(Posted 31/3/01)
Jigo the Quarren brought his fist down again and again on the discarded cargo locker.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
His last credits, and he'd lost them. It was a sure thing, they said. And they were right. Nobody ever beats Sebulba. He should have doubled his money, paid off Gardulla and still had some left over for some dancing girls. Now, he was left with nothing.
And all because of that poodoo-eating Skywalker boy. Sometime soon, he'd find that slave and stake him out for the womp rats to chew on.
But now he had other things on his mind. If he didn't want to be thrown to Gardulla's pet ank-worm, his only option was to scan the back alleys for some easy purses. Risky, but it was better than meeting Gardulla empty handed.
It didn't take long for Jigo to find his first mark. Tall. Smooth. And clad head to toe in a simple black cloak. Only the rich demanded such anonymity. The figure swooped through the streets with a huntsman's tread, examining every angle, probing every shadow. That was Jigo's way in.
"Hello there, friend," he said, appearing by the man's side. "You know, I can tell right away you're looking for somebody. Perhaps I can help - I've lived in Mos Espa my whole life, know everyone. I can find your man." Unconsciously, the figure in black was matching Jigo's stride before the sentence was finished. That's right, though Jigo, follow along.
Then the figure spoke and Jigo almost fell over. The voice was as cold as death; as dry as dewback bones in the sun; as empty as the desert.
"I am looking for this man." He flashed a holo-projection of a lean, bearded man, with sad eyes.
An unexplainable fear niggled at the back of Jigo's mind, but he caught himself. Almost there now. Nothing to worry about. He tapped twice on the old bacta tank as they passed into yet a darker alleyway.
"Can't say I know the face, friend. But there are some friends of mine, who live right around here, who might have seen him. They should be able to help us out." Jigo looked around, worried. "Just - just a little bit further�"
Suddenly, a Rodian and two hulking Devaronians stepped out the shadowed doorways and calmly pointed their guns at the dark figure. Jigo sighed. About time. He knew he couldn't have handled such a big one on his own, not the way he had seen him moving. Luckily, they'd been quite close to this particular operation. They were fast, efficient and generous with the cut. Now all he had to do was get out of the way and wait for the inevitable.
Jigo's first reaction was to laugh. First the Rodian's head was there, and then, with a blur of red fire, it was gone. The Devorians leapt forward to try to swamp the figure, but they didn't even cover the distance. Three dead bodies; no blood, no screams. Only the hiss of the cooling lightsaber gave any indication that the black figure had moved.
Jigo fell to the ground, terrified. "J-...J-...J-...Jedi!" he whispered, as the figure turned to face him again. An unseen force pushed hard against his throat and chest. Jigo's terrified heart strained to bursting as the breath was crushed out of him. The figure spoke again.
"Where is he?"
Tears ran down Jigo's cheeks. He had no answer for the dark yellow eyes boring into his skull, and in just a few more seconds his lungs would burst and he would die. He had to have air, needed air, needed -
"Skywalker!" he gasped. Somehow, he had found the face in his mind - it was the man he had seen with that brat Skywalker, at the podracing. The cold grip around his chest relaxed slightly. "He's with the Skywalker boy" Jigo shuddered. "Try - try Watto's. The ju-junk dealer..."
Then the pressure was gone, and so was the dark man with the yellow eyes. Slowly, Jigo got his breath back and staggered to his feet. So that's how Skywalker had won the race - some Jedi trick. Well, maybe his luck was changing. Maybe the dark man would deliver his revenge for him - take out Skywalker along with his new Jedi friend.
And not only that, with quick turn through his ex-associates' pockets, he soon had almost half of what he'd lost that morning. It seemed to be his lucky day.
Maybe, he thought, I can still come out even, with just a quick game of Rabat...