Chapter 4 Plata o Plomo
Life moved on in the endless, life-or-death monotony of wartime. Each day Kiraz helped scrape together enough money to pay the rent for her one room apartment, then came home only to take care of Emil, steal a few hours of sleep, then head off to work again to scrape together more credits.
She still saw Reese every once in a while, but there hadn't been many disturbances involving clones at the club recently, and even when she did see him there was no reason to talk.
It was still nice to see him, even if from afar. Kiraz didn't know many people on Coruscant, and despite his cold shoulder, she still felt like they'd shared a brief moment of connection that night he'd taken care of Emil. Seeing him in a crowd or across the room, it was like seeing a good friend's holo, or hearing news about them from someone else. It made her day a little less lonely.
It was subtle, but the mood on Coruscant—and especially at the bar—was steadily worsening. Troopers who came to the club to blow off steam seemed increasingly desperate to forget, more squads showed up for drinks with reduced numbers, and news coverage of various senate debates over budgets and war strategy grew more and more bleak. The dour atmosphere even infected the staff at 79s—Biss was more irritable than normal, and his mood spread to the wait staff like the plague.
One night after an especially torturous shift, Kiraz went to the back rooms to get changed for her commute home when she heard voices coming from the storage room. They weren't loud enough for her to make out at first, so she crept closer to the door, the truth-telling instincts her brother had instilled in her years ago overriding her caution.
"But… I was thinking maybe you could get me a wholesale price or something…"
That was Mrrta's voice. She sounded small and pathetic—not anything like the fiery personality Kiraz had met several months ago.
"You're a kriffing addict, Mrrta. You're lucky I haven't fired you yet, you think I would help you score on the cheap?" Biss's slippery voice sounded from behind the door.
"But I know you've been getting shipments. Just do me this favor, and I can do a better job on the floor-"
"Get out of here. I shouldn't have to help you do your job. Either do it, or leave. And I don't want to hear you talking about this again—to anyone. You don't know poodoo about the shipments, alright? If you keep talking about it I'm going to have to find a way to keep you quiet."
Kiraz clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from gasping. Biss was trafficking in spice. Here! Right under the nose of the GAR.
A memory of her first day on the job returned to her, the words Biss had said reverberating around in her head. You'd be surprised by how good a place a clone bar is to conduct illegal activities. He'd said that! To her!
Kiraz jolted away from the storage room door, drawing the eyes of one of the cooks.
"You alright there Kiraz?" He said.
"I'm… fine. Just ready to go home."
She grabbed her bag and scurried out the back, forcing herself not to look behind her as she walked. As she made her way through the musty alleyway, her mind whirred with new information.
Biss was dealing spice. Mrrta was addicted. Those crates she'd seen arrive the other day were full of spice. And now she knew.
In some ways it made sense. Kiraz had never seen police at 79s, even when it was civilians getting into scrapes. And Biss's inventory and deliveries were difficult to track because he was paid a flat fee for the variable amount of alcohol drunk by the clones.
In other ways, it was banthashit crazy. He was trafficking in illegal substances in a bar full to the brim with soldiers sworn to serve the Republic. If she weren't so disgusted she'd have to admire the entrepreneurial Rodian's guts.
The only question that remained was what exactly Kiraz was going to do with this information.
Kiraz stopped at the intersection in front of the repulsorcraft train that would take her home. She should keep her nose out of this, for her sake and for her family's sake. She had nothing to gain from outing her boss, and everything to lose.
Then she thought of Mrrta's gaunt face and haunted gaze. She thought of her uncle's family, left torn apart and creditless by her cousin's addiction. She thought of Trung's ridiculous sense of justice—how it drove her crazy but was also what she admired most about her brother. She thought of all the thousands of injustices she and others like her suffered every day but could do nothing about. For once, there was something she could do.
Kiraz turned in her heel, heading towards the police station on the other side of the road from the train.
The police station was stern and intimidating, a vertically-built structure of plain durasteel without windows or charm. This was exactly the kind of place a refugee like Kiraz avoided at all costs, yet she walked through its double doors without a hitch in her step.
She walked up to the counter and looked at the female Zabrak secretary waiting there with a bored expression in her face.
"Hello there. I have a crime I'd like to report?" Kiraz said, not afraid but unclear on the process.
The Zabrak raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh you do, do you?"
"Yes," Kiraz said, more certain this time. "My boss is trading spice."
"Alright, I'll get the officer on duty," the secretary said, getting to her feet and gesturing for Kiraz to follow her.
