Quote:Bounty: 70 000
Level: 5 – Word Min.-1700
Names: Gulty'lib
Details: Twilek wanted for several murders that occurred on Tatooine. Deliver to Gulla the Hutt alive.
Gates breathed in the hot, dry air of the infamous desert planet that served as the back end of the galaxy, where the scum fermented in peace. Like any person with an ounce of sense, he was wearing loose, light clothes in drab colors; the heat was still oppressive, but not insane. He sipped lightly from a small water bottle, before replacing it in an inner pouch of his jacket. His hand brushed the hidden M66 ‘Silent Death’ SMG, its comforting weight pulling lightly on the holster. On his hip was a DC-15s blaster pistol, and he had a knife up his sleeve.
He had tracked his target, a murdering Twi’lek named Gulty’lib, from Mos Eisley to Anchorhead. Gates ‘ lip curled, but he winced at the contemptuous action; the air was so hot his lips were seriously chapped. That hurt. He still shook his head. Vast Empire soldiers working for a rather shady group inside of it, headed up by none other than Aeos; a pity they had to get bounties from scum like Hutts. The giant slugs had no real talents apart from living a really long time and being conniving bastards.
He sighed. “Anchorhead is big,” he murmured. “Finding one scumbag in a planet up to its eyes in ‘em is gonna be tough.”
He decided on entering one of the many cantinas. Almost cautiously, his fingers entwined in his belt on inches away from a quick draw, he went in to one, the lettering on the outside reading ‘The Dewback’. Inside were a myriad of humans, aliens, creatures, foods and drinks, and a small Bith band playing softly in the corner. Gates stalked up to the bar and ordered a small drink he knew wouldn’t kill him. He thanked the bar tender and paid promptly, drawing a raised eyebrow from the man. Apparently, payment was rarely on time if paid at all.
“So, seen any Twi’leks in here recently?” asked Gates, as the bartender seemed to be warily optimistic about the tall, intense-looking stranger. “’Specially one named Gulty’lib?”
“I wouldn’t know,” the man said guardedly, “I jist serve da drinks. Maybe, though, the bouncer over there would know.” The man behind the bar had one hand out of sight, unquestionably resting on a weapon of some sort. However, his other had was pointing across the room at a well-muscled Wookie.
Gates finished his drink and tipped the bartender. The man’s eyebrows raised again, but he quickly swept the coins off of the filthy bar. “Might as well keep in his good graces,” Gates muttered, “Never know when you need a contact.”
Gates made his way over to the bouncer, carefully picking his way past tables of drunk men and aliens, and over an unconscious Rodian. He tapped the bouncer on the huge, furry shoulder.
The Wookie rumbled softly, and a split second later, a small voice came from his belt, a translator. “What is it you want, puny human?”
“I’m looking for a Twi’lek by the name of Gulty’lib,” Gates repeated, flashing a picture to the large alien. “Know of him?”
The Wookie rumbled again, and the translation; “I know of him. He shot up the bar yesterday, but I don’t know where he went. A few days before that, he was getting friendly with one of the dancers, and shot Drunk Phil over there.”
Both people were pointed out, a falling-down drunk and a thinly-dressed Twi’lek dancing girl. Gates thanked the bouncer and made his way over to the drunk. The man was nursing a glass of red alcohol, and he stank of sweat, dust, and drinks. A group of glasses nearby determined he’d been here a while. Gates sat next to him, but the man didn’t even look up.
“Excuse me?” Gates asked the drunk, tapping him on the elbow.
The drunk bounced up, surprised. One of his eyes was covered by a thick patch, and he had several days’ worth of beard growing on his face. “Whut do you want?” the man asked, voice slurred. “Can’t a man drink in peace?”
“Do you know Gulty’lib, a Twi’lek?” Gates asked, holding up the picture. The drunk’s eye widened in shock and fear; “Yes, I know him. He took my eye yesterday. What do you want with him, eh?”
Gates shook his head. “How about we talk about this outside.” He didn’t make it a suggestion. The drunk looked mournfully at his drink, and then left what was left. Gates paid for the pile of drinks, again surprising the bartender. As he turned to follow the drunk, a dark-skinned human male intercepted him.
“Hey, who’re you?” the man asked, backed up by a couple of his friends. Gates saw out of the corner of his eye that there were a dozen or so more men paying attention to the exchange, hands casually making their way towards blasters.
“I’m Garryll Gates, and you are?” the Stormtrooper asked, psyching himself up for a fight.
The man looked murderous for a second, and then, “Oh. We thought you were somebody else. Sorry about the mix-up, uh, Garryll.” He grinned and sat down. Gates continued towards the door.
“GARRYLL! That’s an Imperial name!” yelled one patron, and, like a crazy bastard, jumped up, as did a dozen other men and the cantina erupted into blaster exchanges. Gates turned and dove for cover, along with the black man and his thugs.
Soon, the two factions were exchanging fire; the bouncer Wookie was ducking into an alcove and typing rapidly into a datapad; the slave dancer was huddling on her exposed platform, her ‘master’ covering his head behind an over turned table. Gates ducked low and sprinted over to her, blasting her restraints and leading her behind the bar, where the bartender was loading shells into a shotgun slugthrower. The dancing girl smiled at Gates and gestured for a weapon.
“You’re my kind of girl,” he replied, handing over the DC-15s and removing the M66 without its silencer. Gates nodded to the bartender and the vengeful dancer and they popped up, opening up on the instigators of the brawl, a tall man and his crew.
