Calico scratched idly at the back of her neck and kicked her feet through the air. She was sitting on the edge of a dock, beside a ruined little boat and a skeleton still grasping their fishing rod. A potential employer had arranged to meet her there, on the bank of the Potomac, a little bit too close to nowhere for her taste. Not that she was worried; there wasn’t a whole lot out here that she didn’t think she could handle, in one-way or another.
A gunshot sounded somewhere out in the wastes. As a precaution, Calico un-slung her combat shotgun and clicked off the safety, just in case. She heard a few more shots over the next couple minutes and then the creak of someone else stepping onto the dock behind her. Calico didn’t turn, just rested the shotgun on her shoulder so it pointed vaguely at whomever was there. It would hit something, she was sure.
“You had better have a vending machine full of caps for me, or a very good reason to keep your legs.” She said, rather jovially.
“Uh, well I didn’t bring the, er, uh, machine, so you’ll just, uh, just have to settle for the uh, the caps.” It was a young voice, with just the hint of an English accent. “And if you, ur, if you could be so, so um kind, as to not discharge that, uhh, that weapon, I um, I would be most pleased. It’s aimed rather at, um, my person, and were I, uhm, deceased, I could not hi-hire you.”
Calico rose, tilting the shotgun back on her shoulder so it would stay generally in line with the stutterer, and turned with a neat pirouette. Her still maybe employer was a scrawny, sandy haired man in an ill-fitting suit. A pair of horned rimmed glasses perched on his nose and his tie was a garish thing, bananas on an orange background. She noticed the bulge of a weapon under his jacket, though she doubted he would be any good with it, and it was a small bulge anyway.
He looked Calico up and down rather sheepishly, blushed a little, and then held up a satchel that jingle-jangled. “I, uh, I’m glad you could, uh, uh, could make it. You come, highly, rec-recom-recommended, even if your methods are uh, regarded as being, rather, er, rather unorthodox. My name is, my name is Jacob Lathe.” Another gunshot rang out and he jumped, his hand reaching into his jacket. “That was, uh, tha-that was a-a tad close.”
Calico yawned, bored, and stretched like a cat, arching her back and reaching high above her head. Lathe swallowed, and Calico had to wait a few seconds before his attention returned to the here-and-now. “Not really,” she said. “You were mentioning caps?”
Lathe removed and quickly wiped his glasses clean with a handkerchief. “Yes, of-of course. Uh, for the, for the price of seven hundred caps- um, uh two hundred, uh now, the rest upon completion- I require you to, uh, to track down a raider, uh lea-leader by the name of, ugh, King Big Bomb. He and his band of-of brigands have a camp near the old, er, the old Corvega factory. If, um, if need be, I-I can point it out on, a-a-a-a-a, a map for you.”
Calico laughed straight in his face, startling him. “Point it out on a map! Hah! Well, at least you’re a funny man.” Calico laughed for a full two minutes, almost drowning out the few gunshots that competed with her. Lathe stood there awkwardly, waiting. Finally, Calico settled down, wiping away a tear. “Yeah, that’d be great, I have no clue where that is. So, once I find this King Big Bomb, what do I do? Blow him up?”
Lathe zoned out for a moment, then swallowed loudly. “Umm, uhh. Er, no, not, uh, blow-uh, oh, well I suppose if you use explosives. I, uh, well, I want you to-to kill him and-and bring me his head as, his head as, uh, proof.”
Calico arched an eyebrow. “Can’t just take my word that I blew him to bloody, slightly mulched up pieces?”
“No.”
“Then make it a thousand.” Calico asserted. “Two questions. First: How will I know which head to cut off? Second: How many raiders does Big Bomb lead?”
“Fine. A thousand it is.” Lathe managed without stuttering. He adjusted his too-loose tie. “He should, uh, have, erm, about a-a dozen others-”
Calico held up a hand. “Woah. Woah, woah, woah. Woah. Hold on there skippy.” Another gunshot followed by a warbling scream of pain carried across the wastes. “Hold. On. There. Skippy. You want me to take on about a dozen crazy drugged up madmen and madwomen? All by my pretty self? In their own home?” She took a couple steps forward, thrusting the combat shotgun in his face. “I may come highly recommended, but I’m not Grognak the Barbarian, for a number of reasons including better hair.” Another scream, this one much closer, made Lathe flinch. Calico continued unperturbed. “You had better have backup lined up for this, and it had better not be someone like you. Or you.”
