The setting is the post apocalyptic world of Fallout II.  Many of the locations, characters and sub-plots are ripped straight out of the computer game.
The player characters are coal miners from Rebroken Hills.  Rather than giving them free choice as usual, a mix of random and player choice is used. 

Gabriel: An ex-caravan guard with a quick wit and a quicker draw.  An observant man with impressive negotiation and intimidation abilities and a broad skill base covering most combat arts for when all else fails.

Johnson: A clever and intuitive fellow with alarming high talents at stealth and theft.  Possesses a dark brutal streak and a lightning strike.  Has a love of knives, lots of knives.

Session 1:
(Subject to recall – as GM I should take better notes, but I tend to just go with the flow)

Play begins with the characters losing their jobs at the Morning Star mine.  One of the mine’s two Excavators has broken down, and with no chance of replacement parts mine owner Dan McGrew has no choice but to lay off almost half his workforce.  The characters are paid out 2 weeks pay and left to fend for themselves.

Feeling rich with their lump sum payment the characters rush into town to drink, party and seek out adventure.  The following day no adventure had been found, and only a hangover gained for their trouble.  They visit the weapons store, intent on creating some adventure of their own.  Gabriel handles the transactions, while Johnson loiters with intent outside the casino across the street.

This is where the magic of PIE kicked in.  As GM I had planed a simple roll to determine the success of Gabriel’s bartering.  The roll was below average making it impossible for Gabriel to afford any real firearm.  However the Opposition Dice rolled a 6, a local critical success.  Although Gabriel had come across a little naïve and foolish, the storekeeper had taken a liking to him and offered a reasonable discount on several lesser items, including a combat knife for Johnson.  Much to my surprise, a simple purchase had become an enjoyable role-playing scene. 

Gabriel takes the only job known and negotiates with Dan to “acquire” a replacement part from the competition.  Namely the nearby Kookaburra Mine.  With only a little persuading Dan agrees, even supplying the characters with rope and lanterns.

They arrive at the Kookaburra Mine just after dusk, knowing the afternoon shift will have washed up and gone home.  Scouting out the piles of shale around the mine entrance they observe four guards individually on patrol.  They discuss the plan briefly, before laying an ambush.  A rope is tied to a fence post next to the guard path.  When the next guard passes, Gabriel will pull the rope tripping the guard, and Brutal Johnson will finish him with his knife.

The plan follows through with barely a hitch.  Gabriel’s timing with the rope is flawless, though the guard is surefooted and merely stumbles rather than fall.  It’s irrelevant as Johnson bursts from the darkness and slashes the guard neatly across the throat.

The players had no idea how risky this attack was.  Unknown to them the expectation was that they would overcome the guard but the alarm would be raised in the process.  Johnson was very fortunate in rolling a “Remarkable Action” including a 6 for Opposition allowing any hit location to be chosen.

Alerted not by the noise, but by the absence of the first guard’s lantern, a second guard rushes to investigate.  Blind sighted by his own lantern light, he never stood a chance.

Finding themselves enriched by two pistols and sets of leather armour the characters pause to re-examine their situation.  Re-broken Hill’s mines are valuable assets, and Gabriel recalls the blast doors and security cameras protecting the Morning Star Mine.  Deciding to quit while they’re ahead they quickly conceal the bodies under piles of shale and leg it out of there.

Dan is mildly disappointed though not surprised with their failure.  He finds the killing of the guards amusing and agrees to let the characters stay in a disused bunk shed for the time being.  Johnson is a long time going to sleep, rivals or not, those guards were not so different from the ones befriended at the Morningstar.

The morning brings with it new opportunities and new experiences.  As employed miners they’ve never had reason to enter the slums before.  But Gabriel knows the Kookaburra armour needs to be offloaded, so a black market buyer must be found.  Rather than risk travelling with such valuable and distinct items. They stash the armour under the bunk floorboards and set out to explore the slums.

The slums are teaming with life.  Significant buildings become primary walls to entire rows of ramshackle sheds and huts.  The streets are narrow and packed with people of every description.  The players are out of their depth and wander aimless through the throng of humanity unsure of where to even start looking. 

Before long they are noticed by Jimmy, a small time seller of drugs and information.  Negotiations begin, and although it’s at the limits of his means, Jimmy agrees to purchase the two sets of leather armour.

