New Vegas: Sheason's Story

Chapter 15: High Times

Welcome back to the program. This is Mr. New Vegas and I hope I'm not coming on too strong. That was "Cobwebs and Rainbows" by Bruce Isaac, undisputed king of the lounge scene in New Reno. Or, at least, he was - no one up north has seen or heard anything from Mr. Isaac in months. If any of my lovely listeners happens to see him, tell him Mr. New Vegas would love to hear him sing again. We'll have more news for you at the top of the hour, but right now I've got more classics to play just for you. Here's a personal favorite of mine: it's the original Mr. Las Vegas, Wayne Newton, singing his signature piece from 1963, Danke Schoen.

"Hey, Sheason?" Veronica called out after me as the group of us walked down Las Vegas Boulevard. "Why are we heading this way? I thought Dr. Usanagi's clinic was outside Freeside's gates, in the other direction."

"You're right. It is," I said with a shrug. "You know what else it is? Several miles away, and I'm not gonna walk that far with a bullet in my knee. I'll go when I can get the Corvega from the 38's garage and I don't have to walk all the way there."

"The 38?" Arcade spoke up from behind me. "You don't mean..." He looked up and out, directly at House's fortress.

"Yeah, the Lucky 38," I said, looking back at Arcade. "Didn't I mention? I thought I mentioned - my employer is Mr. House." He looked at me with slack-jawed astonishment.

"Mr. House? THE Mr. House?! The man who nobody has seen in 200 years? The man who rules The Strip with an iron fist? The man who has an army of dangerous, trigger-happy robots with military grade weapons at his beck and call? THAT Mr. House is your employer?"

"Yeah," I said nodding. "I suppose so."

"Well... that puts your offer in a new light..." Arcade said with a chuckle. "And it certainly explains some things."

"What do you mean, explains some things?" I asked.

"It's just some things that I've heard today. Mr. New Vegas has been talking all morning about how The Tops is closed, and House is telling everyone not to worry. But there've been a lot of rumors going around since last night. I heard some of the junkies, and even some of the doctors in a nearby tent talking about it earlier - some guy people have been calling The Courier waltzed into The Tops, started shooting up the place, killed the owner, then walked into the Lucky 38 like he owned the place."

I couldn't help but shake my head.

"How the fuck do people find out about this stuff?" I asked Veronica. She just shrugged.

"Well, be honest - our little stunt at The Tops wasn't exactly subtle," she said with a chuckle. "I mean, you smashed Swank's face, yelled at everyone to get out before everything went to hell, we all shot the place up... What I want to know is why the rest of us didn't get mentioned! I mean, you didn't go in there all alone. There was me, Cass, Boone, ED-E..." ED-E beeped his agreement.

"So... the rumors are true then?" Arcade said in an almost hushed whisper.

"True enough, I guess," I replied. "The thing I don't get is how people even know I'm a courier. Couriers don't normally shoot up casinos."

"Probably because of the other news story," Arcade answered. When he was met with more silence and blank faces, he elaborated. "Don't either of you listen to the radio?"

"Not really," Veronica was the first to speak up. "There aren't that many radio stations that cover all the Mojave, and I'm not really a fan of the music any of them play."

"Nope," I shook my head. "I know it may seem surprising, given the Pip Boy and all, but I didn't actually grow up in a Vault, so I never really developed a taste for all those classic pre-war songs. Besides, the only other radio I've ever had was in my Corvega, and that was stolen in Gecko about 5 years ago."

"Wait, you didn't grow up in a Vault?" Veronica spoke up.

"Look, we'll talk about where I came from later," I said, trying desperately to get the conversation back on track. "Arcade, what was that you were saying about a news story?"

"It's been one of the stories Mr. New Vegas has been running since... Thursday, I think. He reported that there was a courier who'd been shot in the head close to Goodsprings and recovered. Next thing you know, all the townies are talking about The Indestructible Courier. I'm guessing from the scars on your face that there's at least a little truth to that story?"

Almost as a reflex, I rubbed the scar on my temple. It was worse than I thought. People were actually calling me The Indestructible Courier? That was just silly.

"Ok, yes, there is a little truth to the story. Yes, I did get shot in the face, and yes, I did get better, but here's what really happened..."