She led Kiraz to an interview room, took some of her basic information, and told her to wait. Kiraz sat in one of two chairs in the empty, grey room, toe tapping anxiously while she counted each second of sleep she missed by choosing to report Biss.
After a quarter hour the detective finally entered the room and sat down across from her. His human form loomed over her across the small table, though his round, bearded face was warm and open.
"Kiraz Tomera?" he said.
She nodded silently, making a conscious effort to cease her toe tapping.
"I'm Detective Larsen Wheeler," he said, tapping some notes into his datapad. "So, your boss is trading spice?"
"Yes. I overheard him talking about it, and I saw a bunch of shipments arrive that were definitely not what the labels said they were."
"Hmm… We'd need more evidence than that to make an arrest, but that could be a start. Where is it you work?"
"79s," Kiraz said, feeling a strange sense of weightlessness now that the secrets were spilled. "The clone bar."
One of Detective Wheeler's brow quirked upwards, and Kiraz noticed a pale scar bisecting his thick eyebrow. "Yeah, I know the place. Somehow I'm not surprised."
Tension that had built up in Kiraz's shoulders immediately eased. He believed her. At least, he was giving her the benefit of the doubt. A significant part of her had believed he'd somehow turn this around on her even though she hadn't done anything wrong.
Kiraz spent the next hour answering questions while Detective Wheeler took careful notes. There was something immensely satisfying about someone listening and paying attention to what she had to say, although her anxiety over the potential fallout at the club was still ever-present.
"Well, I think that's all the questions I have for now. We can't bring him in on an overheard conversation and suspicious boxes, but we can launch an investigation and confirm the things you've said. I'll reach out if we need you for anything," he said.
"Is there something I should do for my safety? I mean, I work at that club still," Kiraz asked.
"Just keep your head down. He shouldn't have any idea you've talked to us unless someone followed you to the police station. Keep your eyes peeled and let me know if you sense any suspicion," he said, handing her a piece of flimsi with his contact info.
"Thank you, officer."
Kiraz left the police station and dragged her tired feet home, falling into bed a good two hours after she normally slept. She would be exhausted the next day, but she told herself it was worth it.
Fleeing Umbara, getting legal status on Coruscant, and working long hours every day had trained Kiraz in the art of compartmentalization. This skill served her well as she started on her shift the next day at 79's, carefully putting her interview with the detective out of her mind as she walked past Biss in the back room and headed out onto the floor of the club.
The club was packed, which helped Kiraz keep her thoughts away from the fact that she'd reported her boss for spice dealing to the police. The entire 187th had returned for leave that day, so the club was packed with brown-painted armor and men wearing identical somber expressions. The 187th was a disciplined unit and their recent losses kept their mood subdued, so while the club was crowded, it wasn't rowdy.
Kiraz fell into a streamlined rhythm of taking orders and serving drinks. To the tables, to the bar, back to the tables—back and forth and back and forth. There was some comfort to the tedium, and at the very least it distracted her from wondering what Detective Wheeler planned to do with the information she'd shared. Her shift passed quickly.
She only had an hour left before clock out when the exhaustion hit. Kiraz was running on just enough sleep even on her good days, and she was really starting to feel the two hour deficit she'd racked up the night before. She was carrying a whole round of drinks to a table near the entrance of the club when she bumped into someone, spilling the drinks all over her dress and the floor.
"Pardon me, ma'am."
"I'm so sorry!"
A black-gloved hand reached down to help Kiraz up off the floor and she took it, only to look up into the familiar face of Reese. His face was, of course, identical to almost every other face in the club, but she instantly identified him by the tattoo running along his jaw. It was funny how she hadn't really noticed it before, but now her eyes immediately picked out his distinguishing features.
"Kiraz!" Reese said as recognition dawned. "Are you alright? You're soaked!"
He pulled her to her feet and she looked down at her dress, a knee-length sheath with a high collar and long embroidered lines that ran from the collar down the front in a traditional Umbaran design. It was usually a dusky blue color, but it was dark with spilled beer. It was one of her favorite dresses—one of the only ones that made her feel like more than a worn-out refugee—but it was just beer. It would wash out.
"That's alright, I have a spare in the back," she said. "What brings you here? I hadn't noticed any brawls."
Kiraz had already decided to keep her distance from Reese, but that didn't mean she couldn't be friendly.
"Yeah, no fights or anything. Just a trooper who went AWOL."
"Does that happen often?"
Reese shook his head. "No, we were all bred to be pretty obedient."
