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At first, living in Hangman's Alley was as luxurious as it sounded. Joey had arrived when he picked up the recruitment signal a few blocks away and, really, it was only marginally safer than his previous life squatting in the prewar ruins around the Commonwealth.
There weren't many of them living there, back then. Joey had joined up when their were only the two families of farmers with tiny garden plots and a small rotation of guards.
When Nate, the hulking founder of the Alley, came through a few months after Joey settled down, he spent a few hours constructing a table with shelves and a piece of wood hanging above. The farmers watched out of the corners of their eyes as he hammered together wooden planks, used some paint to slap "Trading Post" on the sign, and put some hooks under the counter and up the posts.
Once it was done, Nate straightened up, looked around, and pointed Joey out from the crowd.
"You," he demanded. "Need a job?" It didn't sound like a question.
"I'll help however I can," Joey answered timidly, because how else do you respond to the rising star of the Commonwealth?
"Here." Suddenly, Joey's hands were full of caps, more than he had ever seen in one place. "Trashcan Carla's due to stop by soon. Buy her out and get some stock."
"Nate here'll stop by every so often and collect a tax, but the rest of the profits are for the Alley," Nick, the synth detective, explained while Nate wandered off to tinker with one of the turrets.
"Oh, um, okay?"
"You'll do fine, kid." Nick winked one glowing eye, then Joey was left alone with hundreds of another man's caps.
True to Nate's words, Carla came through a few days later. She wasn't surprised to see their new little post and gave him a sly smile while they were negotiating.
"You know I met him when he was fresh out of the vault? He was fighting off bloodbugs with a baton." Her smirk was small but fond, "Now the man's got half the settlements in the Commonwealth to take care of."
Carla gave him a bit of a discount since he was buying in bulk and because she had a soft spot for his employer, but she told him not to get used to it. "I'll be back in a couple months and I expect you to have something worth my while!"
Joey did his best to arrange his little pile of wares; the beat up leather armor was hung on a nail, the rations displayed in an orderly stack, and the precious few chems were under the counter and out of easily stealable reach.
Joey made a careful inventory and counted his remaining caps.
While they didn't seem confident, the farmers humored Joey and helped him get started. Mrs. Johnson traded him some tatos for a straw pillow; her husband gave him prewar money, a typewriter, and some ammo for his only dose of jet; and a young girl stopped by to trade for some mirelurk cakes.
Joey got a little better at negotiating, as time went on, and new settlers or the caravans would pop in and Joey was often able to get almost double what he spent on his supplies. He got a reputation for being fair and smart, and it didn't hurt to have the rumor of Nate's mighty power sledge backing him up.
Soon, traders from all over the Commonwealth and beyond would stop by the Alley to buy and sell. It got so busy that the farmers put down their tools and picked up pipe pistols instead. They took guard shifts instead of tending their sparse little lots and Mrs. Johnson traded her few farming tools for supplies to make beds and soon had a bustling bed-and-breakfast for their visiting caravans. They thrived even without farming, Joey just traded for fresh food.
Wiseman from the Slog sent tarbarries and, in return, Joey would send meat from the scavvers who traded for new leather armor from the brahmin farmers and so on and so on. Their farmers-turned-guards got fast and strong to protect all of their guests and Joey found himself trading up for metal armor and heavier weapons.
The next time Nate stopped by, he was with a raider girl with a power fist; the guards nearly fired on them before they recognized him under all the road dust and blood.
"Looks like you've done well!" Nate boomed, letting his super sledge drop with a heart stopping thud. He leaned the weapon casually against Joey's clean stand, as if it weren't covered in super mutant brains and other unmentionable goo.
"It's been a lot of fun, thank you for trusting me here!" Joey put on his customer-service face and smiled wide.
"In that case, let's see how well you barter." Nate leaned forward on the counter, his smile turned predatory with sharp teeth and an unhinged look in his eye. Joey was suddenly very glad the sledge wasn't in his hand.
Nate pulled pipe-pistols, armor, canned pre-war food, and a goddamn mini-nuke out of various pockets and bags, then the raider woman was called over and he unstrapped a shotgun and a luncher for the nuke from her back and pulled a cryo-grenade off of her belt. Joey blinked back his shock with a suitably neutral expression.
"You gonna buy me dinner first?" she flirted, batting her eyes almost mockingly.
Nate just waved her away and turned his attention back to Joey. "So, what can I get for this?"
Joey took a deep, calming breath and started to meticulously sort through the story of carnage and death spelled out in metal and blood stains. The sight of the rifle had been modified, the pipe-pistols were run-of-the-mill, and the shock baton was strangely sterile looking. He ran out of room on his table, so he started tucking the weapons into bins and boxes, Nate's eyes following his every move.
The armor was easier. Most of it was either raider or gunner, but one piece had the symbol of the metal men and Joey knew better than to question it.
"I can do a shipman of oil for everything," Joey's smile stretched to mirror Nate's, "if you throw in some of those stimpacks I saw."
The massive man before him stared hard into Joey's eyes.
The settlement itself seemed to be holding its breath. Their few trader guests formed a little crowd; the guards were in their towers, but Joey could imagine them with ears pricked in his direction; even the raider woman was looking between them with excited eyes.
Finally, after an eternity, Nate threw back his head and laughed. "You're ballsy! I knew I made a good choice." He slapped Joey's counter with a meaty hand.