So I spent the next ten minutes or so explaining to him most of the events that had happened to me since Wednesday morning, from waking up in Doc Mitchell's and fighting off the Powder Gangers all the way up to delivering the Platinum Chip to House.

"Damn," he said when I finally finished. "Ok, so the people talking about it have gotten a few things wrong, but that's still pretty impressive. Did you really help a pack of ghouls go into space?"

"You know," Veronica called out. "you still haven't answered my question from earlier. Where the hell are we going?"

I came to a stop, and pointed at the sign not 20 yards distant. It was vaguely reminiscent of the arch in New Reno, except it looked cobbled together from bits and pieces of all manner of neon signs. It said "FREESIDE" in letters of all shapes and sizes, and marked the entrance to Fremont Street. The sign itself was suspended between two street lights.

"Did you forget about the addicts Julie told us to help?"

"Oh. Right."

The Atomic Wrangler reminded me a lot of the Shark Club back in New Reno. Only not quite as well taken care of. It was dark, smoky, and smelled like stale beer and vomit. So, business as usual as far as a bar in the wasteland was concerned. The stench spoke volumes though, since the ceiling was three stories high. Off to the side against one of the walls was a stage... well, to be honest, it wasn't really a stage so much as a raised wooden platform with some red curtains hung behind it that were faded and looked moth eaten. There were a few people sitting at cocktail tables, and the bar only had about half a dozen people sitting there. Off in the back was a door big enough to drive my Corvega through, and on the other side I could see the slot machines, the roulette wheels, the blackjack tables, and at least one craps table.

"Hey!" I heard a female voice call out over the general murmur of the crowd. The owner of the voice was behind the bar, wearing a shabby grey suit with black pinstripes and a black tie. She glared at us with a sneer and cold, brown eyes. Her dark brown hair was tied behind her head in a bun so tight, it looked like it was trying to pull her face off. "We don't serve it's kind here!"

"Wait, what?" was all I managed to say before she spoke up again

"The robot!" She said, pointing at ED-E. "The bar is for paying customers only. Automatons that can't drink just take up space."

I looked at ED-E, back at the woman behind the bar, and then back at ED-E.

"But he can fly," I said, pointing a thumb at the hovering eyebot.

"Look, the Atomic Wrangler? This is my place, and my rules. You don't like it? Tough."

I shrugged, and turned back to ED-E. He floated in front of me and let out two pathetic insistent beeps. It almost sounded like a dog whimpering. I patted his chassis with a soft clang.

"Hey, c'mon buddy, don't be like that. We don't want to cause any trouble, right? At least, not here, and not right now. Head back to the 38, and we'll meet up with you there. I promise." With a resigned whirr, ED-E bobbed away and out the door.

"Alright," the woman behind the counter said as the three of us sat down at the bar. "Now that vulgar business has been taken care of, what can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for some people," I told her. "I'm guessing you're one of the Garret twins, right? I heard you might be able to help." She just chuckled and smirked at me.

"Looking for someone, eh? Alright, who're you looking for: Santiago, Kinky Kelly, Calamity, or FISTO?"

"I'm sorry?" I blinked, confused.

"I'll warn you about the last one, though, you'll probably have to fight my useless brother for it. Last I checked, he was still upstairs, busy doing the wang-dang atomic tango with that sexbot."

"Oh, no, no, no!" I said quickly, as soon as I realized what she was talking about. "I'm not looking for a hooker-"

"Escort," she corrected.

"Whatever. No, see, I'm looking for Bill Ronte and Jacob Hoff. Julie Farkas at the fort told me to look for them. I heard they might be found near here. Know where?"

"Yeah... I might know where you can find them," She said. And then she remained silent for a minute or two.

"Uh... Think you might be interested in sharing that with me?"

"You gotta make me interested," she said matter of factly. "What you're after is information, and information is a valuable commodity. Granted, the location of a couple of deadbeat junkies isn't worth much, but it's still information, and information is something you pay for."

"How about I buy a couple of drinks, will that loosen your tongue?" I deadpanned.

"Might help," she shrugged. "What'll you have?"

"Just a beer is fine," I said.

