Journal of Honcho Biggs - Chapter 5

Chapter 5 of the Journal of Honcho Biggs, titled "Caravan Blues".

Caravan Blues
If there's a good thing about following the Courier, it's that the man clears of path for those coming behind him. All the way south down the Long 15, we came across wildlife carcasses, fallen convicts, and killed raiders. Five or so bodies were strewn about an abandoned prewar police station, with a lone man cowering next to them. The man explained to me and Niner that he was out hunting and when he came back, his Viper buddies were dead, shot to death. I shrugged and splattered his brains with my handy-dandy sledgehammer. Man was a raider, a Viper no less, a dying breed. I'm just helping them rest easy. Organized crime is good, unorganized raiding gets the boot.

While the Courier picked the police station clean, the raider we just killed had some good stuff on him. I gave Niner the bloodsoaked leather armor and backpack, so now he's protected while carrying my stuff. Niner and me are friends, but let's not act like its complete altruism on my part. I give him caps and guidance, he keeps up his chem addictions and his 9mm submachine gun. Win-win on both parts.

The Mojave Outpost sits atop a hill that overlooks everywhere south of the Strip. The Outpost was slow and laid back; games of caravan everywhere, NCR troops all over the place shooting the shit. I talked with a sergeant named Kilborn, and he explained that all the caravans in the Outpost have been stopped until the Long 15 is stabilized. Highway 95 also looked to be in trouble; huge clouds of smoke were appearing over Nipton. Kilborn didn't know where the Courier was, so I moved on.

Niner pulls me around the back of the barracks, says he needs a few moments. While I collected a few empty bottles (serious considering opening up a side business of collecting and selling empty bottles), I see a scrumpy-looking NCR troop discreetly hand over some baggies to Niner, who hands some NCR dollars back. The trooper patted a crate next to him, then left Niner. It was just us in the back now. Chems and chems. Niner must be looking to make a serious haul. "Want another hit, Biggs?" Now the cardinal rule of chem pedalling is never get high off your own supply. But this wasn't my supply, so what the hell. Another hit of steady and I become deadly focused on what Niner proposes. Drugging me up would be the only way to get me to agree with the proposal. Niner opens the crate and pulls out two pairs of NCR trooper armor. High as cazadores, we put them on and head inside the barracks. We arrive in the radio room, and I convince a private in my most authoritative voice that he should go fix his bed since I heard a surprise inspection was coming soon. With him out of the way, Niner gets to work. Then steps back.

The intercoms of the entire outpost blare Jingle Jangle Jingle. When I mean blare, I mean blare! And when I mean Jingle Jangle Jingle, I mean just that part of the song, over and over, for five hours. It was funny while high but when I sobered up I realized how fucking stupid it actually was. And annoying as hell too. Finally, a few NCR troops put an end to it with dynamite. So if the Black Horse Press comes out with a story about chaos on the Mojave Outpost, just know it was Niner. Me too, I guess.

While Niner negotiated with some merchants, I headed into the bar, hoping to find some information about the Courier's whereabouts. Some redhead cowboy girl, deep in whiskey, said she talked with the Courier for a bit before he headed back to Primm to install some "spineless NCR fuck" as sheriff of the town. If we hand't gone into a bender, we might've actually found him here. Damn. Anyway, this girl Cass was the one of the most foulmouthed, cynical girls I've ever met. Goodbye Sunny, hello my new love! Cass said she was stuck at the Outpost because she was part of some caravan that, even though they got blown up, was still a caravan according to the NCR logbooks, and no caravans could leave. She said I could check out work with the Crimson Caravan. Lot of money in moving things around the wastes, let me tell you that. Anyway, I told Cass next time we met, I'd be rich, either from caravans or something else. She said don't count on caravans too hard, and that she'll always have a bottle ready for me when it inevitably doesn't work out.

I get back and Niner asks if I'm ready to go to Nipton. I say no, the Courier is going back to Primm, and the whole entire reason of us travelling is to get the Courier. Niner laughs and says the Courier will be heading to New Vegas through Nipton since north of Goodsprings is filled with nasty wildlife, so we can just wait for the Courier there. And in Nipton, apparently, is one of the largest parties ever seen in the wastes. Hundreds from all over have come to hit Nipton's casinos and whorehouses. The smoke is just from how wild the party is!

Not sure if I believe that...but I do have a fat sack of caps now, and a slight gambling problem. And I think back about how pretty good things have been recently, and that where not stuck here with Caravan Blues like Cass, we can actually move out.

Onward to Nipton then!