Star Wars - Love is a Warm Blaster - Unpublished (2 page)

The New Republic Security detail at the door watched quietly as Daniera and Love exited the turbolift and made their way down the hall. The pair of heavily armed troopers shifted their weight slightly, greeting the newcomers with the business end of two blaster carbines.

Daniera flashed her identification and the guards immediately stood at ease, allowing them passage into the hotel room. She stepped in first, pulling on a pair of Duraguard examination gloves.

Love paused, glancing back down the hall at the teams of NRI agents electronically sweeping the area for the tiniest clues. He shrugged as he followed Daniera into the room, closing the door behind them.

She was already moving methodically through the living area. “The entire floor has been shut down by New Republic Security. As we speak, NRI agents are interviewing the entire staff, conducting molecular-level scans, and reviewing guest records for the past month.”

Love nodded. “That’s good. A waste of time and money, but hey, a bureaucracy is still a bureaucracy no matter how high-minded its morals may be.”

Daniera stared at him, her mouth struggling to catch up to her thoughts.

He held up a hand. “Sorry. Just give me the specs, okay? Say, do you mind if I call you Dani?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Go ahead. Dani…”

Daniera sighed. “Victim number four is Senator Luralon Odaay, near-human Turian from the Limbala sector. He was 47 standard years of age, married, with one child. Senator Odaay frequently returns to his homeworld when the Senate-in-whole is adjourned, so when it is in session, he only keeps a hotel room in lieu of permanent Coruscant residence.” She gestured at the well-kept room. “The Kaerlia Queen has been his favorite the last few years. In fact, he requested this same room last year.”

Love absorbed the information. “No sign of forced entry and the murder took place…” His eyes searched out the entrance to the bedroom. “In there?”

Daniera nodded her head slowly, apparently unenthused about revisiting the crime scene.

He walked past her, slipping on a pair of Duraguard gloves. “How do you know it’s Grieve?”

“Bloody and violent death.”

“Most homicides fall into that category.”

“And the Sithspawn left his calling card. Grieve,” she hissed through clenched teeth, “What kind of name is that, anyway?”

“Latarzian. At birth we’re only given our first names. Our surnames are earned from our actions.”

“But ‘Grieve’?”

His voice became distant. “His parents probably lamented the fact that they gave birth to him.”

Daniera gave him a look. “Then I’m not sure I want to know.”

“What?”

“About your surname… Love?”

He offered only a leering smile and a wink. “Ask me again sometime.”

Love flashed her a morbid smile of amusement, then entered the bedroom.

Senator Odaay’s corpse was strewn face down across the emperor-sized bed. The thick sheets had absorbed most of the dark blue blood; the plush Tapani carpet had soaked up the rest. A gold-handled vibroknife was jutting out from the small of the victim’s back. Certainly not the killing blow, probably inflicted post-mortem. Grandyl Grieve’s personalized calling card, derived from his name; Grandyl was the Latarzian word for gold.

Love paused at the entrance, surveying the scene for a full minute before approaching the victim’s body.

Daniera quietly slid into the room behind him. For her tough demeanor and experience, she was still a young agent—new to many horrors of the business.

He glanced back at her and smiled reassuringly. “You know what the problem is with beings today?” She shook her head, eyes focused on the grisly sight.

“Well, I’ll tell you. Nobody can ever keep their snouts out of everybody else’s business. The galaxy would be a nicer place if we all just minded our own affairs.” Love crouched down over the body, conducting a careful examination. The man had flopped over the bed, one six-fingered hand draped across a pillow. The other was hanging over the far side of the bed. Love circled around to get a better look. It was clenched in a tight fist. “Fact is, 45 percent of homicide customers are stiff ’cause they followed their sense of smell to the great beyond.”

He had her attention now. Daniera folded her arms and just stared at him. “Is that so?”

“Yup,” Love said through gritted teeth as he tried to pry open the dead man’s fist. “That reminds me… you know what the least used sense is?”

She watched him struggle with the corpse, and shrugged noncommittally.

“Common sense,” Love grunted as he accidentally snapped off two fingers. Senator Odaay had been clenching a tiny figurine.

Shocked, Daniera quickly stepped forward.

Love used his arm to wipe the sweat beading at his forehead. “The other 45 percent are your typical crimes of passion,” he said with a salacious wink. “Nothing sours as badly as love. Well, except maybe lum.”

“Do you ever shut up?” she said as she stepped next to him.

“The last 10 percent are your basic poor shlubs who just get caught in the crossfire.” He turned the statuette over and over in his hands. It was a rather stunning likeness of Darth Vader. “Funny thing is, folks are the most worried about being plugged in the last category. They ask me how they can avoid getting hit. I tell ’em all the same thing…” He twisted the little Lord of the Sith’s head with an audible click.

“Duck.” Daniera watched in amazement as a miniature lightsaber hologram emitted from the tiny gloved hand. Love handed her the Vader replica and she carefully touched the small saber. It sparked slightly, giving her a minute shock.

