"Damn it. I'm so broke I might have to start farming, and you're asking me for money?"
Just as he reached the doorway, Vash heard Jackie's familiar string of curses coming from inside the dilapidated shack.
Tap. Tap.
Vash raised a hand and knocked on the already open metal door.
"Who's there?"
The call had ended, and Jackie had his handgun up — sharp reflexes from his merc days.
"The delivery guy." Vash said.
"Yeah? Then get your ass in here."
When Vash stepped inside, he found Jackie slouched in the corner of a battered sofa, built like a tank. He held the gun in one hand, one foot planted on an iron box, eyes raking over Vash as if weighing him.
"V?"
"It's me. Your place isn't exactly easy to find." Vash said, dismissing his lateness in a single line.
Jackie's expression stalled for a beat. Then he nodded, "That gonk sheriff in town? Real pain in the ass. Alright — before we start, let's get on the same page, yeah?"
He put the gun away and thrust out a massive hand, "Jackie Welles. Jack for short."
"I'm Vash Dale. Also V." Vash shook his hand, "Call me whatever you like."
As a key — and decent — NPC in the storyline, Jackie was someone Vash could afford to be a little more straightforward with.
"Vash, huh? Preem name." Jackie grinned, "Good you showed, choom. Thought you might ghost me."
"Car died on the way. Cost me time." Vash said.
"A'ight. You ain't curious what's in the box?"
Vash shook his head, "Probably something an idiot lost, then another idiot lost again. It got passed around until it landed in your hands. I don't need to know — helps me sleep."
"Hah! I like that." Jackie laughed, "V… think you and me? We're gonna do just fine."
"Load it up." Vash said, "We're not safe until we're across the border."
"Right." Jackie hefted the iron box and headed for the door, "Before we met, I was thinkin' — maybe you're not solid. But now? Looks like you got it handled."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Vash popped the trunk and let Jackie set the iron box inside, "Paperwork for the crossing?"
"Got it all, primo. Everything we talked about — nothing missing."
Vash nodded, then tossed the car keys to him.
Jackie caught them, blinking, "Huh. You sure?"
"I reek of drifter." Vash said, sliding into the passenger seat, "Checkpoint might give me trouble. And I haven't stopped moving since I came this way."
"Then I drive." Jackie slid into the driver's seat and tapped the wheel once, like a promise. "I'm steady, V. I'll wake you when we hit the border."
Vash grunted, closed his eyes, and let the road hum him under.
The fatigue was real — but more important was what came after. Once they crossed, Arasaka's company dogs would be on them. The passenger seat would become the gunner's seat.
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"V. Hey — wake up. We're here."
What felt like a long nap ended with Jackie's voice in his ear.
Vash opened his eyes. Night had fully fallen beyond the window.
He checked the dash. 3 a.m. Hardly any traffic on the road — less still coming out of the checkpoint.
"Listen… you've done this kinda run before, right?" Jackie's nerves started to show at the last minute.
"No problem." Vash said.
He couldn't tell Jackie there would definitely be a firefight. If the guy snapped, he'd drive like trash when it mattered.
"Good. Good." Jackie exhaled hard, forcing confidence into his tone, "I'm chill. Totally chill. You're the pro here — border's just another door, yeah?"
"It's not a big deal." Vash held out a hand, "Where's the money chip?"
"Right here." Jackie passed over a chip loaded with cash.
They rolled up to the checkpoint, the car easing down to a crawl.
"Drive to the inspection area." An armed guard motioned them forward, pointing to a marked lane.
[Driver, please remain seated in your vehicle. A full scan will begin shortly!]
A synthetic voice echoed overhead. Red scanning beams flared from multiple angles, sweeping the vehicle for anything "special".
"Got a bad feelin' about this." Jackie muttered.
"Relax." Vash said, patting his shoulder, "They'll notice if you're tense. Give me the customs declaration."
Jackie handed him a document folder.
Vash flipped it open and immediately saw the bold black letters stamped across the form: LOA.
"Having an LOA is good." Vash said.
"LOA?" Jackie frowned. "What's that mean?"
Smuggling wasn't his world.
"It means 'Lost on Arrival'. Once we're over the line, everything is officially 'lost'."
[Passenger in the front seat, please assist with further investigation.]
Vash stepped out calmly and walked toward the border patrol building.
Inside, he went straight to the check-in counter and set his handgun on the table.
The registration officer barely looked up, "Sir, interrogation room number 2."
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T/N: Comment, give me Power Stones, like and favorite, it all supports me and makes me go foward with this. Appreciate my other stories as well, I guarantee the good work!
That's it and happy reading! (-‿◦)