"It's a little bit early for me," Veronica spoke up. "Got any Nuka Cola?" The Garret sister nodded, and then turned to Arcade.

"So, what about you - what'll you have, handsome?" she said, placing a bottle of Nuka in front of Veronica.New novel chapt𝒆rs are published on novel(b)in(.)com

"A rum & Nuka will be fine," Arcade said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "And, no offense, but you're not really my type."

From my other side, I heard Veronica mutter under her breath as she took a sip of soda: "Yeah, that's cause she doesn't have a dick." I'm still not sure if Arcade ever heard that comment or not, since she slid a glass of rum & Nuka in front of him at that moment. As soon as she put the beer bottle in front of me, I tossed the caps on the table, with a few extra, just in case.

"Alright... now how about you tell me where I can find the men I'm looking for?"

She was silent while she counted the caps, ignoring me completely. When she was done, she hit the top of the cash register at the bar with her fist, and the tray opened with a ka-ching! She dropped the caps inside, closed the tray with another ding, and smiled smugly at me.

"I don't know exactly where you can find Jacob Hoff, but your best bet is one of the abandoned buildings over by Mick & Ralph's at the other end of Fremont street, over near the east gate. That's where most of the druggies and junkies and chem fiends usually end up. Ronte on the other hand... he's a deadbeat and I don't even let him in anymore."

"Why not?" Arcade asked as he sipped his drink.

"He couldn't pay for booze, and he kept harassing the customers. If it wasn't begging them to buy him drinks, it was annoying them with tales of the 'good old days.' I honestly don't know where this guy gets off, but if he honestly thinks the old days were any good, he needs his fucking head examined."

"So where is he?" I asked.

"Last I heard, people said they'd seen him in one of the squats nearby. Didn't want to move too far from the smell of booze, I guess."

It didn't take us that long to find him. Most of the derelict buildings past the sign on Fremont Street were west of the Silver Rush and the Atomic Wrangler. There were a few squatters and drunks hanging around; most of them scattered as soon as we got close, but a few stuck around. A few caps, and we were pointed in the right direction.

Bill Ronte was sitting in a corner on a folded out piece of cardboard, leaning against the broken staircase with his head bowed and his eyes shut. He was bald except for a few wispy strands still defiantly clinging to his head, and his face was messy and completely unshaven with a big, scraggly beard. He wore a yellow stained shirt and a pair of dirty grey overalls. His feet were completely bare, but his left foot was bandaged. All around him were empty bottles, including shards of broken glass and a nearly black bloodstain on the ground near it.

"Bill Ronte?" I said. I didn't yell, but I spoke loud and forcefully enough to wake him up. He stirred and snorted, jerking his head as he woke up, looking around groggily. Finally his eyes settled on me and my companions.

"Oh, uh..." his voice was gruff and cracked. Not quite as bad as a ghoul, but still bad. "Hullo. You seen Dixon 'round? He said he'd be back today."

"You are Bill Ronte, right?" I asked, getting down on one knee to look him in the eye.

"Uh... yeah... yeah, I'm, um... yeah, I'm Bill."

"My name's Sheason. Julie Farkas sent me to help you sober up." As soon as I mentioned Julie's name, his eyes shone with recognition, his cheeks flushed with red, and he smiled stupidly.

"Julie? Ah, I love Julie... She's such a nice lady. One time, back in th'old days, I was workin' on the water pump, an' she came over, put her hand on my shoulder, an' told me I was doing a great job," He chuckled softly to himself, and I could swear I saw a bit of moisture in the corners of his eyes. He sniffed and continued. "Great job, she says! Well, I just choked up, didn't say nothin'. Compliments'r so rare these days, y'know?" He reached out to his side, grabbing one of the empty bottles, and made to take a drink, but he realized halfway to his mouth that it was empty. He upended the empty bottle and looked at it with a sad, sorry expression.

"Bill," I said, grabbing his hand, and forcing the bottle away from him. It didn't really matter that it was empty. "Julie sent me here because she's worried about you. You need to stop drinking."

"Drop drinkin'?" He cried out with a pained expression. "I can't stop, I've been drinkin' fer a straight month!" He coughed again, and looked back at me with glazed-over eyes. "Look, I've tried to stop, but... I can't... when I'm sober, it feels like I'm gonna die. I can't stop now."