The characters return to return for the armour without mishap, pausing on the way to purchase replacement badges for the armour.  Gabriel is doing all he can to hide his tracks.

Later that night they return to make the exchange.  It is a tense affair with the goods being worth a fortune in the slums.  Neither side has any trust for the other.  The characters carry their pistols; Johnson’s drawn but not aimed.  Jimmy’s packing an uzi openly and his two buddies look ready for action.  There’s an awkward pause when Jimmy reveals he is only able to pay 80% in cash but can make up the rest in drugs.  Gabriel makes disgruntled noises but takes the deal anyway.  Jimmy is so relieved he sweetens the deal by providing additional drugs in the interest of future trade.

The characters take the drugs to their good friend Painless Doc Jackson to have them evaluated.  Turns out they’re cheap junk and the Doc is horrified they’re on the market.  He offers the characters a good reward if they can shut down the slum drug trade.

The characters return to the slums and convince Jimmy they sold the drugs and wish to acquire more.  Jimmy informs them he’d love to help (he’s busily calculating his own profits) but the supply is limited.  He doesn’t receive his next shipment for a fortnight.

End session one.  Wow that went longer than I’d expected.  All that in a single 2-3 hr session, and I know I’ve left entire small scenes out.  I’ll write up session two soon, though I’ll try to condense it a little more.

I'm participating :B

That's what I for for bribing players with XP to participate.

Look, I am logged in an participating too!

Would it be a worthwhile post to state that the best things about this system are:
1) It's speed: I played a round of d20 Warhammer RPG the other day, and this system does big poos all over the d20 system, then runs away and is so fast the d20 system can't keep up to get revenge. And that snapping sound was what happens when you stretch a metaphor past what it can reasonably bear.
2) The cooperation it engenders between GM and player: when a player can roll a dice, look to the GM for a success/fail verdict, and then interpret the dice themselves (under supervision!) it allows for a cooperative story telling that you don't get any other way.
3) The way it helps drive a story: When the dice can influence events, and the 'flavour' or results, they can drive the plot too. Who knows what twist in the story might hang on a roll of 6-5-1?

This system is easily the best I've ever played, and I'm only annoyed that I didn't invent it!

//apologies to Mallory for beating him to it, but he has taken too long and so i thought i would jump the gun; when he gets off his butt and posts he can fill in the details of what led Gabriel and Johnson to this point iun their travels

Mickey subtly sized up the new blood.  Didn't look like much, to be honest... mind you, Scorpion was the only one of the regulars that she thought was worth spit.  Shame he was so damn ugly.  At least this was going to be her last run.  While she'd been told with her looks she'd make a mint at "seamstressing"..... she couldn't bring herself to do it.  Not that playing pet medic to a slaver caravan was a great improvement, but at least she could use her skills to make a difference.  Usually...usually the slaves were happy to be alive, so she did what she could to keep it that way.  Shaking her head to bring her thoughts back in line, she took one last look at the new pair.  They didn't seem to have a clue... they really must have been desperate to take this job.  They weren't even armoured... but the dark one, his hands were never far from the big knife on his hip...he gave her the creeps.  The other one seemed nice enough, but the SMG slung across his back had obviously seen some recent use.  They might make it...

A whistle from the front interrupted her observation, and she turned to see the caravan's water wagons creak into motion.  Time to go.

-------

The first day was pretty uneventful, but it had to be him, the creepy one, who landed in her tent with heatstroke.  Not that there was anything she could do for him... and not that he wanted any help from her.  She shuddered at the memory of the brief conversation.  A man who got that smashed the day before heading across the wastes must really be desperate, and she had a few guesses why.

Not much to do on days like this but think.  Unhealthy, she thought.  Not good to dwell on things that can't be changed.

The crack of gunfire was almost a welcome release form the boredom of the walk, and the adrenaline surge brought on by upcoming action sent her darting into cover...

Unfortunately the bush she leapt into was not welcoming, and the scratches the inch-long thorns would take a while to heal...regardless, it was preferable to perforation by the automatic rifle fire buzzing down the hill at the caravan.  The slaves were huddled in clumps, as close to the ground as they could get, unable to reach decent cover due to the shackles securing them to the water wagons.