Lathe, sputtered indignant. “Someone like me! Ms. Borgia, I assure you I am more than capable of handling myself in a contest of arms!”
Calico didn’t have time to be impressed that he managed to finish that without stuttering, because as soon as he finished speaking, he let out a panicked squeal and dove behind the ruined little boat. Calico turned, bringing her shotgun up, to see five raiders come over the hill on the other side of the river, running at full speed. She cursed, dropping to one knee behind a post for cover.
She sighted down the barrel of her shotgun, and cursed again, wishing she had a better weapon for the range. It was then that she noticed that the raiders didn’t look angry, or high, or horny. They looked scared. They were running from something, not to a something that was her.
Which was when that first something came over the hill behind the raiders.
Tall, broad of shoulder and barreled of chest he was and wearing a long black leather duster that flowed out behind him as he ate up the distance that separated him form the raiders. A Chinese Officers’ Sword was sheathed on both his hips, and Calico caught a glimpse of two pistols in shoulder rigs when the duster allowed. His was the ruined face of a ghoul.
The raiders had stopped and turned at the riverbank, prepared to make a last stand. The first opened up with his SMG, spraying fire at the ghoul. The ghoul dove and rolled beneath the whizzing bullets, coming up gracefully with a rock in his hand. As he regained his feet, he hurled the rock. It struck the shooter in the knee with enough force that a sharp crack was heard. The raider went down screaming.
The next raider, who Calico named Pool Cue, came at the ghoul with a pool cue. She managed a swipe at the ghoul’s head, but the ghoul simply parried with his forearm, shattering the sporting stick, and kicked the woman in the crotch. Her face became a mask of pain and surprise. Then he drove a piece of broken cue into her brain by way of her eye socket.
Lead Pipe and Knife came next, armed with a lead pipe and a knife. They approached from opposite sides, hoping to catch the ghoul off guard. The ghoul snapped a kick into Lead Pipe’s chest, knocking the raider to the ground. Knife lunged, thinking he had the advantage, only to have his blade slice empty air. The ghoul finished his spinning dodge and hit Knife with a left hook. The ghoul followed that up by calmly taking the stunned raider’s knife and slicing open his throat.
The raider collapsed, gurgling, as the ghoul sidestepped Lead Pipe’s newest attack. As the raider barreled past, the ghoul drove the knife up and into her gut. The blow lifted Lead Pipe off the ground and the ghoul’s strength stopped the raider’s momentum. The ghoul dropped the dying raider to the dirt, leaving wounded SMG and Frag Grenade.
Frag Grenade looked over to the whimpering SMG and then to the ghoul, who was striding toward them both. The raider started backing away, more than a little quickly. The ghoul reached the wounded raider and collapsed his windpipe with a stomp. He then calmly looked to Frag Grenade, who was thigh deep in the river.
Calico saw the ghoul say something to the raider, though she was to far away to make it out. The raider looked to the explosive in his hand and then back to the ghoul. He shook his head. The ghoul spoke again. Then, Frag Grenade’s hand shot across his body to the grenade. Calico brought her shotgun back up as the raider ripped the pin free of the grenade. Before she could fire a shot, the raider dropped beneath the irradiated waves. Instead of a kill, Calico instead got a little wet from the explosion.
The ghoul looked over at her and waved, grinning a cheery grin. Calico waved back, and then motioned for the ghoul to join her. He indicated that he’d be back in a moment, and trotted back over the hill.
Lather grunted in exertion and pushed himself out form under the boat. He stood, wiping muck from himself. “Th-tha-that was, um, that was quite the, er, uh show.” He said. Calico thought she smelled urine as he came closer.
She snorted as a response and then ran a hand through her hair, which was thoroughly dampened. “Dammit, I’m wet now.” She mumbled. Lathe made a funny “Urk,” noise. “I want him.” Calico said.
“Er, uh, oh. Sexually?”
Calico’s mouth worked for a few seconds before as she stared at Lathe in surprise and astonishment. “No.” She finally managed. “More of a bring him along to kill our friend with the explosive name. And what?”
Lathe’s eye darted back and forth momentarily. “I, er, um. That could be, uh, difficult, see-seeing as-seeing as we, uh, we-we haven’t met him yet.”
“Well offer him money. Everyone likes money.” Calico replied, matter-of-factly. Then added: “But not my money. Don’t offer him my money.”
