Denver Dogs

Chapter 3: Gran Abismo

 "Hey kid." the old ghoul said, a slight tinge of sadness in his voice. He was a thin and lanky ghoul, with his skin darkened from lifetimes of roaming the desert. His family, like Fern's, was originally from Mexico, back before the war. His right eye was sunken and dark, barely visible under the shadow of his rattan hat. His left was missing from the first time he failed to make a payment to the Bishops. He left the socket empty and open for the world to see. Beneath his hat was greasy black hair reaching down to the base of his neck. He wore a dirty white button up, caked with dirt and a small splatter of blood around his right cuff. He had worn out blue jeans with a gecko skin belt carrying his revolver's holster.

"Frank?... Wait a fucking second, put that gun down or there'll be another damn hole in you." Fern said as she pulled her revolver out and pointed it at the ghoul.

"You might wanna check your cylinder, sweetheart." the ghoul said. Fern glanced at the side of her cylinder. He'd taken all of her bullets while she was out. "Mother fucker..." she muttered.

"Best if you don't get in the way. This ain't anything personal, and I don't wanna hurt you sweetheart. There's a bounty on his head, and yours too for that matter." Fern glared as the old ghoul said it.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I ain't turning you in. Him, on the other hand, is coming with me. I hate to do this to you, kid, but the Bishops want their money, and I gotta give it to them. Don't try anything. I don't wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to."

"Y-you mother fucker! I'll r-rip y-your thro-oat out, p-roflig-igate!"

"Shut the fuck up, would ya? You're just as much of a profligate as I am, boy. Now pipe down. Me and Ms. Guerra are having a conversation."

Fern threw her gun to the ground, and reached for her knife, slowly and shakily, still affected by whatever shit was in her jet filling her lungs. She stopped upon hearing the cocking of the ghoul's revolver, still placed against the back of Collin's head. "Don't try that shit." he said. She did as he demanded.

"Don't follow me. I don't want you getting into trouble."

"Go fuck yourself..." she said, barely able to say it as the drug took more and more of her energy.

"Heh... good to see you haven't changed much. C'mon, boy, the ghoul said as pulled Collin up and walked away. "Night night. Be safe, kid..."

And with that, Fern slipped into unconsciousness once again.

"Mother fucker! I'll kick your ass!" Fern shouted upon waking up. She quickly realized that Frank and Collin were both long gone. She slowly stood up, her legs still a bit shaky. She slowly recalled the events of the night prior. Frank, all the way out here, and hunting her and Collin down.

Her head ached like hell. The rest of her body didn't feel much better. She needed a strong drink to numb it. With that, she headed to the bar. Though alcohol was illegal in the Legion, a whole lot of little outskirt towns didn't exactly follow that law. This town was no different. She stepped into the bar and headed to the closest stool at the counter.

Before she sat down, she noticed a familiar voice coming from a booth to the back of the bar. Josh. The bitch who spiked her jet. She looked over and saw him with some girl she didn't recognize. He was a scrawny white man in a hoodie despite how hot it was out, with bloodshot eyes from sampling a little bit too much of his own product. Fern grabbed her knife and slowly approached their table. Without a word, she sat next to Josh in his booth and poked her knife into his side. Not enough to draw blood, but enough that he knew what she intended to do.

"I'm gonna give you one chance to tell me where Collin is or I'll spill your guts."

Josh just about jumped out of his own skin.