A flash to Mickey's left had her again throwing herself to the ground, but it was a friendly, the new blood with the SMG, cradling it carefully in both hands and firing controlled bursts back into the bush at the as-yet unseen assailants.  Mentally shrugging, she decided am unknown ally was better than an unknown enemy, so she drew her sidearm and followed him as carefully as she could manage.

Off the trail that was easier said than done, and again she found herself looking up at the sky... her dive for cover at the next burst of hosilte fire had left her sliding back down the hill.  Swearing to herself, she clambered to her feet.  The submachinegunner was breaking in to a run, having spooked one of the assailants into falling back.  Gritting her teeth, Mickey took her pistol im both hands and began charging with him up the slope.

Before she knew it she had to leap over her ally as he lost his own footing and went down... she had barely regained her feet when she broke into the clearing at the top of the hill...and finally found herself face to face with one of her assailants.  Reflexes took over and he dropped before she could make a secnod thought... it took her a moment to realise the fatal barrage had come from her own weapon.

An ugly scream reminded her that she wasn't supposed to be the gung-ho one... she was the medic.  And from the sound of it, her ally behind her might need some assistance.  She turned and carefully made her way down the slope to where she'd last seen him, just in time to witness another ambusher drop like a rag doll, missing a significant part of his head.  Mentally thanking the sharpshooter who had saved her the trouble, she rushed to the fallen guard, muttering at the quantity of blood staining the bush around him.  Chest wound..ugly one too.  Hopefully the battle would be over soon; the meagre supplies she had been able to carry in her kit would barely be enough to staunch the bloodflow.

---

It had been Scorpion doing the sharpshooting, she later found out.  He and the crazy knife wielder had tag teamed the ambushers on the other side of the valley, and then turned their own weapons on them.  The knife wielder, Johnson she found out, was asking about his friend, Gabriel she'd finally found out his name was.  With the ambush defeated, she'd sent runners for her full surgical kit and managed to stitch the submachinegunner up.  He'd have to play it a bit quieter, and refrain from clowing around - he'd managed to fall in the campfire the second night, and while he'd known enough to put himself out quick smart, some of the more inebriated ingrates that regularly took this route had been less discerning - he should be okay.

---

Gabriel seemed to think he had a bit of a rapport with her...the second to last night he approached her about springing the slaves, while some of the other guards were off filling the quota from a nearby farm outpost.  Apparently he'd had a big fight with Johnson about the raid, and while she could sympathise with his feeling about the whole deal, she couldn't afford to lose the cash. 

When the raiding party returned with their prizes, Gabriel had some more success browbeating his comrade...who didn't seem so sure about his night's work, despite the pay bonus.  Johnson's look the next day was even darker than normal.  The conversation seemed to break the ice with the pair and her, however, and she spent some time getting to know both of them as they trudged towards their destination the next day.

---

That was pretty much it for the trip..her last, hopefully.  She had finally paid the last of her debts, and was free to make a clean split with the slavers.  What to do next, she wasn't sure... Maybe Gabriel and Johnson could use a medic..?

well... an interesting session.  As a guest player i landed a bit-part with the potential to be taken further and show up later.  Scorpion was played by a brand-new player, in fact an RP virgin.  He was a little lost but the character he played was fairly one-dimensional.  He seemed to have fun, but his final comment...(said with a grin)
"I probably wouldn't have hung out in the library with you guys when if we had been at school together..!"

other notables for the session were:
- the sheer number of 1's and double 1's i rolled, especially when making medical checks.  Some skill points were used to make sure i didn't kill myt patients. 
- the double 6 that i pulled from...somewhere.. that dropped my first opponent.  I hadn't rolled another 6 all night at that point.
- deathglider's continuing success with his knives.  Man, that guy can roll 6's!
- the malloryman's spectacular failure that got him gut-shot
- the conflict between Gabriel and Johnson over the slave raid... managed very effectively by both the players and the GM
- the quotable quotes that kept coming (although many of them were "you had to be there" moments so i won't try to do them justice.

I must say I’m really happy with Shadow_80’s write up.  It covers the entire session and yet is seen purely through the eyes of Shadow_80’s character.  I’m particularly pleased with the additions of character thoughts and background which we glossed over during play.  Best of all, due to being solely from Mickey’s view, the scope is still open for other players to add their contributions if they see fit.

