New Vegas: Sheason's Story

Chapter 87: Neutral Ground

"So, that's everything, huh?" I asked Veronica. She nodded. The two of us were in the kitchen, and all the parts for the Hidden Valley air filter were spread out on the table: the reverse pulse cleaner from Vault 3, the 6 HEPA-20 cartridge filters (still in their hermetically sealed packages) from Vault 22, and finally the differential pressure controller from Vault 11.

"I still say that differential whats-it looks like a vacuum cleaner," I said, picking it up and turning it over and over in my hands.

"Yeah, you made that joke already." Veronica seemed annoyed, so I set it back down again.

"Well, it does! I mean, c'mon, what else is gonna have all these hoses?" Veronica just shook her head and sighed, so I decided to quit fooling around. "Alright, so what's the plan? Are we going to head back right away, now that we've got all the parts for the air filtration system?" V started shaking her head before I'd even finished.

"No. Er... at least, not yet. We still have to find the pulse gun from the Vault 34 armory, and..." V hesitated, staring at the parts on the table. "I don't want to risk going back to the bunker too many times in quick succession. Avoid any unnecessary trips - you never know who might be watching, you know?"

"Worried about NCR?" I asked, taking a stab in the dark. Veronica shrugged.

"NCR. Legion. Khans. Fiends. Anybody who might be interested in taking a shot at the Brotherhood... so, everyone, basically." She sighed again.

"Well, look at it this way: when you convince McNamara to be more open to outsiders, I'll come in with the big right hook, offer up an alliance between the Brotherhood and New Vegas, and BOOM!" I clasped my hands together. "You won't have to worry about being so secretive anymore!"

"Maybe..." Veronica kept staring at the parts on the table. I had a feeling that I knew what was upsetting her so much, and it had nothing to do with the Brotherhood...

"You... know what... I'm... gonna head out," I said, rather awkwardly, already moving toward the door. "Since we're going to Vault 34 tomorrow, I should probably grab some more supplies for us. Ammo, grenades, Rad-X, Rad-Away, some stimpacks, Med-X... that kind of thing." I wasn't really - at least, not right away - but it sounded believable. Veronica didn't answer, so I kept walking for the door. "Alright. I'll see you later then."

"Sheason," Veronica finally spoke up just as I was about to cross the threshold. I grimaced internally, grabbed hold of the doorframe, and turned back with my best neutral expression I could muster.

"Yeah? What's up?"

"Last night..." Veronica was still staring at the parts, not looking up at me as she spoke. "Last night when you spoke with Cass. What did..." She sighed heavily. "What did you say to her?"

I was quiet for a very long time. I didn't quite know what I should say... I just gripped the doorframe tightly, trying my best to keep my blood from freezing over.

"I just gave her the same advice I would've given anyone," I said eventually, looking back at Veronica over my shoulder. "I told her to be honest." Which wasn't technically inaccurate. Before this could get any more awkward, I decided to leave... but I heard Veronica's voice echo from within the kitchen:

"Honest..."

Ding.

The elevator opened up, depositing me gracefully into the Lucky 38's casino. As soon as I started walking to the exit, the doors opened and Cass walked in.

"Hey Cass," I waved. "What've you been up to?" She shrugged.

"Oh, you know. Working." She reached behind her, and tossed me plastic bag full of caps. I caught it in midair. "There's your cut."

"My cut?" I asked, tipping my cowboy hat back and raising an eyebrow in confusion. "My cut for what?"

"The salvage," Cass said simply. "While you and Veronica were dislodging that diffa-ma-thinger, the rest of us sifted through the wreckage of all the robots. Mick and Ralph paid pretty well for most of what we scrapped, and since you killed them, there's your cut."

"Wow, I... uh..." I started chuckling softly. "I was not expecting this. You didn't have to do that, you know."

"I could always take it back, if that'll make you feel better," Cass smirked, moving to grab the bag out of my hands.

"No, no, that's... Heh, no, I'm fine with free money," I opened up the duster and put the bag of caps away, where they'd be out of the way. As soon as I did so, Cass looked me up and down questioningly.

"I'm guessing since you're packing so much firepower, you're going on another one of your 'walks' then?" Cass asked, pointing at the weapons I had strapped to me, hidden inside the duster. I honestly wasn't carrying all that much: just Roscoe, That Gun, the Ranger Sequoia, a sawed off shotgun, a combat knife, the butterfly knife, and a pair of brass knuckles. You know - the bare essentials.

