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He’s never had the kind of face people take seriously at first glance. He’s always had to stab someone, choke someone, bury someone to get things done. So taking that girl off the payroll, leaving her in a hole in the ground outside Goodsprings, had just come naturally. It was the only way for Benny to get what he wanted and he knew that.
When he’d first approached the Khans asking for backup, the kid he’d spoken with had laughed and laughed, at least until Benny had shot him in the throat. Then he bled and choked until there was dirt in his face. Getting a couple Great Khans to lay a patch after the couriers had been easy then. Things had gone smooth, too, until a couple months later.
Benny was sweating it out, playing cool on the floor of The Tops and laughing at the butter and eggs and their loose pockets. He first noticed a change in the air when Knuckles had turned to look at someone approaching and hadn’t turned back to him. Lucky Louie had stopped the story he was telling mid-sentence and stared.
The woman who approached him was slim, tall, with cocoa skin and long waves of shiny dark hair. Along one arched brow was a narrow, puckered red scar that disappeared into her hair.
Soledad Garcia. Courier number six.
His mouth went dry at the smile on her face. She approached him like a predator, eyes locked on her target. He wanted to vamoose, but he couldn’t move, and anyway, what would the other cats think if he burned rubber?
Not much, that’s what.
She looked different this time: instead of those plain blue coveralls that he’d last seen spattered with blood and dirt, she wore brown leather armor, scuffed from the road, one sleeve cut short to accommodate a Pip-Boy that she hadn’t had before. There were three slashes - claw marks? - in the opposite shoulder, and his mind drifted to Quarry Junction and the dangerous surprise lurking there.
No visible weapons - Swank must’ve shaken her down at the door. That didn’t mean she didn’t have one stashed in a hidden pocket. The kitten he killed in the desert was no more - now she was something new, and dangerous.
What came out was more an exhalation than a thought: “What in the goddamn…?”
He tried to keep the note of panic out of his voice, but it was hard. Benny wasn’t a superstitious man - that shit was for longhairs, and he had more jets than that. But this was still the first time a dead person had come back to him. And she took another step closer, ruby lips parted in a sardonic smile.
“Let’s keep this in the groove, hey? Smooth moves. Smooth…” He took a step back, involuntarily, then glanced around. Knuckles and the others weren’t looking at him, though - they’d all locked eyes on her and Ice Box had a hand on his pistol.
She laughed, stopped at the foot of the small flight of stairs, and put her hands out in a placating gesture. “You’re not happy to see me?” Her voice was silky, calm where his felt tight, with an accent he couldn’t place. Was she from down south?
And then it dawned on him - this was the dame. The one everyone’d been talking about, and again, he tripped over his tongue. “Hello! That broad, the one that went into the Lucky 38 - that was you? Shit!” A gambler, he knew better than to play his hand too soon. But he was too impressed by her moxie to keep this all to himself.
Courier Six - Soledad - took one more tentative step towards him, and leaned against the rail of the stairs. As he gathered his marbles, he was able to see the things he missed before - the bald spot under the flirtatious flip of her hair, no doubt where one of his bullets left a mark. The too-bright twinkle of her eyes. The way her tongue worked out of her mouth, licking her lips like a snake.
“Looks like you need to work on your marksmanship,” her eyes flicked over him, top to bottom and back up, and Benny had the unique feeling that he had been judged. She pursed her lips into a pout. “And then you ran off so fast I didn’t get your name.”
What? He’d known plenty of easy dollies around this place, and it wasn’t the first time a woman had come onto him, but this dame should be frosted. He had to be misreading; there wasn’t any way this was happening.
He scoffed at her; this had to be a trap. Roles reversed, he’d be looking to ice her. There was no way this was heading where it sounded like it was.
“You makin’ a pass at me, sister? Because I’m out of your league.”
That laugh again. Benny hated to be laughed at. He should just put a bullet in her head, he knew that but - well, shit, he’d already done that, and look at where they were now. Damn cat had nine fuckin’ lives, that had to be it.