Lathe took a slow look around, apparently for more raiders. Calico figured he was waiting until she forgot about his odd comments. Which apparently took a minute and a half.
“Well. I-I suppose having, uh, er, another pair of hands on-on-on the uh, the uh, job, could help.” Lathe said as the ghoul reappeared on the hill now toting a minigun.
“I want him more.” Calico said with a pop of her eyebrows. Lathe stammered nonsense for a few seconds before choosing to stay awkwardly silent. Calico started whistling tunelessly as they waited.
The ghoul came across the river at a low point and then made his way to the dock, easily carrying the minigun in one hand. He stepped out onto the creaky wood and looked from Calico to Lathe, then back to Calico. “So what’s all this then?”
“I want you.” Calico replied simply. Lathe swallowed again, blushing. The other two looked at him, and then back to each other. “To work with me on a job for this thin-necked scrawny fella. You do kill folk for money right?”
The ghoul sighed. “Yes. I do.” He said forlornly. “It’s all I ever do.”
Calico smiled a huge smile and punched him playfully on the shoulder. “Great!” then she turned to Lathe. “Hire him!”
“Tell me about the job first,” the ghoul said. “Also, hello. My name is Kincaide. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss…?”
Calico looked at him funny. “You really want to do that before the money parts? Really? Weird.” Then she shrugged. “Calico Borgia, at your caps’ service.”
“And I am Jacob Lathe, the-the, uh, man with, um with the caps and-an-and the man, um with, the, er, the, uh, the man look-looking to hire, uh, hire you.” Lathe extended his hand. Kincaide looked at it, switched his minigun over to his off hand and shook. Lathe’s eyes scrunched up at the ghoul’s casual strength.
Kincaide released the man’s hand. “So, you have a job?”
“Y-Yes.” Lathe nodded curtly twice. “I, uh, I-I require you to, er, to find, a, er, a, um, raider leader by the-the name of, um, King Big Bomb. He, um, er, he and his-his group of followers, have, um, uh, a ca-camp up by the, um, the, er, old Cor-Corvega Factory. There, um, there are, er, about a-a dozen, um, raiders who foll-follow big Bomb. Uh, I can, I can pay you one-one thousand. Uh, two hundred n-now, the-the rest when I-I, when I have his, well, um, his head.”
Kincaide shrugged. “Okay. One condition: Why?”
“Pardon?” Lathe asked, at the same time as Calico answered, “Caps.”
“I like to know why.” Kincaide explained. “So I’m not murdering Wasteland Jesus or something. Though I don’t believe Mr. Big Bomb has anything in common with any sort of Jesus.”
“Oh.” Lathe said. “Um. Well, uh, tr-truth be told, he, uh, he, um, he murdered my-my family while I was, uh, out, um, buy-buying gro-gro-groceries.”
“Alright. Deal.” Kincaide said with a nod.
Gro-gro-groceries? Calico thought. Huh, he doesn’t seem too torn up that his family is dead. “You don’t seem too torn up about it.” She said.
Lathe waved the comment away with his hand. “Psssh. Frankly, um, frankly my-my wife was a-a, uh, er, um, a slut. And my son, my son, was um, er, was an imbecile. It wa-was hard to-to, uh, um, care when they were, when they were alive. No loss really.”
Kincaide’s mouth assumed the open and surprised position. Calico just nodded in understanding. Lathe dug into his satchel. “Now then, e-enough, enough dilly, uh, dilly-dallying. I’ll provide your, your two uh, hundred apiece now, and er, I’ll be, I’ll be um, in Grey-Greyditch once, you have, uh, his, his hand.” With that, he handed them each two pouches of caps, gave them a quick nod and walked off.
“I hope he survives the trip. If I have to find his dead body in order to get paid, I will be a little ticked off.” Calico said as they watched him go.
“You do have a point.” Kincaide agreed, then he glanced over at her. “So is that calico like the cat, or calico like the dress?”
Calico arched an eyebrow at him. Then both brows furrowed together. “I don’t know? I’d have to ask my mother.”
Kincaide nodded. “Ah. Okay.” He looked down at his minigun and they stood awkwardly for a moment. Kincaide broke the silence. “How do you feel about textiles?”
Calico again arched an eyebrow at the heavily armed apparent murder machine. She was getting good usage out of her eyebrows. “They’re lame. That question was lame. You’re lame.”
“Well from what I’ve seen, you’re a bit of a bitch.”
“I can live with that.”
