"I don't share bounties." 

The wind picked up, dust flagrantly roiling about the air before it dissipated as if it had never been. Dirk placed his hand on the holsters of his guns, but he never drew them out. He was calculating something that might actually make it so he wasn't ending another life, though that never tended to bother him. His visor pinpointed her physical attributes, evidently honed for combat, and his practiced eye told him she knew how to carry herself at least. After one last moment of deliberation, he continued. 

"...Usually. But I can make an exception this once. That means you'll have to be my gunner." He told her, gesturing his head toward the VEC transport. There was only one seat, for the pilot. But behind it was a small, liquid cooled lasturret one could operate by standing within what had the appearance of leg braces, with platforms to rest your feet on. It wasn't anything one could use to seriously harm an armored vehicle, but it could punch through another VEC's armor fairly well. Or kill a humanoid.

The bounty hunter knelt down and grabbed Chalnarc's fat fingered hands, slowly dragging him for a second and stopping. The world was so silent save for the music inside the saloon, his bulk scraped audibly along the hard desert ground. Dirk Crimson wouldn't wait for her to think, so she had to decide now. "Of course, you can stay here and get blamed for this one's death. Either that, or help me pick this sack of shit up so we can turn him in." 

There was a small compartment below the VEC that one could slid a large pack in for travel. Or a moderate sized body.