With those dark lashes and the silkiness of her hair, it was clear she knew it, too - this was a weak defense and there’s no way the two of them were even playing in the same ballpark. Pistol Pete, on his left, was drooling on the floor even with his gun in his hand. This broad was radioactive; she could have any guy in the joint.
“Is it wrong to want a guy who’d shoot me in the head?” She took another step closer; the guys didn’t seem to notice, but Benny sure did. His heart slammed a warning against his ribs, but he stood his ground all the same.
Her hand was on his his now. Despite everything she’d been through, her skin was soft, supple, like new leather. He felt a charge go through him at her touch.
“Did those bullets scramble your egg?” He dropped his voice a little, despite himself starting to consider it. “Or have you always been a naughty broad…”
She was close to him now, so close that she could take her other hand and - as if it were an accident - gently rub against the front of his pants. Benny felt Little Benny twitch in excitement, and he cursed himself inside for responding. This was driving to Nowheresville, he could feel it.
And yet somehow he couldn’t stop what was happening.
“Don’t you know girls like bad boys?” Her voice was barely above a whisper now, her face almost against his. His breathing felt shallow and yet he could still smell her, the scent of desert and blood. Her eyes left his for a moment, traced the lines of his body under his suit, and flicked back up to meet his again. “And Benny, you’ve been downright awful.”
His voice was rough when he answered. “You’re one sick pussycat, baby. There’s quins and then there’s…” He paused, cleared his throat, tried not to think about the action starting in his trousers. “I don’t even know what to call you.”
Her hand landed on his shoulder, gently patting his lapel, but somehow he could feel perilous strength in her, like stepping too close to nuclear waste.
“I’m saying I dig you, despite it all. What do you say?” She cocked her head like a gecko scanning the horizon, and despite himself, he wanted to.
He always liked to live dangerously.
“I hear ‘dig’ from you, babe, and all I can think of is a shovel.” A shovel that would bury him, most likely. And yet…”How can this be? This ain’t forgiveness, it’s something...wrong.”
Wrong. And yet so right. That was the only excuse he could come up with for the way he felt when she leaned her cheek against his and purred in his ear, “I’m a courier, remember? Don’t you want me to handle your package?”
The hand again, against the front of his trousers, and this time he was definitely at half-staff. Little Benny was practically jumping at the chance, ready to rip that armor off her right here and fuck her on the craps table, but Benny knew there was a time and a place for such things. She might be the scariest round heel he’d ever met, but he was going to kill it upstairs where there’d be some privacy. If that was what she was gunning for anyway, well - at least he was ready.
He put his hands on her shoulders, pushed her back a little, and met her eyes with a smile. She mirrored his expression, but it was somehow unsettling, didn’t reach her eyes.
“All right, honey baby, this is all kinds of wrong, but to my suite it is. Thirteenth floor. Let’s go.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, the weight of Maria in his hip holster comforting even as he snapped at Lucky Louie and told him and the boys to keep an eye on the floor because he was heading up. Inside his skin, he was vibrating. He hadn’t been this jazzed about a dame in months - or maybe ever. There was something about the sinuous way she moved in that leather that told him she would give as well as she got.
And was she ever gonna get it.
When they made it upstairs, he brought her into the bedroom. She smiled like a snake and kissed him, wrapping her arms and her body around him and leaving a smear of lipstick on his chin. He was practically panting when she pulled away, but forced himself to focus. If humiliation was her thing, well, ol’ Benny was happy to oblige.
“Benny is gonna show you the Tops,” he told her, unbuttoning his suit jacket. “I hope you’re built sturdy, you crazy broad.” The jacket went on a chair near the bed, sleeves folded in. He loosened his tie with one hand, and wondered what was under her leather.
Suddenly, though, she was all business. “Keep your pants on,” she hissed, her entire demeanor changed. A pistol appeared in her hand although where from, it was hard to tell. “I’ve got questions that need answers.” She gestured to the chair where his jacket lay. “Sit down.”
Benny made his way to the chair, mentally kicking himself. He shoulda known this would go south; dames like this didn’t go for hoods like him. Of course she just wanted to get clued in. It wouldn’t do to show that he was worried, so he settled in, leaning to one side with an arm over the back of the chair.
“All right, I goofed. What do you wanta know?”
