laneys.info Beware of Yankees, drunks, and loose women.

Broc stared at the cold grey table top as he sat within the interrogation room. The local officers had drilled about every aspect of the evening that he had spent with Sandra, he knew the drill and wondered if someone had set him up. Maybe the assassin was trying to send him a message. If so, he definitely got it and the thought made his blood boil. As he sat, slumped in the high backed chair, chin resting on his right fist, he tried to remember every face that he had come in contact with since arriving at Machelen. If this assassin was as good as he was beginning to find, he could be anyone.

The door clicked open behind him and he stirred as he half turned to see the lieutenant walk in, softly padding on the thin carpet.

"We got enough from that sample that you collected of the bullet. It came from a Morellian T3," he informed as he sat on the edge of the sturdy table. "Military grade but, also available to any resourceful black market contact on nearly half of the Imperial worlds and probably all those within Hutt Space and the Outer Rim," his wide shoulders shrugged. "And with a range of two-and-a-half miles, plenty of reaching ability. I'm seriously impressed by this guy's talent...."

"Hey," Broc leaned forward, his face aglow. "I woke up to a corpse this morning, do you mind!" He jumped up and headed for the door.

"I've been asked to keep you here for now by your director. He's sending two I.A. reps that want to talk to you," he extended his hand with regret in his eyes.

Broc turned and realized what was going on. His shoulders sank and he reluctantly withdrew his badge and pistols from his jacket, then handed them to the officer. "I'll be in my room or at the bar at the starport hotel." He turned and walked out.

* * *

Walking up to the comstation at the starport, the young girl, red hair tied into a tight bun peeked beneath the sloped grey cap which complemented the thick grey jacket. A heavy, black backpack hung over her right shoulder sported several silver zipper tabs as she keyed in contracting captains who held extra berthing open for passengers. Scrolling down the list, she found one headed for Toprawa - perfect. She hit the 'Contact' button and waited for the reply.

"Yeah, this is the Bierre," a younger male voice stated.

"I'm looking for passage to Toprawa, how much for a room?"

"I'ts a two day trip, one thousand credits. That includes food and cargo space for your stuff. Just you?"

"Yes," her young, innocent voice informed.

"How old are you, kid?"

She grinned. "Twenty, why?"

He chuckled, "Nothing. We're leaving at fifteen hundred, be at pad E - nine about fifteen minutes early, alright?"

"I'll be there."

Her brown eyes turned as she began to head to the cafe and noticed a familiar tanned bald head walking towards the 'Sarapul', a local bar within the main concourse. As she raised her left arm, she glanced down at her chronometer: 13:44. She had time.

* * *

Broc walked into the bar, full of waiting passengers or those lingering as they waited for friends or family arriving. Businessmen wondering where their vessel had been as they nervously glanced at their chronometers, ladies watching the holovid that commanded the corners of the seating area or over the bar itself that two droids and an older gentlemen tended. He grabbed a stool near the quieter center of the bar and sat down, then tapped the blue button on the light wooden counter top, once brightly laquered when it was laid, now singed by cigarra ashes, knife cuts, or stained by who knows what. Rising, he scanned the menu of drinks and tapped 'Corellian Whisky', then sat back as his tired brown eyes watched the shockball game which hovered above the cabinets to the right.

"Here you go, sir," the tall droid stated as he set the squat, rounded glass down on the counter and waddled away. As he sipped, a cute redhead walked in and sat two stools down and set her backpack on the black padded seat to her left as she began scanning the food menu which popped up before her. Her curves and strong, firm body reminded him of Sandra somewhat, just taller. Thoughts flooded his mind of their night together and he tore his eyes away as he took a longer draught from the glass, nearly emptying it, then slamming on the table. As emotion welled, he sat up, choking back more tears as he leaned forward and stared at the light from the long bulb that hung over the cabinet behind the bar and smaller inset area where the autochef sat.

"Rough night," the young female voice asked from his right.

He turned to her, brown eyes glossed as he grinned. "Rough week." He sighed as he straightened again. "Aren't you a bit young to be in here by yourself?"

Her brow furrowed, "No".

"You look no older than my daughter and she's too young to be in a bar."

"How old is your daughter?"

"Nineteen," he smiled. "Nineteen three weeks ago as a matter of fact."

"What's her name?"

"Sinaia. We named her after my ex-wife's grandmother," he was beginning to enjoy the diversion of thought. "Amazing how time flies, I remember when she was born," he chuckled as he recalled his mother's face, how overjoyed she was to finally have a grandchild. "No bigger than my forearm and now she's about your size, already in her second year of college."

"You must be proud," she said as the droid brought her a plate of noodles and meat.

Broc nodded, "Very. She's talking about being a xenobiologist, always was fascinated with my wife's medication and how they made it from various plants and things. She was constantly harrassing the tutorial droid about various chemical compositions and things."

"Is that what you do?"

He shook his head, "No. I decided to do something else." He glanced over to her as she ate quietly, studied her face. The smooth lines, gentle curves of her ear and neck. "How old are you?"

"Twenty," she glanced to him and he noted the hazel eyes. "Why, you still think I don't belong here?"

"Your parents know you're leaving?"

Her smile faded and she went back to her meal.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know."

Softly nodding, she continued eating. "Did you go see her for her birthday?"

Guilt set in again, he had sent a card and asked Candice to get her a gift with the money he had sent. "I wanted to, but work kept me away, unfortunately."

"Maybe you need a change of profession."

He chuckled. "That may not be an option soon," he diverted his eyes back to the serving droid and rose his glass for another round.