"I guess you could say that," I shrugged. "I got a message from Swank the other day. He wants to talk to me. Something about some 'business' I might be interested in."

"Swank?" Cass looked away, obviously racking her brain trying to remember why that name sounded familiar - and then her eyes went wide, obviously remembering. "Wait, Swank? The guy who's nose you broke when we stormed The Tops? The guy who was Benny's number two guy with the Chairmen?" I nodded, and Cass looked at me like I was crazy. "Are you sure you're carrying enough heat?" I just laughed.

"Thanks for the concern. But I'm sure I can handle him, even if it is a trap." I was about to leave, but I paused. "Oh, uh, by the way... thanks." Cass seemed confused.

"Thanks?" She asked. "For what?"

"Earlier, in the Vault," I explained. "When I was going to go into the sacrificial chamber. I honestly... I kind of thought you were going to stay behind." Cass' confusion was still very much present, so I clarified. "You know. Because of... what happened yesterday. And... you know. How mad you are at me. So. Thanks." Cass continued looking at me disbelievingly, until finally she sighed and shook her head.

"Shea, listen. I'm pissed off at you. Still pissed. But I'm angry, because..." She sighed again, grimacing. "Because I know you made too much sense, you dick. Even I have to admit that... that..." Cass gritted her teeth and let out a frustrated growl. "Yes, my drinking has become a problem. You're right, I was wrong, and that's fucking annoying. And it doesn't help that the lack of booze is giving me a headache the size of goddamn Montana." Cass shook her head and set a hand on my shoulder. "But even though I'm pissed off, I'm not heartless or petty enough to leave you to die because I'm being stupid and holding a grudge."

"So..." I nodded, extending my hand for her to shake. "Still friends?" Cass looked down, grabbed my hand, and held it up with hers like she wanted to have an arm wrestling match in midair.

"Yeah... yeah, we're still friends. I'm pissed, but we're still friends." I set my free hand on top of our handshake, and smiled.

"Guess this caravan really isn't done travelling yet, huh?" Cass smirked - and then slapped me.

"Dick. That's my line."

The two of us started laughing.

The Phoenix casino reminded me a bit of The Tops, in a way. The building itself was large, square, squat, and put me in mind of a giant brick with windows. The entrance, on the other hand, was covered in flashing neon lights, and set into the southwestern corner of the brick. I couldn't quite tell what the sign was actually supposed to be; based on the name and the way the red-and-orange neon lights were flashing, it was probably supposed to look like stylized fire, but it honestly looked more like a bulbous flower to me. The name of the hotel curved around the outside edge of the fire-flower in bright yellow neon lights, and coming up out of the top was an illuminated picture of a red bird spreading its wings and flying up into the sky.

So, pretty standard fare for a Vegas casino then. What wasn't normal were the six Chairmen I saw standing guard outside the front doors. That was, admittedly, a bit strange; normally, the guards would be inside the doors. And things got even more suspicious when all six of them started moving in my direction.

"Hello boys," I said, subtly shifting my stance so I wouldn't be caught flat-footed. "What can I do for you?" None of them said anything. They all just stopped about six feet away, surrounding me in a half-circle. Very slowly and carefully, I pulled out the scrap of paper I'd received the other day and held it up for all of them to see. "You guys do know I was invited, right?"

"Hey-hey, there's the high-roller!" A familiar voice spoke up behind the silent Chairmen. A man in a nice dark-grey suit and slicked back brown hair seemingly appeared out of thin air, placing a hand on the Chairman right in front of me. "Alright boys, take five. The grownups need to talk." Swank - and it was unmistakably Swank - snapped his fingers and motioned with his thumb over his shoulder. The six chairmen dispersed.

"Swank," I said simply, keeping my stance ready and my right hand near Roscoe. "You're looking well." He turned to me with a smile - keeping his distance, but still smiling.

"And you look ready to fight off a nest full of deathclaws," he said with a smirk. I shrugged. "Are you sure you need all those guns?"

"Well, I had no guarantee this wasn't a trap, and I wanted to be prepared. As far as I know, you might be wanting a bit of revenge for killing your boss - or breaking your face." My eyes settled on his still very crooked nose, a remnant of our first meeting when I'd smashed his face against the counter at The Tops.