Kiraz forced away the grimace that instinctively wanted to make itself known at his words. It was unnerving to see a room full of identical faces, but Kiraz had served the clones long enough to know that they were still individual people. Individuals with identical DNA and frighteningly similar backgrounds, yes, but individuals nonetheless. Something deep within her was repulsed at the term "breeding" being applied to sentient beings. She wanted to ask him more—though she'd served clones for a while now, there was still a lot she didn't know about them—but she was starting to shiver in her sopping, smelly dress. That line of questioning also didn't really align with her decision to keep her distance.
"Well, good luck finding him," she said, self-consciously tugging her dress down around her knees. "I should get changed."
He nodded to her, and she could practically see the mask of professionalism descend. He turned from her and walked further into the club, his figure disappearing amidst a crush of bodies all exactly the same height.
Kiraz headed to the back room, grabbing Quilana's arm as she passed her by and asking her to get another round for the table whose drinks she'd spilled. She passed through the employees only door and went straight for her locker, pulling out her backup dress and making for the refresher. The common refresher was occupied, so Kiraz headed for the refresher by Biss's office that only he was supposed to use. She was running late with her orders and needed to hurry. Within a few short minutes she was dry and reasonably odorless in her new dress, and she opened the refresher door to get back to the club.
"Are you certain?" Biss's hissing voice sounded from his office.
"She told me herself."
Kiraz froze at the sound of the second voice. She recognized that voice—she'd heard it for the very first time just yesterday.
Turning her head towards Biss's office, Kiraz could just make out the silhouettes of the two people inside. The slimmer, shorter silhouette was Biss, and the taller, broader silhouette looked to be of a human man with a robust beard.
It was possible Detective Wheeler was here just to follow up with her report. It was strange that he would do that so quickly, and that his first act of investigation would be to talk to Biss face-to-face. But it was possible.
She told me herself.
It was possible.
Kiraz's self-preservation instincts kicked in, and she bolted for the door to the club floor. The sound of Biss's office door opening reached her ears just as she reached the employee entrance, and she looked back.
She locked eyes with Detective Wheeler. There was no mistaking him. And there was no mistaking the gleam of recognition in his eyes when he saw her. She froze for half a second, then smiled briefly at him, executing a covert nod. He had to feel that she trusted him, that she believed he was here to follow up on her tip and not rat her out. Hell, if she was lucky maybe it would even be true.
Reese was tired. Because his work took him to the night club so often, he usually slept morning to late afternoon, so his bedtime was fast approaching. The missing trooper he was after wasn't at the club—an hour or two of thorough searching had made that clear. He decided to make one last sweep of the dance floor, then pass the case on to Watt and head back to the barracks for some shut-eye.
He watched the crowd as he scanned for the trooper, taking special notice of the civilians interspersed throughout the sea of clones. Reese considered it his duty to learn about civilians since his job required regular interaction with them, but he couldn't pretend he didn't enjoy his studies. A woman in the corner danced with abandon, her dance moves intricate and practiced. Reese wondered what culture they came from, since it looked very different from how most Coruscantis danced. A man over by the bar sat by himself, downing drink after drink. He'd probably come here to avoid the scrutiny he might face in bars not frequented almost entirely by soldiers.
The dance club remained void of the missing trooper, so Reese maneuvered out of the crush of bodies to make his way to the front door. He finally squeezed out of the crowd, only to bump right into another person coming the opposite direction. He grabbed hold of the person's arms, steadying them so they wouldn't fall.
"Reese!" Kiraz gasped, and Reese couldn't help but release a rueful laugh as he realized who he'd bumped into.
"Second time in one night!" he said, "I'm sorry this keeps-"
Reese cut himself off as he noticed a panicked, frenetic gleam to Kiraz's eye. For a moment she looked terrified, then her mood shifted and she stared hard at Reese.
"Is everything alright?" he asked.
All fear vanished from Kiraz's expression, and she suddenly grabbed Reese's arms, bringing them even closer together. She gave him what could only be described as a sultry look, then pulled herself upright, moving right into his personal space and looking up at him through thick lashes.
"Want to dance?"
"Excuse me?" Reese said, caught completely off guard. She wasn't making any sense, and she was so close. He could smell the beer that she hadn't quite managed to completely wash away, but underneath that was a faint, feminine scent distinctly her own. He could see her irises, the way they weren't actually a true grey but rather an entrancing combination of dusky lilacs, faded browns, and even hints of yellow. This was the closest he'd ever been to someone who didn't share his face.
"Come on, officer," she said, letting a hand slide up his arm and onto his neck. The high collar of his blacks protected most of his skin from her touch, but one finger rested just above the hem, claiming the virgin territory for herself. "Have a little fun."
