The Knothole Nest, Logger Camp 37-T, Cardooine

"Seriously though, Dar. When's the damn mark gonna show up? The food here tastes like slag, and I'm not even allowed to smoke in here."

"Have a beer, you big crybaby."

A gloved fist slammed on a dirty table. "THERE IS NO FRAGGIN' BEER YOU DUMB SON OF A BARVE! Apparently Cardooine Logging and Carpentry thinks that if one of these stupid hicks fell out of a tree it would be some sort of great loss, so there's no drinking above ground. I'm stuck here watching a bunch of stupid half-wookies gawk at a video screen like their life depends on it."

"I thought you liked swoop races?"

"Not this garbage. No hazards, no speed, no risks, no serious crashes. I mean they have blasted restrictions on engine noise. RESTRICTIONS ON HOW FRAGGIN' LOUD YOUR ENGINE IS, FOR THE FORCE'S SAKE."

"Well suck it up, then. This guy, Jafan Brandes, he's a friend of Harend's. He knows where Harend's hiding. If he can confess to you, then you can book him as an accessory to the embezzling by not helping the official corporate investigation. That's a nice 750 credit bonus which you could keep, so try to bring the guy in."

"Whatever." The comlink shut off, and slid back onto Crix Horne's belt. He grunted as he tried to lean backward against the stiff booth backing, only to awkwardly slouch down. He was a rough character: messy red hair, facial stubble, a dark leather vest with a great big skull on the back, and scuffed combat boots with a steel tip. He smelled of tobacco and blaster gas. On his right hip was a Theed Arms S-5 Heavy Blaster Pistol, nicely fit in an unstrapped holster. On his left, a pair of stun cuffs.

Crix took a deep breath as he looked to his right. The loggers were all fixated on the swoop race, cheering and whooping as their favorites to win rounded the corner. Normally he would have at least made the effort to enjoy it, but he was here on business. Cardooine Logging and Carpentry had been reporting a major embezzler, someone stealing wood straight out of the mill. Corporate investigations pointed to a Gar Harend, who all but vanished when found out. The logging company asked his friends, but couldn't crack them without risking earning the wrath of the Logger's Union and getting caught up in a messy lawsuit. So, looking for someone not bound by corporate procedures, they went and hired Sentinel Freelance Solutions, who in turn sent out Crix to get a lead on where Harend was hiding.

And that was how one Crix Horne found himself stuck in a third-rate diner mounted high in the Cardooine treetops. The fifth leg of the Cardooine Grand Tour was tonight, and there was a good chance Harend's friend Jafan Brandes would show up to watch. His droid, R5-F0 was outside with the other droids not allowed in the bar, playing lookout. When Brandes arrived, Crix simply had to grab him, get the location out of him, and then haul him back to the ship where the rest of the crew was waiting. Seemed simple enough.

It was the third quarter of the race when Crix's comlink let out a familiar harsh screech. He got up and made for the door, eager to be moving. He stood there in front of the big wooden door as it swung open to reveal a short, mustachioed, balding man. The contrast was quite glaring, with Crix standing a good foot over the dimunative Brandes. "Jafan Brandes?" Crix asked as he watched the color drain and shock cover the man's face. He gripped him roughly by the shoulder with his left hand. "We need to have a little chat."

He forcibly stepped forward, shoving the lesser man back several steps outside the diner while still holding onto his vise grip. Brandes tried to break free, but caught a stiff right hand for his efforts. Enjoying the catharsis with the one punch, Crix quickly applied another, straight to the little man's cheek. He let go before delivering a massive right hook, sending Brandes stumbling onto the ground into a parked airspeeder. Crix walked over, spun him around, and slammed him facefirst into the airspeeder's hood. He picked the battered and bruised man back up, pulling his hands behind his back and applying the stuncuffs.

"Y-y-you can't... Th-th-the union..." Crix slammed him into the hood of the speeder again. Whoever owned the the heap of junk probably wouldn't mind a little bloodstain. At least, that's how Crix justified it to himself as he slammed him into the hood again, breaking Brandes's nose. He drew his blaster pistol and pressed it firmly against the side of the man's head.

"Does your union protect you from this, motherfrakker? Huh?" He pushed it up against Brandes harder, just to tighten up the pressure. "You know what I want. Give me Gar Harend."

"B-b-b-but..."

"I HAVE HAD NOTHING TO SMOKE OR DRINK FOR TWO HOURS. DO NOT FRAGGING TEST MY PATIENCE YOU STUPID, INBRED, WOOKIE-LOVING MOTHERFRAKKER."

"Tourist district! Grand Cardooine Hotel! Suite 714! Waiting for a ride that comes the day after tomorrow!" Crix eased up on the man, pulling him back. He threw the handcuffed Brandes down on the ground, and squatted over him, blaster in hand.

"You telling the truth?"

"Honest!"

"Better be," Crix said as he stood up. "Otherwise I'll hand you over to a friend of mine. Barabel. Used to work for the Hutts. He knows how to get the truth out of a man." He took out a cigarillo and lit it up. "Come on R5. Let's get this sucker back to Momma." A few beeps and whistles went off as a jet-black astromech droid with a pale dome wheeled itself out of the shadows. It popped up a little antenna from its dome, and gave a quick beep as Brandes spasmed and howled in pain. "Dammit R5, I already busted up the mark's nose. Don't zap him; I'm not hauling his stupid ass back to Momma if he passes out." He pulled up dirty, bruised and bleeding Brandes. "Come on, you son of a barve. Don't make R5 zap you again." Almost as if it was a joke, the astromech droid let out another beep and gave another quick shock to Brandes. Reluctantly, he started walking.

Crix smiled as he inhaled the smoke. All of that pent-up frustration was gone now. All he had to do was go to Dar, tell him the location, throw Crix in the cell, and then he could go hit a real bar. All in all, it was a pretty good night.