CHAPTER 23: ALL THAT GLITTERS…

Hey guys. So, as you well know, Im Scambo, your humble author who you've been showering with undeserved praise all this time. But I wanted to say thank you all SO much for reading my work and taking the time to review and comment. The chapter Im posting now, isnt finished. For those of you who dont know, Im in the US Navy Submarine Force, and as a result I spend most of my time on the boat, hating my life. But everytime we come up and I get Wifi I check my reviews and it makes me so happy to see people reading and loving my work. Know that this chapter will be done just as soon as I can...but also know I havent given up on this yet and I fully intend to continue this story, and I hope you enjoy this preview.

-ETR3 Matthew Sgambelluri

The door to the Prospector Saloon stood open, its inhabitants begging for a breeze to roll in and clear the musty air if only for a moment. In the wake of their war with the convicts, the town had buried its dead, chased out the monster that had brought them to their doorsteps and cost the lives of some of their most beloved neighbors and now normality had crept back into their lives. Trudy still found herself gazing at the corner booth Sunny used to occupy, but now only Cheyenne sat there, muzzle rested on her paws, her big chocolate eyes taking in everything with a listless gaze. Trudy oft found the same look in her eyes in the days that followed after they had run that so called 'Courier' out of town. The thought of him and what he had done made her blood boil but knowing that his life had ended in pain and misery gave her some small measure of comfort. She still blamed herself for not seeing the truth before it was too late, before both Doc Mitchell and Sunny had been killed.

Her failure to see what really lurked behind those chilly cerulean eyes had haunted her ever since, and she felt that it would stay with her well into the rest of her life. But for now, she was working to try to keep a strong face on for her people, as they all looked to her for security. For safety. She had taken over as de facto mayor, though she abhorred the title, and established schedule of roving patrols to keep Goodsprings protected. They were much more wary of strangers now; willing to accept them for trade but never truly trusting. It was with this same caution she regarded the tall stranger who strode through the open door. He wore a long duster caked with trail dust, a wide brimmed hat, practical clothes and well worn boots. He had a dark complexion and his face sported a beard that framed a handsome if worn face which was quick to smile as he removed his hat and sat at the bar. Trudy couldn't help but frown as she regarded the repeater rifle slung over his shoulder but she held her tongue on the matter.

"What can I do you for stranger?"

"Ill have a whiskey, neat." Trudy's deft hands made quick work of the order and soon a glass of her own brewed scotch sat before the man. He took a sip, savoring the taste before swallowing and returning the glass to his lips once more.

"You startin' a tab?" She asked after a moment.

"Nah. Not for the booze anyway; not a good idea to drink too much while I work, but I hear this Saloon a'yours makes a helluva brand. Happy to see it's not all bullshit, pardon my language. I will, however, be more than happy to pay for any information you might have on a certain someone."

Trudy regarded him warily but before she could respond he spoke again.

"I'm a lawman," He said, pushing the lapel of his duster aside to reveal a shiny brass star. The word Regulator was inlaid in the metal.

"We call ourselves Regulators ma'am. What started off as nothin' more than just a few good hearted folks tired of seeing people suffer at the hands of Raiders, murders, slavers and the like has been doing some...growing as of late. We're lookin' to expand. And New Vegas? Hell, New Vegas seems to have more scum per square mile than the Mall back in the Cap'. And the bastard I'm lookin' for? Well he's just about the worst sonuvabitch of the lot. Got a body count that looks to climb every time I blink and he's like a ghost; pops up one place for a spell, then disappears. Been chasing him all over god's creation for goin' on four months now, lost his trail in Maxson for a time, but picked him back up heading East through Arizona. Then, he just...vanishes for a month. Nobody's heard his name, seen his face, nothing."

"Thought the trail might've finally gone cold...until," He paused, downing the remaining whiskey in his glass with a long, angry gulp.

"I hear tell of some….Courier causing a mess in these parts." Trudy's blood froze and she at last locked eyes with the Regulator. She saw a frigid determination there that was at complete odds with the lax grin spread across the mans face.

"Jackson Derricks." She murmured. The frost in the man's eyes turned to steel as he heard his mark's name.

"Thats him alright."

"Well you're too late; couple weeks back, we ran him outta town, shot him up pretty good and left'im for the Cazadors." Trudy said, her voice dripping with venom. He regarded her with a cool look before speaking.