As the GM this session provided quite a challenge.  With two established characters, a RPG veteran guest and a RPG virgin, managing the play dynamics was an interesting juggling exercise.

The task was made easier by being a totally linear adventure.  This is highly unusual for me as I prefer to prepare a sandbox environment and give the players little if any direction.  Everything went to plan; with every scene I had prepared being included.  Although not a single scene played out how I had imagined it.

One key scene where I would have liked to use more detail was in the slaver raid.  I feel I missed an opportunity to drive in the horror of the situation.  Had I added a child screaming from under a bed as her parents are dragged away Johnson may have felt more guilt for destroying peoples lives for a small cash bonus.  With 2 guest players and the party divided I didn’t feel comfortable with the situation and instead glossed over it.  Fortunately Gabriel confronted Johnson both before and after the raid so there are definite opportunities to revisit this issue in the future.

I'm getting to it! Some of us have work to do! :)

Okay, here it is. Session 3, part 1, as told by Gabriel. I might do a bridging story for session 2 later, but this is the session I found most compelling character-wise, so that will wait until I finish this. Part 1, because it's longer than I thought. I'll write the next part maybe tomorrow.

I never would have planned to become a slaver. People taken from their homes, so often the children after the parents have been gunned down, then chained to wagons and dragged across the wastes into lives of pain, and endless work with no hope of change. I hate it. But there we were. Re-broken Hills wasn’t an option for us any more – dead men tell no tails, but their friends, it turns out, will hunt you with a fair degree of persistence – the coal caravans were being watched, and the only other way to get out of town was to join up as guards for the slavers, and leave under their relative protection.

Jimmy had visited the evening before to tell us he’d found us an exit. I don’t know who was more relieved, us or him. He hadn’t killed anyone of course, but he had his side-alley business to worry about, and there are some associations you just don’t need. Whatever, we were glad to be leaving, and Johnson celebrated by getting rat-arse drunk. For some reason I didn’t have the stomach for it, and we were both off Jet lately, so I went to bed.

The next morning I hauled Johnson up, prized the floor-boards from the floor of our room, and brought out medium pistol and two throwing knives, wrapped in my traveller’s cloak. Then I shifted my bed, lifted the floorboards in another place, and lifted out my SMG. It was not the prettiest weapon, but it felt good to have it in hand again after several days holding the handle of a plough. I slung it over my shoulder, and it found its customary spot in the small of my back. Then I fastened my cloak around my shoulders, both to cover the SMG and for the cold – it was only just dawn, and the night had been cloudless – and turned to Johnson. To my surprise he looked remarkably well, and was ready to go as well.

We left the farmhouse with few regrets. The owner had been suspicious of us from the first, and only a concerted effort to be friendly, coupled with a willingness to work for room and board, had convinced him to let us stay. There were a lot of miners out of work, a lot of them had come to the agri-zones, and a lot of them had caused trouble. I guess they weren’t sorry to see the back of us, either.

We trudged cautiously to where the caravan was stopping, but there were no Kookaburra guards around. Either it was too early, or they hadn’t started looking this far out of town yet. Whatever the reason, we made it to our rendezvous as Jimmy had described it, and there was the caravan.

It was a series of wagons, ratty looking, but serviceable. The ‘merchandise’ were pitifully thin, and young, though there were no young children there. Despite their youth though, they looked worn, and I guessed they wouldn’t live long, once they were sold.

We were checked over by the caravan’s medic, an officious but seemingly capable woman, Mickey, then directed to the head guard, who scrawled our names in a ledger and told us we would receive five-hundred dollars a piece when we got to Reno – half pay, on account of us having no armour. And there it was, my name on the books. Gabriel. Slaver.

It was a four day trip to Reno, walking steadily, albeit slowly, on account of the merchandise. The first day nothing much happened, except that at about one o’clock in the afternoon, Johnson collapsed. The cold of the morning had quickly been burnt off by the sun as it rose higher in the sky, and my cloak was stashed in one of the supply vans. We were free to get water fairly regularly, but Johnson and I were both trying to give the impression of being hard workers, on the off-chance that we could increase our pay a little. I was okay, but Johnson was hung-over from the night before, and dehydrated, and he hit the dusty road that threaded through the sparse eucalyptus scrub pretty hard. The flies congregated on all our backs, drinking the sweat that soaked our shirts, I guess, and when he hit the ground, a black cloud rose off him for a moment, startled, before returning to where they had been. The caravan didn’t really pause, but one of the other guards, who went by the name of Scorpion, helped me drag him to the medic’s wagon, and she treated him as we went.

