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Rodeo hands Boone his beret back and returns to his motel room, wiping Jeannie May’s splattered blood from the side of his cheek. By morning, the coyotes will have gotten to her, or else Boone will have moved her body, risking leaving Novac unguarded long enough to throw her in a shallow grave. She had no next-of-kin, no one that would feel her loss hard enough to go looking. A miserable end for a miserable woman.
It takes almost ten minutes to wash the blood out properly, leaving behind faded, rust colored stains on his shirt and the stench of iron in his nose. He splashes water on his face, looking over to make sure he hadn’t woken up ED-E. The Eyebot is still asleep in the corner where he’d left him this afternoon, a blanket draped over his frame in a useless gesture of affection. Rodeo thinks about powering him back on again just to have someone to talk to then decides against it. At least one of them should get some rest.
Not bothering to pull off the rest of his clothing, Rodeo collapses onto the bed and reaches for his pack of cigarettes. The sign in the lobby had clearly read “No Smoking”, but he was pretty sure the law also said something about selling your pregnant neighbor into slavery to a bunch of fascist shitheads, so he ignores it.
He begins to panic when he can’t find his lighter, searching every pocket on his jeans before walking over to his pack to check. Nothing in there - when had he had it last? Two nights ago, when he’d used it to start a fire on the way up to Novac. It had been too windy for a fire last night, and he’d ran out of cigarettes long before Nipton, only restocking at Cliff’s gift shop this morning.
Crouched over his bag, he contemplates trying to fall asleep. He and Boone would need to be up the next morning, preferably on the earlier side, to get a head start on the route to Vegas. Rodeo’s fingers twitch at the idea of laying in bed for the next few hours, waiting for the sun to come up and trying in vain not to think about Jeannie May’s head, shot clean off from her body, or of the bill of sale he’d found in her safe. He’d never manage.
But a smoke, maybe a bit of whiskey? That’d guarantee him at least a couple hours, dulling the thoughts in his head just enough for exhaustion to win out. As he reaches for the whiskey to put in his bag, he stops, a sudden pang of guilt hitting him. Doc Mitchell had warned against drinking for a while, at least till the bullet wounds had healed over completely. But after Nipton, the warning had fallen on deaf ears.
Some people were good at forgetting, compartmentalizing the bad things to focus on the here and now, but Rodeo had never been one of them. He’d lain awake most of the night for days afterwards, waking up from what little sleep he got feeling like he was choking on the smell of ash and burned flesh. Every flash of red he’d seen had been one of them, the leader’s smile and cold, sickly sweet voice playing on repeat in his mind. The one with the coyote fur on his head, almost amused when he’d asked Rodeo to bring word of Nipton back to the NCR, like Rodeo was a small child holding a toy he could only barely be trusted with.
Definitely needed a smoke. And the booze. Definitely the booze.
Rodeo throws on the other shirt he has in his bag, putting his jacket on over it and stepping out onto the balcony. He figures he might as well see if Cliff’s still hanging around for customers, however unlikely, or if Jeannie May had something in her office he could use. No telling what time it is without a watch, but he’d manage something.
Walking out of his room, Rodeo spies someone leaned up against the railing on the other side of the building, looking out across the motel patio. When he gets closer, he sees that it’s Manny, idly smoking a cigarette and tapping his foot against the ground. He turns when Rodeo approaches, looking him up and down before laughing.
“Wow man, what happened to you? One day in Novac, and you already look busted to shit.” He pushes himself upright a bit more, a few inches taller than Rodeo but shorter than he’d seemed earlier without his beret. “No offense.”
Ordinarily, he might be annoyed, but it has been a day. A long one, and yeah. Rodeo probably does look busted to shit. “None taken.” Then, “What are you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” Manny shrugs. That made two of them. “I usually get up close to this hour anyways, since my shift is starting soon, but there’s not much to do when it’s this dark out. So sometimes I go for a walk.” He gestures with his cigarette, waving it up in the air. “Views better up here.”
If he wasn’t exhausted and hadn’t just witnessed a woman’s head be blown six ways to Sunday, Rodeo might agree. He might even use the line as an opportunity, give Manny a meaningful once over and pick up their flirting this afternoon from where they’d left off. Instead, he grabs his flask from the pocket of his jacket, taking a long swig and feeling the burn from the liquor travel down his throat. Manny eyes it enviously.
Rodeo holds out the flask. “ Whiskey. You want some?”
“I got work in a little. I probably shouldn’t.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Manny’s hesitation melts into a grin, grabbing the flask from Rodeo and wrapping his lips around it eagerly. He tilts his throat back, exposing a deep tan from years working in the sun and a few days worth of stubble. He’s cute in a boy-next-door sort of way, even offering Rodeo his lighter without him having to ask. A true gentleman.
“I saw you staring earlier”, Manny offers as Rodeo lights one of his cigarettes, taking a few seconds to realize Manny meant he saw Rodeo staring at the lighter, not at him.
