Bramblebriar Lane/Chapter Three

Chapter Three
The Twi’lek rouses Tuffass and quickly ushers him into the foyer, where he is dressed in a jacket and handed a scarf. “You should hurry. Keep to the alleyways, try not to be seen...” She adjusts his jacket as if he is one of the children that have come rushing downstairs and into the dining room that he sees a distance down a short, olive hallway to his right. The Twi’lek tightens the scarf and sends him outside onto the duracrete porch of the brick home. “Go around back, try not to be seen, and keep going until you’re out of town. Don’t look back. Hurry.”

Tuffass nods as the Twi’lek ducks inside the red home and closes the door. Immediately, he crosses the porch and heads for the back walk. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a denizen of the street, that dark-clad man from the bar. The man stares at him with sunken, smoldering eyes as Tuffass hurries down the steps and into the narrow passage between the tall, red-brick buildings, vines of brambles climbing high on the walls. The sky beyond the flat rooftops was a pale, ashen gray, crisscrossed with the wires of distant power lines. He rushes by the weathered high fence walls and into the alley, little more than a narrow path that cuts a swathe of macadam between the lots, walled on either side by fences.

He does not look back as he hurries down the lane, opening a chain-link gate that blocked his path and passing through. The fences are taller than he is, he can barely see the houses beyond them as he rushes down the lane, climbing a wooden barrier and hitting the ground with both feet. He keeps his focus on the road before him as the brambles that weave through the fence links latch on and pull at the scarf, which he unwraps and leaves behind. He happens upon a gate, much taller than he is, and gives it a push before he starts to climb it. He easily scales the structure and jumps down, rushing along the alley. The walls, weathered and gray, tower over him as he runs passed, each becoming incrementally higher. No streets cross his path, only the lane before him. He runs passed a pile of crates, upon which sits the dark man, watching him. A tangle of briars grab hold of his ankles and Tuffass pitches forward onto his outstretched hands. He yanks his legs free, stands, and continues running.

The duracrete wall looms before him and Tuffass skids to a halt, breathing heavily. He steps up to the wall, places both hands on its surface, and lifts himself off of the ground. He pulls himself higher, and higher. It’s so simple... Why hadn’t he thought of this before? It’s so simple to climb this way, just lift yourself off the ground... It’s like crawling across a floor, such an easy and natural motion... Higher and higher he climbs until he reaches the ledge and vaults himself over it, closing his eyes for a moment until he hits the ground below.

Orange leaves litter the lane before him, flanked by the crisp autumn forest. The air chills him and Tuffass looks around, ignoring the tight band that he can feel around his chest. A solitary leaf floats to the ground, the road hidden beneath the carpet of fiery yellows. Not a sound can be heard, the sky overcast, that ashen gray color, only spatters of plaster against the golden canopy above.

Tuffass starts down the lane as he passes a worn, wooden sign, its yellow engraved lettering a confusing mass of wormlike shapes. His pace quickens as he follows the curve of the path, the leaves clearing, the chalky gravel beneath visible. He is almost there... Just this next turn...

His shoes skid on the leaves as he follows the gravel road, a water-filled gutter to his left, wet, dark brambles twisting over it like a thorny web. He passes a brown sign, its yellow letters a muddled blur. He is almost there... Just this next turn...

The wet leaves slide beneath him and he stumbles as he hurries down the lane, his foot becoming tangled in the briars. He rips his leg free and continues running, the coldness seeping into his chest and the belt tightening its grip. He is almost there... Just this next turn...

He loses traction and catches himself before he falls, the deep orange leaves barely hiding the bramble vines that stretch across the road. The letters on the sign he runs passed are an illegible mess. His lungs burn as he feels his chest tighten, but he continues to run. He is almost there... Just this next turn...

The tightness intensifies as he slips and hits the road’s surface on his hands and knees. Tuffass looks up. That wooden sign, that same blasted wooden sign, stands just on the side of the road, mocking him with its sickly yellow grin. No... This can’t be right...

Tuffass scrambles to his feet and takes off once again down the road. He once again follows the curve of the lane and once again, his shoes skid on the wet leaves, and once again, he runs passed that damned dry-rotted wooden sign displaying an indecipherable mess of words that he cannot even begin to figure out their meaning. No... This can’t be...

His breathing quickens with his pace as the grip on his chest tightens. Again, around the corner, again over those briar triplines, again through the mass of wet leaves, and again, that mist-forsaken sign that mocks him like a heckler on the sidelines. Tuffass slides to a stop before the sign as he sucks air into lungs that burn in protest against the constricting band around his chest. He was going in circles! How could he have not of noticed? He must have taken a wrong turn somewhere...

Tuffass gulps his breath, the tightness beginning to loosen as he realizes what he must do. A cold and decidedly wrong sensation gnaws at the nape of his neck as he swallows and very slowly, with much intense trepidation, turns around to look behind him. He knows that he should not do so, he was warned against it, and he knows that when he looks back, things will not be the same. But, he has to do so. He has to look back. He has to see where he went wrong.