Soledad blinked once, and then the sultry came back on her face. She picked up a pack of smokes from the top of a dresser and lit one, all without dropping the gun she held on him. The lighter she placed on the dresser - from here, it looked like it was his, the one the Khans stole. She inhaled once, her lips forming a perfect crimson “o” then released the smoke and fixed him with a glare. “Why’d you do it?”
He laughed. “You gotta know I’m not gonna tell you that, right, baby?”
She shook her head, her hair a silken curtain that hid and then exposed her face. Her face was impatient, irate; she put the cigarette in an ashtray and cocked her pistol, pointing it at his chest. “Try again, Benny.”
“Come on, you’re not going to shoot me. Then you wouldn’t get your answers.” He shifted in his seat and pulled the flask from his pocket. Small, silver, and full of high-grade whiskey, it made him feel calmer. He took a drink and eyed her up and down. Dame was stacked, no doubt about that, and he was still in the mood to play. “Tell you what. For each answer I give you, you take something off.”
One of her brows raised in a perfect arch. She reached forward, took the flask from his hand, and took a long drink. When she swallowed, she wiped her mouth with the back of one hand.
“Okay then.”
He was surprised and let out a laugh of excitement. Even his trouser snake perked up. This really was some hep chick.
She picked up her cigarette, took a long drag. She held in the smoke, clearly thinking, and then released it. The cigarette returned to the ashtray. While she thought, he took another drink from his flask.
“Why me?”
“It wasn’t about you, baby,” Benny laughed. He half-stood and she pointed the gun back to the chair, but he just picked up her cigarette from the ashtray and sat back down, taking a long drag. He blew it back out and kept going. “It wasn’t about you , okay? It was about the package. You coulda been any old nosebleed, and I woulda done you the same way.”
She stared at him, her face clearly saying that she didn’t believe him. He waved his hands, trying to communicate that he was telling the truth. “Look, I don’t usually sing like this, but I didn’t want to ice you like that. It was just business.” She kept staring at him. Maybe it was the whiskey, but something inside of him felt loose. He grinned at her. “You gonna take something off? A promise is a promise, after all.”
Despite the way her eyes rolled, there was something in her face that made him sure she wanted to. She set the gun on the top of the dresser and turned her back to him even as her thumb and forefinger drew down the zipper on her jacket. Her shoulders rolled out of it - first one, then the other, and she eased the sleeves down her arms in a slow, practiced motion, the half-sleeve sliding over the Pip-Boy on her left arm. The whole time, she kept her head turned and one eye peeking at him over her shoulder.
He stifled a groan. She had to know what she was doing to him. After that show she put on downstairs, there was no way this was accidental.
Under the leather jacket was leopard print silk, with black trim barely covering her tits. She leaned forward, giving him just a glimpse down the front, and plucked the smoke from between his fingers. She held her position, eyes locked on his, while she took a puff and blew the smoke right back in his face.
“What was in the package?”
“A chip.” He waited.
“I need more than that,” her voice taunted him, and she leaned back in the chair across from him, the cigarette held in one hand, smoke tendrils framing her face.
“A platinum chip. I needed it to take over Vegas. I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, babydoll, but things are gettin’ stacked up out there.”
“I did. What was it for?”
“Uh-uh,” he tutted her. “I need something to keep me going.”
She rolled her eyes and stood, toeing off her boots one by one.
“That doesn’t count, baby. Why don’t you take it a little farther?”
Soledad fixed him with a glare but a smile still quirked at her lips. She stood, slowly, and pulled down the zipper of her pants. Her hands peeled them down her legs smoothly, and she stepped out of them delicately, leaving them in a pile on the floor. It turned out the leopard print silk extended to her upper thighs, a silky chemise that Benny wanted to bury his face in. Instead, he unbuckled his belt and shifted in his seat, giving Little Benny a little more room to breathe.
“It’s gonna open a bunker full of Securitrons. I’m gonna use them to get rid of Mr. House.” He took a long sip from his flask and offered it to her. She took it, her fingers brushing his as they passed the steel bottle, and he felt a shiver.
