New Vegas: Sheason's Story

Chapter 72: Girls, Guns, and Thermite

You just heard "Luck Be A Lady" by Sinatra, and before that was Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong with "Can't We Be Friends?" You're listening to Radio New Vegas, and you all look exceptionally beautiful tonight. We've got more classics coming up over the airwaves after these messages, so stay tuned.

True to his word, Cachino was in the strip club where I'd first found him. He was sitting off by himself, near one of the far walls - about halfway between the stage and the bar. As soon as he noticed me, he waved and called me over to his table.

"There you are," Cachino said, wiping the sweat off his forehead and pouring some scotch into a pair of glasses. "I was wonderin' when you were gonna get back. Listen man, I think we got off on the wrong foot earlier. Drink?" He slid one of the glasses across the table to me. He downed half of his own drink in one go.

"Maybe later," I said, sliding it back to him. "We need to talk." I cleared my throat; no sense beating around the bush... "Your bosses are working with Caesar." Cachino was halfway through the rest of his drink when he started spluttering and choking on it.

"Wh-what? That's not..." I could practically hear the gears turning inside his head. "How can you be sure?"

"Oh, trust me on this. I'm sure. For one thing, only a member of Caesar's Legion would call me a 'profligate.' Besides... I found these in his safe," I reached into my duster, and set down the papers I'd stolen, along with the holotape. I tapped the holotape a few times. Cachino looked confused.

"So what's all this?" He picked up a few of the papers, glancing at them curiously.

"What you have there are blueprints and a supplies list for everything needed to build a dozen chlorine gas bombs, along with the schematics for the HVAC systems of every casino on the Strip, plus the NCR Embassy. I think your Bosses' plan was to gas everyone on the Strip, and then use that outside muscle you mentioned and the guns Troike has been bringing in to mop up any survivors."

"Jesus fuckin' H Christ, man..." Cachino stared at the plans with wide eyes; more sweat started to bead up on his head. "This is... this can't be right..."

"It makes sense, trust me on this. If the Strip is wiped clean of anyone who could oppose him, Caesar could just waltz in and take possession. And a chlorine bomb is just low-tech enough that that bald, big-nosed bastard probably wouldn't oppose its use... not like it would matter to Vulpes, anyhow..."

"Well..." Cachino set down the papers and poured himself another drink. "I'm guessin' since you have this, Clanden's been taken care of?" I nodded.

"They're going to need to scrape him up off wherever he landed with a spatula. And if I'm right, then he was the only one with the technical know-how to build those bombs. So, that's one problem dealt with." I grabbed the holotape and pushed it toward him. "Plus, there's this."

"Troike?" Cachino asked, pointing at the label. "What is this? What does this have to do with Clanden?"

"Just listen," I said, plugging the holotape into my Pip Boy, and scrolling through a few functions until I found the playback feature. A recording of several voices started playing.

"Is it finished?" The first voice - a gruff sounding man with an accent like a mafia wiseguy in an old world holotape - spoke up. "You said this'd be no problem."

"It's done," Clanden's soft voice spoke up. "Your weapons man has been knocked out, and the girl is ended with the knife he carries. I've staged it so that when he wakes, he will think he murdered her in a drug haze. He will make an easy target for your blackmail scheme."

"Good... Good, you've done good work here," A third voice, another wiseguy, sounded pleased.

"I do not do this for your gratitude." Clanden's voice never seemed to rise above a whisper, and yet his words were plain as day. "I do it to ensure your compliance with my Masters wishes. Will you be ready to receive us, when the time comes?"

"Yeah, yeah..." the first voice said. "Just be sure he holds up his end of the bargain, eh? We're taking a huge risk, turning the Strip over to him..."

"Don't worry..." Clanden spoke up again. "My Master shall reward you as you deserve." And with that, the holotape's recording clicked off. The two of us sat in silence at the table for a few minutes. Cachino couldn't stop staring at the holotape.

"Well?" I asked, unplugging it from my Pip Boy.

"That... that was Big Sal's voice. Big Sal and Nero, definitely. There's no one else it could be..." Cachino started shaking his head. "I don't believe it... why would the Bosses..." He grabbed his glass of scotch and downed it, looking back up at me. "What's our next move?"

"I go find Troike."

