Jax and his friends had performed such a search, and come up devoid of clues. Ideas they had in plenty; the trouble was, none of them were panning out. The Jedi's only consolation was that the sector police were no nearer solving the crime than he was. Of course, had Prefect Pol Haus made it a priority and devoted all his resources to its resolution, his department 204 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows doubtless would have made better progress. But the prefect's bailiwick included dozens of levels, thousands of buildings, and more species than Jax could name. The murders alone, considered apart from all other violent crimes, were backlogged by years.
At least, Jax thought, there are five of us to focus on a single crime. That was encouraging. Just not very much. Deprived of the resources of a modern police department, all they had to go on were the answers to the several questions they had deployed among contacts who, with luck, were in the know.
Thus far these had proved erroneous, futile, or leads to dead ends. Jax dreaded every communication with the disheartened Dejah Duare, because each time he was forced to report the same lack of progress. They were getting nowhere, and his feeling of guilt only increased every time he deposited the Zeltron's money into their communal account.
They were bound to eventually learn something worthwhile, he told himself, if only through the virtue of sheer persistence.
For the most part, his colleagues went about their assignments with minimum complaints, but without an overabundance of enthusiasm. He was in particular concerned about Laranth, who seemed to be growing more and more withdrawn. The Twi'lek had always been moody, but even Rhinann, who wasn't exactly a draft of fresh oxy at his best, had had occasion to remark on her state. She had, over the last few days, taken to tucking her lekku stump behind its mate, instead of letting it hang freely as she used to.
That meant something, Jax was sure. He just didn't know what. Also, he noticed that when she spoke to Michael Reaves 205
him it was always in brief, curt syllables, never stating or asking more than was absolutely necessary.
Den carried out his tasks with crisp efficiency, but without noticeable enthusiasm. And instead of assisting his companions, I-Five had taken to spending periods of time uplinked to a HoloNet grid—at considerable expense. When Jax had asked his purpose, the droid had replied, "You're not getting many results with your tactics, so I thought I'd try some things on my own, at a more reasonable dataspeed rate. Frankly, watching you organics laboriously process information is like watching supercooled hy-drogen flow."
"Anything worthwhile to report?"
There came at last a day when it seemed that their luck might change. A bored Rhinann received a communication from a local police outpost, which he duly relayed to Jax.
"Excellent," the Jedi said. "Something from Haus's people, at last." He searched the Elomin's dour face.
"What is it? Have they finally picked up a viable suspect? Did someone actually confess? Or is it a good lead they feel free to share with us?"
"None of those." Rhinann handed Jax a copy.
"Read it if you wish. I'll spare you the details. The gist is that one of us needs to go to sector police subpost one eighty-six to bail out a certain Sullustan named Den Dhur. Unless—and this is the course of action I personally recommend—you would rather he remain in custody."
Laranth was at the work center repairing a comm unit. She didn't speak or look up. Even Den's long-
206 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows time companion I-Five did not break whatever silent cybernetic conversation he was involved in to voice his opinion.
Jax put the hard copy aside. No point in reading it; the meticulous former bureaucrat would, as he said, already have read and analyzed every aspect of the official document, if only to alleviate his boredom.
"What charge are they holding him on?"
"Impersonating a police officer. But not to worry—
I'm sure a word or two from your close personal friend the prefect will see him back on the street within minutes."
"I suppose we can't do anything via comm channels?"
"No. If it's to be done at all, his release must be realized in person. I nominate you."
Jax gave him a look of annoyance, an effort that was wasted since the Elomin had already turned away. The Jedi turned to I-Five. "You want to come with me? There might be details I'll need to quick-check." But the droid, lost in the maze of cybernetic data processing, did not respond. Jax shrugged.
"Guess I'll go by myself."
As he started for the door, Laranth looked at him.
"Come back to us," she said to him. Encouraged by her tone, he paused and looked back.
"Are you saying you'd miss me if I didn't?"
"No," she replied, utterly deadpan. "I'm saying that we don't have sufficient funds to bail out two of you, and I don't want to have to decide which of you goes free."
* * *
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Ennui had its uses, Jax decided as he and Den exited the heavily armored, windowless front of the police subpost. It was a state of being that crossed species lines. It was as good a reason as any why the cools had walked (or, in one case, slimed) through the necessary interviews and the hectares of flimsiwork that had eventually allowed the Jedi to extricate the Sullustan from custody. The bail that had been required to accomplish Den's release was as good as forfeited, he knew, since Den had no intention of reporting for trial on the date set.
"What were you thinking?" he asked as they made their way down the Level 14 street, heading for the nearest public transport.
"I was looking for a way to get some information out of a certain Vernol—a real mopakhead named Shulf'aa. He's a merchant over in—"
"We've spoken with dozens of merchants, all to no avail."
"Ah, but not in the capacity of an investigating police officer."
Jax looked at him. "Tell me you learned something."
"Shulf'aa's an art dealer."
Some of Jax's enthusiasm faded. "Let me guess: he owns some of Ves Volette's sculptures."
"Two pieces, to be precise," Den elaborated.