" A contact of mine in the NCR would beg to disagree."

"What do you mean?" Trudy shot back, a cold chill running up her spine.

"See, you and your folk may have shot him up some and left him to wander, but he got found by a passing NCR patrol. They took him into the Mojave outpost, rested him up, gave'im a bit of work and set'im on his merry way."

At his words Trudy felt her blood begin to boil. She saw his face, the scars, the mismatched eyes, she was forced to remember him and Sunny together, the time they'd spent in her home, on patrol together, sitting together in Sunny's old corner booth...worst of all, she was forced to remember the faint glimmer of hope she'd felt after the shoot out with the Powder Gangers. When Jack had set out from her bar, gun in hand, a steely glint in his eyes when he said the words.

'I'm going to get her back.' How desperately she'd wanted to believe him, that he could be a hero, that he could set things right. She hated him for that, for making her believe in him, if only for a moment.

"What do you need from me?" She growled after a time.

"I need you to tell me everything you know about him, what his strengths are, his weaknesses. Anything you can tell me to give me an edge on that bastard."

Trudy set her glare upon him for a moment before speaking.

"This is what you need to know…" While the two spoke of what was to come, the Regulator's companion stood eerily in the doorway, not quite willing to enter. A giant of a man, covered head to toe in a serape, long pants, sunglasses and a cloth mask woven tightly about his features, making him seem more monolith than man as he watched the conversation unfold.

Far to the North, Jackson Derricks and Veronica walked out of Freetown, the Courier wearing a deep scowl.

"2000 caps? JUST to get in?" He growled.

"I woulda told you sooner but I thought you knew. Hell, EVERYONE knows about the minimum cap entry. Sorry." Jack ran a hand over his close cut hair and shook his head.

"Not your fault. But this means we've gotta find a way to make some money."

"Yeah….any ideas?" Veronica asked meekly. Jack sighed and placed a cigarette in the corner of his lip.

"Nothing that springs to mind, no." As he brought a match to the end of his smoke, Veronica gazed down at the ground for a moment before her head snapped back up, an idea gleaming behind her brown eyes.

"Wait a minute...the Gun Runners!"

"What?"

"The Gun Runners! The company that manufactures guns? Well every year they have this shooting contest. I don't know what you could win, but whatever it is takes us one step closer to 2000 caps, right? And with a shot like yours there's no way you could lose!" Jack weighed her words for a moment, the weight of the Mateba on his hip seeming to grow by the moment.

"I suppose I don't have any better ideas. Besides…it might just be fun." He said with a grin. Veronica smiled; happy that she had been able to provide a solution, but she stopped to reflect on the fact that this was the first time she'd really seen the Courier smile. Not the fleeting grin that graced the corner of his mouth from time to time, but a full smile. It changed his whole face; the Red eye seemed passionate rather than angry, his scars seemed lighter as smile lines crinkled around his eyes and mouth.

"Well Mr. Derricks, shall we?"

The walk did not take long, and after some time, a sprawling fairground of brahmin hide tents came into view. A crowd had gathered to witness the spectacle, milling about and watching as the staff went about setting up the various courses. Jack and Veronica edged their way through the crowd until they found themselves nearing the line for entrance into the competition, the sound of people talking and hawkers shouting their wares almost overpowering. A glance showed that Veronica was eyeing one of the stalls intently.

"Whatcha got your eye on?" Veronica's head turned and she wore a wry grin.

"Wait here Jack. Ill be right back." Without another word she set out across the fairground, weaving through crowds until she found herself at the hawker's table. Jack turned his gaze back to the line of contestants; sizing them up. Looked like mostly brahmin ranchers, NCR soldiers on leave and general wastelanders, though there were several less than respectable looking men and women mingling, come to compete. Jack moved to step into the crowd, but before he could he felt a hand on his elbow.

"Wait!" Veronica whispered in his ear. Jack turned to face her and saw in her arms an assortment of clothing. In her outstretched hands was a brand new duster, a pair of opaque low profile sunglasses, fingerless gloves and a bandanna, all pitch black.

"Here, put it on!" She said, pushing the clothes into his hands.

"Veronica, what is all this?"