"Honestly, I'm not all that broken up about my nose - er, no pun intended." Swank shrugged. "It certainly hasn't hurt my luck with the broads any, that's for sure. And, as far as Benny goes... well..." Swank paused. "I'll tell you in a bit. C'mon inside, so we can get this clam-bake started, dig? We should probably talk up in my office on the 14th floor, but if you want something to eat, I can have the Center Cut send up a brahmin porterhouse, while we talk business over a bottle of scotch..." Swank started walking back to his casino, but I stayed rooted in place, folding my arms across my chest.

"Oh yeah, let's go into the casino you own, surrounded by your men on your payroll, carrying your guns, while I presumably have to leave all my weapons at the door, just like every other casino here on The Strip." Swank paused, looking back at me questioningly. "I don't think so. How stupid do you think I am?"

"If I thought you were stupid, I wouldn't have contacted you at all." Swank said flatly. I just shook my head.

"Look, I'm sorry to tell you this... but I don't believe you when you say you're not holding a grudge. I don't know how long you knew Benny, but I'm guessing it was a pretty long time, yes? It doesn't seem like something you'd forgive that easily. Hell, I wouldn't. So, until you prove to me that this isn't just some elaborate ruse to ambush me, I'm not setting one foot in your casino."

"Yeah, but you're The Courier," Swank put his hands in his pockets, nonchalant as you please. "I've heard about all those assassins from Caesar's Legion trying to put you down. They've all failed, otherwise we wouldn't be talking. You'd turn my men into swiss cheese if I was stupid enough to try and kill you - which, let's be honest with ourselves here, I'm not."

"You're probably right," I said, refusing to move. "But just because I could get out without a scratch, doesn't mean I want to kill everyone between me and the door. I've already done that once before. You should know, you were there. To be honest, I'd rather not raise that number any more." Swank looked me over once, shook his head, smiled, and started chuckling to himself.

"Alright, alright, you've made your point. Tell you what: just for you, we can talk over drinks in neutral territory." Swank strolled right on past me, continuing to speak. "A place I don't own, and where we'd both have to disarm before walking in."

"Neutral territory?" I asked, finally moving from the spot to follow him. "What did you have in mind?" Before he responded, he pulled a packet of smokes out of his jacket, and grabbed one with his mouth.

"You ever been to Bazooko's Circus?"

It was a solid five minutes before I stopped laughing.

"Well, well, look who's back!" The ghoul tending bar at the CarousHELL of Dreams said with a yellow-toothed grin as soon as Swank and I walked in. "I was starting to wonder if you'd forgotten about me."

"Hey Joey," I said leaning against the bar. "Yeah, sorry. I keep meaning to come back, but I've been..." Images flashed of everything I'd done since Cass and I blew up the Silver Rush two weeks ago. "...a little busy." He nodded with a smile - and then his eyes went wide.

"Swank? Holy shit, man! I haven't seen you in... what, a couple months?"

"Easily," Swank said with a chuckle. "How's business?"

"Business is business, you know how it goes," Joey shrugged, leaning against the counter. "So, what brings you two gents to my humble revolving bar? What can I get you?" Swank reached into his coat and set a stack of poker chips with The Phoenix logo on the counter. It was easily several hundred caps worth, if the numbers on top of the chips were any indication.

"A bottle of scotch, a private booth where my friend and I can talk..." Swank paused, as if thinking, then added: "...and a guarantee Seamus won't bring us the drinks. I mean, I'm assuming that disgruntled little midget still works here, and someone hasn't eaten him yet..."

"Sure thing, Swank," Joey chuckled to himself, counting out the chips. "Just because it's you. There's a private booth on the other side of the carousel, in the back behind the three-clown slot machines." Swank nodded, and the two of us started walking.

"Alright," I finally said when the pair of us found the booth and we settled in across from one another. "So, before we start talking business, I've gotta ask: what makes this place neutral ground? Was it just because both of us had to disarm on the way in?" Swank eased into his seat and chuckled.

"No, not quite. Bazooko's Circus is just one of the casinos that isn't owned by any of the Three Families. There aren't that many of them on The Strip, but they do exist. This place, Mount Olympus, Barcelona, the Triple 7... hell, even Vault 21, but that place barely counts as a casino." Swank took one last draw from his cigarette, snuffing it in the ashtray before reaching into his coat for more. "I'll be honest though. Even being 'independently owned,' I'd say you still have the advantage here."

