Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ The Outlaw and The Insurance Lady ❯ The Outlaw ( Chapter 2 )

"We need someone with a will of iron, a good head on their shoulders, and an attitude that won't take crap from anyone or anything."

"But why me, sir?"

"Because you're the only one who falls in with that description. No offense, but you're one hell of a tough woman, Meryl."

"Er, thank you, but I'm just that. A woman. You need a man for this job, sir!"

"I know that, but all the men here are too afraid to take up the job. Believe me, I've asked, pleaded, even begged, but they all refused. Please, Meryl, you're the only one left. I need you to do this for me. Please tell me you will agree?"

" . . . A-alright . . .ahem! I'll do it! You can count on me to stop this bastard once and for all!"

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"I can't believe I said that! Damn it, why'd I let him talk me into this?! I'm going to lose my life because of this!" Meryl shouted angrily, punching the steering wheel to calm her nerves a little.

She had just packed up what little things she needed and had left the safety of her home. She had been driving around for about three hours now, trying to find any type of clues of where her little human disaster was staying.

After some frustrated and pissed off moments she had finally come across an old man who had been watching her ask random people about Vash the Stampede.

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"I believe I might be of some help to ya, young lady."

"Really? I'm looking for Vash the Stampede and so far it's been hopeless. Do you have any information on him? Any useful information? Do you know what he looks like?"

"Why, yes I believe I do. I saw him once when I was visiting my grandson. He came walking into this here town with arrogant confidence and the smell of destruction. You may have been told different descriptions about him, have you not?"

"That's right. I hardly believe any of them. A short, chubby man with long arms and short legs? C'mon, give me a break."

"Hehe, good that you don't believe them. I know exactly what Vash looks like. He's a tall man, maybe seven-foot, and skinny. He wears a large, blood red coat and carries around a silver gun. His hair is blonde and spiked up and because he wore a pair of yellow glasses, I didn't get to see his eyes, though I'm sure they're as evil as his damned soul. I remember it so well because it was the very same day I had lost my dearest grandson when that cold-hearted monster had started randomly firing for no reason or cause."

"I'm sorry about your grandson, but thank you. You've helped me a great deal."

"There's one thing I'd like to know in return."

"Oh?"

"Why do you care for this information?"

"It's business."

"Ah, well, you be careful. He has an evil reputation. A woman going up against a man like him aren't very good odds."

"I appreciate your concern, sir, but I'm quite capable of taking care of myself."

"Now, now. I didn't mean that in a offending way."

"True or not, I must get going. Do you know where he was last heading?"

"North from here."

"Thank you."

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Now she was headed off in the direction of the town Octobre, which was about six iles from her last stop. All the way there she was wondering how to present herself to the outlaw.

"Hi! I'm Meryl Stryfe from the Bernardelli Insurance Society and I'm here to watch you twenty/four seven until you stop your massacres and destruction on random cities! . . . Pfft, yeah right. Jeez, what am I going to say to the man? Wow, I'm really getting uptight. I don't even know when that old guy saw him! For all I know it could have been a month ago! Rrr, this is so frustrating!"

Before she knew it though, Meryl was already driving through the town. She quickly stopped her thoughts and parked near an inn. She stepped from the jeep and proceeded inside, knowing she might as well rent a room because the next town was quite a distance away and it was already mid-afternoon.

"Hello, what are your prices here?" she asked in a business-like tone. The elderly woman turned and smiled warmly, but her eyes seemed restless. Meryl noticed the ridged stance the woman stood in and became confused and suspicious.

"I'm dreadfully sorry, miss, but we're booked." Meryl blinked and stared at the keys behind the woman. Only five out of maybe twenty were gone. She turned and glared.

"What? That's nonsense! You have enough rooms!"

"Even so, the price is to high for you," the woman said, her eyes growing wide and nervous. Meryl frowned and braced an elbow on the front desk.

"Oh yeah? Try me," she challenged. Small beads of sweat appeared at her forehead and her hands threaded together tightly.

"Six hundred double dollars." Meryl's eyes nearly popped out of her head.

"What?! That's insane! You're purposely lying to me and I want to know why. No room costs that much! None!" The woman looked around before leaning herself all the way over the desk to come mere inches from her face.

"Please, miss, get out of here. You shouldn't be here," she whispered fearfully, eyes wide and pleading. Meryl's enraged expression turned to something soft and curious.

"Why?"

"Because Vash the Stampede is taking residence here in this very town! Leave before he does something horrible like blowing it up!" Meryl's face brightened and a smile broke out onto her face.

"Vash the Stampede is here? Give me his room number! I must see him!" The woman looked at her as if her hair had just turned neon orange.

"Did you even here me?!"

"I heard you, but this is important. I'm from the Bernardelli Insurance Society and I'm here on official business. Please, I need to know his room number!" The woman looked as if she would balk, but she heaved a sigh of defeat.

"Room 162. He isn't in right now though. He's out at the bar across from here. Please, don't do anything reckless. A job is not worth losing your life over." Meryl nodded then asked for her own room.

After she had set her things in the room, the twin suns had set two hours or so. She had waited another hour to see if the outlaw would come in. After another hour, Meryl finally got fed up with it and stalked out her room and down the hall.

It was probably seven p.m. when she had stepped outside. The bar was right across the street just as the elderly woman had said. Taking a deep breath to calm her pounding heart and to steady her nerves, Meryl made her way toward the bar.

Just one step inside and her nose wrinkled in disgust. Only three light bulbs were hung up on the murky ceiling, but one was flickering on and off as if deciding it should go out or not. Other than that the room was pretty dim. A few ceiling fans spun slowly, moving air about so it wouldn't get so stuffy from the smoke of cigars or cigarettes.

Rounded tables were scattered about the building, all nearly occupied by many intimidating-looking men with sickly bulging biceps, and with grime and dirt smeared all over their faces and hands, making it seem like they never took baths. It surely smelled like it.

Meryl walked boldly down the few steps and began down the dusty, beer-smelling tiles toward the bar where a young man, looking to be in his late twenties, was cleaning a shot glass with a small white cloth.

Women, no doubt the whores of the town, and men turned and eyed her as she passed them. She felt the weight of most of the stares on her slightly protruding chest and her small bottom. A man playing poker with some other men leaned back in his chair she passed him and whistled in admiration.

"Hey, baby, after this game how 'bout you and I go have some fun later? I promise to show ya a good time."

Meryl, her reply to tell the man that he just wasn't her type was at the tip of her tongue, kept walking as if not even hearing a word he said.

"Heh, your loss, babe," she heard him grunt. She stood between two empty barstools and crossed her arms on it. The bartender walked over and eyed her with half-lidded eyes.

"What can I get you, young lady?" he asked.

"Nothing really, but you could tell me where Vash the Stampede is instead." The man nearly dropped the glass. The room suddenly went eerily silent. Meryl glanced over her shoulder and saw everyone gapping at her. She raised an eyebrow and turned back to the bartender.

"Well?" He pointed a trembling finger down the bar and she followed its direction. Sitting at the very last stool was a spiky blonde-haired man clad in a long red trench coat of some kind.

He lifted a shot glass to his lips and downed it in a flash, then slammed it on the bar. He grabbed the dark bottle of whisky next to him and poured himself another.

After he downed it again, instead of refilling it again like she had predicted, he turned his gaze to her. Meryl's heart skipped a beat when those cold, flat light-green eyes ensnared hers, as if daring her to say or do something.

It was him.

Meryl's body went numb at the deadly realization.

The man with the sixty billion double dollar bounty on his head.

Vash the Stampede.

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