CurtailedAmbrosia
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Dec 9, 2017
- Posts
- 1,291
Tenderheart was an ironic name for a small, ramshackle scrap town like this one-from the brothel full of cynical whores to the bar where more Jet was sold than alcohol, it was no place for anyone who couldn't hold their own in a fight. It was an odd occurrence if a visitor wasn't mugged at least once during their stay, a protection racket offered at the gate if you wanted to get rid of the middle man.
You could get just about anything off one of the caravans coming through though, the only 'off limits' marks in town. Looking at one of their Brahmins sideways might get you knifed by one of 'Devon's'.
Devon ran this town. He was the undisputed boss, and he'd gotten there by being the meanest, most ruthless conniving son of a bitch there-which was saying something. But he wasn't a complete psychopath. He was reasonable when he could permit it, and that was probably what had let him live this long.
In his office in the gutted remains of what had once been a construction office, he lit a cigarette and watched the the little flame consume the match in the chipped ashtray on his desk. He didn't look like a man of means, didn't flaunt his wealth with too many extravagances-he was shrewd, responsible-used his money where it actually mattered. He paid his local men well, and his hired outsiders better.
"You get results, and that's why I wanted you for this one." He was saying, taking a long drag on his cigarette and holding it in a moment, opening a desk drawer and withdrawing a tattered wanted poster. Devon had gone to seed somewhat, no longer in throat cutting shape and balding. A scar ran across his face and over what used to be his left eye, a nastier one that snarled his lip-but he wasn't overly bothered by either.
"Gotta be alive, though. Ain't paying for corpses, pretty or not." Devon warns with a mouth full of smoke, flicking his cigarette. "Mind nobody else offs her either. She's got a bad habit of pissin' people off-this ain't even my poster."
Indeed-that particular reward was being offered by the NCR. He slid it across his desk, another plume of smoke. "Drawing's not bad-mostly looks like the little bitch, anyway."
She was a red head, looked like. Heart shaped face with a delicate, long bridged nose dividing her symmetrical features, a bit of an impish rounded end to it. Large blue eyes and full lips that, even on this poster, were curved into a smirk.
Judging by the reward being offered by the NCR, this 'Kara Walker' was small time. Devon must have had a bone to pick, something-he was paying much, much more.
"You snag her and bring her to me, and I might have a lucrative job for you when you get back."
You could get just about anything off one of the caravans coming through though, the only 'off limits' marks in town. Looking at one of their Brahmins sideways might get you knifed by one of 'Devon's'.
Devon ran this town. He was the undisputed boss, and he'd gotten there by being the meanest, most ruthless conniving son of a bitch there-which was saying something. But he wasn't a complete psychopath. He was reasonable when he could permit it, and that was probably what had let him live this long.
In his office in the gutted remains of what had once been a construction office, he lit a cigarette and watched the the little flame consume the match in the chipped ashtray on his desk. He didn't look like a man of means, didn't flaunt his wealth with too many extravagances-he was shrewd, responsible-used his money where it actually mattered. He paid his local men well, and his hired outsiders better.
"You get results, and that's why I wanted you for this one." He was saying, taking a long drag on his cigarette and holding it in a moment, opening a desk drawer and withdrawing a tattered wanted poster. Devon had gone to seed somewhat, no longer in throat cutting shape and balding. A scar ran across his face and over what used to be his left eye, a nastier one that snarled his lip-but he wasn't overly bothered by either.
"Gotta be alive, though. Ain't paying for corpses, pretty or not." Devon warns with a mouth full of smoke, flicking his cigarette. "Mind nobody else offs her either. She's got a bad habit of pissin' people off-this ain't even my poster."
Indeed-that particular reward was being offered by the NCR. He slid it across his desk, another plume of smoke. "Drawing's not bad-mostly looks like the little bitch, anyway."
She was a red head, looked like. Heart shaped face with a delicate, long bridged nose dividing her symmetrical features, a bit of an impish rounded end to it. Large blue eyes and full lips that, even on this poster, were curved into a smirk.
Judging by the reward being offered by the NCR, this 'Kara Walker' was small time. Devon must have had a bone to pick, something-he was paying much, much more.
"You snag her and bring her to me, and I might have a lucrative job for you when you get back."
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