For as clean and neat and fashionable as the public areas of the Ultra-Luxe looked... I gotta say, the kitchens were a completely different story. I'd managed to sneak inside the mbers only area of the casino, completely undetected thanks to the stealth boy, and the very mont I ventured underground, it was like I'd set foot inside an abattoir. It was dark, it was dank, it was dingy, and the sll of barbequed at hung in the air like a thick veneer of... cooked... at.
Okay, bad analogy, but still - you get the point. This was not a nice place to be, especially considering the whole "cannibalism" issue.
Even worse than the general feeling of dread clinging to the back of my skull like a malignant tumor was the fact that it got much harder to maneuver the deeper I went into the kitchen. I hadn't seen too many people - barring the White Gloves I'd seen roasting giant slabs of brahmin beef with flathrowers near the entrance - but it felt like the hallways were getting narrower the further along I ventured into this maze of underground brickwork.
Of course, that was silly. Why would the hallways suddenly get narrower? I shook it off as simple paranoia, and focused on finding the head chef, Philippe. When I found him, I'd most likely find Ted, then I could get the fuck out of here.
I turned a corner, and was suddenly no longer in a hallway, but an actual kitchen. It was... slightly less dingy than the rest of the downstairs, but I think that was just because everything seed to be made out of stainless steel. In the center of the room, surrounded by food, cooking implents, burners, and a few sinks was who I could only assu was Philippe. Unlike the rest of the white gloves, the man with the shaved head wasn't wearing a tux. Instead, he was wearing a button-up, short-sleeved white shirt that (judging from the stains) doubled as an apron.
I had to get rid of him sohow... I wonder... maybe if I talked to him? I had an idea. It was stupid, but it might work, and if it didn't, I could always go with Plan B: kill him, and stuff him in the fridge. I deactivated my stealth boy, and started walking over to him.
"Excuse ," I said with a smile. "Are you Philippe, head chef of the Gourmand?" I asked calmly, leaning on the counter. He wasn't calm when he spoke to though.
"What the fuck are you doing?" He practically yelled, at cleaver in hand. "Why are you standing still? Do you think that the whole fucking world waits for you while you stand there drooling like an inbred lunatic? Put your uniform back on, get back out there and fucking get to work!" As if to punctuate his thought, he buried the at cleaver into the cutting board.
"Uh... I think you may have confused with soone else." I said with a smile. His left eye twitched and he just snarled back at .
"Oh, really? So, despite your filthy fucking face and your vacant expression and your complete lack of human fucking dignity, you're telling you're NOT a server?"
"Not in the slightest," I said, refusing to stop smiling. That just seed to aggravate him further. "I'm here to talk so business. I heard you're pretty handy with a cooktop and-" Before I could finish, he cut off.
"Pretty handy? Who the fuck do you think you're talking to? I'm not 'pretty handy,' I'm the fucking GOD of New Vegas brahmin fusion cuisine! No, no, that doesn't even give the credit I deserve. I fucking invented edible food! Do you like eating? Good! You owe your entire goddamned garbage existence!"
"Exactly," I said trying to keep my cool. "See, I'm from a publishing house, back in California. I'd heard about all the amazing things you've done with food here, and thought you might be interested in writing a cookbook."
"What?" He shook his head, looking confused for half a second. "A cookbook? ? The supre rule of the Nevada dining scene? Teach lowlife half-wits to make food that doesn't sll like burning excrent?" At first I thought he was insulted, but then: "Do you think it would sell?"
"Absolutely!" I said. "It'll be huge! Just one thing: as a sign of good faith, I'll need so recipes to bring back to the suits in Sac-Town." Philippe stared at for a few seconds, obviously weighing the options I was giving him in his head. I could practically hear the grinding tal from the gears turning. Eventually, he grunted, and turned away from , walking to a cabinet above one of refrigerators.
"You're pushing your luck... but fine. Here. I have a few recipes that I have written down..." He pulled out a small notebook, that looked like it was held together with duct tape and bailing twine. "This fucking thing had better be good enough. We're going to have a real problem if this thing isn't a hit."
