Bramblebriar Lane/Chapter Two

Chapter Two
The sensation of distant thunder follow soon after the burst that he only vaguely registered in his mind, like the afterimages of a flashbulb. Tuffass casts his gaze to the sky; he can finally see it. No trees block his view, no leaves obscured the sapphire blue from him. Not a cloud is in sight, yet the air seems dim and overcast. Walking along the gravel lane, he notes the rolling hills of waist-high green grass to his left, and the standing grove of trees to his right. The green is dark, dimmed by unseen clouds, and he can’t quite pinpoint where in the sky the sun actually is. Perhaps it is behind the trees, dipping below the horizon...

The stones are soundless as he walks across the gravel, and he happens upon an intersection; demarcated only by the tall street sign. Around the base, thorny brambles climb up the sign post, toward the route numbers that blur against the blue sky as Tuffass struggles to read them. He could not actually see any cross lane; only those flowing waves of green grass and what looks like some semblance of a path that snaked through the fields and over the hills. Yet, the sign post stands like a sentry, marking the roads that once were, faded memories of lanes traveled. Tuffass shrugs and continues along the dirt road, the wood growing darker.

He notes the houses that line the road, set beyond the treeline, their candlelit windows beacons in the darkness. He could see no access to the roads, no driveways, no speeders parked beside the houses. Only narrow walkways that connect with the sidewalk along which he travels. The small yards, from what he can see in the darkness, are landscaped with precisely-cut coniferous bushes that rim the porches and stoops.

Tuffass stops mid-stride in the pitch blackness, a steady rain falling. Before him stands a white house with a peaked roof, a covered porch... and those brambles in a tangled mass. Prickly, wretched briars, piled beside the steps, a few vines clinging to them like thorny tentacles. He ignores the unkempt weeds as the orange glow of the candles in the windows invites him up onto the porch and out of the drizzle. He has to get out of the rain and away from the darkness. He could feel it creeping up toward him, a thick, roiling mass of shadows that thrives in the cold, drenching downpour, spreading across the opposite side of the lane like a black wall.

The door behind Tuffass opens and a Twi’lek woman stands there, cast in the warm glow of the candles inside her home. “Hurry! Get inside quickly, you’ll catch your death of a cold!”

Tuffass enters the home and finds it dark, with the candles in the windows providing only a modicum of light, a soft, steady glow that keeps the darkness at bay. Beyond the open doorway, the darkness outside creeps up the front walk as the Twi’lek slams the door shut. Then, she slams it again. And again.

Wham!

WHAM!

WHAM!

The sound hits Tuffass in waves and he stumbles backward as he feels himself pulled toward the door each time it is opened, and repulsed with each slam. He hears thudding and turns to see two children, a boy and a girl, run up the stairs to the second floor, their backs toward him. As they disappear in the warm darkness, Tuffass returns his gaze to the Twi’lek and nods in thanks.

The Twi’lek smiles, though her brow is furrowed with worry. “We can set you up on the couch. You’ll need to wait til tomorrow to go outside.”

Tuffass nods in understanding and he notices the potted plants on a table beside the black window. The candle’s light seems absorbed by the twisted black shadows of thorny briars that snake from the pot and over the table’s edge. He looks again to the Twi’lek, who has not moved from her spot near the door, though she keeps a distance from it.

Her face is awash in fear. “They’re out there...”

Tuffass returns his gaze to the blackness of the windows, where the candlelight creates no reflection, absorbed by the cold darkness that obscures the outside and pulls at him, begging him to open the door. He knows that the darkness is wrong, he feels that it is wrong, the doorknob repulses him like an opposing magnetic force and as he reaches for it, the door swings open, and slams shut with the wave of impact that sends Tuffass stumbling backward, away from the door, away from the windows, and away from those potted brambles.

The Twi’lek remains stock still. “They’re out there...”

