(This RP is an intresting experiment. Have fun reading as me and (mostly!) MBP had fun editing. I like this song, too!)

Winters had avoided the town bar, and for good reason. A group of vigilantes had saddled up inside of the cramped building, and where busy drinking liquor that they weren’t going to and couldn't pay for. Jesse itched his head just outside the building, trying to remember just how long ago he robbed that feudal lord's caravan. No bounty lasts that long. Besides, Jesse's mean streak was done with anyway.

He sighed, and kept wandering around town. There was no inn or available space for relaxation. Jesse would have to sleep on the ground tonight.

He stopped halfway through his second lap around town, and leaned against a brick wall. A large wind coming from the southern end of town carried over a smoky smell over Jesse. The gunslinger began to feel something piercing him after a while though. Someone was watching him. He was in the worst part of town, and someone had been creeping for a bit too long. Abrupt rustles ending, well, abruptly. He wouldn’t have noticed if they where any good, or who knows, maybe he was just getting lucky. Winters stood up and walked away, confrontation wasn’t exactly what he was looking for.

He looked back after getting to the end of the street. Some quick movement by an alley caught Jesses eye, and he tightened his hand on his pistol grip. He turned around as the sound of clothing rustling together alerted him to the stranger’s presence. Some bastard had dropped in from out of nowhere. Jesse jumped back, only for the man to begin to circle him, arms behind his back, eyes focused on the wraps around Winter’s hands, and the weapons at his hip. He was draped all in black, but black didn’t describe him well enough. A shadow, black wasn’t a strong enough word. He was purposely moving away from what little light there was out on the street, almost instinctively. His face and hands where caked in mud, and he was wearing what looked like a obsidian colored jacket.

The stranger walked back and fourth just out of the light. He looked Jesse up and down, examining him. To Jesse, his eyes seemed to shine out to him. A faded blue, they where practically headlights in the darkness. He had what looked like a Billy club at his side.

An awkward silence continued, before the stranger finally broke the ice. "You...seem capable." The stranger's voice was distinctly feminine. Winters hadn't noticed until now. The mud did a great job at hiding her features. The darkness helped her as well.

"Thanks." Jesse turned to walk away. He didn't feel compelled to continue the conversation.

"Wait!" The woman called after him, Jesse turned back around, if only to humor the thief. "Help me, then me and my friends help you. Go to a yellow tent in the middle of town. I was supposed to look for outside help, yeah? You're the second person that looks like you can put up a fight I've seen all night. Show up if you're interested."

The mystery woman ducked into a nearby alley, threw up her hood, and just like that disappeared.

Jesse made it to the center of town, glancing about for the tent. It stands out like a sore thumb among the other buildings. It's got a sort of piss yellow coloring to it and the entire thing smells distinctly of barbeque.

It was early morning when Peter arrived in town and the place was quiet at this time of day. Peter had left Cameron a few days ago after trading most of his salvage finds and friends to a group of slavers in exchange for allowing him to travel with them. It certainly didn’t hurt that they thought he was a doctor, though thankfully for Peter there hadn’t been a need for him to demonstrate his “medical expertise.” When Peter arrived in Brick the first thing the slavers did was take him to meet Big Z. Big Z was supposed to be some kind of connected criminal figure that could help find an unscrupulous man like Peter work. The brothel was still lively at this hour and even in the back room there was a small commotion in the distance as the patrons finished their drinks “entertainments.” Big Z was sitting at his desk with a stack of papers and a concerned look on his face. There was a stranger with him as well in expensive looking armor; it wasn’t pre-war but it looked like it could take a beating. The slavers seemed to know him so Peter figured that this must be the boss or at least a man higher up in the slaving organization.

“Who’s the suit?” asked Big Z when Peter entered the room and took a seat.

“The name is Peter and from what your friends have said, you are a man I need to meet. I can tell already we’re going to get along good and these upstanding individuals I rode with talked my ear clean off about how kind you are to your friends. I’d very much like to be your friend Big Z and your associate there,” proclaimed Peter in his usual salesmen tone.

