to be made. I shook his hand. "Honcho Biggs."