Fred, or Lee as he would call himself to them only half listened. He wondered what to do. He was alright at cards, though most likely worse than the other gentlemen in the group. It seemed that they did not want to leave Reno. This confused him; the job was a clear trap. He scratched his head thoughtfully before replying with an "Uh-uh." and wlaking off. 

In the first order of business, he would go to a shop selling arms and armour, and get a ballistic weave sewn into his jacket, undershirt and jeans, along with steel caps and plates for his boots. He would go to a bathhouse and take a shower meanwhile, singing some pre-war song. When freshened up and with his clothes, he would spend a few caps to gel his hair, and shave, and clean his clothes along with polishing his boots. Satisfied, he would stock up on every sort of chem he could, and buy some remote-detonated explosives. He had very little money left, so he finally went over to the meeting spot. He would lean on a wall, drinking a nuka-cola and rum and wait to see the others, ocassionally snatching something insignificant from the pocket of a drunk thug, or someone who he would not feel any moral reprimand from robbing.