New Vegas: Sheason's Story

Chapter 93: Beyond the Beef

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 members only area of the casino, completely undetected thanks to the stealth boy, and the very moment I ventured underground, it was like I'd set foot inside an abattoir. It was dark, it was dank, it was dingy, and the smell of barbequed meat hung in the air like a thick veneer of... cooked... meat.

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 flamethrowers 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 seemed to be made out of stainless steel. In the center of the room, surrounded by food, cooking implements, burners, and a few sinks was who I could only assume 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 somehow... 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 me," 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 me though.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He practically yelled, meat 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 meat cleaver into the cutting board.

"Uh... I think you may have me confused with someone else." I said with a smile. His left eye twitched and he just snarled back at me.

"Oh, really? So, despite your filthy fucking face and your vacant expression and your complete lack of human fucking dignity, you're telling me you're NOT a server?"

"Not in the slightest," I said, refusing to stop smiling. That just seemed to aggravate him further. "I'm here to talk some business. I heard you're pretty handy with a cooktop and-" Before I could finish, he cut me 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 me the credit I deserve. I fucking invented edible food! Do you like eating? Good! You owe me 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? Me? The supreme rule of the Nevada dining scene? Teach lowlife half-wits to make food that doesn't smell like burning excrement?" 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 some recipes to bring back to the suits in Sac-Town." Philippe stared at me for a few seconds, obviously weighing the options I was giving him in his head. I could practically hear the grinding metal from the gears turning. Eventually, he grunted, and turned away from me, 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 me if I'm overstepping my bounds here - but I couldn't help but notice..."

"What?" He yelled, leaning in at me 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 some... unresolved issues in your past..."

"WHAT?!" He looked at me 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 me enough!"

"You may be projecting," I shrugged. "Why else would you bring up your folks so quickly? Why don't you tell me 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 men home who told me to call them 'uncle!' Or because my sisters would lock me in a shipping crate when they didn't want me 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 me?"

"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 remember 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 me 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 Meat 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 time to spare.

The best part? Nobody even came down to check on the progress of the food, which meant that nobody from the White Gloves caught me in the act. I had the sneaking suspicion that Philippe was given a wide berth by almost everyone here. And that gave me plenty of time 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 me, and aimed 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 me.

"My daddy's gonna kill all you bastards once he finds out what you done to me!" 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 me, anyway?" Ted asked. "They hit me over the head before I got a look at 'em."

"Look, there's no time to explain," I said, grabbing him by the shoulder and leading him out of the freezer. "We have to go now. Stick close to me, stay low, and keep your mouth shut."

"Alright, fine," Ted muttered. "I'm right behind you."

By the time Ted and I managed to sneak out of the kitchens and into the members only section, the meal 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 members only area from the kitchens. I peeked over the counter just as Mortimer 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 gentlemen of the Society - welcome," Mortimer's deep voice boomed 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.

"Remember what I said about quiet?" I hissed, whispering close to him. "Wait until he's finished..."

"There was a time, not so long ago, when we were bound together not as members of a Society," Mortimer continued. "But as a family. As a clan. When Mr. House came 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 meat sweeter than the most corn fed livestock. Most of you have tasted it. All of you have coveted it. Among us, it is a crime to discuss a return to the old ways that unified our people. Tonight, however, that all changes. The taboo ends - let me 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 crime. One that ordinarily bears the harshest of punishments. 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 time 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 meat that we are forbidden to taste! The way it was meant to be eaten!" Mortimer gripped the edges of his podium, and bowed. "Fellow members of the White Glove Society... bon apptit."

Okay, this was too good a moment. I stood up, stepped out from behind the bar, and started slowly clapping as I walked over to Mortimer. The various members of the White Glove Society gathered around the table rumbled and murmured as I approached, and Mortimer turned with an expression of disbelief on his face.

"What the devil? YOU!" Mortimer 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, Mortimer, but nobody is eating the boy you kidnapped tonight!" By this point, Ted had got the message and had walked up right behind me; 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 Mortimer 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 volumes, especially when she snapped her fingers, and motioned for a few of the masked members standing at the back to come forward. I clicked my tongue several times, and shook my head.

"Too late, cannibal. You've already said too much..." I couldn't help but smile broadly at Mortimer. He looked at me, back at the table, back to me, and then scowled back at the collection of Society members 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 meats?" He rushed past me, still feverishly pointing in Marjorie's direction. "I am ashamed 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 me 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 Mortimer'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 me 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, Mortimer. 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 some 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 came 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 me.

"You got me 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 Mortimer, 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 me. Something about old ways or something. This guy here kneecapped him before he had the chance to run away." Heck narrowed his eyes at me, 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 me 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 monument to inhumanity! Let 'em starve! Biggest favor anyone's ever done this hellhole!"

"Really? Think about what you're suggesting, Hurricane Heck," He seemed surprised that I knew that name, and I continued. "Trying to starve The Strip? That's just want Mortimer 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 me. "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, Mortimer? 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 menacing as possible. "You take action against The Strip, and you have to deal with me. It won't matter how many mercenaries 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 home." Ted, his father, and the mercenary 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 me?" 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 name 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 come 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 time, 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 hammer out with Marjorie, but... I mean, there was a bit of a cannibalism problem. But I think I got everything sorted."

"A cannibalism problem? Wow!" For some 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 met 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 meal.

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 agreement I'd managed to broker between myself and the White Gloves, that made three-for-three when it came 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 extremely relieved tone, and the fact that it came 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 me as quick as she could, trying as hard as she could to push against me; it was like she wanted me to get back in the elevator. Of course, in hindsight, that's exactly what she wanted me to do.

"I've been looking for you everywhere! You've got to get out of here!" She practically pleaded, looking up at me.

"What are you-"

"There's no time!" She gave one last attempt at a shove, but it felt more like a stiff breeze trying to knock me over than someone shoving all their weight against me. "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 someone out for blood. Someone whose every ounce and fiber of their being was set squarely on getting some killing done.

And she was coming straight for me.