"They're still in one of his several galleries, because the artist's price has gone way, way up since his death.
And each time it goes up, Shulf'aa raises his asking price. It's a fairly straightforward piece of commercial brinkmanship. He keeps hoping that one day a buyer will pay at the top of the asking bid.
208 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows
"But that's not what I found especially interesting."
"He told you something he didn't tell the police?"
"He told me something, in my transitory guise as a police representative, that he hasn't had a chance to tell Haus and his goons, because they hadn't asked him yet. It seems that the two Volette light sculptures Shulf'aa acquired didn't come to him through normal, that is to say legal, channels."
"They were stolen?"
Den was enjoying his moment of triumph. "Less than a year ago."
Jax said slowly, "Dejah never said anything about that."
"Why should she?" the Sullustan pointed out. "We didn't ask her.
"Anyway, so I pressed Shulf'aa, threatened to take him in for attempting to vend stolen goods, and he offered me a bribe to keep quiet about the whole matter. I told him that I would—but that he could keep his money, in return for the name of the individual who provided him with the goods."
"Which is?"
"Spa Fon. A Nuknog fence and extortionist."
Jax thought about it. Even shorter than Sullustans, the typical Nuknog would barely come up to the Jedi's waist. As a species they defined the concept of looking out for number one; Nuknogs stuck their necks out for no one. Since their necks were longer than their legs, this was probably a good idea. They were cunning, greedy, and totally amoral, as well as being deft manipulators with sharp eyesight and keen hearing. Such a being would make a superior thief—
Michael Reaves 209
provided he didn't have to run too fast. Jax could certainly envision one stalking and ultimately burglarizing an artistic member of a trusting species such as the Caamasi.
"It gets better," Den continued. "Fon's local."
Jax grinned at the Sullustan. "I take back everything I've said about you, Den."
"What have you been saying about me? Never mind, I'm sure it can't be any worse than what I-Five says about me."
"I even take back everything he says about you.
Thanks to your imaginative stunt, we've got more than a clue—we have a suspect. What's the address?"
Den rolled off a street name and number. Jax over-laid the information on a mental picture of the immediate region of Coruscant. He was not surprised to find that the address was nearby. Most thieves dwell in close proximity to their victims. It simplifies trans-
"Let's go have a little chat with this Spa Fon."
210 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows eighteen
The address the batrachian art broker had reluctantly revealed to Den was, surprisingly, located on the 42nd Level, in a neighborhood that could at least lay claim to potential gentrification. Which was to say that one was marginally less likely to be mugged and robbed there on a dark night than on many of the innumerable levels below. Nevertheless, Jax and Den did not relax as they exited the transport and made their way on foot to the complex where, according to the information Den had been given, the Nuknog made his business as well as his home.
This portion of Level 42 was infused with photon-ics, so that wired or radiant lighting was not required.
Shopfronts flaunted their goods without the usual security bars or alarm beams, and the guards out front actually wore uniforms instead of just harsh expressions and weapons. It wasn't the Manarai Hills, not by the length of a comet's tail, but it was considerably more upmarket than either of them had anticipated.
Business must be good, Jax mused.
The address given to Den was almost comically nondescript—so much so that it was impossible to tell whether they were looking at the front of a resi-
Michael Reaves 211
dence or a business. There were no windows, no other doors, not even any visible vid pickups: just a floor-to-roof rectangle of dull gray carbonite composite with a number floating half a centimeter to one side of the center.
Jax knocked loudly. The response time was long enough to make him think that no one had heard. But as he raised his fist to pound again, a portal appeared in the center of the gray wall, revealing a Lonjair standing there. Barely half a meter tall, skinny and in-digo in hue, it regarded them out of four bright turquoise eyes beneath a single tuft of pale blue hair that rose from the crest of its skull.
Jax had never seen a Lonjair before. There weren't a lot of them in this part of the galaxy. Normally shy and species-centered, they tended to keep to themselves in three closely packed systems far out on the South Arm. Like every other civilized species, they had representation on Imperial Center, but to see one in private service was unusual. Perhaps Spa Fon, being of modest stature, preferred servants even less physically imposing than himself. Certainly the Lonjair's high, squeaky voice was not exactly daunting.
"Yeh geets aftrah beedness wi' Spah Fhoon?"
Den stepped forward. "We do."
The Lonjair looked the Sullustan up and down.
"Yeh dawn't lahks d'sarht."
Jax said, "Does the redoubtable Spa Fon judge business acumen by appearance?"
In quick, smooth succession, one after the other, four eyes blinked at the Jedi. "I aftrah beh nahdin'
nahmes."
Jax supplied two, making them up on the fly and 212 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows hoping his companion would remember his. Den's previous profession had taught him to retain minutiae, so the Jedi wasn't too worried.
The Lonjair instructed them to wait, and disappeared into a hallway. He wasn't gone long; when he returned, he ushered them in with a gesture.
As they entered, Den whispered to Jax, "Don't you find it peculiar that Spa Fon didn't have his servant ask us our business, or have you disarm?"
"Everyone has a different modus. Sometimes it's defined by tradition and not logic. If nothing else, it indicates that Fon isn't afraid of us."