“Oh well this is Dr. Archer Staunton, he’s a former university professor and an expert on local tribes.”

“Pleased to meet you Peter,” said Dr. Staunton warmly as he and Peter shook hands.

“So was your PHD in anthropology or sociology?” asked Peter.

“Geography actually, but I haven’t been in a college for some time now; I run a slaving outfit at the moment,” explained the doctor. “I never cared much for pushing papers and debating theory with pompous windbags. Here I’m out conducting my own research without answering to an engrained and outdated bureaucracy and the best part is the fact that I’m directly making a positive impact and helping people out here in the wasteland. It’s amusing to consider that putting tribals in chains can actually free them from the chains of their own ignorance, yet that’s what we find. A slave leads a far better life than most tribals, which often starve and succumb to illness we can easily cure in the wild. That’s not why we’re here though there’s been some developments my caravans have discovered.”

The table was covered with photos and maps. The maps looked like they covered the surrounding area but there were features on them that he didn’t recognize. Someone had drawn in monsters at various spots on the map, apparently whoever owned the map before ran into some frightening creatures.

“Someone hit our delivery crew while they were offloading goods to one my lieutenants; Mendoza was his name.” Big Z rubbed his hand on his forehead out of frustration. “He was a lazy oaf but he was my cousin so I had to keep him around out of respect. We need to find whoever is responsible and avenge our captured associate. We do have one clue as to who hit us however; one of my guy’s, Pauly found a dead tribal near Mendoza’s gun and the bullets we pulled out the body are the same caliber. It’s a safe bet that the dead guy is with whoever is responsible. The doctor has managed to narrow down where the tribe is located. We got a tent we want you to wait at, we’re going to get some more muscle on this and you’ll be sent out. We need to cover things up make it look like a tribal conflict, no guns unless absolutely necessary. Keep your mouth shut inside the tent, not everyone there is on the same page and they don’t need to be, capiche?”

Jesse comes through the tent door and sees three people inside. One pays no mind and is busy in the back of the tent cooking what looks like some kind of jerky. The other two hop to their feet, and come at Winters, one holding a hatchet and the other clutching a machete.

The man tending to the food screams, “STOP!” just as Winters is about to pull the six-shooter. He shakes his head at the two hired muscle, and tells one of them to tend to the meat roasting in the corner, before getting up from his chair and approaching Jesse.

The two men, a prime example of hired guns if Jesse had eve seen em, both of them dressed in clothes with washed out blood splatters being the main color present. The man in charge is tan, unshaven, and wearing one fine fucking suit. It's torn from some movement like most others, but his looks it’s almost been custom tailored. It's cleaner then most and looks like it's been preserved nicely throughout the years.

He moves through the hut like a gorilla, crashing into a desk and moving a throw rug in the process. Jesse see’s what looks like half a trap door, before it’s covered up

"Didn't see nothing nuttin, ja?" The mans drunk and a swamper, never a good mix. Least one of those human shit stains can dress respectably. He pointed outside the tent, and before Jesse could react, he was pushed out with a shove.

The swamper stumbles out alongside Jesse, and the two move about town for a little until the swamper finally collapses. Jesse helped him regain his composure and the two kept walking.

"Fuck me....." the swamper nearly fell to the ground. "Help me fucking walk here! Those motherfuckers brew strong tequila and practically force the goddamn bottle down my throat! Every one of those espanwellz knows how. It's a fucking national treasure to em!" Jesse grabbed the swamper’s arm and slung it over his back. The swamper kept talking about useless shit, mostly. Every once in a while he'd stop and look around, eyes moving lazily. Jesse carried him to the outskirts of town, before the suit garbed swamper finally gave him directions.

"Over them dunes…. you keep walking about and you'll see a camp site. Want you to go in and see if they're hauling what I think they're haulin'. Burn it to the ground. Make it dirty, make it tribal. Keep the fucking shooters in their holsters. Can't remember where that fucking ranger likes to fucking camp out. Don’t want to wake him up now, do we Mr…..fuck, what was your name again?”

