Ain't Talkin'

Roche kept his hands in his pockets on his revolvers while the five men exited the saloon.

“Where to, then?” Roche asked the three Res soldiers.

“We make our way to the exchange location.”

“Never was one for anything besides a neutral location for exchanges, and I don’t like changing.”

“Not to be the ones to say so, Mr. Roche, but the exchange isn’t gonna be here and it probably ain’t gonna be anywhere you want it to be either. The Res has a place set up and it’s gonna be there.”

Roche stopped walking and stood stock still, putting an arm out and stopping Markus by the sleeve of his shirt. “And what if I tell you that’s not the way we’re doing things?”

“Then I’d say that’s not going to work.” The big guy, the one who’d led the Blackbird’s in Carson City said. “We don’t have the cash on us and it isn’t like we can just tell our employers we failed. There ain’t much time left and they’re countin’ on us bringing this one in by tonight.” He gestured to Markus with a wave of a hand.

“What’s your name, big guy? Don’t like doing negotiating with a man who’s name I don’t even know.” Roche puffed on the half-soggy cigarette hanging from his lips, eyeing the big one.

“Name’s Lansing. Got a first name but no one ever calls me by it and if I told it to you I might not even remember if it was the one I was born with or not. Man in charge is the Lieutenant Miner and a doctor named Weaving, they’re the ones who need the kid. Make you feel better?”

Roche didn’t like this mercenary Lansing getting cheeky, but he was willing to bet that it was just a rooster crow coming out. “Then you tell these boys Weaving and Miner to meet me six miles due southeast of Parmiskus, there’s a gas station there along a dirt road, they come lightly armed if it makes them feel good about themselves but they bring the cash and no negotiations.” Roche felt the cool wood of the revolvers handle’s in his palms, every particle a memory.

“Now, look-” One of the other soldiers began and made a grab at Markus. Within a space of a second Roche had pulled the kid bodily behind him and drawn a revolver, the end of the barrel was a hand-breadth from the soldiers nose when Roche spoke.

“Me and the kid. Six miles southeast of Parmiskus. We’re heading there now, and you go get your bosses and we’ll see you there. Get me?”

The soldier started to protest when Lansing drew his men back with gloved fists and stood with his arms spread, palms up.

“Alright, friend, alright. We’ll tell them that. They won’t be nothing happy about it, but I’m sure they’ll see a way to make this work. Understood.” Once more, Lansing had proven himself to be of a more reasonable mind than most. He was more eager to keep people alive than to fuck with a walker in a bad mood. At least he was smart. He had that going for him.

“Good.”

“Isn’t anybody gonna ask how I feel about where and when I’m exchanged!?” Markus half-soberly sounded real-damn undignified.

“Nope, get back in the truck, kid, I’m driving.” Roche shoved Markus towards the Corporation truck and kept his revolver trained in the way of the three Res soldiers, who all back carefully back into the Parmiskus street. Folks milling about had taken a liking of notice to the goings on, but four men pulling guns on one another over a fifth man and who he was going with seemed to be about par for the course for a day in a border town in the smack-dab middle of the wastelands. They went about their way after stopping for a moment or two to see what was going on, making their way about their business in the filth of their lives.

Roche loaded the horse into the bed of the truck again, Lucky loudly protesting by blowing air through her big horsey lips, and hopped back around into the cab, the barrel of his gun never leaving the three Resistance soldiers who kept in profile standing in the center of the street, watching Roche and Markus take off back the way they had come.