"C'mon Jack! These things are all about the show. And who doesn't love a mystery contender? Think about it; you're The Courier, come a long way to deliver a package of hot lead to all the baddies out in the wastes!" She said, a mock radio presenters tone in her voice. Despite himself, Jack laughed; not his usual bark, but a deep belly laugh that warmed Veronica.

"Alright, alright I'll do it. The Courier has arrived!" He said, mimicking her dramatic tone. Jack slipped behind one of the tents, shedding his worn duster for the black one, slipping on the gloves and tying the bandanna about his face before throwing on the sunglasses. As he rounded the corner, the hawker at his right was distracted in a heated haggling session so with deft hands, Jack swiped a black wide brimmed hat with the edges curved inward and set it upon his head before setting out for the entry tent. With a grin beneath his mask, he loosened his belt so the holster holding the Mateba was slung low on his leg giving him an air of the dramatic. As he passed into the shade of the sign-up tent the event staff glanced up at him and found their gazes stuck.

"I'd like to enter." He said, forcing his voice to be dry and low. The signer looked at the new entrant with some apprehension before shrugging and lifting the contestant's clipboard.

"Name?" Jack paused for a moment, letting the question hang heavy for a moment.

"The Courier."

"What the hell kinda name is…" The signer trailed off as he felt the gaze lingering on him through the dark sunglasses, feeling the frown hiding behind the mask.

"Well alright 'Mr. Courier.' Where are you from, and what do you do?" Again, Jack was silent for a time.

"I'm a Courier." The staffer gawked at him for a moment with an awkward look on his face before he chuckled.

"Well okay then Mysterious Stranger, entry fee is fifty caps." Jack frowned for a moment but dug the necessary money out of the purse hanging from his belt, inwardly sweating the fact that he had only 150 remaining; barely enough to keep his weapons loaded.

Guess I've got no choice but to win this. He thought as he walked out to where the rest of the contestants were milling around, chatting and showing off their weapons. As he approached though, he found all eyes drawn to him. Hushed murmurs followed in his wake as he picked his way through his fellow contestants; some derisive, others worried. As he made his way to an empty corner of the tent, he glanced out to where the crowds had gathered, ringing the competition area, and saw Veronica standing at the front. With a smile, she flashed him a thumbs up.

Jack couldn't help but grin and return the gesture. He found his gaze lingering on her for a time though. Something about Veronica….made him happy. It was something in her nature that pierced the walls built around his heart, he felt he could trust her despite only having known her for a short time. She had a way of making him smile, making him forget the bloodshed that followed in his wake...something he'd never thought he could do again. The shout of the staff brought him back to the present as the man who'd been doing sign ups, a tall, rail thin waif of a man wearing a dingy grey shirt that read 'GUN RUNNERS' made his way out into the center of the fairground.

"Alright ladies and gentlemen," he cried, " Welcome to the sixth annual Gun Runners Marksmanship Competition! Gathered before us here are the best, or so they think, Shots in all New Vegas! And they're about to be put to the test!" The crowd roared at this as the staffer went about the final preparation for the contest.

"First off, the dreaded Pistol Qualifying Round! Each shooter will be given six rounds, and six targets spaced from five to thirty yards out! Our first contestant will be- The Courier! From parts unknown, he has no past, no face, a voice like gravel and a hand cannon fit to punch holes in a Deathclaw! But does he have what it takes to-" The Staffer was cut off as Jack strode past him to the starting mark, seemingly unconcerned with the man or his ceremony. Jack found he quite liked playing the enigmatic Courier. He liked abandoning his flawed self in favor of the mysterious Courier- even if only for a moment. Jack flared his new duster back, revealing the pistol belt and shoulder holster on his person to more than a few surprised noises from the crowd.

The staffer recovered from the unexpected quickly and turned his gaze to the Courier.

"Alright contestant...on your mark….get set...SHOOT!" As the last syllable left his lips, an electric whir filled the air and the first target sprang up from behind several rocks, some twenty yards out. In the breadth of a heart's beat, the Mateba cleared it's holster and the massive silver stabilizer box caught the sun and gleamed to the crowd's awe. The first roaring report of the Mateba shocked the watchers as the round found its mark dead center of the first target. The bullseye dropped down before another sprang up on the thirty yard line. But Jack was ready. He cocked his elbow, absorbing the recoil expertly before tracking to the new target. Another roar, another bullseye.