“Jesse.”

“Alright, now go! If you wait any longer it’ll be god damn sunrise.”

Simple enough directions. Winters wasn't sure when or why he made a transition to fucking hitman. He felt like a fucking lapdog. "Go over here, do this, kill that, blah blah blah." he wasn't even sure if the swamper offered him pay or not in drunken state.

Jesse watched the swamper stumble back to hut, following a nearby wall for support. Winters waited till he was out of sight before he went to get the job done.

Peter didn’t know what was worse the smell of the pisswater, they had the audacity called liquor, the swamper was drinking or the stench from the two slaves he had protecting him. This yellow tent was a dressed up pigsty and Peter was overjoyed when the new muscle finally arrived. The slavers didn’t take too kindly to the man Peter would later learn was Jesse, but Jesse took care of things. It looked like Peter would be going on this trip with someone with a little style and a head on their shoulders. Just to be safe though Peter hid in a corner of the tent until the ruckus was over. The drunk swamper did a worse job of relaying the mission than Big Z had but it seemed to work.

“Hey,” Peter called out to Jesse after they were a safe distance away from the tent. “I’m with you on this, I know they said to keep things quiet but I’ll be watching your back with this rifle should turn south. I saw on the map that there is some pre war infrastructure nearby their settlement so I’d expect some significant resistance. Any group that can hold on to anything pre war isn’t a pushover. Compounding that is the fact that they found a pile of bullet casings at the massacre site, all of which were different calibers supposedly. These guys in Brick just use 10’s that’s strong evidence that these savages have gotten their hands on some serious firepower. We should stick to the hills until we’re close. That should give you an opportunity to recon the site first before attacking. These aren’t your average stick throwing mud worshiping heathens and if we go in unprepared we’ll get shredded. I’ll be behind you the entire way making sure no one gets the jump on you. The name’s Peter by the way and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

After the pleasantries had been exchanged the two of them walked silently towards their goal. The tension was palpable as the task ahead of them was dangerous and likely a one way trip. Peter had those before and he didn’t relish the prospect of tempting fate again. He remembered though that this was an important task. Big Z had told him as much when Peter was leaving earlier.

”This isn’t hooked, we don’t have a domestic demand for product like those sewer dwelling Arab raiders across the way. Getting rid of these tribals is the best shot we have at securing our supply routes and without them people are going to be ravaging the countryside for a pack of mints. While the exports are allow us to access more markets our reliance on them is a weakness which our enemies seek to exploit. I just want you to know the importance of this task and the cost of failure. Our local chemists can’t keep running the labs on just the sales from domestic demands and there are our importers in Texas to consider as well. The operation hinges on this one mission.”

Jesse started climbing sand dunes in search of camp sites. It didn't take him long before he saw light. A small area, lit up just to the side of the road far up ahead.

Jesse slid down the dune he was atop, and moved towards the lights, Amos some five feet behind him. He crept from dune to dune, trying to get to a suitable vantage point. He began to ascend a particularly steep hill, and started observing the campsite.

Jesse saw four small tents, all within ten feet of the large, blazing campfire nearby. A small group, 5 or 6 people where all huddled around the fire. Three large crates where at the far end of the campsite behind a tent. Jesse swore under his breath. The group looked too large to be the ones the swamper requested Jesse to remove, but Winters had to at least check. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, and approached the caravan.

Jesse's as low to the ground as he can go, and going step by step, alerting the caravan before he was ready would prove fatal. He hears the men speaking now, and from what Jesse can tell it's standard conversation, arguing over politics and which trader’s likely to pack up and head off to New Orleans. The topic changes to booze, and Jesses within reach of the crates by now. He's trying his hardest to be quiet, barely even breathing. His heart is pumping harder and harder, and Jesse has his hammer in hand. Very slowly, he starts to remove the crate’s top. The boxer has it just beginning to pop off when it makes a crack, almost audible to those at the campsite, and perhaps even Peter. Jesse's heart sinks, and he knows that one of the em could have heard it. He hears the voices nearby question the sound, Jesse backs up, and he knows there’s no where to run immediately. One of the men gets up to investigate, and Jesse hears his footsteps start to grow louder as he approaches. Winter’s grabs the cleaver and makes a incision into a nearby tent, and grabs an item from the crate before he darts inside the tent.

