THREE
The towers of the Air District rose well into the upper atmosphere of the moon and were spaced far apart, hence the name. About anyone could land there, but you had to have some workable reputation among the wealthy to enter any of the marketplaces or its attractions. On the street Cazran walked, there were too many bars, casinos, strip clubs, brothels, or combinations thereof to count, all owned by the same tub of worm lard Nukk the Hutt.
He smelled perfume and cologne on the well-dressed pedestrians he passed, somewhat covering the stench of sweat and poor crotch hygiene wafting from portals. Rapid deep drums and snatches of aggressive vocals pounded speakers inside most every establishment, the babbling of the exterior crowd its constant chorus. Flashing signs and lamps shining across plazas transformed the silly concept of night into an electric day.
He needed to find the Hutt. He stopped in the flowing foot traffic and glanced at the signs. He spotted what he guessed was a girl wearing a bra with an advertisement on each cup and sheer glittering pants. She made eye contact and smiled, coming for him through the crowd while making her hips sway. "Stop right there, pirate man, I've an offer for you." A femm-boi, if the voice and bobbing throat apple were any indication.
Cazran, being casually polite, stopped and gave her a 'make this good' look.
"Fruity Ambrostine for my pirate?" She reached behind herself and pulled out a flier from her pants strap, handing it to him. There was a picture of a bubbling alcoholic cocktail on the front and fruit in the background.
Cazran took one and pretended to be interested. "Where can I find this... tempting beverage?"
"Allorann's Gyration Revolution. Nukk bought the property from the first owner, but left the name for brand recognition."
"How much are they paying you to look pretty and hand these things out?" The man slid the flier under his belt at the front, as though proud to carry it in plain view.
She covered her face as she laughed and rocked back on her heels. Caz conversed teasingly with her for the next couple minutes, gaining rapport, then asked the important question. "Know where I can find Nukk the Hutt?"
Her eyebrows perked and her painted lips drew back in fright. "He's a dangerous one. Sure you wanna meet him?"
Caz nodded once. Soon he ended the conversation by giving her a one-armed hug. He made for a strip club named Pink Lips.
Inside, dancing bodies pushed him from all sides even on the ramp bordering the dance floor. The hands of male and females belonging to various species caressed him. He supposed his posture, outfit, and looks were sufficient to instantly seduce those high on exotic weed or heavily inebriated by alcohol. Strobe lights fleetingly showed him shapes on the second level overlooking the first and he saw the glint of bulbous eyes, rough wrinkled skin, a rotund larva-esque body. Two guards stood at either side of the Hutt. Caz traveled up steps to a giant of a man at the top who held a blaster rifle and spread his legs further part to block the way when he saw the stranger.
"The hell are you and what do you want?" The guard demanded. A name tag attached to the front of the jumpsuit he wore read 'Manny'.
"I'm a private investigator." Cazran had to raise his volume quite a lot to be heard over the absurdly loud music and when it came out it was tinged with annoyance and warning. "A Murglak murdered your boss's friend and I'm here to ask questions."
Another man came up behind Manny, exchanged a few words with him, then jogged to the Hutt, leaning in and whispering to the drooling, wide-mouthed alien. A young, well-toned servant guy dressed only in a crotch hommack meanwhile slathered oil on the Hutt, whose tail squirmed in pleasure. Cazran and Manny stared each other down until the the messenger came back again.
"Try again later." Manny hoisted his rifle. "Nukk's busy." The Hutt was plainly busy orgasming to the feel of tender hands on his rough hide.
Caz set his hand on the knife hilt at his belt. "I spent a lot of time in that cesspool out there searching for Nukk. I'll speak to him now. Move or I'll move you."
Manny thrust the butt of his rifle for Cazran's face but the detective dodged and moved his hand upward, both unsheathing his knife and slashing the man's forearm. Manny growled and tried again, managing to hit Caz's synthetic shoulder, the motion causing blood to flow from his forearm wound.
Caz slashed the knife for the man's face. The other man blocked with the barrel of the rifle and swung the other end back for Caz's face. He dodged the brunt, but a jagged edge slid across his cheek. He knew it had cut.