"How can you even afford all this alcohol?" I heard Veronica say from over my shoulder. She'd entered the ruined building and was looking around at the myriad of broken bottles littering the ground.

"Dixon sells me booze dirt cheap," he coughed again. "It does the job, but it tastes like paint thinner. I swear that guy is tryin' to kill me, but what can I do? Even if I could afford it, drinkin' other booze doesn't cure the sickness like this..."

"Bill," I said, placing a hand on his shoulder. He looked back at me. "Listen to me. Julie and the rest of your friends back at the fort? They miss you. They're worried about you. You need to kick the habit, and they can help. It would mean a lot to Julie... and I know you want to hear those compliments for a job well done again."

"Oh, Julie..." when he spoke, his eyes shifted back into focus, and the moisture I saw earlier finally turned into tears. "I've... I've really screwed things up, haven't I?" I nodded.

"It's not too late, Bill. You can fix this. I know you can. You know you can. Julie believed in you. You just need to believe in yourself." He nodded, and wiped his face with his arm.

"Yeah," he said with a mixture of a snort and a sniff. "Don't worry... I'll... I'll head over to the fort an' get some rest... This has gone on too long." He grabbed onto my arm, and I tried to help him up. As soon as he got on his feet though, he yelled in pain, and would've collapsed if I hadn't been holding onto him. Veronica rushed to his other side, and helped me pick him back up.

"Muh foot..." he wheezed out with a grimace. He was keeping his bandaged foot up off the ground. "I... I don't think I can walk..."

"Don't worry man," I said to him. "We'll get you to the fort. They'll help you out, don't worry."

"You go," Veronica said to me. "You still need to find Jacob Hoff. I can carry him to the fort, I remember the way, and he's not that heavy."

"Not that heavy?" Arcade scoffed. "You look like you're about 80 pounds, you won't be able to carry him all that way."

I looked at Veronica, who just nodded and smiled at me. It was hard to forget the armor she wore under the robe, and I remembered how surprisingly strong she seemed when I first met her. I couldn't be certain, but I had the distinct impression that it augmented her strength somehow. Or maybe she really was just a lot stronger than she looked. Who knows?

"Don't worry, I got him. Trust me. I'll meet up with you outside Mick & Ralphs, that's near where Garret said Jacob might be, right?"

"Yeah, we'll see you later." I let go of Bill, and he slumped against Veronica. I couldn't tell if he'd fallen asleep. She just sighed, adjusted his arm across her shoulders, and carried him out the back of the derelict building.

"So!" I turned to Arcade after Veronica had left. "That's one down. Ready to go find the other one?" Arcade didn't say anything; he just looked pensive, stroking his chin as if deep in thought. "What? What's up?"

"It's just something he said, earlier, caught my attention," Arcade looked up at me, and his glasses fell down his nose. "That name - Dixon. I've heard that name before. He's one of the major drug dealers in the worse parts of Freeside."

"If he's a major drug dealer, why would he be selling paint thinner dressed up as booze to a drunk who can't pay for it?" I asked.

"I don't know," Arcade admitted. "But I think we may need to find this Dixon if we're really serious about helping cure Freeside's drug problem."

Arcade and I walked down Freemont street, towards the east gate. After we crossed Las Vegas Boulevard, I decided I should try and strike up a conversation with my bespectacled companion.

"So," I said, putting my hands in my pockets as we walked. "Tell me about yourself, Arcade."

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, we're going to be working together, right? I think it's important to get to know the people I'm working with, so... tell me about yourself."

"I'm really very boring," he said adjusting his glasses. "You'd get better stories out of a Freeside junkie. I mean, we're going to visit one anyway, you should ask him."

"Oh, come on, you can do better than that."

"No, really!" he said with a surprising amount of enthusiasm. "Have you ever snorted a ground-up cazador venom sac? Neither have I, but I can guarantee you that a Freeside junkie has." That was the second time I'd heard the word cazador. What the hell was a cazador? I still had no idea.

"Do you always deflect personal questions, Arcade?" I asked. He merely shrugged.

"Only to obfuscate my past association with a fascist paramilitary organization."