The Zoara Club was down near the bottom-most levels of Gomorrah. The outside of the place was dimly lit, with red lights in the ceiling cutting through a haze of smoke spilling out of the cracks of the closed double-doors. On either side of the doors were sconces spitting blue flames. When I opened the door using the key Cachino had given me, I was met with a sea of cushions and seats covering the floor, blood-red curtains hanging from the ceiling like fabric walls. Every so often I'd see a small glass-topped table sticking out of the cushions; each table had a hookah pipe sitting on top.

And let me tell you right now: with how lightheaded I felt the moment I opened the door, I knew for a fact that they weren't just smoking tobacco in those pipes.

The deeper I walked into the club, the more I realized how much I must have stood out to the people here (if they even noticed me at all). Most of the people here were either passed out or too busy doing things like cocaine or jet. The only thing they had in common was that they were all at least half naked. I felt severely overdressed in my armor, trenchcoat, and the cowboy hat, but hey - what're you gonna do, right?

Eventually, after wading through the lounging half-naked hookers and jet-heads, I found Troike. Cachino's description made it really easy to find him, even in a place like this. He was a black man, about my height, with a full mustache and a head full of messy black hair - except for the two white stripes running along the top of his head that made him look a little like a skunk. At the moment, he was lying passed out on a mountain of cushions between two naked women; his face was buried in the cleavage of one of them, and he was snoring loudly. One of his hands was still limply clutching one of the hookah hoses.

Time to wake him up.

"Up an' at 'em!" I said loudly, landing a good swift kick into the pile of cushions. All three of the sleeping bodies seemed to shudder, and they each spluttered awake, clearly dazed and confused at the sudden and unexpected turn of events. "Time to get up, c'mon, wakey-wakey!"

"Hey, wh-what - what the?" Troike shook his head and started looking around, wide-eyed and unfocused. The women seemed to be waking up much faster, so I reached down, grabbed a discarded bra and tossed it at one of them. I didn't really think it mattered who it belonged to.

"Sorry, ladies, but I'm gonna have to ask you two to get out of here. Troike and I have to talk some business." One of them yawned with a stretch, and the other leaned back, looking me up and down with a sly smirk. Neither of them moved away.

"Aw, c'mon honey," The one smirking at me leaned forward, placing a hand on my leg, trying to work its way up... "Why don't you join us? I wouldn't mind taking a bite out of you..." I grabbed her hand, and shoved it away; she seemed to deflate and collapsed backward onto the cushions. Right, being nice isn't working.

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear," I grabbed more of the discarded clothing and shoved it at both of them. "Bitches, leave. Now." This time, they actually did move... and that gave me plenty of time to get eye-to-eye with Troike, who still looked a little out of it.

"What the fuck, man?" He sat up with a grunt, rubbing his face. "Who are you? I didn't do nothin', leave me alone..."

"I'll tell you who I am, Troike. I'm your new best friend for the next fifteen minutes," I said with a smile. He looked up at me curiously, trying to get his messy mass of scraggly hair to behave. "Cachino sent me. I'm here to ask you about some guns." At that, he seemed to sober up real quick.

"Cachino... Cachino what? Are you fucking kidding me? He must be trying to get me killed!" He blurted out, obviously terrified. Cachino was right - he is a skittish little fucker.

"Far from it. See, he's working with me, and the two of us are looking to break up what the Omerta bosses are planning." Troike's expression didn't quite get away from fear, but he did look at me like I was completely nuts.

"Yeah? Well, fuck that. The bosses have my number, and I'm a company man while they've got the goods on me."

"I thought you might say that," I said, reaching into my coat; Troike tried to push himself away from me, but was blocked by the cushions. "You're worried because of that hooker that got killed, right? Well, here. No need to be worried anymore."

"Wh- how did you know about..." He trailed off, looking down at my hands - and the holotape I was handing him. "Hang on, what's that?"

"Proof that you didn't do it. It was that Clanden guy, working under orders from the Omerta bosses. They've been blackmailing you for something you didn't do." I plugged the holotape into my Pip Boy and played back the recording for him; he sat there, transfixed, understanding and comprehension finally washing over his features.

"Son of a bitch... Goddamn fuckin' son of a bitch!" Troike ran his fingers through his tangled, messy hair. "I should've known something was up when I blacked out, I never black out!" I snapped my fingers in front of his face a few times to try and get his attention.

"Hey, c'mon, focus. I need your help, and now you know the Bosses don't have anything to hold over your head. Can we deal?" He started nodding.

"Right... yeah, okay... fuck, man... Yeah, I'll help you, but I'm getting the hell out of here the first chance I get."