"Thanks," I said, taking the notebook and flipping through the pages. "You know... I gotta ask - and, please, tell if I'm overstepping my bounds here - but I couldn't help but notice..."
"What?" He yelled, leaning in at over the counter. "Fucking spit it out man, I haven't got all goddamn day!"
"Well... I was just thinking that your predisposition towards anger suggests so... unresolved issues in your past..."
"WHAT?!" He looked at like I'd gone insane, spittle flying out of his mouth everywhere. "What kind of harebrained fucking psychobabble bullshit is that? I yell at people because I like yelling at people and because they fucking deserve it! Not because Mumsy and Daddy-kins didn't fucking hug enough!"
"You may be projecting," I shrugged. "Why else would you bring up your folks so quickly? Why don't you tell more about your parents?" His eye twitched again.
"Oh, I see how it is. You think because my father walked out on us when I was five, now I have to yell at people! Or because my mother was a deranged chem fiend who regularly brought strange n ho who told to call them 'uncle!' Or because my sisters would lock in a shipping crate when they didn't want around... and my brother..." Philippe paused, and his expression fell. All the color and expression drained from his face, and his voice went soft. "God, I'd forgotten about that. How could they do that to ?"
"You alright?" I asked. He didn't say anything at first. His eyes just darted back and forth, and he ran his hands along the top of his head, clutching at his shaved scalp.
"I... I can't stay here. I need to be alone."
"Really?" I said with fake concern. "But what about the banquet?"
"Forget about the fucking banquet!" He started to walk away, unbuttoning his apron-shirt. "You know what? You already have my recipes. You do it." He tossed the apron my way. "You be the fucking star chef! It won't fill the hole, though. Just rember that. You'll always feel empty..." Without another word, Philippe ran out of the room, sobbing hysterically. I just stood there, laughing quietly to myself.
"Wow," I started flipping through the notebook again. "I guess those psychology books Arcade let borrow weren't completely full of shit after all!" In the middle of the book, I finally found what I was looking for: "Aha! Here we go... 'Imitation Strange at pie: for when you want to cook human flesh, but don't have the stomach for it. Or the spleen'." I thought about that title for a minute. "Is that a cannibalism joke? It is, isn't it..."
I clutched my head and groaned.
The dinner was surprisingly easy to make, even in the quantity I needed for the banquet. It was about 20 dishes in total that I needed, and once they were done I just had to make sure the food went into the oven to stay warm. The instructions were so easy to follow that I'd managed to make enough food for everyone with ti to spare.
The best part? Nobody even ca down to check on the progress of the food, which ant that nobody from the White Gloves caught in the act. I had the sneaking suspicion that Philippe was given a wide berth by almost everyone here. And that gave plenty of ti to make myself scarce and look for Ted.
"Hmm..." I stopped in front of one of the freezers. "I wonder... why would a walk-in freezer have a deadbolt lock on the door?" I asked aloud. I pulled Roscoe out from behind , and aid it at the door. "Guess I'll have to find out." The lock practically exploded in a shower of sparks, and I kicked in the door. Sure enough, sitting on the floor and curled into a little ball at the end of the (surprisingly warm) freezer was a battered and bruised teenager, wearing a torn button up shirt, and a white Stetson on his head. When I kicked in the door, he looked up - and snarled at .
"My daddy's gonna kill all you bastards once he finds out what you done to !" I rolled my eyes and sighed.
"Calm down," I put the safety on, and shoved Roscoe back in its hiding place. "I'm not one of the people who kidnapped you. I'm here to get you out."
"My daddy sent you?" He got back on his feet, and I got a really good look at the massive shiner around his left eye. "Goddamn it! I almost died in here! What the hell took you so long? It's just one damn hotel!"
"It's certainly nice to be appreciated," I coughed out with a phony smile.
"Who did this to , anyway?" Ted asked. "They hit over the head before I got a look at 'em."
"Look, there's no ti to explain," I said, grabbing him by the shoulder and leading him out of the freezer. "We have to go now. Stick close to , stay low, and keep your mouth shut."