A blaster shot fired and whizzed past his head while he was holding his opponent's rifle at bay using the strength of both arms. Manny was doped up on stimulants of some kind, or himself augmented by cybernetic strength, because Cazran had to apply effort when he pushed forward and slammed the weapon horizontally into the Manny's face.
The guard sagged and began to fall, unconscious, as a series of bolts flew at them from the darkness beside the Hutt. Cazran so happened to hoist Manny's bulk upward in the same nanosecond, expecting further blaster attacks, and used the body as a shield. He threw the corpse forward in the direction of the gunman, sheathed his dagger and unholstered his blaster pistol when he heard the resultant thump and whimper.
He trespassed onto the second floor, pistol raised in his right hand and an alternating his aim to every sentient present. The remaining two guards rushed out of the shadows and pulled the triggers of their automatics, spraying the air with glowing bolts. Cazran guarded his face and chest with his metallic arm but kept his pistol in front him and pulled the trigger repeatedly.
He returned fire even as shots bounced off the metallic casing of his arm, skidded the surface of his Arkanian energy shield, or singed the meat left to his being. The detective had injected stimulants of his own into his veins before coming here, never mind the buzz he still felt from a morning spent boozing. And the experience he carried through his years from the Mandalorian Wars. These upstarts needed taught a lesson in combat, he thought, even as he gunned down the final guard, sending him with a flurry of blaster fire backwards over railing to crash into the bar section on the first floor. Glass shards and liquor gushed. Some partiers screamed and ran, some clapped and cheered or laughed, but others kept dancing as if this was all part of life.
The assistant who oiled Nukk now hid behind his master's body mass. The Hutt himself puffed from a bong and stared through the assailant.
Cazran approached the Hutt. "Clovis Gronwe was found dead in his manor this morning. I need to interview you, one of his closest associates."
Nukk groaned, blowing out a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke. He then spoke in his native language of Huttese. "You could have waited two hours and tried to interview me then. Now I have three dead men, damaged furniture."
Cazran felt the pain of burns on his organic arm and chest. He would wait to pop some pain killers. "When was the last time you saw Clovis?"
The Hutt closed his eyes and nibbled on the end of the bong, smoke rolling from his mouth and nostrils. "I last encountered Gronwe at the banquet I held a week ago." His lids opened slightly. "We spoke about the spice shipment he was supposed to monitor, but everything else was small-talk and feasting."
"What else can you tell me about what went on at that banquet?"
"Not much else," Nukk said. He gestured with a stubby arm for the stairs. "I've indulged you long enough. Be gone, for your own sake. I summoned more men, and these will be heavier armed and much meaner than before."
The detective scoffed. "I'll leave when you give me answers. Don't you want to find out what happened to your associate?"
"My business partners die every day. I'm constantly replacing them. That one small-time, drug-running, greasy human died is trite news." The Hutt slapped his belly. "Ah, here they come now."
Cazran glanced over his shoulder to see three more guards running up the stairs. His hand settled on his pistol again. "Gronwe was an asset. It'll make you look bad among other lords if you let this crime fly."
The guards reached the top and started to take aim at the intruder. He did, as well, pressing the point of the barrel to the slug's forehead.
Nukk commanded the reinforcements to hold their fire. He let out a grovely, deep laugh. "Do you have a romantic partner, detective? A girlfriend or wife?"
"Where did the banquet take place?" Caz pressed the point in harder. "Tell me where it took place and give me the names of everyone who attended." The man's other hand reached into his pocket, closing around a small spherical object.
"I have another associate," Nukk continued, big eyes pointed half-lidded at Cazran. "Who can give your girl a taste of pleasures she only dreamed could exist."
Caz turned the upper half of the object and pressed a tiny button. He would entertain the Hutt's suggestions to buy him a few more seconds. "I'll make sure to relay your offer. But I'm guessing that so-called friend is none other than you."
Nukk laughed again. "She'll be given to me soon, after ---"
Caz whirled about, taking the small ball from his pocket and flinging it at the slowly-closing guards. POOF! The smoke from the bomb enveloped them and spread across the floor. The enemies fired blindly. The detective ducked and ran to the railing, throwing himself over legs-first.