Fallout 4: AR

7. The Third Rail

"Tap water? Your funeral, mate." He jibed, loading up a tray with two bottles, cutlery, two largish platters of a chunky stew, and a glass of liquid that almost looked like water. "That'll be 40 caps, up front." I counted out the caps, putting the remainder on the tray to give back to MacCready. "As for a job..." he said, metallic voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "I may have a proposition for you."

My hands froze in the act of picking up the tray. "I'm listening," I replied, trying not to sound too eager. A job?

"I got a certain anonymous client who's payin' top dollar for a cleanup job. Got a little bit of a rat infestation, you could say. Three locations. Everything inside. No witnesses."

"Rats?" I think I can handle some rodents. But, "No witnesses?" I asked, curiously. It was an odd requirement.

"Yes, mum," and Charlie chuckled a little ominously. "The client has a certain reputation to maintain, and the job's in town, so we can't use any of our regular... exterminators. The job's 200 caps. Payment after it's done. And don't worry... I'll know when it is. "

200 caps sounded like a lot to me. "Okay. How does this work?"

"Lucky for me you have one of those fancy Pip-Boys. I'll mark the locations on your map, you go and clean 'em out without anyone seeing. Come back here when you're done and we'll square up." He gestured with one of his arms. I re-balanced the tray, holding my Pip-Boy out to him. A couple of quick taps on the screen and, "All right, you're set. Now stop crowding my bar."

Bemused, I picked up the tray and walked back to our table. Well, no one tried to kill me. That's a good sign. And I got a job! MacCready was still leaning back in his chair, hands cradling the back of his head. He looked to be watching the singer on stage, but I got the distinct impression that those eagle eyes of his missed nothing going on. I slid the tray on the table and took my seat next to him.

"What took so long?" he griped, grabbing one of the beers and a platter of food. "Ugh, Radroach surprise. Oh well, at least it's hot." He tucked in, practically inhaling the meal in a way that only a hungry young man could manage without choking. I sat there for a moment, stunned at the display, then his words sank in.

"Radroach surprise?" I echoed, looking dubiously down at the platter in front of me. "You eat bugs?"

MacCready took a swig of beer and explained, mumbling around mouthfuls of food. "After the war, the bugs mutated into something you'd rather not deal with, roaches being one of the most common. The silver lining is that they have a good bit of meat on their bones." He paused, "well, not bones, but you know what I mean? Lots of stuff got irradiated, and mutated in bad ways."

I felt my stomach drop. "Rats?" I asked, guessing the answer. To cover my trepidation, I speared a lump of radroach and tried it. It was... not good. I probably would be able to keep it down, but it was definitely something you ate to keep alive, and not because you enjoyed it.

"Rats, yeah," MacCready nodded. "Mole-rats, actually. Those fuc-errr, those bastards can burrow underground without you knowing and jump right out at you." He took another swig of beer. "And their bites are nothing to sniff at. Why do you ask?"

"I may have gotten us a job," I began, and he sat up suddenly with an intense look, "getting rid of some rats in town." I picked at the plate, managing a few more bites. It was food, and I was hungry. Maybe radroach is an acquired taste. I hope so. It certainly explains why everyone is so lean, if this is the kind of food they have. I grabbed for the water to wash it down.

"You," he said, suspicion coloring his smooth tones, "got us a job already?" His eyes flicked from me to the robot bartender and back again. "Rats. I see." Noticing the glass in my hand, he caught at it, too late to stop me from taking a drink. "What the hell?" he exclaimed.

The water was terrible! It tasted loamy and metallic, nearly burning my mouth and throat on the way down, settling into my stomach with an uneasy nauseating lurch. My Pip-Boy crackled in response. I set down the glass hard, grabbing for the second beer that MacCready had swiftly opened, pocketing the cap, you sneak, and taking a swig of the skunky stuff. "What the-?" I spluttered.

"Yeah Boss, you don't want to drink that stuff if you can help it." He lectured unnecessarily as I gulped another mouthful of terrible beer. "The water's all irradiated here, unless it's labeled otherwise."

"Lesson number eight, or is it ten now?" I couldn't help the sarcasm in my voice. The food was barely edible, the water was irradiated, bugs were monsters big enough to serve as a meal, people had to walk around armed to the teeth. I had to find a hint of humor in this, however dark and caustic, or I was going to lose my grip. To my surprise, the bitter sniper actually half-grinned at my jab.

"I don't know. I lost count when we got to 'people are people even if they're a robot'." He actually chuckled quietly, sarcastically. "Maybe you should write a book- 'The complete idiot's guide to getting yourself killed in less than a day in the Commonwealth'." I just stared at him. That... was actually funny, but I couldn't let him know that.

"Ha." I said, dead-pan, and went back to struggling through my meal.

"Anyway, Boss, what's this job you got for us?" He leaned forward with a serious expression, dropping his voice a little so as not to be overheard.

"Charlie said that an anonymous someone wants us to clear out three warehouses." A nod in response. "They have a rat problem, and can't risk their reputation, so we have to do it unseen. He was very firm about no witnesses for some reason." I finished my plate and looked up to see an intense blue gaze. "He's paying 200 caps."

"That's all?" MacCready closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "Fuc- I mean, geez Boss!"

"What?"

"Time for another lesson. Always haggle for a better price." His voice was emphatic. "Always." He tapped the table, a little irritably. "People are always trying to either rip you off or plant a knife in your back. You have to keep an eye out for number one." His voice was bitter, and there were shadows in his eyes that spoke of hard experience. "You should have gotten at least 100 caps each to clear out a warehouse, even if they're just in town." He finished his beer. "Oh, and you do realize we're not going after rats, right?" he added, almost too casually.

"What do you mean?" I was confused. If molerats really were that big and dangerous, hiring a couple of guns to clean them out made sense. It's not like one could get traps that big.

"Charlie was being coy. We'll be hunting down people." He shook his head at my blank expression. "People that our anonymous employer wants dead. Welcome to mercenary work, Boss."