&mdash; &mdash; &mdash;

Anton entered the lab and was greeted by Gabby’s usual taste in hard, driving music, only minus the heavy thud of bass, canned, and coming from a far inferior set of speakers that even to Anton paled in comparison to the sound system that Gabby had left behind on Coruscant. “Too big to bring along and the director said ‘absolutely not,’” she claimed. Anton found the bespectacled young Rodian, coarse black hair pulled back in some semblance of a ponytail, sorting through various items from a box on the table near her Bothan partner, Seager May’san. Seager had his back toward Anton and Gabby and was so involved with his work on the missing Gunnery Sergeant Tuffass’s computer that he was utterly oblivious to Anton’s presence. Gabby, despite how loud her music was, always knew when someone entered her lab, either her permanent workspace back on Coruscant or any borrowed laboratory on whatever planet their work sent them to. She can smell caffeine a mile away, Anton mused, a large drink clutched in his hand, as Gabby whirled around to greet him, her white lab coat&mdash;a striking contrast with her dark clothing and hair&mdash;billowing like a cape.

“Anton!” Gabby was her usual, cheerful self, the trip to Corulag in an uncomfortable shuttle did nothing to dampen her spirits. “Ooh!” she noticed the cup in Anton’s hands. “Got me a present, I see!” She tugged at her ponytail to straighten it&mdash;she was one of the few Rodians that Anton knew who had hair&mdash;and she plucked the large drink from the Twi’lek’s grip and took a long swallow through the straw. “You’re just in time!”

“Oh, really?” Anton approached the table to view Gabby’s work. “For what? Find anything?”

“Only that Gunnery Sergeant Tuffass loves chocolate,” Gabby sipped indulgently at her drink as she returned to the table. “I’m still waiting for the language module so I can translate his journals. It’s Alsakan to me.” She shrugged, took another sip and then indicated the piles of packaged chocolate strewn about on the table. “After we’re done here, I can keep all this, right?”

Anton laughed and shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t think even the director could keep any of it.” He shrugged a lekku off of his right shoulder so that it dangled behind his back, similar to how Gabby’s ponytail would, if her hair was long enough. “Find anything else? Grimm’s calling in Lieutenant Commander Chorizzo to speak with her, and he wants us to have something to go on other than chocolate.”

Behind Gabby, Seager finally showed some signs of life as he leaned backward in his chair, his neck craned to look at Anton, his ears pricked straight. “Chorizzo? Reeka Chorizzo? The author of Goodnight Brain, Wherever You Are...? Grimm’s bringing her here?”

“Yeah,” Anton crossed the room to speak with the tawny Bothan. “You got anything?”

“Well, I&mdash;I’ve read all of her books, and&mdash;oh, wow&mdash;I’d love the chance to speak with her. See, I’m trying to get published, maybe she can give me some tips on breaking into the business and perhaps she can sign my&mdash;”

“About the case, Probie,” Anton reverted to Seager’s old nickname from when the Bothan was a probationary field agent. That ought to force that gushing kid to get his head back in the game.

“Oh, right,” Seager seemed flustered. “W-well, she and Gunnery Sergeant Tuffass kept in contact quite a bit... Got some correspondence here. Did-did you know that Reeka was one of Tuffass’s recruits? Wonder what he thinks about his former recruit becoming a famous author. Wow, Grimm is bringing Reeka here? I’d love to meet her&mdash;”

“Seager!”

“Well, anyway... I’ve uncovered a lot of talk about Tuffass’s retirement and Reeka wanting to meet up with him... These last few letters, here, it looks like she finally convinced him to meet with her and he suggested some weekend at the Sleepy Watchman. Didn’t give a time, or a reason why, just said ‘some weekend.’ And that was the last letter before he disappeared.”  Seager returned his gaze to Anton. “Think Reeka has something to do with his disappearance?”

“I don’t know, but that’s why Grimm is bringing her in,” Anton nodded and sneered. “Good work, Probie. Remind me to get you a cookie.” He turned and headed for the door, pausing only once as he walked passed Gabby. “Don’t touch that chocolate. It’s evidence.” He smiled as he could hear Gabby’s lament as he exited the lab.

“Spoilsport.”

&mdash; &mdash; &mdash;

Anton walked into the small room that the Corulag RNCI field office had set up for them and nodded over his shoulder as Davi and Grimm looked at him. “Seager found something. Tuffass was in cahoots with Commander Chorizzo and they were planning to meet at the Sleepy Watchman for some reason, but Seager didn’t find anything on why, as the last letter was sent just before our bug disappeared.”