"Works for me," I said, grabbing the hookah, setting it on the floor, and sitting on the table. "Now. What can you tell me about the guns?"

"They're keeping them in a little utility section, down off the basement. I don't know what they're arming themselves for, but I know it isn't for the good of mankind..."

"Well, I do know what they want to use them for," I said, hoping my tone of voice made it clear he didn't need to know. "How can we get rid of them?" Troike coughed, and scratched at his neck.

"I got a bit of a... pet project? I've been doing it on the side... making batches of Thermite. I've been keeping it in my room, so if the Family betrayed me, I could hopefully do some damage before I end up dead or in jail. This definitely counts. It should be able to get rid of the guns."

"Alright, let's go get it then," I said, getting up off the table. Troike looked around, nervously.

"Uh... I think you may have given my pants to one of the girls."

There was a very awkward pause between us for a minute.

"Fuck."

"So, what is Thermite, anyway?" I asked as the two of us headed to Troike's room. Luckily, we'd found his pants. Or... at least, I hope they were his pants.

"Thermite is great shit, man," Troike said opening the door to his hotel room. "It's pretty simple to make, actually. It's made out of red iron oxide - rust, basically - and aluminum, both turned into powder, and mixed together with a binding agent to keep it from breaking apart. It burns hotter than the devil's asshole, but getting it going is a bitch; the ignition point is over 4000 Fahrenheit, and it burns much, much hotter than that. A regular black powder match or a butane torch isn't going to burn hot enough to get the reaction going..." As he spoke, I stood at the door, half keeping watch and half amazed at the technical details this junkie was telling me.

"How the fuck do you know all that?" I asked. He started looking around his room, grabbing coffee cans from various hiding places and setting them in a duffel bag he'd put on his bed. The tops of the cans had been sealed with duct tape, and silvery-metal ribbons were sticking out of the top.

"I used to be a chemical engineer, back in Vault City. Well... until... I was kind of... fired when they found out about my buffout habit... and then I was arrested for some... Yeah. Thing is, that's kind of why I was so scared of the Bosses' ratting on me."

"What do you mean?" I asked. Troike shrugged, and continued moving coffee cans around the room.

"I've got two strikes against me already. I moved down to Vegas to get away from California, but if the NCR had proof that I'd murdered somebody? Fuck me, that's it. I know they'd give me the chair. Or life without parole, at the very least."

"But Vegas isn't under NCR control." Yet. "Isn't a murder here kind of out of their jurisdiction?" He placed the last few coffee cans in the duffel bag, and stared up at me curiously.

"Man, do you honestly think that'd stop them, especially with all the soldiers at the NCR Embassy? I wasn't taking any fuckin' chances." He zipped up the duffel bag, and handed it to me with one hand, and handed me a key in the other. "Here - the Thermite and a key to the room where the guns are stored. What you're gonna need to do is place the coffee cans on the crates with the magnesium fuse sticking up. Magnesium burns hot enough to start the Thermite reaction, and can be lit with a match, just so long as you hold the flame to the ribbon for at least five seconds. There should be enough to use two coffee cans per weapons crate. This shit should turn the guns into molten slag."

"Thanks," I said, slinging the duffel bag over my shoulder. I was going to say it was surprisingly heavy, but on reflection... that wasn't surprising at all. "So what are you gonna do now?" Troike just laughed nervously.

"What do you think? I'm gonna make like a ghost and just fuckin' disappear. I don't want to be anywhere near here when this goes down... but, just one question, before I go."

"Seems fair," I said with a shrug. "I've asked you plenty. What's up?"

"Who are you? Why are you helping me out like this?" I just smiled.

"Me? I'm surprised you haven't figured it out." No I wasn't. "I'm The Courier... and solving problems is what I do." His eyes went wide, and he seemed rooted in place. I kept smiling, and patted his cheek to try and snap him out of it. "You go and get yourself disappeared already. I can handle this."

The utility closet was easy enough to find... but only thanks to Troike's directions. Down near the bottom of the casino, past the Gambino Steakhouse, past the Brimstone Bar and Buffet, and past the Zoara Club. It was definitely off the beaten track. There were a few Omerta guards nearby, but they were spread out enough that I was able to slip past them easily enough with my stealth boy - even with the duffel bag stuffed full of Thermite under my arm. I had to be careful though; I'm sure the battery for this damn thing was on its last legs.