Den nodded in the direction of their diminutive guide. "Why should he be, with a bodyguard like that?"
Spa Fon was waiting for them in a chamber that was, thankfully, high enough to allow Jax to stand erect. Whether the Nuknog had arranged it out of courtesy to customers and contacts bigger than himself or whether it simply reflected the existing archi-tecture was open to question.
Spa Fon sat on a thick yellow cushion, his small blue servant taking up a stance beside him. Fon's hos-pitality might include a ceiling of reasonable height, but it evidently did not extend to furniture. His visitors were obliged to either stand or make use of similar cushions.
Den dropped gratefully onto one of the pillows. It took Jax a moment to fold his longer legs beneath him. The position brought back a quick flash of memory: he felt as if he were back in beginning levitation class, trying to absorb the teachings of Master Yerem.
Michael Reaves 213
The sharp jab of longing for such simpler times surprised him with its intensity.
Impatient, as were most of his kind, Spa Fon scowled at them. "Erppah tells me you're here on business. I don't recognize either of you. Give me a reference or I'll have you thrown out." At this, the Lonjair tilted back his head and assumed an air of unmistakable haughtiness.
"Relax." Den made a soothing gesture. "We're here on the recommendation of Shulf'aa the Vernol."
"Ah! That sly slink." The Nuknog let out a sniff of approval. "What's old wart-face up to?"
"Oh, the usual," Jax responded casually. "Business is good. In fact, we were told that when we met up with you, we were to solicit additional stock on his behalf."
The high-ridged head bobbed appreciatively. "Such stash as Shulf'aa requires is not easy to come by. Exclusive goods are as well guarded as they are regarded by his customers. But tell him I will see what I can do.
Now then"—he shifted his lumpy backside on the luxurious cushion—"what brings you to me, specifi-cally?"
Den looked at Jax, who nodded encouragingly. The Sullustan turned back to their host. "You provided Shulf'aa with two Ves Volette originals. He'd like more."
The Nuknog rolled his eyes in opposite directions.
"I bet he would, the old bug eater. Does he think Volettes are like shafts of wandering sunlight, to be gathered freely with a photon net? Since the artist was killed ..."
It was the opening Jax had been waiting for. Casu-
214 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows ally, offhandedly, he said, "Yes, that was a gifted bit of work on your part. I'm curious as to how you managed it."
"Managed it?" The Nuknog's tone took an abrupt turn toward the unpleasant. Beside him, the Lonjair stiffened. "I managed no such thing. Why would you accuse me of such an act?"
"Well, it's intuitively obvious," Den said. "You stole from the artist two of his works, which you then flogged to Shulf'aa at considerable profit. So you tried it again. But this time Volette had prepared for a similar break-in. Or perhaps your timing was bad and you encountered him by accident. In the ensuing struggle, you killed him. Not that we care."
Spa Fon glanced at the Lonjair, who blinked in response. When the Nuknog turned back to his guests, it was clear from the narrowing of his eyes that he now saw them in a new and not nearly as favorable light. "I think that you do care, very much. I think maybe in fact that you're police, here to try to get me to confess to a crime I didn't commit because you can't solve it any other way."
"We're not police," Jax began honestly. "We're—"
"And," the Nuknog interrupted, "I think it's time for you to leave." Raising a reddish, bony arm, their host gestured.
The curtain covering the back wall parted, a
nd a shape emerged. As it stepped into the room behind Spa Fon, Jax recognized the species—Cathar. Feline in appearance, covered in thick gold to yellow-brown fur, and clad in a leather vest and kilt, it stood much taller than him and probably massed three times his Michael Reaves 215
weight. Beneath the fur, Jax could see, was mostly muscle.
"Well," Den said briskly, edging backward toward the exit, "Obviously you have other appointments, so we'll just be—"
Den froze as the Cathar took a step forward. On his head, between the pointed ears, he wore a diadem of silvery metal fronted by a single mangana aqua cabochon. That meant something in Cathar culture, Jax knew. He just couldn't remember what.
He took a deep breath. "There's no need for this, Spa Fon. We're all friends here."
The Nuknog glared at him. "Friends do not accuse friends of murder."
"I'm sure it was an accident. It was his sculptures you wanted, not his life." Smiling broadly, the Jedi spread his arms wide. "Hey, there's no shame in admitting to an accident."
"I'm glad you feel that way," replied Fon. "So you'll experience no hard feelings over the accident that is about to befall you both now."
The Cathar approached Jax, ignoring Den. "I am Sele," he growled. "I will pull out your tibia and use it to pick my teeth." Snarling, the leader of the Nuknog's bodyguard exposed sharp, white canines.
"Is this any way to treat customers?" As Jax took a step backward, his right hand slid inconspicuously to his waist. "You can't make deals in a hostile atmosphere. Why don't we all take a breath and—"
Letting out a roar that shook the room, Sele reached for Jax with one huge paw. Though the Cathar was faster than one might expect for a creature of such bulk, Jax was considerably more nimble.
216 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows Dodging to his left, he drew and activated the Velmorian flamesword in a single motion.
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