Grimm slapped his desktop with both palms as he stood up. “The next person who refers to our missing Marine as a ‘bug’ is fired. Is that clear?”

Anton nodded quickly. “Crystal, Boss.”

“The Sleepy Watchman is a popular place,” Davi said to no one in particular.

Grimm nodded, sat down, and looked over the service record that he had received. “Tuffass and Chorizzo were both involved in an incident there, about eleven years ago. No disciplinary action was taken, but they were involved in a ‘scuffle’ with a local pirate gang, the Black Talons.”

“Did that happen after Reyolé’s memorial service?” Davi spoke up and Anton wondered why she would bring up what struck him as an unrelated event.

“Yes,” Grimm’s voice was level and deadpan as he fixed Davi in his stern gaze.

“Tuffass and Chorizzo had a fling that night, so I heard.”

Anton grimaced as he pictured that supposed “fling.” Granted, Chorizzo was a cute Rodian, at least in that twenty-year-old holo that he saw, but her and a bug? The imagery struck him as somehow improper...

Grimm, however, was unfazed as he kept his gaze on Davi. “And where did you hear this?”

“It came from a scuttle’s butt.”

“Scuttlebutt,” Grimm corrected as he moved his gaze to the datapad on his desk. “A lot of that going around these days...”

“Rumor mill, Davi,” Anton spoke up. “You know, gossip, the kind of stuff you stand around the cooler and chat about when your boss isn’t looking...” he cleared his throat. “Think it holds any water, Boss?”

“It held up for the incident report,” Grimm nodded. “Fraternizing is another matter. It’s technically legal, but still questionable in the combat zone. Not something you’d find in someone’s service records. The thing about it is, if you do it and don’t get carried away, you’re fine. If you let it impede your judgment, it’s your ass.”

Anton nodded slowly as he walked over to his desk and inspected the information spread out across it. He lifted one of the images of Tuffass and studied it for a moment. “Hey Boss?” He turned around as a thought struck him and showed the image to Grimm. “How much air you think this thing holds?” He pointed to the breath mask that obscured the Gand’s face.

Grimm looked up and straightened. “That mask only has a seventy-two-hour supply!” He practically leapt from his chair and was already out the door. “If we don’t find Tuffass in two days, he’s dead!”

&mdash; &mdash; &mdash;

It was late in the evening when Anton followed Grimm and Davi into the dimly-lit smoke-filled Sleepy Watchman. Sure enough, amongst the usual lot of ruffians, he saw a number of beings in military service uniforms, sporting various ranks. Though his mental database was still somewhat incomplete, he could at the very least identify the bulk of well-dressed patrons as non-commissioned officers. He recognized the insignia of several sergeants of varying degrees, all casting furtive glances at a rough-looking group of black-clad men. He could almost feel their suspicion and he felt himself being dragged into their frames of mind. Anton shook his head, allowed his lekku to adjust themselves, and followed Grimm up to the bar, while Davi hung near the door, her gaze fixed firmly on the gang of toughs.

Grimm cleared his throat as he showed his badge to the bartender, who promptly looked over the milling crowd, gave a nod, and they moved to clear out. As each individual left, Davi watched them closely. Anton noted how she paid particular attention to their faces. Must be trying to remember them, he surmised. He knew of Davi’s holographic memory, a talent the Zabrak had demonstrated numerous times, including one case where she was able to reproduce a replica of a map that dated back to the bygone era of Xim the Despot. An admirable skill, he had to admit.

One of the large, dark goons brushed Davi away from the door and sneered at her. She calmly reciprocated with her patent half-lidded sly grin as she studied the man. Anton walked over to Davi as the last person walked out, his voice low. “Know that guy?”

“Black Talons,” the bartender’s voice cut in. He pointed to his ear as Anton shot him a surprised look. “You work in a cantina long enough, ya learn to listen.” He walked passed Anton and Grimm, reached around Davi, locked the door, and displayed his “Will Return” placard. “What can I do ya for?”