"That..." I blinked, trying to parse what he'd said. "That was a suspiciously specific denial."

"That's because it was a joke," he said. "To be honest, I will deflect personal questions at any opportunity."

"Why don't you like talking about yourself?" After talking so much with Veronica, talking with someone who just wasn't as candid was a jarring change.

"Some people do. I just... don't."

"C'mon Arcade, I'm asking you because I'm interested."

"Alright," he sighed. "Fine, if you really want to know. I'm thirty-ish...Well, ok, late thirties. I was born..." he paused, and scratched the back of his neck. "... west of here. I was an only child and spent most of my time with my mother. My father died when I was young and I never got over it. Oh, and I like medicine and reading books about failed Pre-War socioeconomic policies." He looked at me and chuckled.

"Right now, I'm sure you're asking yourself 'Why hasn't some lucky man swooped in and scooped this bachelor off his feet?' Like I said. I'm boring,"

H-uh. Arcade was gay. I totally did not see that one coming. I wonder if Veronica had actually known that...

"Look, I appreciate that you're trying to be friendly. I'd just rather not discuss it."

The rest of the walk (which wasn't that long) was spent in relative silence. When we finally got to our destination by the east gate, across the street from Mick & Ralphs, it wasn't all that hard to find the building where the drug addicts congregated. It looked like at some point it had been a three story building, but the ceiling and many of the walls had collapsed inwards. I could see people all around, dressed in rags, and gazing at us from the windows and cracks in the walls while trying to remain unseen. Near one of the doors, a woman was leaning against the wall with her back to us. She vomited violently, and then collapsed next to the pool of sick.

Arcade and I entered the ruined building, and a man walked up to us. What little hair he had was grey, as was his stubble. He had bags the size of nuclear warheads under his eyes, and he hunched as he walked towards us with crossed arms. He was shaking visibly, despite trying to hide it.

"Hey," he spoke to me, in a hurried tone. "Hey, uh... do you have any chems buddy? I could really use a fix."

"Do you know where I can find Jacob Hoff?" I asked, ignoring his request for chems. He seemed taken-aback.

"Well.. yeah. I'm Jacob Hoff. Why? Who are you?"

"My name's Sheason. Julie Farkas back at the Old Mormon Fort told me you could use some help." He just chuckled grimly when Julie's name was mentioned.

"Eh... Julie's a saint, but I don't need any help. I feel young and strong, man, just so long as I get my chems. You got any?" He started scratching his arm.

"You don't look young and strong," Arcade said to him.

"He's right. You look pretty bad, Jacob. You need to get clean - for Julie if nothing else."

"That's stupid," he said, continuing to scratch his arm. "I don't need to get clean, I feel great! No worries. My guy will be here soon enough, just you wait, man."

"Who's supplying you?" I asked, suspicious that I already knew the answer.

"Fuck, man," he said. "If I had two caps to scrap together I'd buy the materials to make my own, but my damn hands won't stop shaking. I get my shit from this guy, Dixon. I mean, yeah, something about him seems sketchy, but the last time I stopped, I felt like I was going to turn inside out. I'm mostly just buying his shit just so I don't feel sick. Speaking of, do you have any spare caps?"

"Jacob, listen to yourself," I said to him, trying to be forceful (but not rude.) "You should know better than this - you said yourself that you can make your own chems. You should know what misuse does to people. You should know what they're doing to you."

"Julie is really worried about you. The others at the fort want to help you get well, Jacob," Arcade added. Jacob shook his head.

"Alright, fuck it, fine. I've quit before. If you really care so much, then get me some shots of Fixer to calm down these shakes. I'm gonna need at least..." he waved one of his hands, and looked up, like he was trying to pull the words out of thin air. "...ten shots to get me through the week. From there, the Followers should be able to help." I just shook my head.

"Jacob, we're not going to give you more chems - even if they are detox chems. What you need is to be strong. You need the support of your friends to get through this." I stared at him, and he looked back at me with an understanding, nodding his head.

"Yeah... yeah, I think... I think you're right. I mean, hell, I've been through worse. I'll go to the fort and see if the Followers can watch over me while I recover."

"Are you sure you can make it on your own?" Arcade asked. Jacob nodded.