He should say no. Aside from the possibility of getting into massive amounts of trouble, the entire situation just didn't seem right. Kiraz had never shown more than a mild interest in him, and though he couldn't claim to know her well, this abrupt personality change seemed totally out of character. All of these facts played on a constant loop in the back of Reese's mind, but they were drowned out by a blaring chorus of repressed longing and breathless anticipation.
He'd been trained not to freeze in the line of fire, but he was rendered helpless by the tip of Kiraz's index finger.
"I'm… not an officer…" Reese finally said, eyes widening and vision turning fuzzy at the edges as his focus tunneled on Kiraz.
She moved her hand down to his shoulder and pushed him back onto the dance floor, her movements rushed and insistent. He let himself be moved, and she'd backed him deep into the sea of bodies before his mind finally caught up with his body.
"Wait," he said, grabbing hold of her forearms to halt her. "What's going on here?"
The gleam in her eyes shifted, and now it looked more frantic than sultry. She swallowed, and Reese narrowed his eyes at her. "Kiraz, tell-"
He choked off his words as her eyes flashed and she pulled him closer and nestled her face into his neck, her hot breath fanning against his sensitive skin.
His heart felt like it was going to stop beating right in his chest. Did it feel this way for everyone? With every person? Or was it just him? Was it just Kiraz?
"Reese," Kiraz said, her voice barely above a whisper but completely devoid of sensuality. She sounded scared. "Reese, I need to get out of here. I think someone's going to kill me."
Reese's arms stayed glued to his sides and his eyes widened. He looked around wildly. "What-?"
Kiraz grabbed his face and turned his gaze back to her before he could even get the question out. "Don't look around. Don't let him know I'm onto him. This needs to look like a hookup."
"Ahh… Uh…"
"Shadowed sun, at least put your arms around me!" she hissed.
Reese's hands snapped to her side, at first resting awkwardly on her hips, then snaking around her waist as he'd seen other couples do. He needed to get a grip. She was clearly in trouble, and he needed to be able to help her.
He pulled her close, insistently ignoring the novel contours of her body to whisper in her ear. "Who's after you? Tell me what you need."
Kiraz relaxed almost imperceptibly against him, and she feigned a giggle before responding. "I think Biss is dealing spice. I informed on him to Coruscant Security Force, then I saw the detective who interviewed me here just now. In the back with Biss, talking about me. I'm pretty sure he's dirty."
Reese's arms tightened around Kiraz. Drug dealing and intrigue were not his expertise as there was very little of that kind of activity in the GAR, but it didn't take a genius to understand that she was in a very dangerous situation. "So you can't go to the police," he said.
"I don't know who to trust. But I'm pretty sure I can trust you."
"You can. First let's get you out of here, then we'll figure out what to do. I can call for backup, too."
"Thank you," she said fervently, turning her face into his neck. He swallowed thickly.
Kiraz broke away from him, leaning back but holding onto his hands. She winked at him, then raised her eyebrows and jerked her head towards the door. Reese did his best impression of a lascivious grin and followed her lead off the dance floor.
They staggered out of the club together, Kiraz leaning heavily into his side while Reese kept an arm slung around her shoulder and a sloppy grin on his face. He itched to put his helmet back on with its advanced peripheral sites so he could get a visual on the man Kiraz said was following them, but he knew there was no way a clone who was about to take a beautiful girl somewhere private would put his bucket back on to do it. Instead he relied on windows, the visors of other brothers' helmets, a puddle on the ground—anything reflective. A few careful glances and he spotted their stalker—a broad, bearded man who moved with the confidence and authority of law enforcement. Reese pulled Kiraz a little tighter to his side and kept his other hand hanging limply a split second's draw from his holster.
They hailed a cab, and Reese wasn't sure how they'd be able to pay the fare, but knew the taxi speeder gave them the best chance to lose the dirty cop. He helped Kiraz in first, then stumbled in after her.
"Where to?" the cab driver asked.
"Uh… Your place?" Reese said.
"No," Kiraz told the driver, already furiously tapping out a message on her comm. She continued in a quiet voice meant just for Reese, "He has my address. I'm telling my parents to leave now. There's another Umbaran family I think will probably take them in temporarily."
"Then where to?" the driver asked, more impatiently this time.
"Where's the closest hotel?" Kiraz asked Reese.
Reese blinked dumbly at her. "H… hotel?"
The driver rolled his eyes and pulled away from the landing platform. "I'll take you to the Plaza. That's where all the dups take their lays."
Reese grimaced, both at the derogatory term for clone and the description of Kiraz as a "lay."