Joey did his best to keep the tension from his expression. "Do we have a deal?"
"You can have the stimpaks, sure," Nate said, throwing them down almost carelessly. Joey dove across the counter to keep one from rolling off. "But I want a dose of Med-X and that desk fan."
"Deal!" Joey said, quickly stashing the valuable stimpaks under his table, right next to the effective shotgun he kept for himself.
He arranged for a shipment of oil to arrive with the next caravan and found proper places for the mountain of merchandise Nate had given him.
The founder, once he received his Med-X and desk fan, took the little contraption apart. Joey watched him scavenge screws for the turrets and used some of the metal to reinforce a shed that had been hit by a few too many raider bullets.
After the repairs had been made, Nate cobbled together a bar across from Joey's stand and unloaded various drinks and roasted meats and prewar snacks. He once again pointed into the crowd and chose one of the guards to run it.
She looked confused and a little scared, Joey imagined he looked much the same when it happened to him, but still nodded decisively and accepted the armful of caps with reverence.
Nate and his raider friend collected their weapons and waved at the guards on their way out.
The new bartender, Joey hadn't had a conversation with her yet, dumped the caps onto her counter and stared at them hard. Vividly remembering the feeling, Joey waved for someone to watch his booth and walked over to her.
"A little overwhelming?" he asked.
"A little?" She looked bewildered. "Try massively! Where did he even get so many caps?"
Joey chuckled along. "Yeah, he's making this a habit. Look, he wants you to run a bar, right?"
She pointed up at the sign with a bland expression. "What gave you that idea, genius?"
Ignoring her sarcasm, Joey walked back to his booth. "And what does every bar need?"
"Raider assholes harassing the women?"
"Liquor!" Joey produced a box full of glass bottles he had stashed away.
It took some prodding, but Joey taught the new bartender the finer points of bartering and made sure to give her the same discount that Carla had given him all those months ago. He walked away with fewer caps than he should have, but she had a nice stock to get her started and he threw in a few more snacks to sweeten the deal.
New customers would do their deals with Joey, rent a room with Mrs. Johnson, then drown their sorrows at the Hangman's Bar. It was a good little system and each business helped the other; even the guards getting discounts on their days off.
"Greenies! Incoming from the South!" The guard's shouts woke Joey suddenly, shooting panic through him.
"All hands to the tower! Protect the turrets!"
"Someone call the founder!"
It was chaos. From his bed, Joey could see half-awake guards and traders running either to or from the gate, some clutching weapons and others with their hands full of caps. The guard he paid to watch his stand was still there, but was straining her attention to where the shouts were coming from.
"Go! Go, I can handle the stand!" Joey shouted out of the window, struggling into the armor he kept by his bed.
"What's going on?!" The bartender was in a similar situation. They met in the hall while Joey was desperately fastening his helmet and she was shrugging on a metal vest, clutching a rifle.
"Greenies, a bunch of them from the sound." Joey hurried down the steps and out into the little market they had established.
The bartender came stumbling after him, looking more put together than she did minutes before. "Greenies? The hell are you hicks even saying?"
"Super mutants!" he snapped, "Weren't you a guard?"
"For, like, a day!" she shot back with a snarl.
"Nuker! Comin' in hot!" More shouting from the guard tower.
The bartender froze. "Shit, I know that one!"
She spun, taking off towards the tower. Joey, ever the merchant, checked first his stall then hers.
When he looked up next, the bartender had her rifle on her shoulder and stood tall on the platform.
A man hollered from her left, "Ten seconds!"
"Brace yourself!" yelled another.
Joey didn't see her pull the trigger, but he did see the brilliant explosion from just outside the gate. The familiar warmth of radiation danced on his skin and he glanced down to check his supply of radaway.
With their ears still ringing, the rest of the guards picked their rifles up and fired at, hopefully, the last of the mob, led by the bartender with her head thrown back and a bloodthirsty smile.
Once the gunfire ceased, Joey waved a guard over and darted through the gates, eager to scavenge what he could off of the corpses. He stripped the massive fiends of their planks, pipe rifles, and the nuclear material from the suicider; some carried extra caps or radroach meat which he collected just as well.
Joey was on the last mutant, thankfully having been shot before firing off its missiles, when another greeny came around the corner.
"Incoming!" he yelled, back pedaling as fast as he could.
"Dead not need things!" the mutant shouted, "We take!"
Joey swung up the scavenged missile launcher and fumbled to load it.
The mutant looked almost amused. "Yes! Come, human. Strong show you how to die!"
"Wait!" Nate appeared from behind the mutant, shoving it with his considerable weight. The mutant just politely stepped aside. "He's with me!"
A round passed with a distinctive wzz, close enough Joey imagined he felt it part his hair, and buried itself at the mutant's feet.
"Friendlies!" Joey shouted over his shoulder, unwilling to turn his back on their founder's new companion.
"Looks like we missed the fun, Strong," Nate said casually, patting one massive shoulder.
"Too much running," it grumbled. "Want more fighting."
"Next time, big guy." Nate surveyed the carnage and waved a hand to the guard stand. "Good job! Did someone nail that mininuke?"
"Your new bartender," Joey answered, puffing up proudly; another win for the merchants.
"Sounds like she ought to be head of the guard instead." Nate smiled while he strode past Joey, heedless of his protests.