Love carefully turned the corpse over onto its back and studied the carnage. The dead Senator sported a massive hole in the center of his chest, ringed with obvious blaster scoring. Love studied the mortal wound for a moment, giving a low whistle through his teeth.

He started to move back, then paused. He abruptly leaned forward until his nose was nearly touching the dead Senator’s neck and sniffed. “Hmmm….”

Daniera turned Vader’s head, disengaging the lightsaber with a tiny whoosh. “So what do we have?”

“I got a corpse that took what looks like a blaster artillery hit at point-blank range.” Love turned back to Daniera. “I got no witnesses, no point of entry, and no defensive wounds.”

“Just like the other three crime scenes.” Daniera couldn’t resist a self-satisfied smile. “You haven’t told me anything I didn’t already know.”

Love continued as if she hadn’t even spoken. “The only thing I do have is a good hunch that our boy here was a member of the Dark Vortex Club.”

Daniera’s smug smile suddenly vanished.

Love unceremoniously walked to the door, tossing the used Duraguard gloves over his shoulder. “And all you got, sweets, is a big mess to clean up. My work here is done.”

She trailed him outside the hotel room. “That’s it?”

“I just gave you all you needed to solve this case,” he said. Indicating the statuette in her hands. “That’s a membership key to the club. But I’m sure you probably already knew that, too.”

Daniera stopped for a moment, but Love continued on down the hall. “Well, I would have found this myself…” Then she added under her breath, “Sooner or later.”

“Good luck,” he called over his shoulder as he entered the turbolift. “If you succeed, I’ll send you a beautiful bouquet. If not, I guess I’ll send ’em to Organa Solo’s funeral.”

Love winked at her just before the doors shut and he vanished.

General Cracken turned the small figurine of Darth Vader over and over in his hands. “Not so intimidating at 1/1000 scale, is he?”

Cabe was pacing the office, irritated. “We don’t need Love, General.”

A ghost of a smile played on Cracken’s lips. “Come now. We all need love,” the General said softly.

Cabe was too busy ranting to catch the joke. “This is a waste of time and manpower at an inopportune moment.”

Cracken raised his eyebrows, studying the Major. “So you feel I am making a mistake, Cabe?”

The NRI agent stopped his pacing for a moment. “With all due respect, General…”

Cracken held up a hand and grinned. “You can stop there. No good news ever begins with that statement.” He glanced over at Daniera, who was mercifully seated and up to this point, silent. “What do you think?”

“Love is annoying, egotistical, and utterly devoid of honor.” Cabe smirked at her confirmation, but then Daniera thought for a moment. “But he is also intelligent, perceptive, and very experienced.”

That wiped away Cabe’s smile and brought one to Cracken’s lips.

“We could use his help,” she contlnued, “however we can’t count on it. This may fall squarely on our shoulders alone.”

Cracken absorbed her statement, leaning back in the chair as his eyes returned to Cabe. “How are the Masquerade preparations proceeding?”

“All of the in-house security equipment is in place. Tech teams are erecting both bio and weapon scanners at each entrance. In addition to uniformed security, we’ll have NRI agents in disguise.” Cabe shook his head in disgust. “However, I still think we should call off the event entirely. It’s too much of a risk. Especially with the life of the Chief of State.”

“The New Republic has a firm policy in dealing with threats. We will not bow to terrorism.” Cracken’s voice softened somewhat. “Besides, Leia would never have agreed to cancel the event. Proceeds from the Maltesara Masquerade benefit hundreds of charities. It is
the
social event on Coruscant.”

“And the perfect place for an assassination,” Cabe countered.

“It’s our job to make sure that doesn’t happen.” The General handed the figurine back to Daniera. “See what you can dig up at the Vortex… just be very careful.”

“Always,” Daniera smiled.

“I’d like to go with her,” Cabe said.

“Negative, Major. You and I are going to personally supervise the final security preparations at the Grand Ballroom of the Palace.” Cracken stood and walked the junior NRI agents to the door. “We each have our duties to carry out.”

Daniera pulled the cloak tightly around her as she stepped into the gloomy corridor. Lumas strung haphazardly along the hall offered some illumination, at least the few that were still functioning. She originally had a hard time believing that an exclusive establishment would be found in such a place, but from what she’d recently learned about the clientele of the Dark Vortex, maybe it wasn’t quite that strange after all.

Not too far removed from Coruscant’s legendary Undercity in location or spirit, the Vortex catered to the movers-and-shakers of the planet’s criminal element. Rumor had it that anything (or anyone for that matter) could be bought or sold at the club. Of course, not all the patrons could be directly tied to organized misdeeds; just as many were the idle rich and powerful who thought it exciting to rub elbows with danger.

Daniera frowned at the dilapidated hallway with its leaking hydropipes, fungus-covered walls, and the Maker-knew-what brownish slop covering the pitted floor panels. She knew for a fact there was nothing in the general vicinity she intended to rub elbows with.

Her forward progress was finally halted by a large onyx blast door in good condition. Flecks of white covered the ebony exterior, giving the overall appearance of a starfield.