"Alright, fine," Ted muttered. "I'm right behind you."
By the ti Ted and I managed to sneak out of the kitchens and into the mbers only section, the al was already well underway. We were thankfully out of sight, staying low enough to the ground to be almost fully hidden by the bar separating the mbers only area from the kitchens. I peeked over the counter just as Mortir began to speak. He was standing with his back to us at a podium overlooking the massive table in the center of the room.
"Ladies and gentlen of the Society - welco," Mortir's deep voice bood and echoed around the room. "I know that I am not the scheduled speaker for tonight's dinner, but I have a few words, if I may."
"Is that th-" Ted started to speak, but I grabbed his head and shoved my free hand over his mouth before he got too loud.
"Rember what I said about quiet?" I hissed, whispering close to him. "Wait until he's finished..."
"There was a ti, not so long ago, when we were bound together not as mbers of a Society," Mortir continued. "But as a family. As a clan. When Mr. House ca to us with his proposal, we accepted, knowing that we stood to gain much. Little did we known how much we would lose in the process. As a Society, we have endeavored to sample the finest food and drink the world still has left to offer. But we are living a lie. There is a at sweeter than the most corn fed livestock. Most of you have tasted it. All of you have coveted it. Among us, it is a cri to discuss a return to the old ways that unified our people. Tonight, however, that all changes. The taboo ends - let finish, Marjorie!" He spoke those words quickly, even before I heard Marjorie start to speak. "You don't know it yet, but you are all now guilty of a greater cri. One that ordinarily bears the harshest of punishnts. Surely that you are all guilty warrants not only universal amnesty, but also a renewed discussion! For our society to be truly elite, we must dine on the most delicious, the most exclusive food known to us. And tonight, for the first ti since we abandoned our title of Sawneys and picked up the mantle of the White Glove Society, you are all sampling that very dish, the at that we are forbidden to taste! The way it was ant to be eaten!" Mortir gripped the edges of his podium, and bowed. "Fellow mbers of the White Glove Society... bon apptit."
Okay, this was too good a mont. I stood up, stepped out from behind the bar, and started slowly clapping as I walked over to Mortir. The various mbers of the White Glove Society gathered around the table rumbled and murmured as I approached, and Mortir turned with an expression of disbelief on his face.
"What the devil? YOU!" Mortir looked stunned, and a little bit frightened. "But you're supposed to be -"
"Dead?" I asked, cutting him off, and making sure to speak the next bit loud enough for everyone to hear. "Sorry to disappoint, Mortir, but nobody is eating the boy you kidnapped tonight!" By this point, Ted had got the ssage and had walked up right behind ; the murmuring amongst the crowd got a bit more heated.
"What are you... Why is he there?" He was starting to visibly sweat now. "Who are we eating right now?!"
"Good, isn't it?" I said, failing to hold back a smile. "Secret recipe!" I turned to the crowd below. "It most certainly isn't human, though. I can promise you that! I'm sure all of you find that terribly interesting!" I turned back to Mortir with a smile. "Wouldn't you agree?"
"No!" He gripped the podium desperately, trying to laugh it off. "These are lies! Lies, I tell you! I never kidnapped anyone! A-and even if I did, well... there... there's no harm done! He's alive, after all!" The look on Marjorie's face spoke volus, especially when she snapped her fingers, and motioned for a few of the masked mbers standing at the back to co forward. I clicked my tongue several tis, and shook my head.
"Too late, cannibal. You've already said too much..." I couldn't help but smile broadly at Mortir. He looked at , back at the table, back to , and then scowled back at the collection of Society mbers below him.
"You're all hypocrites!" He bellowed, pointing at everyone; if he noticed the half-dozen Society guards starting to surround him, he didn't show it. "How can you claim to be connoisseurs, yet deny yourselves the greatest of all ats?" He rushed past , still feverishly pointing in Marjorie's direction. "I am ashad to have once called everyone here family! This isn't over! I'll begin anew! The White Glove Society will never achieve the greatness of my new order! You'll all hear from again!" And with that, he made a break for the door.