A minute passes and the man's back at the camp fire. Jesse looked down in frustration. The crates where filled with bricks. "Big fucking surprise." Jesse’s pupils exploded in size. He didn’t mean to say that aloud.

A man came rushing into the tent, his eyes widening as he saw Jesse inside. Winter’s takes a step forward and cold clocks him, knocking him to the ground in one punch. The rest of the gang would know he was here, or at least something was in that tent along with who ever Jesse had just rocked.

Winter’s grabs two flash bangs from his jacket pocket, one for each hand, flinging both into the center of the campsite. The men outside are stunned, temporarily at least. Jesse sprints out the makeshift entrance he made moments ago and bolts over to the closest sand dune. He hears someone cursing in frustration in the distance just as he marathon man's down the highway. He only stops moving when he starts panting, slowing to a halt and then trudging up another sand dune.

Jesse's sweating heavily from the run, and the hot southern night isn't helping all too much. He stands up and starts moving again, one way or another Jesse's moving now. He's more determined then before, his previous failure having spurred him on then anything else.

Peter flanked around to other side and stealthily approached the camp. The camp had lackluster security and Peter knew Jesse would be fine so he went to another tent to cover more ground. A quick vault over a low point in an fence got Peter inside the settlement without raising too much suspicion. The camp was a few tents and a bunch of folks huddled around a fire. This wasn’t a time to sight-see but the fire would keep the guards eyes unadjusted to the dark. Peter could probably walk right past them without alerting any of them. Keeping low to avoid any other guards Peter darted through the tent shanty. The ground was littered with empty bottles from last nights festivities and Peter had to make sure he didn’t step and break any of the bottles. That would injure him and alert the guards to his presence. He slowed down and checked all around him as he approached the suspect tent he saw on the hill, the guards were still where Peter had last left him huddling around a small fire to keep warm.

There didn’t appear to be anyone in the first room of the tent but there were at least two more partitions that needed to be checked. The next room was lined with shelves full of human body parts. “The tribe must collect trophies from their victims,” Peter thought. This room also had the armory and it lined with crude knives and firearms. Some of the more primitive blades were simply sharpened rocks. The muskets were more rust than they were metal and half the stocks were eaten away by termites. The canvas was covered in brownish red stains and the room had a copper smell from all the blood. The most macabre part of the room though had to be the skeleton lamp which was two femur bones attached to each other with a couple of rib cages wrapped in skin serving as a lamp shade. These were some sick tribesmen and this area looked like it belonged to some chieftain type person judging by the few luxuries found amongst the horrors.

Then Peter heard Jesse and things went south from there. One of the guards by the fire came into Peter’s tent to make sure nothing had been messed with in here. Peter slid up by the tent flap in the armory and grabbed one of the muskets. This one had a bayonet attached making it ideal at this range. Peter struck and the savage’s instincts kicked in as the guard realized how perilous his situation was. His arms flailed and his legs kicked had as Peter tried to stab him. This wasn’t a task Peter was used to performing, his poor vision and weapon’s skill hindered him greatly. Peter kept trying to stab again and again as the guard thrashed on the floor. Eventually Peter was finally able to connect in the shoulder and the guard screamed until Peter connected again in the chest. The whole ordeal left him exhausted but the night wasn’t through yet.

At least an hour passes before Jesse and Peter find another campsite. Rather then being right next to the road like the previous caravan, this one is a speck of light in the distance. Jesse's more careful then ever this time around, and he's got a hunch that this one is it. Winters climbs a dune some two hundred feet away, and he lies prone to watch for a moment.