Jack was hitting his stride now as once more the electric whir of servos filled the air, the struck target descending as the next one rose. This time, the target was off to his left, so Jack turned with the recoil, spinning in a half circle before bringing the weapon up in one outstretched hand, the autorevolver roaring as once more the bullet hit home. The final three targets all sprang up at once, and the Courier made short work of them, the sights on the Mateba bobbing between the final three targets rapidly, with only one shot finding itself outside of the bullseye. As the sound of the final shot slowly faded into the distance the crowd roared applause, whistles and shouts and claps on all sides. Embracing his role, Jack gave the Mateba a twirl before ejecting the spent casings and holstering with a flourish. Facing the crowd, he tugged the brim of his hat in a nod before returning to the competitors tent.

"And a near perfect score for our first contestant! Ladies and gentlemen we may well have a front runner here! But on to our next shooter, hailing from Novac…" The staffer's voice faded behind the muffled chatter as Jack walked back into the comforting shade of the competitor's tent. He ducked past his fellow contestants to a relatively open corner, one where he could stand apart from them. He found he very much enjoyed playing the part of the enigmatic Courier; a man with no past, no future, nothing more than the present. In a way, he envied the character he played; a man with a fresh start, a man without nightmares and shortcomings. But Jack knew it was just a farce, only a ploy for the people there to see a show. He knew full well what he was behind the mask, what horrors lurked behind his closed eyes. What awful things his hands were capable of. He knew them all.

He tried to push this out of his mind as another challenger stepped up to the contest. He had an ease of movement, a grace that belied the bulky revolver he wielded. As he stood, he twirled the weapon, waiting for the targets to begin their sporadic pattern. Surprisingly, he hit every target dead center, putting himself a full five points ahead of Jack. Jack frowned and took in the challenger; He was a tall man, his skin dark and weathered by excessive travel, a slight silver gleam evident on his lapel. As he walked back into the contestants tent, he shoved past Jack, their shoulders bumping roughly. Their eyes locked for a brief moment, and Jack saw recognition and contempt flash in those dark brown orbs before the man was past him, working his way to the rear of the tent.

Jack's eyes followed after the man, trying to puzzle out the nature of the contact when the voice of the staffer cried out again.

"Alright folks! Thats the end of the Qualifying round, with Wyatt Hickok stealing an early lead and The Courier taking a close second place and Anne Mcgetrick taking up third! It'll be a few minutes until we set up the next course of fire so feel free to check out our wares and remember; if the gun ain't runnin, it ain't worth it!" Jack found himself wondering what the hell the slogan even meant when he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Veronica beaming up at him.

"That was incredible! How the hell did you become such a damn good shot with that monster? Hell, where'd you even get a gun like that?" Jack contemplated her words for a moment, glad that she couldn't make out his features through the mask she had given him.

"Years of practice, I'd guess. As for the gun…" He shrugged, doing his best to keep his voice even.

"I've had it since I woke up. It just...feels right." Veronica cocked her head to the side and puzzled out his words but eventually shrugged.

"Still can't believe that guy edged you out. Looks like you might have some stiff competition after all huh?" Jack glanced back at the dark skinned man who had bumped him before, the man the staffer had called Wyatt.

"Yeah, looks that way, doesn't it?" Jack said as he saw that Wyatt was staring back at him, the same look of contempt splayed across his features. He was conversing with another man-or so he seemed, the giant who stood at his side was covered every inch by clothing. Something about their gaze made Jack shudder and he felt a flair of paranoia in the back of his mind, but he quashed it. Afterall, out here, who could mean him or his companion harm? He needed to calm down. Jack spent the next few minutes lounging in the shade of the contestant's tent chatting idly with Veronica until once again the staffer's voice blared out over the speakers.

"All Contestants report to the fairground for the next round!" Hitching up his gunbelt, Jack gave Veronica a dramatic tip of his hat and strode off to where the contestants were already lining up. The Gunrunners had set up an ersatz course of sorts, stacked crates and barrels making up narrow corridors and halls before converging in a large central area, obscured from view ball tall stacked crates.