"No," I said, pulling out Roscoe. "No, I don't think we will." All it took was a single bullet to the back of the knee as he tried to run away. In an instant, he collapsed to the ground, and was surrounded by guards.
"Nice shot," Ted said, watching as the six guards standing over Mortir's crumpled form started to beat the shit out of him.
"Thanks," I said with a nod, holstering Roscoe. No sense trying to hide the gun any more. Given what I'd just done (and my reputation as the Courier), I don't think Marjorie would give shit for it. And speaking of her, that's about when she made her way over to us.
"Oh my," She shook her head, rubbing her temple. "What an unfortunate turn of events for this evening - and in front of all these people, too!" The slight smile at the edge of her mouth and her tone of voice betrayed how she really felt. "He always was a bit of a pill, Mortir. He was just so pouty when I decided to ban eating people. And now this. I suppose I should have paid more attention to the warning signs... Can you imagine what people would've said? Why, it would've been a complete scandal if you hadn't arrived!" Marjorie sighed, and turned to Ted, placing a hand on his shoulder and smiling. "I do so apologize for the inconvenience. You have my word that the White Glove Society will do everything we can to make it up to you and your father."
"Speaking of your old man," I said, patting Ted on the back. "C'mon. Let's get you back to Heck. Marjorie, I'll be back in a bit. We still have so business to discuss, but first things first." She nodded as Ted and I walked away, and Marjorie smiled and waved at the two of us.
"Ta-ta."
"Oh my god! Ted!" Heck got up from his seat at the bar, clutching at his chest as soon as Ted ca into view. He ran over to his son, and hugged him tightly. "Are you alright?" Ted just rolled his eyes, and shoved him away after a few seconds of obviously awkward embracing.
"Quit yer hollerin'," Ted adjusted his Stetson. "I'm fine." Heck just smiled, and patted his son on the shoulder as he turned to .
"You got my boy back! I got no words!" He did seem genuinely choked up.
"Hey, don't worry about it," I said waving it off. Heck nodded... and then his expression visibly darkened.
"Now... I hope you didn't do no harm to whoever's responsible for this. I wanna skin their hides myself..." I shrugged.
"Sorry to disappoint, but he's probably already dead by now. It was Mortir, and the rest of the White Gloves already dealt with him." I said simply.
"He was a cannibal," Ted offered up. "He wanted to eat . Sothing about old ways or sothing. This guy here kneecapped him before he had the chance to run away." Heck narrowed his eyes at , and his whole face screwed up in a frown.
"Well, that does it! None of them maniacs'll EVER do business with Heck Gunderson long as they live! Hell, I'll put together a damn blockade! Hit 'em where it hurts! They control the food? Well, there ain't gonna be no goddamn food! Not for anybody in this whole damn town!" I kept my cool as he ranted, and just tried to stare him down. "It's a goddamned monunt to inhumanity! Let 'em starve! Biggest favor anyone's ever done this hellhole!"
"Really? Think about what you're suggesting, Hurricane Heck," He seed surprised that I knew that na, and I continued. "Trying to starve The Strip? That's just want Mortir would want. With the food supply cut off, people would be driven to cannibalism just to survive. You would be the one driving the city to eat each other. You really want to be responsible for that?"
"I don't care!" He shouted at . "They've got to pay for what they tried to do to my boy! People've gotta learn not to cross Heck Gunderson!"
"The one who crossed you, Mortir? He's already been dealt with. And besides... should I remind you who you're dealing with?" I crossed my arms over my chest, and made myself look as nacing as possible. "You take action against The Strip, and you have to deal with . It won't matter how many rcenaries you hire. There will be nothing left when I'm finished with you."
A brief flash of fear crossed his eyes, but evaporated quickly. He shook his head and snarled.
"I don't like this place. Whole Strip, really! Ever since I got here, the stink of it... it's flooded my nostrils! But you got a point. They're already hell-bent on depravity here. All I'd be doing is helping them along. C'mon, Ted. Let's go back ho." Ted, his father, and the rcenary turned and walked away. When they disappeared around the corner, well out of earshot, I lifted up my Pip Boy arm and scrolled through the radio functions.