This time Winter's is positive. The safety concerns were far too great for most "normal" caravans. There was one man on watch opposite of where Jesse was, holding a gun. The camp itself has two men sitting near a small lamp, with four sleeping beds nearby. Jesse counts the difference and realizes one of the sleeping bags is occupied. Jesse's looking for where their cargo is for some time, until he spots the sacks lying in the corner.

Winters slides down the dune and makes his way around the camp. The camp area itself is flat, but it's surrounded on all sides but one by hills. Jesse's quiet like a mouse when he's going around, moving extra slow to make up for how large he is physically. Once he's close enough to the man standing guard away from the camp, he realizes that the bastard has been drinking from a bottle. Jesse smells booze faintly and realizes how he's been passing the time. Jesse slowly let's some of his excess gear fall to the floor, before he removes Ellis's Ol' Bone Spear from his back. He tightens his grip on the handle, and slowly advances upon the watchmen. He gets ten feet behind him, before Winters speeds up suddenly. The man turns around; if he wasn't liquored up he could've called out in time.

Jesse drives the spear right through his chest, and he slowly walks backwards with the man still impaled on the point. He let's the man slide off in such a way that he lands on the ground rolling. Slowly at first, but it soon gains speed. Jesse backs up, retreating out of sight from the camp. The hills far steeper towards the caravan. The body falls at the bottom of the hill, and the two men notice immediately. They come rushing to the body, and one of them starts climbing up looking for the killer, judging from the trudging footsteps. Winters rushes onto the top of the hill and jumps at the man still waiting by the corpse, and falls just past the man climbing up.

Jesse lands on top of the trader at the bottom of the hill, he crumples onto the floor and Jesse rolls out of it. It's a stand off between him and the man on the hill now. The bandito raises his rifle and is halfway done with cracking back the bolt when Jesse flings the spear at him. It hits its mark, and the spear goes clean through his gut, and he falls to the floor grasping onto the spear stuck in his stomach. Two down, two more to go.

The man on the ground starts to stand up, when Jesse kicks him back down onto the ground. Winters limps up the hill, and puts his foot down the man's body. He grabs onto the spear, and pulls. He hoists it free of the still squirming body, and he makes his way back to the man just starting to stand again. Jesse takes the flat end of the spear and does an over hand swing. It cracked over the man's back and he went flat on the floor. Jesse impaled him, took his spear out, and moved onto the next man in the camp. He was still sleeping through all the noise somehow. He was just laying their, eyes closed, sleeping on his side. Jesse didn't realize till now he had a shotgun lying next to him. If Jesse had pulled out the big guns, he probably would have woken this bastard up and got him self a few new holes in him. Jesse lifted the spear, point facing the ground, and spoke out loud for the first time that night. "Looks like you're....." Jesse paused, and thrusted downward. "Dead asleep."

He soon got to do the clean up work. Jesse gathering his things, and started piling the bodies into the center of the camp. He sliced open a sack from earlier and looked to find what was inside. Chems. A bunch of syringes where inside. Looked like Psycho to Jesse, but you could never be sure till you actually felt the stuff. And Jesse wasn't in the mood to overdose tonight, especially not on this shit. He piled the sleeping bags on top of the bodies, and threw syringe after syringe at the pile.

Psycho was flammable, if Jesse remembered what went into it correctly. Eventually the bags where empty, and Jesse grabbed a kerosene lamp from the outside of the camp, and tossed it on the Psycho soaked sleeping bags. They lit up, and the fire started raging. A surge of heat washed over Jesse, and he soon departed from the area.

Peter cursed his rotten luck as he panted heavily. This run was more then he could take but they seemed to find the campsite right before Peter would have called it quits. His spleen ached in his side and there was sweat pouring off of him. Jesse was made for this kind of work but Peter wasn’t. Give him a marketplace any day over this crap. Peter took up a position outside of the camp on top of a sand dune to give Jesse support. If any fighting broke out Peter wouldn’t let anyone get the drop on Jesse this time.