Laser fire stained the walls black, and tables were all overturned. The Wookie bouncer was firing off bowcaster quarrels and blasting right through the thin metal tables. Gates fired a burst at the leader’s cover, dinging it badly with the rapid-fire rounds, and finally blowing off one of his hands when the man poked it over to blind-fire. The man started screaming in pain.
A few seconds after that, weapons were being tossed from cover, at least those that could still move and breathe. The gangsters that were still alive emerged from cover with hands up. The black man’s crew rose quickly as well, keeping their weapons trained.
Quickly, the black man and the bartender were yelling for blood, the gangster for his injured men, the bartender for his bar. A Wookie roar silenced them all, with its translation coming a second later; “Let Mr. Gates decide what the punishment will be. He is the neutral party here.”
All eyes in the bar fixated on the Imperial. “Fine,” Gates replied, grinning. “First of all, you all,” he pointed at the instigators, “Will have to pay for the damages, and never come back into this cantina again. Anyone else is free of blame, but don’t go shooting these ones until they pay the bartender.”
The parties didn’t look overjoyed, but it was at least a fair compromise. Gates escorted the dancer out of the bar, as the man that had enslaved her had been tragically shot. The two people emerged from the cantina and back into the heat of the desert world. The drunk was tottering around the exit, sleeves rolled up and coat discarded.
Gates gathered the two people who knew about his quarry. “Okay, what do you two know about Gulty’lib?”
The Twi’lek answered first; “He was very interested in men, and came often to leer. He told me he had a ship in the docking bays, a MC-18 freighter.”
The drunk grinned. “My boy is a whiz with machines, and he’s pissed that bastard took my eye. He can steal it for you, and hurt that bastard where it hurts. I heard he’s been hanging around the Jawa, a dump of a cantina lately.”
Gates lips curled into a smile. He had a plan.
“We all have reason to want to grab this particular Twi’lek, so let’s work together,” Gates said. The other two nodded. “See, here’s the plan. I’ll drive him towards his ship; your son will have hacked it open, and our Twi’lek associate here can hold him onboard if I somehow can’t catch him. Once we do, we all win. I’ll get my bounty, you can have his ship,” the dancer’s eyes lit up. “And you’ll know he won’t live very long anyway. I’m delivering him to a Hutt.”
The drunk grinned, and tottered off quickly to pick up his son; the Twi’lek dancer went to follow, but turned. “Thank you for releasing me from slavery. I saw you shoot the slaver.”
“No problem,” Gates replied, “I hate slavers about as much as I hate pirates and terrorists, which is a lot. And you can keep the pistol, too.” He gave her the holster. She smiled, and followed the drunk, catching up to him easily.
Gates loitered around in a patch of shade for an hour. Just as the sun was going down, the drunk returned. “The pretty lady is on board the bastard’s ship; my boy opened it for her. She’s ready, my boy’s at home, and I’m going there. Good luck, then, Mr. Gates.”
Gates nodded, and turned towards the cantina where his prey was undoubtedly drinking. Gates entered quickly, and walked right over to the bouncers, a thickly built human and a heavily tattooed Rodian.
“Have you seen this Twi’lek?” asked Gates, holding up the picture yet again. “A Hutt wants him alive.”
The bouncers shot glances at one another and pointed. The Twi’lek in question was undoubtedly Gates’ target, drinking lightly and typing rapidly into a datapad. Gates sat down across from the alien. “Good evening, Gulty’lib,” Gates said, grabbing the Twi’lek’s pistol from its place resting on the table. The alien reacted quickly, dropping the datapad and pushing the drink into the hand holding his pistol. The heavy drink splattered Gates’ arm, and the Twi’lek ran off. The gun was jammed, and the liquid was a practical wax, thick and sticky. Gates dropped the useless pistol and grabbed his combat knife, cutting at the hardening gel. Soon, his hand was free, and he pulled the M66 and sprinted after the target. Down the street, the Twi’lek was looking over his shoulder and running. Gates sprinted after.
Turning again, they came upon the starport, and the Twi’lek sticking his tongue out and with the archaic middle finger stuck up on both hands, charging up his loading ramp. Gates holstered the SMG and walked casually to the ship’s still-lowered ramp, whistling as he went.
Today was a good day, he thought.
This is all working out well.He quickly ascended the ramp to the dancer holding her pistol on the murderer, a smile of triumph on her face. Gates trapped his hands, and bound them with a zip-tie. After, he frisked the target and found a starter card for the ship and a few personal items. He tossed them all to the dancer. “Use your freedom well. The Empire is looking for ships, you can get some good freight there.”
The Twi’lek smiled and waved them off as Gates called the contact for Gulla the Hutt.
“Yes?” asked the man on the line.
“I have the prize, and I’m bringing him to my ship. You can pick him up there,” Gates replied, a thin smile on his face.
“Excellent,” the man replied, and the line went dead. Gates closed his comlink and marched the criminal to deliver him to the local kingpin, Gulla the Hutt.
Once at his ship, a small procession of speeders zoomed up to it. A man descended, followed by a couple of armed Weequays and Gulla the Hutt himself. The huge slug grinned, a disgusting thing to see, and nodded. Gates turned over the prisoner, now shaking in fear, and the other man wired the funds to the RHA.
“ A pleasure doing business with you, Gulla,” Gates replied, tipping a sarcastic salute and climbing into his ship. “The Roworth Hunter’s Agency is at your service.”