Tuffass swallows again and turns around. The quiet suburban street extends out from where he stands, simple town homes on each side, yards trimmed, and those brambles twisting around the fences and porch railings. And there, on the opposite street corner, stands that dark man. His hooded eyes meet Tuffass’s gaze and he smiles in satisfaction.

&mdash; &mdash; &mdash;

Lieutenant Commander Reeka Chorizzo sat alone at the table in the small, empty interrogation room, her hands clasped on the enameled particle board surface. She knew why she had been summoned and her worry carried the same sense of urgency; she cared about Gunnery Sergeant Tuffass and wanted to find him as quickly as possible.

Growing up, Reeka lacked a father figure in her family; her mother was a single parent from a messy divorce who was trying her damnedest to eke out a living for her and her two children. Life was harsh, but Reeka made the most of it, and she vowed to help her mother in any way that she could. So, as soon as she had come of age, she had taken and passed Rodia’s required military exams and enlisted in the Marines. The time she spent in boot camp under the tutelage of Gunnery Sergeant Tuffass was hellish, and she admitted to harboring a level of resentment toward the overbearing insect, but with the recognition of her name through her hard work and dedication, Reeka grew to respect and admire him. And even after graduation, Reeka remained in contact with Tuffass&mdash;the Gand had no family and Reeka was missing her own. She adopted him, in a way, as a surrogate male role model, and as a cherished member of her new military family. And now, Tuffass was missing... and feared dead.

Reeka inhaled, swallowed, and let her breath out slowly. First, Commander Reyolé and now Tuffass. The constants from her days in boot camp, the people she cared about the most, were being snatched away with systematic precision. Reeka knew that such things were inevitable; she was in the military and war was a cruel and indiscriminate beast that would savagely rend and devour any and all who dared venture too close to its gaping maw. But, she still felt helpless. She still felt as if she had a level of responsibility in their fates, as if she had the power to change them. Survivor’s guilt, she knew, but it still gnawed at her during lonely nights, just as it did today in the quiet and empty interrogation room.

The door opened and Reeka looked up as a strapping older gentleman walked in, silver hair neatly trimmed and his chiseled face set into a hard expression of permanent agitation. The man, Heron Grimm, the lead agent of the RNCI field investigation team that set up operations on Corulag, looked absolutely miserable as he slapped a folder of flimsi and his datapad onto the table. He did not speak as he crossed the room, glanced at the mirror set into the wall just across from Reeka, and continued to pace. Reeka watched him for a moment, then glanced at the folder. One of the pages had slipped halfway onto the table and she could see and instantly recognize the handwritten scrawl&mdash;the flimsi belonged to Tuffass.

Grimm doubled back, pulled up a chair, and sat down. He said not a word to Reeka as he gathered up the loose-leaf flimsi, stacked the pile, stood it on its end, rapped it against the tabletop a few times, then tuck it back into the folder. He then busied himself with reviewing something on his datapad, clearing his throat as he did so.

Reeka watched him, unsure if she should speak first. She glanced up at the overhead lights and plucked idly at her jacket collar. The room was quite stuffy, she had to admit, and the sound of their respiration was almost deafening. She quietly cleared her own throat in a subtle way so as not to draw attention to herself or interrupt Grimm’s intense concentration as she wondered if the entire interview was to be conducted in an uncomfortable silence.

Fortunately, Grimm answered that question for Reeka as he fixed her in his stern gaze and finally spoke after a long and awkward stretch of thick silence. “Can you account for your whereabouts three nights ago, Commander?”

Reeka nodded quickly. “I was in my office, Sir. I was finishing up an article for Jarhead!, it was to go to print the next day.”

“Can anyone else confirm your presence?”

Reeka nodded again. “Ensign Yarrol, Sir. She was also working on the holozine. The deadline snuck up on us, we were there late. Afterward, I went straight to my rack.”

Grimm nodded slowly as he noted that on his datapad. He was once again silent for a very long and uncomfortable moment while he reviewed something. He loudly cleared his throat. “When did you last have any contact with GySgt Tuffass?”

“Four days ago, Sir,” Reeka answered quickly, “I had sent a request to him to meet up with me at&mdash;”

“&mdash;the Sleepy Watchman,” Grimm cut Reeka off as he finished her sentence. He turned his datapad screen toward her to reveal the e-mail that she had sent to Tuffass several days ago. “And he agreed to the request. When was this meeting to be held?”

“This weekend, Sir, if we had time,” Reeka could hear a sudden tinge of apprehension enter her voice and it took her a moment to force it out. Her chest and stomach felt cold and she was not sure why. “Obviously, I was booked solid. Jarhead! was running behind schedule and I was pulling double duty to release some content. I was also tasked with a number of inquiry letters to the Republic Department of Defense. Recruitment’s been down this year, Sir. We’re putting together a new enlistment package.”