As the sun sank toward the horizon the heat finally began to drop off, and then it was twilight, and then full night. And the cold returned. We lit two fires, one for ourselves, and one for the slaves, for warmth and to keep away the animals. They posted guards, and we slept, if not well.

The next day was, if not cooler, then at least a little less unforgiving in its heat, and we set off again. I tried not to look at the slaves, and for their part, they looked at no one.

Someone died about midday, and they died suddenly, bloodily, as the sound of gun-fire sent us all diving for cover. Johnson was walking with Scorpion, seeming to get along well after their first inauspicious meeting the day before, when another of the guards, a few steps ahead, was hit by a hail of bullets. The caravan was travelling along the side of a hill, almost in the bottom of a shallow gully, with the slope heading up on our left, and dipping down on our right before rising up into another low hill. I hesitated for a moment, trying to gauge where the sound had come from, then noticed other guards running up the hill, firing into the thin scrub as they went. Shrugging, I headed up the hill myself, angling my run to the left, back in the direction we had come. I hoped to flank whoever had ambushed us, and maybe even get above them and turn the prey into the predators. I had not gone twenty steps before gun fire from ahead of me checked me, and I dropped to one knee, bullets kicking up the leaf litter behind me and a little to my left. I had thought I’d be frightened if this happened, but things came back, from before, before even my time at Morningstar, and I felt that familiar disconnection from reality as I picked the location of the muzzle-flash, sighted along my SMG, and fired into the bush. A scrambling sound carried to my ears in between the intermittent burst of gunfire from my right, and I realised that I hadn’t killed whoever it was, so I moved to a position two steps to the left, behind the trunk of a ghost-gum. I put my head around again, and saw my guy running up the hill, trying to reach higher ground. I stood and took two steps into the open, firing at him, and causing him to jump and weave, but doing no damage. I took off after him, and became aware of someone running behind me. It was Mickey, the medic, pistol in hand, and I wondered how long she had been there without my noticing. As I looked back I turned my ankle on a loose branch and stumbled, falling to one knee, and Mickey passed me. The halt and the jarring impact on my knee pulled me back to reality somewhat, and I became aware of my racing pulse, and of being out of breath. Then there were more bullets, from behind me, and the world slowed again. I pushed off my knee, spinning through one-eighty degrees, and allowing my weight to pull me back to the ground. As I dropped into a lying position, facing where the shots had come from, I levelled my gun into a thick stand of bushes and fired off a burst of three rounds, vaguely hoping I wouldn’t shoot myself in the foot. I didn’t, but neither did I kill my man this time, and as I landed, a little winded and trying to sight for my next shot, he popped up again and fired back.

At first I thought he had missed, and that his bullets had kicked up a stone which hit me in the chest, but then there was the pain. Real pain, like I’d only ever experienced once before. It felt like a tree had landed on my chest, and I knew I’d been hit. I looked behind me from where I lay, up the hill, and I saw Mickey turn, spot me, and coming running toward me again, though she seemed to move so slowly. I wanted her to come and fix me so I could breath again. I remembered the gunman, and slowly lowered my chin to look at him. At first I thought he was shooting at me still, and I despaired at the unfairness of it, but then I realised he was aiming above me, at Mickey, I supposed.

His head vanished in a spray of red. It happened very suddenly, and I hadn’t heard a shot. Then I realised I couldn’t hear anything except a sort of roaring noise, and I thought I should be worried. Mickey’s face appeared above me; she looked concerned but, I thought vaguely, very business like.

Then I slept.

Part 2 later.

*Takes place after the encounter with the 5 bandits in the cave*

I sat there wondering, “Why the hell did Gabriel start that fight? And where the hell is he now?”

Ignoring these questions I decided to go do my own thing.