“We’re investigating a disappearance,” Grimm grunted. He culled up an image on his datapad of Tuffass and showed it to the bartender. “Was this person in here three days ago and where was he, who was he with, and when did he leave?” The rapid-fire questioning alerted Anton to the urgency in Grimm’s voice and in their case. The sooner the questions were answered, the sooner they had some solid leads to go on, the sooner they would find this gunnery sergeant alive&mdash;or make the determination on whether or not he was already dead. Anton, personally, hoped for the former. The prospect of yet another case ending in death, with or without a body to show for it, was a dismal possibility to consider.

“&mdash;About two days ago,” the bartender said. “Sitting right back there&mdash;” he pointed between Grimm and Anton to one of the three booths in the back of the bar. “Came in alone. A wedding party came in, ordered a round for the house. It was a busy night; servicemen, that wedding party, Black Talons, real prime for fighting. I had to make sure no one stepped on anyone’s toes, you know? I wasn’t really watching the bug. He just comes in, orders the same thing, goes back to his booth, and drinks. Don’t really talk to no one unless they talk to him.”

“What did he have and was he talking to anyone?” Grimm asked.

“Ruusan Imperial stout,” the bartender sniffed and rubbed his nose. “Real dark stuff. We’re the only place that has it on tap. Gotta buy the bottle elsewhere.” He sniffed and coughed. “He weren’t talking to no one, til those kids came. Took a table in the back, they did. I seen this tall, skinny kid, right? Red hair, all poofy and curly. He and the bug were talking when I sent them their drinks.”

“When did he leave?”

“Can’t say,” the bartender shrugged. “I seen them leave, but can’t say when.”

“They?”

“The bug sergeant and the red-head. Just seen them both walk out. Can’t say with who.” he paused, lifted his pointed finger, and nodded. “Though... The Black Talons... They left after them.”  He dropped his voice and leaned in towards Grimm. “They didn’t... do anything, did they? I mean, yeah, the Talons’re trouble, don’t trust them, cause problems around here... But, I ain’t never seen them touch the servicemen. Honor among thieves, you know?”

Anton stepped backward as Davi walked between him and Grimm. His heart did a swan dive into his stomach as the similarities to the Cad Hepper case leapt to his mind. Vanished from a bar... pirate gang activity... Gunnery Sergeant Tuffass would either be a frozen husk floating in orbit or dumped in a landfill by now. He swallowed. His gaze moved to Grimm as he suddenly dreaded to even mention his theory. The man was so adamant about finding the Marine, so convinced that he could be found...

Beside Anton, Davi crouched to one knee, fished a pair of tweezers from her bag, and plucked something from beneath the lip of the bar top. She tucked it into a bag and held it up to the light to have a better look at it. Anton could see a thin hair coiled in the bag like a narrow black worm. Davi tucked the bag away, took out a transparent strip, exposed its adhesive surface, placed it gently against the bar and lifted it, covering the exposed surface&mdash;now dotted with fine, powdery granules&mdash;and put that in an envelope, which she stowed away with the bagged hair. “Got some gifts for Gabby,” she smiled as she stood up.

Anton returned the grin with a nod. He looked to Grimm, who was wrapping up his interview.

“We’ll need the security holos from that night,” he finally tucked away his datapad and handed a card to the bartender, who slipped it into his pocket.

“Right away,” the man nodded, walked over to the door, unlocked it, and permitted the team to exit the dank establishment.

&mdash; &mdash; &mdash;

Gabby was once again nursing an overly-large cup of Fizz-Blast as she pushed her glasses onto the bridge of her snout, only for them to slide down again. She flipped on a monitor with an intense magnification of what to Anton resembled an intestinal parasite. A hair follicle, he knew. He had seen so many that he could readily identify the long, translucent structure, magnified to alien proportions. Still looks like a tapeworm, he thought as he awaited the Rodian’s verdict on the hair that Davi found at the Sleepy Watchman.

Gabby’s hips swayed in time to her music as she danced over to her computer and examined the data readout, then she spun about on her thick boot heel, put her drink on her desk, and jerked her head to the monitor. “Well, Anton... I can tell you that the hair is not Human.”

Anton walked over and examined the hair’s image. It was just an act; he wasn’t quite sure how Gabby was able to make that determination. “So, what else can you tell me? Know who it came from?”