“You sent a number of requests to Tuffass to meet, Commander. What were they for?”

Reeka was quiet for a moment. “I wanted to interview him. Not for Jarhead!, he’s already turned those down. He’s a very private person, Sir.”

“Why did you want to interview him, then? You’ve pestered him about this at least ten times, ma’am.”

“I want to write his official biography, Sir.”

Grimm was quiet again as he held Reeka in his gaze. “You two also discussed his retirement quite a lot. He seems very concerned over it.”

Reeka nodded. “I’ve been trying to convince him that retirement isn’t a bad thing, Sir. Tuffass doesn’t want to retire. He loves the Marines. He’s dedicated his life to them, Sir.”

Grimm nodded. “You two had become quite close, particularly during the Mandalorian Wars...”

That cold feeling returned to Reeka’s stomach as she could feel her ears heat up. “Well, we both lost a good friend in that war, Sir...”

“And around that time, you had relations with the gunnery sergeant.”

Reeka’s face flushed as she thought back to that night eleven years ago. “Well... Sir, we were on liberty... and drunk.”

“How drunk?”

“Really drunk,” Reeka could feel her breath quicken. “Sir, I was a master sergeant at the time and fraternizing with other noncoms isn’t illegal and we both agreed to it...” she exhaled. “It just happened, Sir...”

“How did it happen?”

Reeka let out her breath again. “We were on our way back to the motel when we were jumped... The Black Talons tried to pick a fight... Guess they thought we were easy targets, Sir...” she paused to meet Grimm’s gaze. “We got into a firefight... Tuffass took out one guy and we bolted. We hid out in his motel room...” she paused again as she searched in vain for the right words to describe that night without coming across as crass. “We were drinking to calm our nerves and it just... happened. I mean, we’re both veterans, we’ve both seen combat, but that fight with the Black Talons was somehow... different... It’s not like I woke up that day and decided that I wanted to sleep with my old drill instructor! It just happened.” She swallowed as a startling revelation sprang to her mind. “When&mdash;when we were in that fight and Tuffass took out that one guy... another said ‘you’re dead, bug!’” Reeka met Grimm’s gaze once more. “Sithspawn... You don’t think... you don’t think that they had anything to do with this, do you?”

Grimm only stared at her.

&mdash; &mdash; &mdash;

In the darkened closet next to the interrogation room, Anton watched the interview through the two-way mirror. “She’s clean.”

Beside him, Davi shot him a look. “How do you figure?”

Anton pointed to Reeka. “See how she’s got her snout twisted like that, and how she’s looking at her lap? Classic expression of a connect-disconnect that your friends won’t let you forget.”

“And how do you know this? She’s a Rodian! She doesn’t emote like we do!”

“I dated a Rodian,” Anton flashed Davi a toothy grin. “Nice girl, kinda shy, but it was that cute girl-next-door shyness, you know? We went out a few times, she’s a serious grav-pool shark, let me tell you. Never seen a girl run a table like she could.” he paused as he put his fingers to his lips and cast his gaze to the ceiling in thought. “She was an animal in bed. By the Force, she was just... wow. And then I found out that she used to be a he...”

“Never knew you swung that way, Anton,” Grimm said as he walked into the room and Davi broke out in a high-pitched cackle.

“Hey, it’s not like she wore a big, blinking sign!” Anton protested as his lekku twitched and twinged in embarrassment. “Besides, on the street, I don’t thing even you could tell, Boss.”

“And let’s hope I never need to test that theory,” Grimm nodded to the door. “Chorizzo’s clean. Cut her loose.” As Davi walked out to escort Reeka Chorizzo to the lobby, Grimm met Anton’s gaze. “Got anything from the Sleepy Watchman security?”

Anton nodded. “The Black Talons were there, confirms the bartender’s story, and they left just after the bu&mdash;uh... gunnery sergeant.”

“Was he with anyone?”

“Yeah, he walked out with that red-headed kid and some girl. Didn’t see her face, she was wearing a hood. Saw right down her top, though...” Anton nodded to the memory of a very nice view indeed. “Low-cut top, long dress, long legs... The gunny’s got good taste.”

“Anything we could identify her with?”

“Ah...” Anton trailed off. “Green skin. She had green skin.”

Grimm fixed Anton in his gaze. “We’re going back to the Sleepy Watchman.” With that, he turned on his heel and left the room quickly.

Anton stayed behind for a moment as he thought about the green-skinned woman in the security holo. Could have been a Twi’lek, but he could not recall actually seeing any lekku... though the woman was cloaked. The lekku could have been hidden beneath that cloak... but even then, one can usually tell. Twi’lek headtails didn’t exactly lay like hair did, regardless of headwear. The conversation with Gabby worked its way into Anton’s mind as he walked out of the room to follow Grimm, and he reminded himself to review those security tapes again. It was not just for the view down the unknown woman’s low-cut top, either. No, Anton decided, there was just something suspicious about those green breasts...