- Joined
- Dec 24, 2017
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The First
Somewhere on Coruscant . . .
“All right, down and dirty,” one man of six said at one end of the table in a hotel room amid music from a speaker system. The table was suitably shaped like a ring, a circle so round that it allowed an equal position for all men seated at it. Six players in a game of poker. This Human with a mustache dealt the cards to the lot as the dealer if not quite the boss. “Last card, automatic bump. Kings rule around. Kings talk.”
There were two other Humans beside him, a Rodian, a Bothan and a Zabrak. Cards dealt. Cards checked. “Check.” Bothan said. “Door’s wide open,” dealer urged the next player. “Check.” Zabrak said. Next. “Bet. Twelve hundred.” From the elderly Human. Chips put in. Forward and center.
Glass of vodka. Cigarra. “Whiskey. Neat.” The Rodian demanded of a seventh person, no player, more like a server and cleaner and he’s a Twi’lek.
“I’m gonna call,” a Human with black hair slicked back grinned. “‘Cause you ain’t got dick.” Cheese wedge. Spread atop a cracker. Floor for the crumbs. Twi’lek cleaned it up. “What the fuck!?” Sweeping beneath his feet was not a good thing. “Did I tell you to brush, you fuckin’ punk!? Leave the shit, cheesedick, get me some gabagool. Fuckin’ fool.”
“Cannoli for me. And coffee. Black.” Twi’lek didn’t pipe or peep and got to working and serving. “Can I steal this hand? I think I can.” Chips hit the deck beside the card deck. Hands pass. Smoke blew. Crumbs flew. Liquor and other liquid swallowed. Poker chip rolls across the fingers. Dagger twirled in a whirlwind. Anger. Laughter.
Dealer adjusted his collar. Air conditioning didn’t seem to be working as it needed to be. “Hey, open the window, will ya, boy?” Twi’lek nodded in compliance, moved in silence opposite the suite’s entrance, went to the window to open it, but before he could hit the button the door burst open.
“WHAT THE FUCK!?”
“SHIT MY KRIFFIN’ TITS!”
“WHO THE KARK IS THIS!?”
“DAMN IT WHACK THIS PRICK!”
-BLAM!-BLAM!-BLAM!-
But the blasterfire hadn’t come from the three thugs who whipped out their guns. It came from the man in the long black leather jacket who walked forth from the doorway. Gaze trained like his blaster their way. Hand strapped with a big cannon, black and gold, like his soul.
“Go ahead,” he demanded of one of the three dead men’s friends. “You skin that smoke wagon and see what happens.” Silence. Shooter had the corner of his eye on the guy cowering in the corner. A Twi’lek kid by the looks of him.
That left a Human with a bad mustache, a Human with too much wax in his hair and a Zabrak who the hotel suite’s guest dared to twitch with his stare. “Aight den. Now that I got your attention I’m lookin’ for someone.” He didn’t flinch. Just lifted a cigarette to sit ‘tween his lips and then he lit it. Blew smoke.
“Fitchie Aprano. Captain of his crew. One of you three gentlemen’s gonna tell me where he is.”
“...”
“...”
“FUCK YA MOTHA”
-BLAM!-
“Wrong answer. Try this again. Where can I find where the shithead’s hidin’?”
“He’s in the undercity. Last seen in Harper’s Bar. That’s all we know.”
“I’ll come back if you’re lyin’, amigo.”
“We know.”
“Good. Then know this next thing also.”
-BLAM!-BLAM!-
Chest. Head. Bloody mess. Dirty business. “On you’re feet.” The Twi’lek stood, terrified as shit by the guy with the big iron. Jacket pushed aside. Now it sits on his hip. “Whiskey. Neat.” Steady drag from his cigarette. Takes a sip. “Now beat it, kid, and if you come across more Crymorah goons like these few, do yourself a favor, run in the opposite direction. They ain’t worth it.”