"Yes Man, you reading ?" I said into the wrist computer. It crackled to life with a burst of static.
"Hi!" Yes Man's enthusiastic voice burbled out of the Pip Boy's speaker. "What can I do for you today?"
"In a few minutes, an old man in a black cowboy hat, and a teenager in a white cowboy hat, are going to walk out of the Ultra-Luxe, probably followed by a couple of hired guns. The old man's na is Heck Gunderson. I want you to scan their faces so their images are on file, and then I want you to send a couple of securitrons to make sure they leave The Strip as soon as possible. Think you can do that?"
"Absolutely, sir! I'll get right on that!"
"Oh, and one other thing," I continued. "If they ever try and co back to Vegas once they leave, shoot them on sight. Nobody is going to threaten Vegas while I'm around. Nobody."
"Understood!" Yes Man agreed cheerfully. "And can I just say sir - this secure channel April and Emily set up was a great idea! Now we can plan the future of New Vegas without you ever needing to bother coming back to the Lucky 38! It will save you so much ti, and I'm not just saying that because I have to!"
"Right..." I sighed, and was just about to sever the connection when Yes Man spoke up again.
"Oh, I wanted to ask, before I forget - that is, if you're not too busy - how are things going with the White Gloves?"
"How are they going?" I couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, I still have a few details left to hamr out with Marjorie, but... I an, there was a bit of a cannibalism problem. But I think I got everything sorted."
"A cannibalism problem? Wow!" For so reason, that 'wow' was the most unconvincingly enthusiastic thing Yes Man had ever said. "I'm just so glad you weren't eaten!"
It was well after dark when I finally got back to the Lucky 38, close to an hour and half later. Marjorie and I t in the Gourmand after the Gunderson's had left, to discuss her support for my plans of an independent Vegas. Even after everything I'd done tonight, I thought it was an excellent al.
Of course, I admit, I had the vegetarian option. Just in case. I'd rather be paranoid than a cannibal. Even an accidental one.
With this agreent I'd managed to broker between myself and the White Gloves, that made three-for-three when it ca to the Vegas Families I had to get on side. So, as you can imagine, I was feeling pretty good about myself when I stepped out of the elevator and back into the Lucky 38's suite.
I should've known it wouldn't last long.
"Oh, thank God!" Emily's voice was surprising - both because of her extrely relieved tone, and the fact that it ca from my room. "I thought she might have found you first!"
"Emily?" I looked down at the red-headed scientist curiously. "The fuck? What are you doing in my room?" She rushed up to as quick as she could, trying as hard as she could to push against ; it was like she wanted to get back in the elevator. Of course, in hindsight, that's exactly what she wanted to do.
"I've been looking for you everywhere! You've got to get out of here!" She practically pleaded, looking up at .
"What are you-"
"There's no ti!" She gave one last attempt at a shove, but it felt more like a stiff breeze trying to knock over than soone shoving all their weight against . "She's gone crazy! I think she's going to try and kill you!"
"...she?"
CRASH!
"YOU SON OF A BITCH!"
I instinctively reached for Roscoe and turned at the sound of splintering wood - but hesitated when I heard the voice. A female voice. A very familiar female voice.
"Veronica?" I couldn't help but stand there, dumbstruck. Veronica was standing at the threshold of her room, Oh, Baby! held in her right hand, armored in a power fist as well. Her left arm was extended in a fist that ended at the door... which was lying in two splintered, shattered pieces, hanging off the hinges by a thread.
What made it even more frightening? The door had been broken by the hand not wearing her power fist.
Her face was contorted into an expression of pure, unfiltered rage. I'd seen that kind of expression before, but never on Veronica - not even when we were fighting super mutants or Fiends or even Legion. The look on her face was that of soone out for blood. Soone whose every ounce and fiber of their being was set squarely on getting so killing done.
And she was coming straight for .
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