"Yeah... it's not that far. And like I said, I've been through worse. Fuck it, maybe this time I'll stay clean." He started to walk away from us, but I put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Just one thing before you go - this Dixon guy. What does he look like?"

"Uh..." Jacob looked up again, looking like he was seriously racking his brain. "I dunno. Kinda reddish, dirty skin, has a mustache, likes wearing a brown ballcap with goggles sitting on the brim. Wears a big coat, got all his shit inside it. Trust me, you can't miss him."

Jacob walked away from the two of us and around the corner. As soon as he disappeared, Arcade turned to me.

"Is it just me, or did he give up a little too easily?" He asked. I nodded in agreement.

"Oh yeah. Someone that bad, itching from the withdrawal? I'm pretty sure he was just blowing me off."

"So what was the point of all that then?"

"Found out what Dixon looks like, didn't I?" I said. "If we get rid of the source, we stop the flood."

"So, you found Jacob without me, huh?" Veronica was leaning against the wall of Mick & Ralph's with crossed arms and a smirk on her face.

"Yeah," I said, as Arcade and I walked towards her. "But we're not done. We gotta find this guy Dixon. He's the guy who was supplying Bill and Jacob."

"And, half of Freeside's junkies, if any of the doctors at the fort are right," Arcade added. I nodded.

"We need to convince him to shut up shop, and leave Freeside."

"Alright," Veronica said. "So, how do we find him?"

I almost didn't hear her. My attention was focused off in the distance, down Fremont street and past a number of locals either milling around or walking by. Leaning up against a building near a lamppost was a man smoking a cigarette, wearing a long tan coat, with a brown ballcap on his head that had goggles sitting on the brim. Even from this distance I could make out the mustache, and could tell this was the man we were looking for. But the fact that Dixon was just standing out there in the open wasn't what was keeping me enthralled.

Jacob's description hadn't really put a clear image in my head, so I hadn't made the connection, but now that I finally got a good look, this Dixon was almost a spitting image of the man who first got me hooked on Mentats so long ago. The man who sold them to me. The man who encouraged me to keep taking them, long after they started ruining me. That man was responsible for a very, very dark part of my life, filled to the brim with self loathing and hatred. The logical side of my brain knew it couldn't be him - that was so long ago, and this Dixon... there was physically no way they were the same man. But even if he wasn't (and how could he be?) this Dixon fuckhead was doing the same thing to who knows how many other people that my old dealer did to me.

"Hey!" Veronica snapped a finger in front of my face a couple of times, pulling me out of it. "Sheason! You awake?"

"Yeah, I just... that's him." I said, pointing right at him. "I think we should have a talk with this asshole."

As soon as the three of us approached him, he looked us up and down. He took one last draw from his cigarette and flicked it away.

"Well, hello there," he spoke to Veronica, looking her up and down and licking his lips. "What can I do for you today?"

"You Dixon?" I asked. He turned his attention to me, and I finally got a decent look at his face. I kind of wish I hadn't; he had a very eclectic collection of skin diseases.

"Maybe."

"We should talk."

"Alright," he said, still seeming to appraise me. "Step into my office, and we'll talk." He motioned with his hand to a nearby alleyway. It was between two buildings, and very narrow. He walked in first, and the three of us followed him. When we were well out of sight of the main street, he turned back to us and held open his coat. The inside of it was lined with syringes, pill bottles, and about a dozen Jet inhalers. "You lookin' for a fix man? I got what you need."

"I'm not looking for drugs." I stated flatly. He closed his coat and sneered at me.

"You're not? Then why the fuck are you wasting my time?"

"I just wanted to know if you're the man who supplies Bill and Jacob." At that, he loosened up and let out a laugh.

"Oh, yeah man! Those cats are out of their domes addicted to my shit. They can't get enough. It's pretty hilarious to watch."

"Hilarious?" I asked, my voice taking on an unintended hard edge. "What, are you trying to kill your customers?"

"Pfft," he waved his hand. "They ain't customers. Those fools are NCR. I just love seein' those squatters in agony. We were doin' just fine before those little shits came here and made a mess of things. We don't need NCR eggheads wandering around confusing things for the rest of us," He looked at the three of us again, and his eyes settled on Arcade - and on the Followers patch on his labcoat. He pulled a box of cigarettes out of his jacket, and lit another before he spoke again. "What the fuck is this?"