"Perfect," Kiraz said, unfazed by the driver's vulgar language.
She scooted over in the back seat closer to Reese, and he tried not to tense up at her touch. If the police officer followed them he could also question the driver, after all. Reese stretched his arm out behind Kiraz's shoulders and leaned into her, keeping his eyes forward on the speeder's mirrors. Another taxi had followed their last turn. Their driver switched lanes, and the taxi behind them switched lanes, too.
"I think he's following us," Reese said quietly after a few more similar maneuvers.
She nodded, making the gesture look like she was simply snuggling closer to him.
Reese tried to ignore what her warm body curled up by his side did to him, but it was difficult. It had taken some significant wrestling with himself since his arrival on Coruscant two years ago, but Reese had resigned himself to the fact that he would likely never know what love felt like. He'd convinced himself he'd never experience either the close, emotional component or the sensual, physical side, and he was OK with that. Now his body felt alight with possibility, each nerve ending communicating to him how good she felt and hinting at more to come.
His rational mind fought back against the sensations and the longing they evoked, reminding him of Commander Fox's rules and more importantly that she was only playing a part because her life was in danger.
"What should we do," Kiraz whispered, and Reese forced himself to focus. If the cop was following them their ruse had likely not worked. He'd sniffed out their lie, and was likely desperate to stop them.
The open plaza in front the hotel was Reese's biggest concern. Reese knew the area well, since it was within his jurisdiction and was another popular haunt for members of the GAR, and all he could envision was him and Kiraz trying to get from the cab to the hotel only to be gunned down by the pursuing dirty cop. Even if they reached the hotel, the detective would know exactly where they were and would be watching for their departure. Their best chance to lose him was now, while they were still in transit.
"I think we need to ditch this cab," he said into the silver of her braid, trying his best to ignore the silky feel of her hair. "Can you get us to the friends you sent your parents to?"
"...Yeah, I think so."
"Alright then. We'll contact my superiors from there. If a dirty cop's involved it could take time, and we need a place to lay low until everything is sorted out. Got any money to pay the cabbie?"
Kiraz grimaced. "A little. Probably not enough."
Reese sighed. It was ridiculous considering their predicament, but Reese hated doing anything that would tarnish the clone army's already dim reputation on Coruscant. He took note of the cabbie's license number displayed on his dashboard and promised himself he'd request the man be compensated later.
Their best chance to ditch the cab was a turn a few streets up—an S bend where if they timed it right, the cab would have slowed down to make the curve, and the cab behind them with the pursuing detective wouldn't have rounded the corner in time to see them. Reese grabbed Kiraz by the waist and hauled both of them against the door of the cab, nuzzling against her smooth cheek to sell the movement as a passionate advance. His quick eyes caught the roll of the cabbie's eyes in the mirror, and he congratulated himself for his convincing performance.
"I'm going to open the door and we have to roll out on three," he murmured.
Kiraz tensed in his arms. "That's crazy."
"There's a ledge right below the speeder lane around here—we won't drop far. But yes, it's definitely dangerous."
Kiraz's heart raced against his chest, and she tightened her arms around him. "Are you sure?"
"I think it's our best shot. I'll try to cushion your fall. My armor should help."
"Alright then."
Kiraz's fingers dug into the fabric of his blacks between his upper arm guard and his pauldron, and he ran a hand up and down her back in what he hoped was a soothing manner. The taxi signalled for the turn onto the S bend.
"Three."
He moved them so he was practically on top of her. That way when they rolled out, he'd be on the bottom.
"Two."
The soft puff of Kiraz's breath against his neck stopped.
"One."
Reese jerked the speeder door open and rolled them both out into the cool, polluted air. The sounds of the city came alive around them—honking horns, whirring repulsorcraft, insistent advertising, and blaring propaganda. For an extended moment they fell through thin air and Reese felt a strange sense of peace. If he died, he'd die in direct defense of a citizen of the Republic. That was more than most clones could say.
THUD.
He landed on his back, just like he'd planned, and Kiraz's weight fell immediately afterwards. The air flew out of his lungs and his head bounced against the duracrete ledge with a worrying crack, but he remained conscious. His vision swam and he didn't understand where he was or what was happening to him, then a hand reached down and pulled, urging him to his feet.
Through a haze of dark spots and starbursts of light, Kiraz's face materialized. She tugged on his arm again, and he staggered to his feet.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
"I'll live," he said through wheezing breaths.
She took him by the hand, and together they limped off the platform and towards the twisted allies of Coruscant. They were alive, at least for now.