Boba Fett

Bounty Hunter

Boba's charitable act had been a smart decision. The banks owner, who didnt seem to mind in the slightest his building had been almost robbed at gunpoint did reward him and in more than one way. The thin man had given him ten thousand dollars and asked no questions about his duffel bag when he retrieved it from the stairwell. He also made sure none of the police officers asked him any questions until a robust one with a gold star on his chest approached them and spoke to the bank owner like they were old friends.

This man introduced himself as the Sheriff and Boba knew instinctively he was the sleazier of the two humans. He began to ask him a series of questions: who he was, what he did, where he was from, where he was going. The most he got was his name and occupation; Boba Fett, bounty hunter. Though usually, the revelation of his job usually bought him some minor degree of animosity, it seemed to bring a smile to the Sheriff's wrinkled face.

Almost immediately he asked him if he wanted a job, thirty thousand bucks, strictly of the books. A gang had expanded its operation and were beginning to peddle drugs in the area. All known to be managed by a clean cut rich guy who the police didn't have enough evidence to even get a warrant on. A lot of the information meant little to Boba, he would do just about anything for the right paycheck; so he told them to double it. Which after a nervous glance between the two men was agreed to. The bounty hunter then only needed two things, a face and a place.

Boba had been told to wait by the bank at nine that evening and having bought a cheap and rusting car from a unquestioning used lot on the edge of town he now waited in the shadow of the wide building. The car had taken a little while to get used to but it was as he suspected just an incredibly primitive version of nearly every land vehicle he'd drove before. Finally, about twenty minutes late he saw the Sheriff's appear across the road from between two buildings, a coat with a collar pulled up around his face and a hat pulled low over his head. He obviously didn't want to be recognised but that didnt hide his barrel chest, gut and limp.

Boba opened the passenger side door as he approached and he climbed in, grumbling gratefully to get in from the brisk wind that had picked up with nightfall. He took off his hat and placed it in his lap before pulling a thick brown envelope from inside his coat and slid it across to the bounty hunter. He opened the lip and looked inside. There was a few bundles of money, he wasn't sure how much was in there but he would sure to count it. Next to that was a folded up square of paper, he took it out and opened it. It had a picture of a mans face, designer slicked back hair with a sharp chin and nose, his home address was printed below it. He folded it back up and dropped it back inside the envelope. "How much is in here?"

"Fifteen grand." The Sheriff said, "We'll have the rest for you tomorrow."

"Good, I'll be here tomorrow, at this time, waiting for it with confirmation." Boba told him. He didn't recognise the address but the holonet suite in his helmet was accessing the internet and assembling maps of the state as the two spoke. "You can go now Sheriff."

He sighed, almost regretfully. As sleazy as Boba knew he probably was he probably hadn't ordered an assassination before. "Don't you wanna know why? That poison he's slinging- my neice, she-"

Boba held up a hand. "No offence but that's none of my business. It doesn't need to be personal for me, its just a job. It might be easier if you view it the same way."

The sheriff had left, Boba did the same a few minutes later after retrieving his helmet from his dufflebag, memorising the route his computing suite had laid out for him and restashing his helmet. Soon he arrived at the apparent drug dealers house and was immediately underwhelmed. Parking some distance away he donned his armor, choosing to leave behind his usual jetpack and plasma weapons, earthlings seemed to prefer solid projectiles weapons and he didn't want to bring unwanted attention.

As he climbed out the car and locked it behind him his helmet scanned the house. Three men were armed with light rifles and sat, smoked or both at the buildings three entrances. Two people with pistols sat at a table inside. One man sat upstairs, his arms were stretched out across the back across some kind of couch. Boba would bet credits that was the target. An echo scan told him the buildings floor plan and he quickly decided on a route of least resistance.

He rushed the sitting man, he seemed to be nearly asleep and barely managed to stumble to his feet before a dart struck him in the neck. Boba caught him and guided him back into his chair, retrieving the empty dart and taking the rifle from his hands. He quickly gave it a once-over, checked its aim was straight and its weight, it was a little heavier than his blaster rifle but he liked its more gritty design. He opened the door slowly and closed it behind him with an almost inaudible click. No one had heard him, he moved up the stairs and let himself into the targets room like it was his own.

It was indeed the target, shirtless and only wearing his underwear, the slick hair from the picture was wet and unkempt. Boba had caught him at an opportune vulnerable moment. Two quick shots to the chest from the Bounty Hunter's new rifle sent him sprawling over the back of the couch. His helmet detected movement downstairs, his guards, as useless as they seemed, were on their way.

He quickly took up position at the top of the stairs, raised the rifle to his shoulder and with his free hand he slowly opened the door. Two people were moving up the stairwell. Click. Headshot. Click. Headshot. They flew backwards down the stairs, one of them a dying yell. He noticed the last two of the guards at the bottom of either side of the stairwell. As the corpses reached the bottom Boba heard one of them say. "What the hell is this man?"

"Just a job." The Bounty Hunter called down the stairs, he watched the men jump as they heard his voice. "One that the two of you don't need to die for."

There was a pause, he saw the two men glance at each other. The other one called up the stairs. "What do you mean?"

"Go home." He told them, and after a second of thought, they moved to leave. So Boba's focus returned to the targets corpse and a new dilemma he immediately realised. The technology difference. It would take more explaining than he was being paid for to show the Sheriff a photograph through his visor. He also didn't want a nearly nude and bloody corpse on in his car to present to the man; it created the wrong impression. He sighed almost silently beneath his helmet. Boba would have to make it front page news, something no one could miss.

He walked quickly to a window and put a round through it, the glass shattering dramatically outward. He chucked the gun to the ground and aimed his gauntlet out at the light blue sports car that was parked out front. He regretfully selected one of his incendiary missiles, bitter because he didn't have many left and didn't know when he could replace them. He fired it in through the back with a crunch of punctured windscreen and watched in seconds as the insides of the car burst into flame.

Time to go.