"Alright shooters, we've set up an intermediate course of fire here. Your job, head down the path, taking out targets as you go. Now, you're being judged not just on accuracy, but time as well. As our front runner, Wyatt Hickok, you're up first!" The man strode confidently up to the gate and waited, looking bored for the round to start. When the horn sounded, the heavy pistol at his hip was in his hand in a blur and he took off running into the course. The sound of shots and heavy reverberation of rounds striking steel targets sounded out as he cut his way through the course. Eventually, a horn sounded from the central area and the staffer stopped his watch and gazed at it in disbelief.

"Well I don't believe it folks; two minutes, thirty two seconds, a new course record! And while we tally up the accuracy score, let's have a hand for our first contestant!" The crowd erupted into applause as the staff went about replacing the spent targets and scoring his accuracy. After a moment, Jack was called up next. He stood at the gate, limbering up and preparing for the course. He felt his muscles clench and relax, his fingers brushing the pommel of his Mateba as he awaited the horn. Suddenly, the gate flew open, the horn blared and Jack was darting forward, his massive revolver in hand in a flash.

He barreled down the first crate hall, a target appearing on his right and just as soon dispatched as yet another rose at the end of the corridor. Jack made quick work of it and hung a tight right against the wall, seeing three targets spring up interspaced down the path. Three barks of his weapon were met with three roaring cries of steel on steel as the targets retreated from the blows. Jack leapt the low crate barrier, landing with a hitch and cursing himself as he fought to keep up his momentum. Suddenly, the tall crates on his sides opened up on the central area, and there at the far end, some forty yards off, stood the final target. Jack dug his heels in and brought his run to a stop, the Mateba hurtling up in his hands. With one last trigger pull, Jack sent a round straight and true, burying itself deadcenter in the final target followed by the blare of the horn. Blowing out a sigh, he wiped at the sweat dotting his brow-what was Veronica thinking grabbing him all black clothes in this heat?

Exiting the course, Jack exchanged the spent rounds in his weapon and made his way back to the fairgrounds where he was met by the staffer running the show.

"Another phenomenal performance from our Mystery Contestant! Mr. Courier, you finished the course in….two minutes...thirty...five seconds! Just behind Hickok, but we'll see how you stack up once the targets are scored!" Jack growled inwardly; he just couldnt seem to find an edge on this Hickok, whoever he was. He resolved to focus, to fight harder, He had to win, had to to get into New Vegas and meet his mysterious benefactor. And no one would stand in his way. Jack shrugged his shoulders, trying to loosen the tension he felt. The next several rounds went on in the same way, with Jack trailing just behind Hickok.

The Courier began feeling frustrated, despite how hard he tried he kept finding himself falling behind, just a shot off, a few seconds too slow. But worse still he kept finding Hickok and his strange companion staring at him. It was starting to fray his nerves and he found his hand drifting to the pommel of his Mateba more and more outside of the range. He almost drew when once again Veronica laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey Jack, you doin alright?"

"Yeah, I just...I don't know. This guy is just beating the bejesus outta me. I don't..I mean, Ive always kinda taken my shot for granted, and now...Now Im just falling flat. I know its just a contest...but this was the one thing I'm good at. And without it...Maybe I'm overreacting." Veronica's face turned down for a moment. But then, she smiled wide, her dark chocolate eyes beaming up through his sunglasses.

"Listen, this is just a contest, Jack. Youre still a damn good shot. One of the best I've seen. You saved our lives back in that canyon, with those raiders. So does it matter if you can't win some stupid contest? No. Besides, you're second place; we can take whatever prize you get, and figure out our way from there."

Jack frowned, but then smiled.

"You're right Veronica." He laughed.

"I really don't know why I let this bother me this much...I guess it's just...behind this gun, I don't know anything about myself. The only constant I have, that I know, is that I can fight. I can shoot. I guess being beaten here just made me...doubt myself." Veronica set her hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"Listen, Jack, I've known you only a short time, but...Corey's been talking about you for a long time now. And I didn't believe him. I didn't believe any of his predictions. But having traveled with you this past week, seen what you're capable of...I believe now. I believe in you. Even if you don't." Despite himself, Jack felt himself smiling.

"Thank you Veronica...I...I don't what to say."

"So don't say anything, just get out there and knock'em dead Jack!" The Courier smiled and lifting his sunglasses, gave Veronica a wink and a thumbs up.

"Can do."

Jack turned and walked to the fairground. As he did though, he stopped and saw the hulking man who'd accompanied Hickok staring intently at Veronica. Something about the way he was staring filled the Courier with disquiet.