Chapter 17 “Talent of a misspent youth.” Rosie woke with a jolt as Charlie pulled the chair from under her legs. “I told you to wake me.” Charlie looked stern, but well rested. “Shit, I meant to, must have dozed off.” Rosie lied, it didn’t work. Charlie’s face softened as she sat, handing Rosie a mug of well made coffee. “So listen,” Charlie leant forward in chair. “We have a little tradition, whoever runs the op gets the loot.” She kicked the backpack at her feet. “So this is yours.” Rosie started to protest, but Charlie stopped it with a raised hand. “The other thing we would normally do is put down a thousand caps on fresh food and booze.” “That’s fine.” Rosie didn’t know what to do with five thousand caps, reducing that number seemed a good place to start. “No, not this time.” Charlie put her hand on Rosie’s knee. “Today is your day Rosie, your special day. And we’re going to do whatever you want, just as long as you have fun. Ok?” “Alright.” Rosie didn’t understand why Charlie was being so serious about having fun. She decided to keep the difficult conversation for later. “So, what do you want to do?” Charlie sat back, wiping a tear before it fell. Rosie thought for a long moment, trying to find the right answer. “Maybe we could look for subsonic ammo?” Wrong, Rosie thought as Charlie sighed, more amused than annoyed. “Subsonic ammo it is. Come on.” The noise of crowds swelled with every step and each passing minute. More and more people poured into the street, shouting, laughing. The first stop took them to the meat district on the north side. Covered and cool, the faint smell of blood in the air. Rosie followed in and out of shops. Listening as best she could, while Charlie picked out well marbled steaks, plump ham shanks, and stag legs that hung in the window. Charlie pointed out why she chose this over that, what to look for and what to avoid. She paid extra to have the meat frozen, and left it there, under the name Black. The windowed shops gave way to stalls stuffed to bursting with colour. Bolts of cloth in different shades piled up, hung dresses flickering in the wind, neatly folded shirts laid out flat. Rosie let her hand trail along the fabrics as she followed Charlie through the crowds. Stopping to watch women weaving bright patterns. Charlie picked out half a dozen t shirts, some socks and underwear, so Rosie started doing the same. “Nope.” She took them from Rosie’s hands and added them to her order. “Fun, Rachel. Something fun.” Rosie didn’t have an answer. Charlie started talking with the woman on the stall, asking about offcuts and haggling over the price. Rosie watched a Merc set down his rifle and armour while a grey haired man measured his arms, chest, and legs. She realised right away what that meant and slipped through the crowd to reach them. “Hey, do you make shoes?” Without looking up from his notepad, the grey haired man pointed further down, and Rosie pressed on through the crowds. Rosie jostled her way through the people to get to the shoe stall. Ran by a good natured woman smiling and pulling boxes from a wall of them behind her. Laid out on the stall were shoes and boots, all lefts. Tan work boots, knee high brown leather ones, lightweight shoes that looked shaped for running. Rosie didn’t allow her excitement to build. “Got any size four?” Rosie didn’t care what style, shoes that actually fit would be enough. The woman tried to look sympathetic as she disappeared into the back. As she waited, something caught Rosie’s eye, hanging almost by itself on the next stall and flickering in the breeze. The white dress felt smooth to the touch, modest neckline with an open back, and a hem that hung just above her knees. “I want this.” Rosie held up the dress willing to pay whatever it cost, and feeling like she stole it when she paid two hundred caps for it. She couldn’t keep a smile from her face as the little metal discs clinked and clattered into the trader's hands. Rosie folded the dress gently, as if she might hurt it, and slid it away safely in her pack. “Sorry Sweetie, got no boots in a four.” Figures, Rosie thought, she’d never had boots that fit right. “Our cobbler will be back next week. Got these in five.” She held up lightweight shoes made of canvas and rubber soles, dyed bright pink. “And these are actually a four, but…” A bright smile crossed the trader's face as she presented the shiny black box. Inside the shoes bore little resemblance to anything she saw on display, so much that Rosie thought this might be a joke. A spiked heel, a curved sole and a series of straps to hold them on. All in glossy red. “She’ll take ‘em.” Charlie appeared next to her as if from nowhere. “Both pairs.” Rosie looked surprised. “You’ll need something to wear with that dress.” We notice things, Rosie remembered, wondering how you could track and observe anyone in this heaving crowd. “Hey Buddy, how bout two cold ones?” Rosie’s confidence and excitement built as the streets widened and the crowds became less dense. She pumped caps into the slot on the walking fridge bot, as Brandon had done, and took two ice cold Nuka Colas. “Now you’re just showing off.” Charlie smiled and threw back her cold drink, Rosie did the same. The bot clanked on along its programmed route. Rosie couldn’t help but wonder about the proximity detection software running inside the lumbering block. As the shouting of traders and volume of chatter dropped, music took its place. Every speaker tuned to the same signal, the same smooth voice amplified and multiplied a hundred fold. “Lady Luck is with you children, all day every day, live from the Tower with power. Stay safe out there.” Upbeat music played, filling the market place with noise. For a moment Rosie's mind flashed to the endless mind numbing broadcasts of her old life. Everyone would down tools and listen to the same lie they’d heard for decades. Then continue the pointless drudgery of their existence with