The door slid into the ground after I unlocked it... and instead of a utility closet like I was expecting, it led into a hallway that turned right, then left, and then down a set of stairs. The design reminded me a bit of the utility tunnels in the Boneyard's subway system: concrete walls, metal floors, and a snaking mess of cables, conduits, and pipes criss-crossing above my head. The stairs eventually dumped me in front of another door - and beyond it was the utility closet I was expecting.

There must have been dozens of crates, all piled on top of one another. They didn't look like weapons crates, though... All of the boxes had labels on the outside indicating things like "food" or "medical supplies." One of the larger ones was even labeled "farm machinery." But after looking in a few and finding things like assault rifles, squad automatic weapons, grenade launchers - even a Browning .50 cal - I figured that this must have been how Troike was smuggling weapons into the Strip.

"Oh, DAMN..." I said to myself, reaching into one of the boxes and pulling out one of the guns. "What is this, a G36?" I whistled, looking around the room down the sight and with the stock pressed into my shoulder, just to get a feel for it. "It is, damn. And it's the carbine model too, with a red-dot sight and vertical foregrip... I haven't seen one of these in years! And... oh HANG ON. What is that, is that..." I set down the assault carbine and pulled out the shotgun that had caught my eye. "Is this a Jackhammer?! A Pancor Jackhammer, seriously? Holy fuck! I didn't think these things ever made it past prototyping before the bombs dropped..."

I set the two weapons on top of the crate, staring at them for a solid minute.

"You know..." I said aloud, still staring at the guns. "It almost... almost seems a shame. Damn shame to get rid of guns like this. I mean... these are... pretty rare. Don't see many guns like this... everyday... or ever..."

Right. Enough gawking at the hardware.

As I set up each of the coffee cans, I couldn't help but wonder... was this even going to work? I mean, if I had some C4 with me, I could definitely make sure the guns got destroyed. Only problem with C4 (aside from the problems of trying to slip it past the guard at the door, obviously) would be how much I'd need to make sure all the guns were obliterated. I would need A LOT, and an explosion that size would be bound to attract some attention. Or possibly destroy a good chunk of the casino, I don't know. Either way: probably a bad idea.

That said, I'd never used Thermite, so I had no idea what was going to happen when I lit them up... ah well. Time to nut up or shut up, I guess.

I lit the first fuse, and the metal ribbon started glowing white hot, spewing sparks and smoke like mad. Quick as I could, I lit the other fuses and ran out of the room. As soon as I crossed the threshold, the low sparking rumble of the fuses seemed to change, and it sounded like someone had turned on a fire hose to full blast. The whole room behind me lit up like it was daytime.

I turned to get a look at the results, and half of the first box was already starting to melt away. The other coffee cans were starting to ignite; each one erupted in a geyser of fire raining down a shower of sparks, and the crates below the cans would start to glow red from the inside. In a matter of seconds, all the crates were nothing more than deformed piles of twisted, smoldering, red-hot metal.

"Well, damn," I said, stepping back from the molten carnage. "That ought to slow them down a bit..."

Of course, that's when things started to go wrong. I was starting to feel the tiniest bit smug.

"It came from in here!" A voice from above reverberated off the halls as I made my way back upstairs. "Go get the Bosses, I'll check it out!"

My first instinct was to go for the stealth boy, but the hallway was way too narrow for that to work. Even the most blind mook would figure out something was wrong when he saw a shimmering distorted section of wall trying to move past him.

The sound of footsteps on metal started getting closer. I welded my back to the corner, and readied myself. There was nothing for it, I was going to have to fight my way out of this. I had to be careful, though... I'd already turned one casino into a graveyard, like Cachino had said earlier. I really didn't want to make it a second.

As soon as the Omerta thug was close enough, I wheeled around the corner and planted my fist square in the middle of his face. There was a crack, and he recoiled backward, clutching at his face and swearing. Before he got a chance to fight back, I leapt up, grabbed hold of the pipes bolted to the ceiling, and landed both feet into his chest as hard as I could. He stumbled backward, smashed his head against the back wall, and collapsed on the ground in a groaning heap.

I pulled Roscoe out of the back of my pants and stepped over the toppled mook. Hopefully, I wouldn't have to shoot anybody, but if it came right down to it... better prepared than dead. I peeked out of the open door and into the hallway: it looked clear enough...

Right, here's the plan Sheason: get to a place that's wider than 3 feet across, activate the stealth boy to lose any potential tails, and get back to Cachino up in the Club Vito. I barely got three feet away from the door.