"I'll tell you what this is," I said, narrowing my eyes at him. "You're going to stop selling drugs in Freeside, and you are going to get out of town. Right now."

Dixon just sort of stared blankly at me for a few seconds, cigarette hanging loosely out of his mouth. Eventually though, he took a long draw, took the cigarette out of his mouth, and blew a cloud of smoke right in my face. I closed my eyes involuntarily against the stinging cloud of smoke.

"Fuck off man. This is my city, and I do what the fuck I want. I'm not gonna leave town just because some retard with a doctor and a little girl tell me to. I mean, who'd make me leave anyway? The bitch in the hood?"

"Exactly," I said. His eyes widened in confusion, and I heard Veronica shift her stance - good. She knew what was going to come next. "Veronica, hold him down."

"What th-" In a flash of brown and silver, Veronica rushed past me, grabbed Dixon by the throat, and jammed him against the wall. He struggled against her grip, but couldn't move.

"Ok, here's what's going to happen. And I really hope you're listening. You have two options: the first is you leave Freeside, and you never come back. This option lets you keep your slimy parasite life, you pathetic waste of blood and organs. The second is I let Veronica here do whatever she wants to you."

"And you know what I like to do?" I couldn't see her face, but I could tell she was smiling as she unwrapped the power fist in front of Dixons face. It let out a gout of steam, and in a flash, she punched the wall right next to his head. The wall - which was plaster with brick underneath - splintered like balsa wood where the fist had hit. "I like to punch things."

"I can't be certain, but I don't think you'll like the second option very much. So. What'll it be?" I could see him struggle against her grip, and try and choke out words, without actually making any sounds. I just sighed. "Veronica, think you can loosen up a bit? He can't answer if he can't breathe."

"The first one!" he managed to choke out after she loosened her grip. "Fuckin' a, man! The first one!"

"Good. Alright, let him go." As soon as she let go, he collapsed into a heap and started choking madly, clutching his throat.

"You're going to get out of town," I growled at him. "And don't think you can just hide in a side street and carry on tomorrow. If you don't leave, I will find out about it. Do you understand me?" He nodded weakly and continued to choke. I turned my attention to Arcade and Veronica. "C'mon. Let's get out of here."

The three of us turned around and walked away from the alley. After about a minute, Arcade turned to me and asked "Was that really necessary?"

"Maybe not," I said with a shrug, sticking my hands in my pockets. "Felt good though."

"I thought it was funny," Veronica chimed in.

"Hang on a second," I said, patting the pockets of my jeans.

"What's up?"

"I think I lost my keys somewhere... You guys go on ahead. Veronica, think you can show Arcade to the 38? I'll catch up a bit later." She nodded, and I watched the two of them walk off towards Las Vegas Boulevard.

As soon as they were out of sight, I pulled That Gun out from it's spot in the back of my pants and I headed back towards the alley where we'd left Dixon. The drug dealer was still at the back of the alley when I returned. He'd picked himself up off the ground, and was dusting himself off when he noticed me walking towards him. I don't think he noticed the hand cannon.

"Hey, what the fuck, man? I already told you I was going to leave! What the fuck else do you want me to do?" He seemed hostile right up until I got close enough to point That Gun directly at his face. At which point all the color drained from his scabby face, and he held up his hands. "WHOA! Hey! What the hell man!"

I just kept walking forward, the barrel of That Gun pointed at his forehead. My arm didn't waver, even in the slightest.

"I know your type," I finally said. "You say you'll leave. You say you'll stop. But you won't. You can't. All you know how to do is spread poison, and destroy lives. Giving the poorest, most disadvantaged people the means to slowly kill themselves. A man like you gave me the means, and it nearly destroyed my life thirteen years ago."

"What... what are you talking about man?" His left eye twitched, and I pressed the barrel of That Gun against his forehead.

"Give me a reason. Just give me one good reason I shouldn't put a bullet in your skull right now."

"I... I..." he stammered, his eyes fixed on That Gun.

"Times up."