[S8 - Sriluur - BSB] Fear and Loathing in Al-Campur City

Spirits were high in the Weequay Capital City’s largest gladiatorial arena. As Vanda and I shuffled through the packed lobby, the true depravity of the galaxy’s most valued citizenry reared its ugly head. It was late morning when we arrived and the beast fights were starting. Folks were drinking like Palpatine was coming back tomorrow. It wasn’t long before Vanda got on the wrong side of a fairly steamed Gamorrian. I got in between them and announced my intention to buy a round of drinks when it looked like Vanda’s head was likely to become an accessory to our new friend’s fist. Dropping a couple credits on the counter, I put my arm around Vanda and guided him out of the Gamorrian’s eyeline.

“You gotta remember Vanda, these people aren’t like you and me. They’ll blast you dead for spilling a beer. Hell, those Ualaqs over there would gut you for looking in the wrong set of eyes.”

Vanda looked a little shaken. “I thought everyone was here for a good time.”

“Well what did you expect? You commented on his snout ring. This isn’t the Core. You need a little bit of tact if you want to network with these sorts.”

Vanda was a good man, if a little green. I pulled a job with him three years back and his slicing capabilities seriously impressed me. Today’s operation needed to go off without a hitch. My future well-being depended on it. I kept a lid on my nerves for his sake but I was highly aware that sliding around in the bed of an airspeeder with a bag over my head was still very much in the cards. 

Finally we reached a door at the back, manned by a young Theelin with a data pad. As we approached, I changed my demeanour and began barking gibberish at Vanda.

“Well if Ben Quadinaros says he’s TOO OLD to do an interview, you can tell him we know all about his grandson’s little run in with CorSec last year. We’ll just run THAT story instead.”

We quickly flashed our forged press passes at her and ploughed on through the open door. She started to say something but I yelled at Vanda louder to drown her out.

I decided to make a quick detour towards the Press Club’s open bar. We each got a glass of skordu and tried to blend in with the crowd. The atmosphere was a bit more even tempered here. Sports journalists milled around the room engaging in light conversation. 

After I felt I had spent enough time acclimating to the unique vibrations of the press pool, I motioned to Vanda that it was time to go. He threw back his skordu and tapped on his data pad until the staff entrance door slid open. He directed us up a flight of stairs and across a corridor until we reached our destination: the private box. 

I turned to Vanda to offer him one last piece of wisdom:

“If anyone offers you any drugs, say “thank you - that would be very nice.” These fat cats will sniff you out in a minute if you hesitate.”

His eyes looked worried again. I slapped him on the back and walked through the door.

The fight had started now and most of the room was glued to the window overlooking the arena. I glanced around the room trying to register what the best approach would be. 

“You fellas want anything?” asked the bartender to our left.

“I’ll take a Surly Sarlacc” I said. “And some spice for my friend” I added, noticing the crate of distinctive Kesselian powder in the corner.

Vanda seemed taken aback by this but luckily I had briefed him on this exact situation. I left him there to go mingle with the elite and powerful. There were a few faces I recognised. The governor of Solacton sat up front, looking uncharacteristically sour for a Zeltron. 

I smiled at the Twi’lek smoking spice on the couch as I passed. I couldn’t remember her name but she worked all these events. She got the guys with deep pockets to spend credits and in return the venue kicked some of it her way. Finally, I sidled up beside the trandoshan I came to see, Scalelord Drokke. I took in the scene for a moment, inhaling his second hand smoke as the violence ensued below us.

“Who are the favourites today Mr Drokke?” I asked.

He side eyed me and took another puff. 

“If I told you it would ruin the surprise.” he hissed.

“I hate surprises.” I said, taking a sip.

“And you are?”

“Darro Anes” I lied. “I’m with Tatooine Monthly.”

“A vile place” he mused sardonically.

“Sure is. Jabba’s absence hasn’t seemed to improve things either.”

He hissed again under his breath. “The Hutts come and go. Their presence is of no consequence.”

This was my opening. “You’re still paying them taxes though right?” 

 He stopped and looked at me now.

“That spice in the back. That’s yours right? Last I heard, any spice coming out of Kessel still gets taxed up to 40% - Jabba’s nephews must be making a killing off you guys.”

He eyed me suspiciously and took a slow drag of his cigarra. “You.. are not a sports writer.” he mused dryly.

“I’m a businessman, Mr Drokke” I said with a grin. “And I can make you a lot of credits.”

He was listening. Time for my pitch.

“I have friends with a source on spice. A lot of it. They ship it in from outside Hutt space. For a reasonable fee, we can get you as much as you can move. Everybody knows the Hutts are on the downslide. In 6 months all your competitors will still be kicking back to Nal Hutta. Don’t you want a real piece of the pie?”

He smiled and leaned in. “my friend, I don’t work for scraps” 

An hour later, I walked out with a handshake and a head full of people I needed to contact. Vanda was totally destroyed by the time we left. When I finally got him out of there he was doing nog shots with the president of the Hydrospeare Corporation.

“Man, you’ve got to get a hold of yourself” I told him. “This is no condition for an agent of the Bryx Security Bureau to be in.”