"Advantage?" As soon as I asked, a buxom blonde girl in make-up and a tu-tu shimmied up to the table and poured our drinks. "Why, because I know Joey? You seem to have more pull with him than I do." Swank snapped his lighter shut.

"No, that's not it. Just a few things I've noticed this past week. Radio New Vegas went off the air and turned into nothing but static on Friday. There was some kind of temporary glitch with the Securitrons around the same time the broadcast stopped. There's the fact that I haven't heard from House in over a week. And there've been some pretty interesting rumors floating around Freeside and The Strip, too..."

"What are you getting at?" I knew exactly what he was getting at.

"I put two and two together and got four, what do you think?" Swank chuckled. "If I had to guess, you either killed House or unplugged him from whatever was keeping him alive last Friday. And since you're still living in the 38, as far as I'm concerned... that means you're the new Overboss."

"This is the business you wanted to talk about, isn't it?" I asked. Swank nodded. "So... what? You gonna try and kill me and take over?" Swank shook his head and snorted a puff of smoke out his nostrils.

"Man, but are you paranoid. It's like I keep telling you - I'm not that stupid. I'm not like Benny. In fact..." Swank grabbed the glass of scotch in front of him, savoring the smell before taking a sip. "I wouldn't say this in front of any of the boys. But you killing Benny? That was probably the best thing that could've happened to the Chairmen." I raised an eyebrow.

"What? Wait... what? I'm sorry, but I just don't... what do you mean?"

"Let me give you an example. Back in the old days, before we were the Chairmen - before we'd ever heard of anyone called House, or set foot on the Strip - we were the Boot Riders." Swank took another draw from his cigarette as he spoke. "And there was a man among us called the Singer."

"The Singer?" I asked. "That was his name? Just... the Singer?" Swank nodded.

"He gave up his real name when he became the Singer: the man who kept our history. Immortalizing the deeds of the Boot Riders in song. Whenever we'd set up camp, he'd gather us around the fire at sunset, and sing us the songs of days gone by. And when House convinced us to trade the gecko-skins for suits and ties, the Singer kept singin', just different songs. He joined up with Tommy, reopened the Aces Theater in The Tops, and started singing old world lounge songs... for a while."

"No offense, but what does this have to do with Benny?" I asked.

"Keep your pants on, I'm getting to it. About a few months before you turned up, the Singer started going back to the old songs. He was trying to convince the Chairmen that we should leave the city. Head back out into the wasteland, and become the Boot Riders again. A lot of the boys started murmuring their support for the idea, too."

"Benny didn't take kindly to that notion, did he?" I asked. Swank shook his head.

"No. While Benny was away on one of his 'constitutionals,' he arranged an... accident. One morning we found the Singer, dead in his room from an overdose. He never knew there was psycho in that vial..." Swank got very quiet, and refused to look me in the eye.

"Yeah... that sounds like Benny," I muttered, glancing at the glass of scotch, but making a point to not drink any. Swank sighed, and looked back up at me.

"Benny wasn't going to go back to the old ways, and what happened to the Singer proved he was willing to kill anyone who suggested it. And that wasn't all. Give you another example: when the Securitrons came with the offer, our chief at the time, Bingo, wanted us to tell the robots to fuck off, so we could stay nomadic. But Benny, he was too ambitious, and even then he knew what Vegas represented. So he challenged the chief to a knife fight. He slit Bingo's throat, and from then on, he was the boss. He loved the climb, he loved the action, and he loved the game, but... when it came to certain things - like running the casino - he was lazy as sin."

"He wanted the perks, but none of the responsibilities that came with being in charge," I said, recalling something Benny had told me in one of my dreams.

"Exactly," Swank nodded approvingly. "I knew you'd figure it out. Thing is, with Benny out of the way, I've been free to run The Charimen the way I want. We've actually been in the black for the first time in two years, even with The Tops empty. But I think that might be because I managed to get most of the staff out and into our other properties while you were killing Benny and his guards."

"Well, that's nice and all," and a bit of a weight off my conscience, to be honest. "But I thought you wanted to talk business?"

"If you're the one running the Strip now, you're gonna need help. I mean... no offense, but you're not House."

"I have help," from quite a few people, and a robot designed specifically for the job. "But thanks for the offer."