Kid nodded in compliance. Took off in silence. That was it.
“Do. Done. Did.”
He made his exit. He had a mission. It ended with six dead, but not these idiots. His targets were higher on the list of this justified shooter. The killer. The Ranger. The Punisher.
There were two other Humans beside him, a Rodian, a Bothan and a Zabrak. Cards dealt. Cards checked. “Check.” Bothan said. “Door’s wide open,” dealer urged the next player. “Check.” Zabrak said. Next. “Bet. Twelve hundred.” From the elderly Human. Chips put in. Forward and center.
Glass of vodka. Cigarra. “Whiskey. Neat.” The Rodian demanded of a seventh person, no player, more like a server and cleaner and he’s a Twi’lek.
“I’m gonna call,” a Human with black hair slicked back grinned. “‘Cause you ain’t got dick.” Cheese wedge. Spread atop a cracker. Floor for the crumbs. Twi’lek cleaned it up. “What the fuck!?” Sweeping beneath his feet was not a good thing. “Did I tell you to brush, you fuckin’ punk!? Leave the shit, cheesedick, get me some gabagool. Fuckin’ fool.”
“Cannoli for me. And coffee. Black.” Twi’lek didn’t pipe or peep and got to working and serving. “Can I steal this hand? I think I can.” Chips hit the deck beside the card deck. Hands pass. Smoke blew. Crumbs flew. Liquor and other liquid swallowed. Poker chip rolls across the fingers. Dagger twirled in a whirlwind. Anger. Laughter.
Dealer adjusted his collar. Air conditioning didn’t seem to be working as it needed to be. “Hey, open the window, will ya, boy?” Twi’lek nodded in compliance, moved in silence opposite the suite’s entrance, went to the window to open it, but before he could hit the button the door burst open.
“WHAT THE FUCK!?”
“SHIT MY KRIFFIN’ TITS!”
“WHO THE KARK IS THIS!?”
“DAMN IT WHACK THIS PRICK!”
-BLAM!-BLAM!-BLAM!-
But the blasterfire hadn’t come from the three thugs who whipped out their guns. It came from the man in the long black leather jacket who walked forth from the doorway. Gaze trained like his blaster their way. Hand strapped with a big cannon, black and gold, like his soul.
“Go ahead,” he demanded of one of the three dead men’s friends. “You skin that smoke wagon and see what happens.” Silence. Shooter had the corner of his eye on the guy cowering in the corner. A Twi’lek kid by the looks of him.
That left a Human with a bad mustache, a Human with too much wax in his hair and a Zabrak who the hotel suite’s guest dared to twitch with his stare. “Aight den. Now that I got your attention I’m lookin’ for someone.” He didn’t flinch. Just lifted a cigarette to sit ‘tween his lips and then he lit it. Blew smoke.
“Fitchie Aprano. Captain of his crew. One of you three gentlemen’s gonna tell me where he is.”
“...”
“...”
“FUCK YA MOTHA”
-BLAM!-
“Wrong answer. Try this again. Where can I find where the shithead’s hidin’?”
“He’s in the undercity. Last seen in Harper’s Bar. That’s all we know.”
“I’ll come back if you’re lyin’, amigo.”
“We know.”
“Good. Then know this next thing also.”
-BLAM!-BLAM!-
Chest. Head. Bloody mess. Dirty business. “On you’re feet.” The Twi’lek stood, terrified as shit by the guy with the big iron. Jacket pushed aside. Now it sits on his hip. “Whiskey. Neat.” Steady drag from his cigarette. Takes a sip. “Now beat it, kid, and if you come across more Crymorah goons like these few, do yourself a favor, run in the opposite direction. They ain’t worth it.”
Kid nodded in compliance. Took off in silence. That was it.
“Do. Done. Did.”
He made his exit. He had a mission. It ended with six dead, but not these idiots. His targets were higher on the list of this justified shooter. The killer. The Ranger. The Punisher.