Jesse had a confidence about him as he made his way down into the camp. This was a man on a mission and if any tribal was dumb enough to shoot at him that tribal would be missing a head very soon. Peter checked his sights and calibrated them for the appropriate distance as Jesse reached the settlement. Just as Peter shouldered the gun a hand grabbed him by his shoulder and ripped him to his feet.

“You a lobber?” the gruff stranger asked.

Peter didn’t have much time to think, any delay would be seen as deception. He quickly glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw a double barrel stock sticking out by the man’s shoulder. It wasn’t definitive proof but sometimes you got to roll the dice.

“No sir, I’m here on Brick business,” Peter glanced down and thanked his lucky stars he saw a tin star. “These tribesmen have been stopping our shipments for sometime. We’ve hit one of their outposts about an hour that way and after we take care of this site we should have clear trade routes again. If you doubt my claim go check out the other camp, we’re not going anywhere.”

“If you’re lying I’ll find you, doesn’t matter where you go. You can check around and the folks will tell you, no one crosses Ranger Gord and lives to long to tell it.”

The ranger left in the direction Peter pointed, giving him time to go back to sniping. When Peter looked back the fighting was done, he hurried down and helped Jesse. Peter threw a lit rag into the mountain of bodies and the blaze grew quickly. The heat from the fire was intense but he ignored it he made and lit makeshift torches. The torches were used to burn the tents and crates in camp. The main blaze in the center kept growing as the dead men sizzled from the water evaporating in their bodies evaporating. As the bodies burned their eyes started to pop and the fire poured through this new opening in their skulls.

Peter was the last to leave the camp took the responsibility of setting the last bit of the entrance on fire. The tents were easy to catch ablaze and then Peter propped the torch up against camp as a warning to others. The camp was engulfed in fire and the area was filled with the smell of burning meat. “Let’s get out here before anyone comes back, we have a reward to pick up in Brick.”

It was a long walk back to Brick, or at least it felt that way to Jesse. He didn't think much of the caravan he had just burnt, but rather of the one he had ran into earlier in the night. When he passed by it's former location, nothing was there. The only possible way to tell that anyone was there was the remains of a campfire. It had been covered by sand from the looks of it, and sets of footprints trailed off into the desert.


The mud houses of Brick appeared in the distance, and Jesse arrived at the gates of town. The streets where barren. Stray animals ran from street corner to street corner. A drunk lay out in the street. The light, the overwhelming signs of life from earlier, had disappeared with the passing of night. Jesse only now realized how long he had been gone.

He makes it to the yellow tent near the town center and entered. Inside was the swamper sitting in a chair, his head face down, resting on a desk. One of the bodyguards is lying down in the corner asleep. The other is standing near the entrance, playing with a machete. Seeing the boxer enter, he goes to his boss, and shoves him slightly. The swamper jumps up, startled.

He turns to Jesse and asks, "You get it done?" Jesse nods and slowly a smile forms on the swampers face. He turns to the bodyguard and points out the tent's flap. "Go wake him up." The bodyguard departs without a word.

The swamper starts talking to the empty tequila bottle in front of him. "The one sleeping. He drank most of the bottle. The other one doesn't drink." Jesse yawned; he was tired from the walking. The adrenaline rush from earlier was over.

A few minutes of uneasy silence later and the guard and a man Jesse's never seen before walk in. The guard steps outside for a moment, while the stranger take a seat in a nearby chair.

The swamper offers the man something to drink and the man avoids the question entirely. "Is this about the tribals or what?" The swamper shakes his head.

"That's not a problem we need to address right away. But, that caravan you were telling me about? I acted upon the opportunity."

The stranger’s eyes opened up. "So what did my little guessing game amount too, Jeremiah?" Jesse finally knew the swampers name.

"My.....friend?" Jesse mutters his name. "Jesse, right. He found, and removed, the cargo they were carrying. And that means that Big Z was bullshitting the mayor, an-" Jeremiah's interrupted midsentence by the stranger.

