The little shit was running for it. Of course he was; the first job Jack had taken personally in a while and he had a runner.

"Get back here!" the old merc yelled. "No one wants to be found murdered behind a whore house!"

There was a chuckle at his side, and Rudner spoke up.

"Want me to get 'im?"

"Nah, I need the exercise," Jack answered. "Make sure the robots don't get nosey."

"You're the boss," Rudner answered as Jack started after his quarry. He saw the man slip over the other side of the Gomorrah's fence and ran after him.

Biting out a curse, Jack quickly clambered over after him, knocking his knee into the hard metal as he did. As he landed with a slight stumble on his now-throbbing leg someone, probably his target, took a swing at his head. The blow collided with his ear, and Jack grimaced at the ringing that came with it.

The look on Caleb McCaffery's face was close to panic as Jack shrugged off the blow and kept coming. The former bouncer must have thought his attacker was a simple mugger.

Jack had thought about drawing this out further, but his mood had soured when he'd banged his leg on the Gomorrahs' fence. So he gunned McCaffery down before he got the chance to call for help.

The shot's report echoed across the courtyard, but the people all seemed to be too occupied with their 'entertainment' to care. All except the one hooker who'd been standing nearby.

"Did you see anything?" he asked the girl, who let out a laugh.

"I sure as hell didn't. That fucker was in here yesterday. Didn't leave a tip."

"So he stiffed you?" Jack laughed loudly at his own joke as he bent down to scoop up the body. He threw the hooker a few caps as he started for the fence.

"There's your tip, ma'am."

He only got a brief glimpse of the woman's grin before he turned away. A moment later he had shoved the body over the fence and climbed after it.

"Any witnesses?" Gaboon asked as he landed on the ground. Jack grinned.

"Just a working girl," was his answer. The younger man before him, another of his group and a Viper by birth, nodded calmly. Prostitutes knew better than to talk. Even if they didn't, Jack was always looking for a little extra publicity.

Gaboon began searching the dead man for valuables.

"We need the hat," Jack added.

"Yes, Great Snakekeeper," the younger man answered. Jack bit down on a sigh. The youth was the only one who referred to his official title. He'd have told the kid to cut it out, but it scared the hell out of the newcomers they'd recruited.

River Jack was the current, and probably final, leader of the Vipers. Most of their number had been decimated a generation ago by the Brotherhood of Steel, and now only a small number of their followers still survived, most scattered into ineffective raiding groups.

"He must have spent or hidden most of the money he stole," Gaboon said as he stood, hat in hand. Jack nodded and looked around. The securitrons hadn't gotten wise to what had happened yet, but it was time to leave.

They walked past the Lucky 38, and Rudner spoke up as he rejoined them. Jeremiah, one of the newer recruits trailed after him.

"I hear this place is crawling with foxes that have more caps then sense," Rudner crowed.

"I wonder if they keep the doors locked at night," Jeremiah said, grinning widely.

"I don't care if it's full of nymphos that are desperate for idiot raider dick," Jack said warningly. "Keep your grubby mitts to yourselves." The man grinned. "Unless we're getting paid."

The others laughed as they continued out of the Strip's gate and through Freeside. After a brief stop by the Garretts' casino to deliver the hat and accept their payment, Jack led his group home. 'Home' was little more than a hole in the ground they'd found South East of Primm, but it kept his men out of trouble during their down time.

It had also been pure therapy killing all the Jackals that had been squatting there.

Once they'd gotten inside, Jack threw their newest bag of caps at the desk tucked in one of the side rooms. Squared, the 'accountant,' would divvy it up in the morning. So far their fifth accountant had been working out. Accountants one through four had been less than satisfactory in correctly splitting the money as Jack had asked them. Squared hadn't felt the need to try and rip Jack off, yet.

The old Viper got to his room and started pulling off his extra armor. The man never took it all off, but it was hard to sleep properly in shoulder guards and a bulky chest plate.

"Hey Jack!" came a cry from one of the newer recruits; the older man couldn't place his name yet.