"Hey!" A voice behind me shouted. "Who are you? Stop!"

I had an idea, but I had absolutely no guarantee that it would work. Fuck it, roll the dice!

I ran away from the voice as fast as I could, but looked over my shoulder and aimed Roscoe; there was a pair of Omerta thugs with guns drawn at the other end of the hall behind me. Instead of aiming at them, however, I fired off a trio of shots up at the ceiling - straight at the light fixture directly above them.

The light in the ceiling exploded in a shower of glass, sparks, and burning phosphor. My ears rang from the 9mm discharging so close to my ear, but the exploding light seemed to distract them long enough for me to get to the other end of the hall and around the corner.

"Go! Get after him!" I heard one of them yell. I didn't slow down. I just switched on the stealth boy, and kept running. By the time the two mooks rounded the corner after me, I was long gone.

When the charge on the stealth boy finally ran out, I was just outside the Club Vito. Despite the time nearing midnight, the crowds were just as a boisterous and still as loud as they were earlier. It wasn't really all that surprising. If there's one thing that never sleeps, it's vice.

Alright, I've just got to find Cachino, and the-

A hand grabbed me by my shoulder; my reaction was immediate and purely instinct. In a single motion, I grabbed the thumb of the person that grabbed me, wrenched it back and around so he was forced to face me, and brought my free hand up in a fist, ready to strike.

"Whoa! Whoa! Hey, calm the fuck down, man!" Cachino managed to gasp out, grimacing under the thumb hold. "It's me! It's me!" I let go of him immediately.

"Sorry. Just..." I looked around; we were off in a secluded corner just outside the club. With any luck, nobody would take notice of us. Hopefully. "Yeah, I just had a bit of a close shave earlier."

"Yeah," Cachino adjusted his jacket. "I heard. You don't know how to walk soft, do you?" I shrugged.

"No, not really. I know how to get the job done." Cachino chuckled grimly at that and started to slowly shake his head.

"You're fuckin' lucky I found you first. The bosses and the muscle are going nuts looking for you. They're furious that 'The Infamous Courier' is here, mucking up all their plans. They tasked me with finding you."

"Now, that is interesting..." I crossed my arms over my chest, and leaned forward slightly. "How on earth would they even know it was me, and not somebody else wanting to settle a grudge? I'm sure they've made lots of enemies over the years, and yet, somehow, they're sure it's me?" Cachino looked at me curiously, hopefully picking up on the subtext.

"What, are you kidding? Things explode around you, Courier! After they heard on the radio about you coming back to Vegas with a shiny new set of wheels, they were able to put two and two together - especially when Clanden's body was found on the casino's roof wrapped around an AC unit. And then all the guns they'd had stashed all wind up melted? Some guy fights off three of the guards downstairs, disappears without taking a scratch? You're not as subtle as you might think."

"Hmm..." I thought about that. There was some sense in what he was saying, sure... but my paranoia was kicking in something awful. Maybe it was just the narrow escape earlier, but I was getting very suspicious all of a sudden... Probably best to play it safe, at least for now. Don't let Cachino know everything.

"So," I cleared my throat. "What's the next move?"

"We go after the Bosses, cut off the head of the serpent and stop this once and for all. I can bring you to them like I caught you, and slip you a gun right before so we can take them out. We won't get a better chance to get both of them together in the same room." I tried to keep from smirking; if he was planning to slip me a gun, that meant he didn't know I was already armed. Probably best to keep that quiet for the moment. Just in case.

"Alright, sounds good... and after?" I asked. Cachino did a double take.

"What? What do you mean after?"

"I mean, once Big Sal and Nero are dead, what are you going to do?" Assuming, of course, this wasn't a trap, I decided against saying out loud.

"With the two of them gone, I'm gonna run this joint. I may have to crack some skulls first, though..." He looked strangely, away from me for a moment, and then looked back up. "I'm next in line, but not by much. Lot of people are gonna be unhappy about the shift in power, y'know?"

"Heh," I smirked. "Yeah, I can believe that..."

"This day has been fuckin' weird... Is it always like this when you come around?" Cachino asked. I couldn't help but start laughing.

"Sort of... You get used to it. Shall we go and end this farce?" I cracked my knuckles, and placed my hands behind my back. With any luck, anyone looking at us as he took me to the bosses would think my hands were tied.

"Thought you'd never ask."