The pressure in his head begins to dissipate with the first inhale, Rodeo’s shoulders loosening where he’d unknowingly had the muscles clenched tight towards his neck. He lets himself relax into the feeling and the warmth of the whiskey, Jeannie May and Nipton and Benny all floating a million miles away. “I lost mine somewhere between here and Nipton," he says after almost a minute, turning around to lean his back up against the railing. “Might’ve gone crazy if I had to wait another day.”
Manny laughs, stubbing out his cigarette on the edge of the railing before flicking it over the edge. He thinks Manny might bid him goodnight now, excusing himself politely to go catch another hour or so of sleep. But he stays, coughing awkwardly before speaking like he’s working up the nerve to say something difficult.
“Least I could do, after I heard what happened to you.” He gestures to his forehead, the corresponding spot on Rodeo’s brow where the hair has only just started to grow back underneath the bandages.
He shifts, looking down at the ground. “I never would have let McMurphy and the others stay with me if I had known. I mean, I figured they were up to something shady, but not-” Manny swallows, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just. I’m sorry.
The two Khans that had been with Benny back in Goodsprings, McMurphy and Jessup, taking Rodeo by surprise then knocking him out and dragging him to the cemetery. He’d never thought to even wonder about their names until Manny had mentioned them. “You didn’t know.” Not meant to be a comfort, just a statement. A matter of fact.
Manny takes a deep breath, relieved that Rodeo doesn’t hold him accountable. “So, are you planning on killing him now? It’s what I’d do, anyways.”
“McMurphy?”
“No. The one with the suit. Benny.”
A long moment passes before Rodeo answers, tracing the indents in the railing with one of his fingernails. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”
It’s the first time he’s said it out loud, fully admitting it. He knows no one would fault him for it. Even the most pacifist minded of folk would recognize that once word gets around to Benny that he’s still alive, it’s him or Rodeo. Preemptive self defense. But reason doesn’t change the fact that for every part of him that wants Benny to feel the same fear and hurt that he had, Rodeo’s still not sure if, when it comes down to it, he’ll be able to pull the trigger.
“Good.” He affirms, surprisingly bitter. “Fucker got ash all over my floors and didn’t clean it up. Didn’t even thank me for letting them stay the night. He deserves what’s coming to him.”
He’s going to say that sounded like Benny, but really, what did he know? Half a night together back in New Reno and two bullets to the brain didn’t exactly constitute a get-to-know-you. Rodeo drinks again from his flask, willing the whiskey to work faster so he wouldn’t have to think about all of this anymore. “I’d tell you I’ll mention it, but I gotta make it to Vegas first. No guarantees on that one.”
“You’re taking Boone with you, aren’t you?”
“How did you-”
Manny cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “I overheard him talking with Ranger Andy. We’re gonna be swapping out patrols for a little while.” He looks at Rodeo, eyebrows raised in concern. “You’re sure you know what you’re doing? Boone’s a good shot, the best I know, but he hasn’t been in his right mind for a while. Ever since Carla left.”
He doesn’t try to hide the bitterness in his voice when he says her name. Though he’s only known the man for less than twenty-four hours, Rodeo bristles, tempted to rush to Boone’s defense. To love someone the way that Boone seemed to have loved Carla, only to lose them so horribly; it was a burden too great for anyone to bear, much less deserve.
Still, Manny hasn’t struck Rodeo as a deliberately mean person. He’s sure if Manny knew the truth he’d be horrified, tripping over himself to apologize and make things right with Boone. If he tries, Rodeo can even sympathize with Manny’s perspective. Carla had driven a wedge between him and his best friend, jealously giving way to a smug satisfaction when she’d disappeared and Manny had assumed she’d simply walked out on Boone, leaving him heartbroken and alone.
So when his mouth itches to tell Manny to keep quiet about things he doesn’t understand, Rodeo quells the urge with another sip from his flask, the warmth from the whiskey easing the hard set of his jaw.
“I’m not saying don’t take him with you.” adds Manny quickly, mistaking Rodeo being lost in thought for him second-guessing himself. “I’m just saying be careful. He and I aren’t on good terms right now, and to be honest, I don’t know if we ever will be. But he’s still my friend. I was his spotter.” His voice is softer now, speaking barely above a whisper. “You don’t get much closer than that.”
Rodeo would be lying if he said that Boone’s current mental state wasn’t cause for concern. The ease with which Boone had asked him to identify which one of his neighbors he’d shoot didn’t bother him so much as the lack of emotion he’d shown when he’d done it, calmly dismissing Rodeo back to his room and putting the beret back on his head. Still, having a First Recon sniper with him was probably his best shot at making it to the Strip.
“Serving in the military would be hard work. Takes a special kind of person.” He says at last, a half answer to both Manny’s recollections and question of Boone’s capabilities.