First stop was Reno to get rid of these rifles. They looked like they would carry a pretty penny in the shops so that’s where I headed. Unfortunately they seemed to attract an unwanted amount of attention and just before I got to the gun shop I noticed a group of 5 similarly dressed men eyeing me off. Evasive action was required and a quick duck and run down a side alley was the best bet. Hiding behind some cloth and debris I threw one of the rifles away so it looked like I was on the run. Not long after 4 guys came down the street and after mild hesitation they continued on their way. Staying where I was until the 5th guy had gone I slowly crept back out and sneaked my way through the streets until I got to the back of the gun shop. Not finding an easy way in I decided that the heat was too much and hid the second rifle and headed back out of town.

Upon getting back to the cave, something weird was stirring. The fire had been lit again and unless my friends had come back (unlikely) then someone had been back here since my little folly in town. Approaching with caution I waited. Nothing. So I decided to sneak in but being observant saved me, in the moonlight I caught sight of someone crouching on the horizon.

Sneaking back around I noticed there were two of them and they were aimlessly wandering in my direction. Taking shelter in nearby cover I was able to overhear their disgruntled musings as they were Salvatores sent here to see what the deal was with the missing men. I followed them home once they got bored.

Returning the next morning to the house I saw the two guards head into the night before, I noticed a woman going shopping. Long story short, I mugged her and asked her who they worked for and what they were doing and let her on her way.

As I was definitely dealing with the Salvatores I decided to do some investigations and ended up getting drunk and going ‘clubbing’ with one of their middle management dudes. After much discussion he let slip what was going on at the cave. Turns out there was a group of people called ‘The Rangers’ who didn’t show up for their meeting and they were there to find out why.

After hearing this I headed to the head honcho of the Salvatores and he took a liking to me, giving me the mission to find out what happened to the Rangers, I accepted and returned soon with the knowledge that they had been killed but I didn’t know by who. Accepting me into the Salvatores, he gave me a badge of office so I could head down to the New Victorian Republic in search of information so that they could complete the exchange.

The badge of office was an Energy Pistol. Fully Charged. Things were looking up.

From the perspective of my character, introduced in the last RP session:

Having recently learned that travelling the wastes alone with a hand-cart full of recovered artifacts and sought-after tech was a great way to get yourself bound, gagged, robbed and left to the scorpions, Carick resolved to find some well-armed, well-trained muscle to help him on his salvage forays. Even if it meant sharing the spoils.

A chance encounter in the streets of Reno with an old treasure-hunting buddy seemed to be a sign that things were looking up. Carick quickly convinced Gabriel that he had totally forgiven him for disappearing suddenly from their last adventure along with a good proportion of the supplies, and offered to accompany them on their next job.

He soon found himself in familiar territory - the casino. While Gabriel and his friend Johnson disappeared to talk business with the casino big-wigs, Carick endeared himself to the gambling patrons by performing acrobatic feats whilst indulging in no small amount of cheap, nasty alcohol.

This task complete, Carick decided to test the prowess of his companions by setting them a small task. On his way into town he had spotted a cave which, if memory served correctly, was often used by bandits at various times as a hideout, meeting place and weapons stash. By nightfall, they were approaching the cave, and by the flicker of the campfire they saw that it was presently occupied by at least two hooded travellers. Hoping to relieve these individuals of their weapons with a minimum of bloodshed, Carick stepped into the circle of light thrown by the campfire with weapon drawn, bearing on the nearest stranger with an unwavering hand. Johnson had vanished into the night, but Gabriel was by Carick's side. He let off a warning shot at the feet of the travellers. At least that was the plan. Unprepared for the recoil of his weapon, the spray of bullets began at the hip of the hooded stranger, and peppered across his chest as he fell screaming into the fire.

Startled by the sudden outbreak of gunfire, Carick barely had time to yell before three more hooded travellers emerged from the cave, guns barking. Struck in the chest and hip, he went down like a sack of turnips. In the brief, explosive firefight to follow, Gabriel managed to take out two more of the enemy before his gun mysteriously failed him, and Carick got off one remarkable shot, nailing a fourth.

Had the final stranger not been silenced by the mysterious Johnson, emerging silently from the dark of the cave, our hero would not be alive to tell this tale. Carick gritted his teeth, thanked his companion for the save, and stitched his wounds, before recovering one of the least damaged sets of armour worn by the mysterious hooded gunmen.

It looks like these two will be worth sticking by....