"I'm being serious here. The bosses of the other two families might accept your authority if you're able to control the Securitrons... but even so, they might not. And there's a lot about running the 13 casinos left on The Strip that I'm pretty sure you don't know yet. I can help you with that. I can be your right hand man."

"I already have a right hand man." Well, robot. "And besides - why would you even be interested in helping me? I mean, I can understand the Benny thing, but..."

"Because helping you is in my best interests," Swank took another drink of scotch. "Pretty soon, Caesar is going to try coming over the river. And when that goes down, one of two things is going to happen. Either the NCR is going to win, and then focus their attention squarely on The Strip, or Caesar is going to win, and turn The Strip into his latest conquest. No matter what happens, both of those outcomes are going to keep me from living out my one and only fantasy: dying of old age in my own bed with a stomach full of food, and a pair of gorgeous dames on either side of me."

"So, if that's your goal, why settle for being a right-hand man?" Isn't that like settling for second place, I didn't say.

"I'm not settling for anything. I'm the head of the Chairmen, and that's enough for me. Hell, it was really enough just being Benny's number two. I like what I do, and... I'm good at it. Playing the game the way Benny liked to play it... it wouldn't end. There's always some new hill to climb, some new challenge to your authority, and even if you reach one goal, there's always something more appealing, just waiting for you on the edge of the horizon. And you know what? I find that whole idea exhausting."

"Alright," I said eventually, nodding. "I believe you." Not entirely, but enough. As soon as I got back to the 38, I was going to make sure Yes Man kept an eye on him. "So, 13 casinos, huh?" Swank nodded. "You know, I never got around to counting."

"Yeah... It'd be 14 if I was counting The Tops, but... I'm pretty sure that'll be closed for the foreseeable future."

"Alright... so, lets get started," I leaned back in the booth. "Who owns what?"

"Well, The Chairmen right now own The Phoenix, Monaco, and..." Swank winced. "... Bob's Gambling Hall Saloon."

"Seriously?" I asked, trying to hold back laughter. Swank shrugged, and took a last draw of his smoke, snuffing it out in the ashtray.

"Hey, I didn't name it. That was just the sign we found when we opened the place three years ago."

"Alright... so what about the others?"

"The only joints the Omertas run are Gomorrah and The Riv. The Slither Kin were never really overburdened with numbers like the Boot Riders. Hasn't really changed much since they became wiseguys."

"You know, call it a hunch... but I think the Omerta's might be a bit more accepting of my authority than you might think..." I thought back to a week ago, when I went into Gomorrah on House's orders, and helped Cachino take over. Of course, that's when I remembered something House had said about them: "Everyone else who isn't them is just... prey." Swank narrowed his eyes, smirked, and took another drink of scotch.

"So, the rumors I heard were true then?"

"Well, depends on the rumors. What are you talking about?"

"I knew Cachino had taken over last week, but there have been a few people saying he had help taking out Nero and Big Sal. It makes sense that it was you, now I'm thinking about it. Since that's the case, there's something else I want to say about the Omertas."

"Yes?" I asked. Swank cleared his throat.

"If you want my advice, keep a close eye on them - especially the 'entertainment,' know what I'm sayin'?" I raised an eyebrow. "Well, let me put it to you like this: hardly any of the girls working for the Omertas are there because they're nymphos. Dig? Might be worth your while one of these days to take a second look." I nodded.

"I'll see what I can do," I counted off the casino's he'd mentioned in my head. "So, what about the rest?"

"Well, the only other big player on The Strip is the last of the Three Families: The White Glove Society. They run things out of the Ultra-Luxe, and own the Urbane and the Zephyr. Those three are probably the most expensive joints on the whole Strip."

"Yeah, the White Gloves are on my list of..." places Yes Man suggested I look into. "They're on my list."

"Probably a good idea," Swank nodded. "The White Glove society are... well, they're creepy." Swank grimaced again.

"Creepy?" I asked. "How so?"

"Except for Marjorie and Mortimer, the two cats in charge of the Ultra-Luxe, I've never seen any White Glove member without a mask. There's just... there's nothing there. I mean, don't get me wrong - the three resorts they own are tip-top, ring-a-ding establishments. But anybody who wears masks all the time like that, well... they're bound to be hiding something. And with Caesar and the NCR both so close, somebody else's secrets might be the last thing you would want to deal with."