Star Wars: Scoundrels Read Online Free Page A

those criteria.” His eye flicked to Falsta’s body. “Having seen you in action, it’s clear that you’re exactly the type of person I’m looking for.”
    “It was self-defense,” Han countered, picking up his pace. The man’s problem was probably a petty gambling debt, and he had no intention of getting tangled up in something like that.
    But whatever else Eanjer might be, the man was determined. He sped up to match Han’s pace, staying right with him. “I don’t want you to do it for free,” he said. “I can pay. I can pay very, very well.”
    Han slowed to a reluctant halt. It was probably still something petty, and hearing the guy out would be a complete waste of time. But sitting around a spaceport cantina probably would be, too.
    And if he didn’t listen, there was a good chance the pest would follow him all the way to the spaceport. “How much are we talking about?” he asked.
    “At a minimum, all your expenses,” Eanjer said. “At a maximum—” He glanced around and lowered his voice to a whisper. “The criminals stole a hundred sixty-three million credits. If you get it back, I’ll split it with you and whoever else you call in to help you.”
    Han felt his throat tighten. This could still be nothing. Eanjer might just be spinning cobwebs.
    But if he was telling the truth …
    “Fine,” Han said. “Let’s talk. But not here.”
    Eanjer looked back at Falsta’s body, a shiver running through him. “No,” he agreed softly. “Anyplace but here.”
    “The thief’s name is Avrak Villachor,” Eanjer said, his single eye darting around the diner Han had chosen, a more upscale place than the cantina and a prudent three blocks away. “More precisely, he’s the leader of the particular group involved. I understand he’s also affiliated with some larger criminal organization—I don’t know which one.”
    Han looked across the table at Chewbacca and raised his eyebrows. The Wookiee gave a little shrug and shook his head. Apparently he’d never heard of Villachor, either. “Yeah, there are lots to choose from,” he told Eanjer.
    “Indeed.” Eanjer looked down at his drink as if noticing it for the first time, then continued his nervous scanning of the room. “My father is—was—a very successful goods importer. Three weeks ago Villachor came to our home with a group of thugs and demanded he sign over his business to Villachor’s organization. When he refused—” A shudder ran through his body. “They killed him,” he said, his voice almost too low to hear. “They just … they didn’t even use blasters. It was some kind of fragmentation grenade. It just tore him …” He trailed off.
    “That what happened to your face?” Han asked.
    Eanjer blinked and looked up. “What? Oh.” He lifted his medsealed hand to gently touch his medsealed face. “Yes, I caught the edge of the blast. There was so much blood. They must have thought I was dead.…” He shivered, as if trying to shake away the memory. “Anyway, they took everything from his safe and left. All the corporate records, the data on our transport network, the lists of subcontractors—everything.”
    “Including a hundred sixty-three million credits?” Han asked. “Must have been a pretty big safe.”
    “Not really,” Eanjer said. “Walk-in, but nothing special. The money was in credit tabs, one million per. A hip pouch would hold them all.” He hitched his chair a little closer to the table. “But here’s the thing. Credit tabs are keyed to the owner and the owner’s designated agents. With my father now dead, I’m the only one who can get the full value out of them. For anyone else, they’re worth no more than a quarter, maybe half a percent of the face value. And that’s only if Villachor can find a slicer who can get through the security coding.”
    “That still leaves him eight hundred thousand,” Han pointed out. “Not bad for a night’s work.”
    “Which is why I have no doubt that