Manny shakes his head. “You wouldn’t believe it. The things we went through together…” He takes a deep breath, shuddering a bit on the exhale as if fending off the need to cry. “I mean, you hear people talk about the friends they make in the army and you think they got shared trauma. Bonded over hating the same drill sergeant, or something like that. But when you’re working on a sniper team together, it’s a whole ‘nother level.”
“I bet.”
“It’s just you and your partner out there, for hours at a time. You gotta anticipate the other person’s every need, know what they want before they do. Two people sharing the same breath. That kinda stuff.”
Rodeo nods, unsure what to say in response. He’s never had someone like that, someone whom trusting felt easier than closing his eyes at night. Manny is wistful, clearly working through something in his own head. Had there been something more there than just partnership? His obvious dislike for Carla was one thing, the way his eyes had lit up and he’d smiled when Rodeo had playfully flirted with him another, painting the situation in a new light and causing him to feel a sudden and overwhelming stab of sympathy.
“I’ll get him back in one piece.” Rodeo promises, a pact made with Manny and himself. “You have my word.”
“Thank you.” Manny reaches out, clasps him on the shoulder firmly. His hands linger, dragging down the front of Rodeo’s shirt a few inches before he pulls them back, returning to rest on the railing. “You get some better whiskey when you’re out there too, huh? This stuff’s terrible.” He gestures to Rodeo’s flask, twisting his face up in disgust before laughing.
Accepting the offer when Rodeo holds out his flask again, he watches with renewed interest as Manny tilts his head back to finish the last of the whiskey off, Adam's apple bobbing as he finishes off the last of the whiskey. The spot in his chest where Manny’s fingers had been is still warm; without meaning to, Rodeo leans forward so he can watch the way his tongue moves when he licks the final few drops from his lips.
“Got any suggestions?” When he takes the flask back, he brushes his thumb against Manny’s wrist, understanding vaguely that the sky growing lighter was probably an indicator that he should be going back to his own bed, not stumbling his way towards someone else’s. Hadn’t he also promised Manny he’d check out the REPCONN facility tomorrow? He should ask about that.
“Don’t tell me this is your first time in Vegas?”
“Yeah. I’m from Reno, up North. Never made it this far down.” Too many Legionnaires, he’d thought, an instinct that had proven itself correct almost immediately upon departure from Goodsprings. “But you’ve been before, I’m assuming.”
Manny nods. “Used to go all the time back in the Army. If you took every single soldier from here to the Dam, probably about half of them only signed up ‘cause the NCR gives you a free passport onto the Strip when you do. Since the Tops is out, your best bet is probably Gomorrah. The guys who run it are a little creepy, but that’s nothing compared to the Ultra-Luxe.”
He lights another cigarette, passing it to Rodeo who accepts it eagerly, grateful for the contact and for something to do with his hands. “Things weren’t the same after Bitter Springs though. No one threw anything at us or got too physical, since the Securitrons were there, but the stares were still pretty bad. The way people were looking at us, you’d think we’d swapped out our berets for skirts and started speaking Latin.”
Back in Goodsprings, Trudy had brought up the same thing, someplace East of the Dam where from what Rodeo could surmise, the NCR had wiped out a group of Khans pretty bad. He hadn’t thought much of it, but the look in Manny’s eyes when he talks about it suggests that whatever happened, it’d gone past the usual skirmishes. Rodeo makes a mental note to ask around about it later.
“The Gomorrah. I’ll check it out.”
“Just make sure that if you go to Gomorrah, you stick to the drinks. A cousin of mine back in the day fucked a hooker there and then his dick didn’t work for like, almost six months after.”
“Ghoul?”
“Nah, she was just really, really sunburnt.”
They both laugh at this, smoke trailing out of Manny’s nose in bursts. If Rodeo laughs a bit harder than is warranted, it’s because it feels good after the past few hours, two weeks on the road with only ED-E for company.
“You know,” Manny chews on his lip once they quiet down, squeezing the edge of the railing. “That whiskey really was terrible.”
“You’re telling me.” Rodeo tries, unsuccessfully, to blow a smoke ring before looking over. Manny’s on the edge of saying something he’s unsure of, rocking back and forth a few times on his heels.
“Benny brought some better stuff through with him. Strip liquor. I swiped it from him as payback for dropping ash all over my carpet. Still got a fair bit of it left.”
Rodeo pauses mid-inhale, raising his eyebrows. Was Manny offering him a gift for the road, or something more? “Oh really?”
“Yeah. Got it stashed back in my room somewhere, if you’re interested.” Rodeo pretends to think for a few seconds even as he throws the cigarette onto the ground, crushing it with the toe of his boot.
“I’m interested.”
“Yeah?” Manny says again, unable to stop the smile that breaks out across his face.
“Yeah.” He pockets his flask, stepping back from the railing and slipping an arm around Manny’s shoulders. Voice lowered, Rodeo leans in close enough to feel the other man’s stubble against his cheek, mouth pressed to the shell of Manny’s ear. “Why don’t you lead the way?”