EXT. ALLEYWAY, NAR SHADDAA - NIGHT
Thatcher slams the warehouse door shut behind him and walks down the alleyway. He takes one last, long pull on his cigarra and then drops it, stomping it out with his boot and jamming his hands in his jacket pockets. Unbeknownst to him, walking in silence a little ways behind him is a darkly cloaked figure. It continues to follow him as Thatcher walks through the streets of the city, heading towards a small dive bar a few blocks away, which a neon sign out front labels as the TOASTED GIZKA.
INT. THE TOASTED GIZKA - NIGHT
Thatcher enters through the door of the Toasted Gizka and walks inside, seating himself on a stool at the bar. Light jazz plays over the sound system. The bartender, a rusted protocol droid, turns to him.
BARTENDER DROID
HELLO, AND WELCOME TO THE TOASTED GIZKA, NAR SHADDAA'S PREMIERE NIGHTLIFE PUB. ALL DRINKS ARE TWENTY PERCENT OFF EVERY PRIMEDAY AND ZHELLDAY BETWEEN THE HOURS OF-
THATCHER
Just whiskey, rustbucket. Corellian.
BARTENDER DROID
ICE OR NO ICE?
THATCHER
Ice.
The droid turns and waddles away. Thatcher glances down the bar. To his right, a rowdy group of spacers laugh and spill their drinks as they tell vulgar stories about past lovers. To his left, a shady pair of twi'leks cast him a stern glare. The droid returns with the whiskey and places it on the counter in front of Thatcher. However, Thatcher doesn't drink any. Instead, he twirls the glass around with his right hand, staring into the golden liquid as he massages his aching temples. Suddenly, the cloaked figure that was following him appears in the nearest seat to his right, between him and the spacers.
CLOAKED FIGURE
Not going to drink your whiskey?
Thatcher, startled, abruptly turns to face the figure. Under the cloak, he sees a young, pale-skinned woman, her face marked with symmetrical violet designs under her watery blue eyes. Strands of curly white hair dangle in front of her forehead.
THATCHER
Maybe I will, maybe I won't. What's it to you?
CLOAKED FIGURE
I've been looking for you.
THATCHER
Have you now?
The woman nods.
THATCHER
Ah, okay. And, uh, just who the hell are you, exactly?
CLOAKED FIGURE
My name is SANYA JAX. I have need of your services.
THATCHER
Sanya. Right. Well, if you're looking for a fighter, Mrs. Sanya, I just got fired. So...
SANYA
Not that kind of service. A private service.
THATCHER
Oh? I see. Well, I'm actually not available at the moment, but you'll wanna try the red light district. You should find plenty of private services the-
SANYA
Are you purposely being an idiot, or are you genuinely this clueless?
Thatcher laughs and knocks back some of the whiskey.
THATCHER
Sometimes, lady, even I'm not sure anymore.
Sanya Jax sighs.
SANYA
You are a private investigator, are you not?
THATCHER
Something of that sort.
SANYA
Well, I need something privately investigated.
THATCHER
Good for you. I don't work for free.
SANYA
Obviously. I'm more than willing to pay you.
THATCHER
How much are we talking?
SANYA
Forty thousand. Standard galactic credits.
Thatcher drops the glass. It lands upright on the counter with a loud clang, and a bit of whiskey splashes out. From off-screen, the bartender droid calls out, "PLEASE BE CAREFUL WITH BEVERAGE GLASSES".
THATCHER
You're joking.
SANYA
I've never been fond of jokes.
THATCHER
Forty grand's a lot of money for one job.
SANYA
I know. Suffice it to say it's a big job.
THATCHER
Mind telling me what it is?
SANYA
I have a feeling you're not going to like it.
Thatcher rubs his bruised chin.
THATCHER
I'm used to taking jobs I don't like. Trust me.
SANYA
(Taking a deep breath)
I need to run the Scarlet Veil.
Immediately, without saying a word, Thatcher turns and gets up from his seat. He strides towards the door as the bartender droid calls after him, "HALT. PLEASE PROVIDE PAYMENT FOR BEVERAGE". Sanya quickly gets up and follows him out.
EXT. NAR SHADDAA STREETS - NIGHT
SANYA
Mr. Cordell! Wait!
THATCHER
(Without turning around)
How the hell do you know my name?
Sanya catches up to him and walks alongside him, matching his quick stride.
SANYA
I can explain. Please, I need your help.
THATCHER
Not a chance. Do you have any idea what you're asking?
SANYA
I do. Trust me. I know what happened to you there. On Adebra IV.
THATCHER
You don't know anything.
SANYA
I do. I know you went by a different name then, too. Rhys Fellin. I also know that what happened there is in the past. It doesn't matter now. What matters now is that I need your help-
Thatcher stops dead in the street.
THATCHER
No, you mean what happened there doesn't matter to you. But it sure as hell matters to me. And just who do you think you are, anyway? How do you know these things?
SANYA
I have my sources. Please, I can tell you everything once you-
THATCHER
Forget it, lady. It's not happening. Get lost.
SANYA
I have no one else to turn to. Not only do I need your skill set, but you're one of the few people who's ever run the Veil and lived. I need your help if I'm going to make it through.
THATCHER
First of all, you're not going to make it through the Veil. Ever. So get that idea out of your head, because it's foolish. Secondly, I didn't run it.
SANYA
Yes you did. I know you did. My sources very clearly say Rhys Fellin-
THATCHER
Exactly. Rhys Fellin ran it. Not me. And I hate to break it to you, but Rhys Fellin died about eight years ago.
SANYA
Strange. That's also around the time the name 'Thatcher Cordell' began showing up.
THATCHER
Hmm. That is strange. Bye.
Thatcher turns and starts walking away again, heading towards a taxi pad down the street.
SANYA
Mr. Cordell, please. Forty thousand. We'll even pay it all in advance.
THATCHER
Who's 'we'?
SANYA
My associates. We're all counting on you.
THATCHER
Well, that's too bad for your associates.
They reach the taxi pad. Thatcher flicks a credit chit to the service droid and climbs into the speeder taxi.
THATCHER
Upper Kintos district.
SERVICE DROID
AFFIRMATIVE. PLEASE KEEP ALL BODY PARTS INSIDE THE SPEEDER AT ALL TIMES.
SANYA
Mr. Cordell...
Thatcher ignores her. The speeder taxi takes off into the sky, leaving Sanya standing alone in the street below.