She took a sip, then another, then a third. She set it down on the table beside him and leaned forward. Looking down her negligee, he could see one perfect pink nipple.
“Why would you want to do that?” Her hands rested on his knees. Despite himself, he leaned forward, his lips just inches from hers.
“New Vegas should run itself. We shouldn’t be governed by Mr. House, or the NCR, or those fuckers from the Legion,” her breath in his face was weirdly sweet, even though it should have smell of booze, and he wanted to lean forward and kiss her. “This was the best way I could find to do it.”
His hand reached up, caressing her shoulder, pushing the strap off, exposing more of her breast. Her eyes were still dark pools, locked on his.
“What have you got hiding under that checked suit?” Her voice was husky, no longer the velvet sweetness from downstairs. She was flipped.
“More than you ever dreamed, baby,” he murmured, grabbing the back of her head and guiding her lips to his.
Her mouth was violent, a hurricane of lust and wanting. Her lips wrapped around his, and her tongue fought against his, and her teeth nibbled at his bottom lip. He fought back equally, ripping his mouth from hers and forcing the top of her negligee down, nipping at her breast before settling on one pert nipple. He chewed on it, eliciting a gasp from her, and she grabbed his hair, yanking his head back up, her lips back on his.
She was in his lap, but he was stronger than she knew; he put his arms around her and lifted her, guiding her to the bed. One of her legs was wrapped around one his own, dragging her toes in the grody carpet. When they landed on the mattress, him on top of her, he forced her hand to one side, holding it down. With his other, he grabbed the neckline of her gown and pulled, ripping the delicate fabric and revealing the soft skin underneath. A hickey had already started to form on one of her breasts; inspired by its perfection, he leaned down, tasting the other, leaving his mark there too.
“You’re platinum, pussycat,” he grunted in her ear, his tongue flicking out to lick her earlobe. “You know how to swing.”
His hands made their way down to her thighs, pushing her underwear aside. She was slick, and he slid an experimental finger inside her. He felt her moan more than he heard her, and that was no surprise; even when he shot her, she hadn’t cried out. Her back arched towards him, her breasts in his face. He released his grip on her hand to play with her nipple. He squeezed it, twisted - no dame would ever call him gentle - but she groaned and one of her hands reached down to the waistband of his pants, popping the button off.
Little Benny was released above her, pointing to where he wanted to go. Benny kicked his legs, pushing his pants to his ankles, and guided himself inside her with one hand as he propped himself up with the other.
Her face, when he slid in, was perfection: surprise, ecstasy. The whole thing was fractured, but the look on her face would sustain him till he got cut, he just knew it. There was never a dame like this before. There would never be one like her again.
He pumped up inside her, the pressure building. It felt so good, he didn’t want to stop, even as he wanted to wait and make it last. And then, suddenly, he hit the crown. He shuddered against her even as she rolled against him, summiting her own peak a moment after his. He’d meant to pull out, but it was too late, and what the hell, who was Benny to give a shit about getting some broad knocked-up, anyway? She probably was going to leave him for dead by morning.
Finishing inside of her was worth it.
He rolled off her, the sheet wrapped around them, and looked at her. From this angle, he could see the line the bullet had taken, grazing the side of her head, leaving a long straight scar that ran from her temple to the top of her neck.
For a moment, there was a pang of regret. And then he was Benny again.
“That was a nice bit of hey-hey, girlie. You’re a real ring-a-ding broad! I swear, you wore me out…” But she was asleep, and in a moment, so was he.
Benny looked back at The Tops. The fourteen stories of rooms and suites had been home, at least for a while. He doubted he’d ever see it again.
As for the dame snoozing in his bed, she was smart. She’d find Yes Man in no time and be onto him, but he had a job to finish. He’d meant what he said: New Vegas should rule itself and not be beholden to anyone else, and he was damned if he was going to sacrifice that for anyone, even the best lay he’d ever had.
Even for the only woman who’d chase him across the Mojave after he shot her in the head.
But there was no time now for sincerity, or wistfulness. This cat had to skip or there would be hell to pay.
He buttoned his blazer, jiggled his pocket to check on Maria, and headed for the gate to Freeside.