"What?" he barked as he started searching around for where he thrown his current carton of cigarettes. The recruit hesitated at the doorway. Jack gave him a week or two before he ended up a greasy smear on the pavement with that lack of nerve.

"We got a message; someone wants to hire us."

Jack held his hand out, and the recruit gave him a folded sheet of paper. The old merc probably should have been worried that someone had figured out who and where he was, but they hadn't sent anyone to kill him, so he didn't care.

Unfolding the letter, he read the careful handwriting, then started laughing. He looked up at the recruit, who looked nervous from his sudden change in mood.

"Tell everyone they have five minutes, then we've got work."

*.*.*

"Mail call!" Gorobets bellowed, and the members of 1st Recon came meandering out of their tents. They gathered around their commanding officer and Annie, their regular courier. She was already handing out letters and packages by the time Boone made it to the group.

"Letter for Dennis."

Jack of Spades groaned as he accepted what was undoubtedly a letter from his mother.

"Package for Corporal Sterling."

The former ranger smiled. Another one from his granddaughter.

"Two letters, a package and the paper for the Lieutenant." Annie handed the stack to Gorobets. "Miss Granville also sent a care package for everyone."

"What'd she send?" Gorobets asked as he balanced the items in his arms precariously.

"Trail mix and armor-piercing .308 rounds."

"Food and ammo. She sure knows how to keep this outfit happy," Gorobets said as he and the others started going through their items.

"Why go through all the trouble of getting the newspaper from California?" Mitch asked as the lieutenant unwrapped the paper. "Must cost a fortune."

"How else am I going to know if my kids end up in jail?" Gorobets laughed. "Besides, I know the girl who owns the mail company."

Annie handed Boone his mail, a letter from Layla. He carefully slit the envelope with his machete.

"Dear Boone,

How are you? I hope everything's going well. Things are the same as usual around here. Arcade left for California last week, so it's down to Veronica and I. No, there hasn't been any trouble. In fact, things have been very boring…"

Boone frowned. He knew Layla had been sad about the others drifting away. He found himself grateful again that Veronica was sticking around. He made a mental note to write Veronica and thank her.

'…Michael Angelo taught me how to develop my own film and pictures the other day. Consequently, if you lose or let anyone see the enclosed photo, I'll kill you so much there'll be nothing left to identify you. Enjoy!

Be careful.

I miss you and I love you,

Layla'

Pulling the picture from the envelope, the sniper felt his eyebrows rise of their own accord and quickly stowed the photo in one of his inner pockets. He found Mitch giving him a weird look.

"…Are you blushing?"

Boone merely stared at him until he gave up and went back to his own mail.

"Uh Boone? You might want to take a look at this," Gorobets said, holding the Shady Sands Standard up to his face. Spades and Bitter-Root stood to either side, gaping at the paper.

"…What is it?"

*.*.*

"Layla! Mail's here!" Veronica yelled as she stepped into the suite.

"Was it Annie?" the Courier called back from the kitchen.

"Yeah, and John."

The girl was almost immediately at her side. John meant normal mail; Annie meant 1st Recon mail.

"Good lord, that's a lot of stuff," she gaped at the pile in the scribe's arms. Soon they were in the kitchen, sorting all the pieces. Layla had a system for opening her mail, letters from unknown sources, letters from people she knew, packages, and she saved anything from Boone for last.

"Huh, got one from my mother," the Courier murmured as she kept sorting her pile.

"She probably wants to know why every soldier coming back to California knows your name," Veronica said, thumbing through the few things she'd received. Interestingly, she'd gotten a letter from Boone. Curious, she opened it first as Layla opened a suspicious envelope with a big greasy smear on it.

'Veronica,

Wanted to thank you for keeping an eye out on Layla. She's getting lonely. I can tell…'

The scribe smiled, Boone was alarmingly sweet when he put his mind to it. She'd have to say so in front of 1st Recon the next time they were in town. She continued reading.

'…Gorobets sent the Shady Sands Standard. Not really sure how Layla's gonna take it, but try not to let her overreact.

Good luck,

Boone'

"What does that mean?" Veronica said out loud, getting Layla's attention. Looking at the other girl's pile, she located the newspaper in question and pulled out of its wrapper.