Gabby shook her head. “No skin tag, no DNA profile. But, I can help narrow it down.” She rotated the image on screen to show a cross-section. “See how it’s flattened like that?” She reverted back to the original image. “And the medulla&mdash;” she indicated the darkened center of the follicle “&mdash;is continuous, not all broken up... and the pigment’s thick and even...”

Anton nodded, though he was still somewhat lost as to what it all meant.

“Now, I compared it with one of my hairs,” Gabby culled up another magnified image for a side-by-side comparison. “See how mine has a similar medulla? Ignore the cortical pattern, I dye my hair...” she waved her hand in front of the image. “But, your hair is from someone with reptilian descent. They’re gonna have thick, coarse, straight hair, like mine.” She reached behind her head and wiggled her ponytail.

Anton nodded again. “So, we’re looking for a Rodian?”

Gabby planted her hands on her hips and gave Anton a stern look, her head cocked to one side and her snout twisted so that her bottom lip jut out. “Anntooonnn! I didn’t say ‘Rodian,’ I said ‘reptilian descent.’ Besides&mdash;” she grabbed her drink “&mdash;only a couple of us even have hair.”  She sipped at her drink in a mock pout. “Racial profiling... Shame on you...”

“Sorry, Gabs...” Anton flashed a sheepish grin. “So, reptilian descent...” He walked over to Gabby’s computer to have a look at its readout. “Anything on the substance Davi found?” He studied the displayed graph in an attempt to decipher its peaks for himself.

“Still waiting for Little Neemo to finish up,” Gabby stepped between Anton and her computer to subtly move him out of the way. “I ran a chromatograph, but it couldn’t identify a few compounds, so that’s why I’m running the sample through Little Neemo.”

Anton was familiar with Gabby’s habit of naming her equipment, but the name she used for the mass spectrometer&mdash;a boxy machine that Anton still did not quite understand&mdash;was certainly a new one. “I thought its name was Big Barda...”

Gabby shook her head. “Mine is Big Barda. This one isn’t mine and it’s smaller, so it’s Little Neemo.” She let the subject drop as if it explained everything. She took another sip of her drink as more data scrolled across her screen. “Here we go...”

Anton patiently waited as Gabby studied the screen. “Seager’s on the journals, I take it?”

“Yup. We got the language module and he’s been working on that,” Gabby stood and turned around with a clap of her hands. “Ohhhh-kay! Here we go! Your mystery powder? It’s glycohydroxy-benzoate.”

“Grek Herf Besh?” Anton repeated the street name of the drug compound. “That’s in every cantina in the galaxy!” Again, the possibility of only uncovering the corpse of the missing gunnery sergeant coalesced in his mind. Too many times when he was with CorSec did Anton witness the aftermath of Grek Herf Besh; people lured to their very deaths due to lowered inhibitions and impaired logical faculties, caused by the drug in their systems. Or even overdoses by the boneheads who sought recreational use. Or, most distressing to Anton, the countless numbers of rape victims with absolutely no memory of the incident. Glycohydroxy-benzoate was illegal in most sectors, and rightly so; the drug was nothing but trouble in powdered form that some goon would slip into your drink. And most people never knew they were even drugged. Anton shivered. The presence of the drug was a bad sign, but he could not adequately link it to their case, so it was merely circumstantial. He sighed and nodded. “Thanks, Gabby.”

Gabby nodded. “Hey, when you see Seager, tell him to bring those journals back. Got things to check.”

“Will do,” Anton nodded again and headed for the door. He idly noted the chronometer above the door. Thirty-six hours to go... Thirty-six hours to find Gunnery Sergeant Tuffass, who misted away the second he left the Sleepy Watchman. Thirty-six hours to find him before his air supply runs out. Thirty-six hours and all they have to go on were letters to a commander, boxes of chocolate, journals of an illiterate insect, and the presence of the Black Talons. Anton heaved another sigh. Each road was either hitting a dead end or veering off a cliff, just like the Cad Hepper case. He hated to have to do this, he hated to be the bearer of bad news, but he felt that it was best to let Grimm know. It was best to prepare his boss now, rather than let the final clue jump him from around the corner. It was best that the cantankerous Human accept it now. Anton doubted that they would find Tuffass alive.