"Fuck the mayor. The mayor's practically in Big Z's pocket, and the rat bastards might as well be fucking trying to get us to start shooting at each other. The town guard is his personal fucking mob, and I'm getting sick of that shit. Besides, fucker took up some of the town land he promised me when he built that shitty kiln."

The swamper goes backing to speaking. "You're still pissy about that? It doesn't fucking matter. You talked to the mayor about that once when you got here. Once! Then I save your ass by giving you a small mud hole, free of charge."

"But not of taxation." replied the stranger.

"Nothing in this world is really free. Besides, you bought it eventually, didn't you?"

"At an inflated fucking price."

The swamper burst out laughing, and he slapped the stranger on his back. "Listen, Coleman. The past doesn't fucking matter. Besides, it's not like you're not doing well for yourself. And with our new information on the drug operation, all we have to do is find the lab, and we're good!"

"Foley has a chemist working for him now too. Word on the street is she's the reason he started construction on the new kiln."

The swamper looked puzzled for a moment. "And? Do you feel left out! Don't have a new toy to play with or something?"

Coleman smiled. "Just a little." He glanced over at Jesse. "Tell that hired gun of yours to go see me later. I need someone that isn't covered in mud to go help me out." The mud man got up and left. Jesse glanced over at Jeremiah.

"You heard him. Go help the man out!"

Peter left Jesse after the two had made it back into town. As far as Jesse was concerned the mission began and ended at that yellow tent. Peter on the other hand had a crime lord to see. The brothel was even livelier at this hour and muddy workers seemed to leave a trail of filth like a slug wherever they went. Peter was beginning to see why Big Z kept his office way in the back out the way of all this. A guard nodded to Peter as he went into the back room. Big Z was still at his desk but the Dr. Stanton had left.

“Is it done?” Big Z asked as Peter entered the room.

“Yeah it’s been burned to the ground.” Replied Peter too tired at the moment to think of something more elegant to say. The trip back had taken a lot out of him.

“You smell like smoke wrapped in shit so I believe you, you’ve earned a shower and this.” Big Z slid his payment on over to Peter.

Peter looked at the reward and nodded politely back to Big Z. “There was a small complication though, I ran into a ranger out there a man named Gord.”

“I told that swamper to take care of that, but good help is so hard to find. What does he know?”

“He knows that Brick is getting serious about there shipments being hijacked. There’s nothing left of the camp to point to drugs or us.”

“That’s why you’re meeting with instead of a drunk swamper, who’s soon to be dead anyway. We’ve had complications of our own while you were gone, turns out the drunk has been double dealing on us. If he thinks that Coleman can save his hide he has another thing coming. I’m making him a pet project and an example to those that would switch sides. Stick by me Peter and I’ll make a capo out of you. For now go up to room 137 and make yourself presentable, there’s always more work for a man with a head on his shoulders. I’m afraid we’re a long way from resolving our current fight over local affairs.”

I'm going to out and say that I didn't know what was going on half the time.

The first problem I see in the thread is this thief character in post #1. Who was she? what importance does she hold in the story? Why does she want Jesse to go to the yellow tent? You introduce a needless character who's role would have been much more easily explained with some kind of poster or advert- something that could have attracted Jesse to the tent.
I also notice that this "Big Z" character is no where mentioned in any of Ceweb's posts. Peter enters the brothel, meets Z and his associate. When Jesse walks into the yellow tent, he sees some guy and his swamper buddies cooking beef jerky and (I suppose?) drinking tequila. Somehow, they both end up working together on the same job.

But what's this? Why did Peter bring up mint and local chemists? Where did they come in?

Nothing is given a significant amount of detail. In fact, the meatiest description given tells me about how the min characters are wiping sweat off of there faces.

I don't want to nit-pick at ever incoherence and flaw in this piece, so I'll sum it up for you real quick like-
This thread seems to babble angrily at itself, making very little sense and possesses no notable plot. The only thing the characters appear to accomplish is sweat and bumble over themselves. I think you deserve a reward that reflects this.