"What?" The Courier asked as Veronica unrolled the paper. The front page was a single photo accompanied by a ridiculously large headline.

"THE COURIER WHO WON THE WAR."

The picture was Layla on the Dam, chainsaw in one hand, Lanius' helmeted head in the other.

"Hooooly shit!" Veronica sputtered.

"What? What is it?" Layla stood and moved to the other girl's side, looking at the paper.

"…Oh boy…"

*.*.*

"Layla Granville, a NCR citizen from the New Arroyo area, has been Tandi-like in her even-handed dealings during her brief tenure as the acting owner of New Vegas' Strip (taking over for the former owner, Robert House). Reports from sources including the Mojave's citizens, caravan groups and the NCR military have reported her to be generous and kind, a soothing balm on the harshness of the wastes," Raul read out loud.

"Oh that's just great," Cass muttered. "You're going to be impossible to live with." She looked over to the Courier and found her still looking slightly shocked. A moment later a smile slid over her face.

"They said I was Tandi-like."

"See," Cass grumbled to Raul.

"And all it took to get some recognition was winning their war for them and giving them an entire country," the ghoul added.

"Yeah," the Courier mumbled, not seeming to hear. Cass shook her head and looked up at Raul, who was reading the article still.

"It says here you 'united the Mojave against the Legion and rooted out Legion spies while both officially and unofficially working for the NCR.'"

"Well, that's pretty much right," Layla said. "I didn't really started working for the NCR at all until… you know." Her face fell somewhat as she looked around the suite.

"What I want to know is who took that picture," Cass spoke up. "I was there, and we were all ass-deep in legionaries."

"There must have been a war reporter," Layla said thoughtfully. "I didn't even know the NCR had any around here."

"Must not have been a good one. The picture's blurry," Raul said, "Can't even really make out your face."

"That's probably for the best," the Courier said as she stood from the table. "I don't want people chasing me down for my autograph."

Cass opened her mouth to let the girl have it, but Layla spoke before she could.

"You guys hungry? Lunch is on me."

The caravaneer promptly closed her mouth; she wasn't one to pass up a free lunch.

*.*.*

"This is Mr. New Vegas, your ever faithful companion. Let's stay together, baby. And now the news: Another caravan has been destroyed in what looks like a raider attack. This marks the third in a single week. NCR officials have vowed to bring the attackers to justice, but caution caravans to take extra precautions in the-"

Layla snapped off her Pip-Boy radio as she headed back to the Lucky 38. She was having a hard time keeping a big stupid grin from crowding her face.

People had called her crazy for all the things she'd done to help the NCR. She certainly didn't think the government was perfect, but it was her country, and there was no better alternative to it. Besides, all the things she'd done to help had kind of just… happened. Layla certainly hadn't stepped into the Mojave planning to lop Lanius' head off. Either way, it was nice to see that California appreciated what she'd done.

"Who's that?" Raul ask, breaking her from her thoughts. She heard the tension in his voice as she looked in the direction he was glaring. Layla groaned when she got a look at the man in question.

"It's Wade…" she grumbled, then placed a hand on the ghoul's arm, which was tensing toward his gun belt. "He's a courier."

The ghoul nodded, but left his hand resting on the butt of his right pistol. Layla shook her head, but didn't question him. Besides maybe he'd scare away the little bastard.

"Got a delivery for the world's greatest courier," Wade said as he ambled up to them. "Looks like it's hot off the presses."

Layla frowned at that. "What do you mean? Who's it from?"

"Didn't leave a name, but I was asked to delivery it personally."

He handed Layla a newspaper, 'The Observer.'

"What is it?" Cass asked, also sounding tense. She must have picked up on Raul's discomfort.

"One of the other California newpapers," Layla answered. She unrolled the paper, confused until she read the headline.

'COURIER TAKES THE NCR FOR A RIDE; WHAT'S HER ANGLE?'

I hope you enjoyed reading; be sure to write a review if you've got something to say about the chapter. I can't believe we're here already: the final story.

See you next Saturday!