renewed vigour. She forced the image from her mind, frustrated that it crept in at all. The less crowded marketplace made Rosie feel more at ease. Now able to move freely, she bounced from stall to shop, listening to people haggle over the prices. This entire section seemed to sell nothing but junk. Rosie recognised some of it and took her time handling things she didn’t. Rosie started small, picking out some t grip hex keys, mainly because the set looked complete. She bought another crowbar. Annoyed by the extra weight on one leg that had been like a stone in her boot since yesterday. At the next stall she found old comm equipment, something she’d hoped to find. Before Rosie could attract the attention of the trader Charlie appeared at her side. She subtly poured a little cola from her bottle into speakers and Rosie dabbed away any trace with her cuff. “Hey, how much for the broken walkie talkies?” Rosie asked, trying to keep a straight face. “Four hundred, and they ain’t broken.” The trader had an unwelcoming look to him, hungover and mean. “Sure they are, see.” Rosie pressed the talk button repeatedly, with no sound coming out. “Fine, two hundred.” The trader relented. Rosie smiled and began counting out caps. “Hold on.” Charlie interjected. “Two hundred for broken junk! How ‘bout fifty?” “Fifty! Look, she’s counting the caps already, she doesn’t want to haggle.” Rosie froze, then spoke up for herself. “Eighty, and I’ll take those too.” Rosie pointed to a stack of circuit boards. She couldn’t tell what they were salvaged from, but knew the components soldered to it would be useful. The trader grunted and held out a tin can. Rosie tossed in the caps and left. “Sometimes the old ways work the best.” Charlie had an almost playful tone. “Also.” She held open her bag and Rosie saw the cast lead ingots and sheets of brass that had been on the edge of the stall. “You…” Rosie stopped herself and took the surprised volume out of her voice. “Stole them!” “Yep.” Charlie let her amusement fade to make her point. “Look, if you need stuff, buying it is the safest thing to do, but…” “I know how to steal.” Rosie’s brag drew glares from the passers by. “I don’t doubt it.” Charlie kept them moving. “But there are rules. First don’t get caught, you’ll get a day of manual labour if you do.” Rosie had more than enough experience of that. “Second, only take things that can’t be traced. I could have bought that lead and brass from ten different places. Now we’ve got a thousand round thanks to that prick.” Charlie rarely had a bad word for people, it caught Rosie by surprise. “You see the ink, the markings on his neck?” Rosie had, she’d thought it might have been a burn or bruising. “Raider clan markings. Fucker gave up the life, settled behind walls, now he lives like the people he preyed on.” Charlie glared back at former raider for a moment, then tore her gaze away. “We need some tape, red, blue, and green. Why don’t you pick some up.” Charlie gave her a wink and Rosie headed for the next stall, almost giddy. The next object that Rosie picked up puzzled her. A telescopic pole mode of carbon fibre. Rings along the underside, and a hand cranked spool of thin line attached near the rubber grip. Rosie extended the sections, doubling then tripling the length without fully extending. With a feigned clumsiness, Rosie brought one of the metal rings close to a magnet at the back of the stall, pulling it into metal spanners and ball bearings. “Hey, watch it!” The trader pulled the magnet free and yanked the pole away from her. He set about straightening up, giving Rosie ample time to slide the mixed colour pack of insulation tape from the shelf and into her pocket. “How much for that pole?” Rosie asked, smiling apologetically. “It’s a fishing rod, you know, for catching fish.” Rosie didn’t know what he meant, or care, she had a better idea. “Three hundred, and I’ll throw in these too.” He opened a small plastic case, showing shaped lead weights, barbed hooks with bright flecks of cloth or plastic attached, and spools of extra line. “Two fifty.” Rosie shot back. “Deal.” Rosie started counting out the caps. “You be careful where you go casting your lines. Lots a nasty stuff living in the water, you might catch more than an old boot.” Rosie saw concern in his face that she didn’t understand, but it made the tape in her pocket heavier. Stealing in the Vault felt like a victory, an act of rebellion against the liars, this felt different. Closer to something that John wouldn’t like. Rosie glanced round to look for Charlie, a pointless thing to do as Charlie would only be seen if she wanted to. A skill Rosie had yet to fully acquire. Another bout of feigned clumsiness knocked the items from the shelf at her side. Rosie apologised and bought the tape, and two more rolls besides, without haggling. “You did good.” Charlie appeared next to her. “Especially when you paid for the tape.” Charlie seemed pleased. “I thought you’d be mad.” Rosie never liked failing. “Shit no. It’s one thing to rip off chem dealers or raiders that escaped justice, or Filth, but he seemed decent enough.” Charlie bumped her playfully. “Besides, no one is allowed to be mad at you today.” Rosie didn't understand, although it didn’t seem to matter. “How much have you got left?” “Four in the pack and…” Rosie trailed off as she checked her pockets for the remaining caps and began to panic. Her face dropped as she had to explain to Charlie she’d lost hundreds of caps. Charlie shook her head from side to side, clearly disappointed. That lasted about fifteen seconds before she dangled the pouch in front of her. “How did you do that?” Rosie hadn’t even noticed the weight leave her pocket. “The Boss taught me. Talent of a misspent youth.” Charlie tossed Rosie the pouch and she slipped it into the inside pocket of her coat. She would make sure to ask Brandon to teach her too, although she didn’t expect to see him anytime soon.