Set just prior to the bulk of the previous post, while Nateman's character Carick is performing backflips, and Johnson and Gabriel (deathglider and I) are meeting with the 'Casino Big Wigs'. I think you can piece together what's happened by reading Shadow_80's post, followed by my previous one, then Nateman's, then this.

Reno was just another place. It was a big place, and there were a lot of people in it, but to me it was just another place. It was the place I had run to because I could no longer stay in Rebroken Hills. I had not expected to be sitting in a Crime Lord’s office less than a fortnight after arriving, clutching a fat sheaf of papers that could conceivably be worth thousands of dollars or, just as probably, get me killed. The boss across the desk from me was called Little Jesus Mordino – pronounced Hesoos, in the Spanish fashion – and he looked interested, but yet to be convinced.

‘And what makes you think, Mr…’

‘Gabriel.’

‘Mr Gabriel?’

‘Just Gabriel.’

He nodded. ‘Well, Gabriel, what makes you think that I would buy any information that you have to sell? Lots of people think they can tell me things.’

I took a deep breath. This was the moment when we would either make a lot of money, or start the process that would bury us. ‘Our source obtained Bishop’s personal file,’ I replied, trying to be believable. We had no source. We had personally broken into the house of one of Reno’s most powerful gang lords, Bishop, and looted the place for cash, jewellery and his personal dossier, before setting the place on fire to cover our escape. I had personally dealt Mrs Bishop a blow to the head with the butt of my gun to shut her up. As far as we knew, Bishop had no idea we were responsible. But it was touch and go whether the Mordinos would benefit more from buying the dossier, or from selling it, and us, back to Bishop. I thought of trying to add further information to make the former seem more attractive, but could think of nothing, so I contented myself with allowing the pages speak for themselves. To emphasise what we were delivering I lifted them from my lap and placed them on the wooden desk in front of me.

Little Jesus looked at the file for a few seconds, then back into my face. Johnson, next to me, seemed completely at ease, and I wondered if he realised the danger we were in. I decided he probably did; he had always been outwardly relaxed in the face of this kind of danger. Finally, Jesus spoke.

‘And what price would you ask for something like this?’

I paused for a moment, then said, ‘Ten-thousand.’ I felt Johnson stiffen, clearly wondering why I was asking such a staggeringly low price. Jesus looked amused too, and perhaps he was wondering if I was trying to be clever, or was simply ignorant of what the file would be worth to him. ‘And,’ I added after a moment, ‘some information on a subject that interests me, as well as your good will and protection.’ The file would be worth tens of thousands of dollars to the Mordino family. I hoped that Little Jesus would be flattered by my implication that his protection was worth the difference. I also hoped that Johnson wouldn’t realise that I was short-changing him for my own reasons. Whether he was fool enough to believe me I don’t know, but he never did hand us over, so one way or another it was worth it. He picked up the dossier and had a flick through it. After a couple of minutes, he set it down.

‘Your price is fair,’ he said, with a trace of irony in his voice, ‘but there are a few papers missing from here – locations that Bishop has been scouting for treasure. If you still have contact with your original source, I’ll pay an extra ten thousand for those.’ I tried for a moment to detect whether there was any amusement in his voice, whether he was aware of the game we were all playing. He probably was, but we had our parts, and I turned to Johnson.

‘He lied to us.’ I looked back at Jesus. ‘We can find him again, and let him know our feelings on people who hold back information.’

The Mordino lord nodded. ‘Good. Now, the information you are wanting?’

‘You have a man who works on your slave farm, Saul. I’m an old friend, and I wondered if you could arrange a meeting for me.’

‘That’s all?’

‘I think so,’ I said carefully.

‘I see.’ He assessed us both for a few moments, then abruptly said, ‘You know, I have a bother that I need taken care of at the moment. Since you ask for good will, I will give you the chance to take care of it for me.’ I nodded. This was precisely what I had had in mind. ‘Mason, the second of the Salvatores.’ I nodded again. ‘It would be worth a further five thousand to me if he were removed. The chaos among the upper ranks of that house would be advantageous.’

‘We can certainly see what can be done,’ I said. It was a complicated request. The Salvatore group had employed us first, and I had met Mason, as well as one of his men, Smith. I hadn’t much liked either of them, but burning bridges is always risky. I would have no compunctions about hitting scum like Mason, but it would have to be handled sensitively, or the repercussions could be tricky.

More later, including the hit!