Bad Guys Close In

Fennec stared down at the serving tray containing the communicator she’d planted on the Bothan. Someone had actually taken the time to properly garnish the plate. Funny.

Looking up, the master assassin recognized a room quietly being emptied of guests. Moving against the flow, the fat Bothan waddled in with the long tail of his blue jacket swaying behind him. Following were a half-dozen men and women in knockoffs of nice Corellian suits. This hired muscle took up position in an arc to either side of their boss.

Instinctively, her hand went for the trusty blaster pistol at her hip. Instead her fingers brushed against the thin fabric that covered the dainty ribbon of her string panties. That sudden reminder she was facing 7-to-1 odds, unarmed and unarmored, with nothing to protect her but this tawdry dress caused a feeling of vulnerability to well up in her. And a warmth too.

That had to be her muscles preparing for battle... right?

Fennec decided to play it casual. She used another long drink of her wine to cover palming cutlery off the table. As the wine's warmth wrapped her torso, she considered the tactical situation. If she got outside she could lose them in the city, but the restaurant was at the top of a building. The lobby had a turbolift to the street and the kitchen would have a service lift, unfortunately both were on the other side of the line of enforcers. The other direction, past a floor-to-ceiling fish tank was the only other exit, a pair of old-fashioned double doors that swung outward. She didn’t know where those went but, it was certainly better than staying here.

"What’s the meaning of this?” Fennec tried her best innocent look.

"Don't play dumb," the old Bothan snorted. “Did they really think a cheap whore was all it took to pull one over on a vigo of the Black Sun?”

"Black Sun?!"

Black Sun was one of the most vicious criminal syndicates in the galaxy. This was definitely ending in ****. She’d regret having to put these enforcers down; a few of them were pretty cute. Even the brocade on the Bothan’s jacket was pleasant to touch. Pity it was about to get bloody.

Fennec stood to attack, knocking her chair to the ground, and immediately had to grab the table to steady herself as her head swam.

“That wine has quite a kick,” chortled the old Bothan. “I may have added a little elixir to your glass, my own special distillation of Zeltron pheromones. Well suited to a harlot like you. Give it time to fully kick in and you won’t be able to help yourself. You’ll give me all the information I want and my enforcers all the pleasures they desire.”

With a nod of his fuzzy head that sent jowls wobbling, two of his enforcers approached with lascivious smiles.

“Do a good job and I’ll spare your life,” said the Bothan, adding, “I’m sure they can always use another nameless slut in the pleasure pits of Nar Shaddaa.”

Outnumbered, unarmed, and ****, Fennec wanted to retreat but there was nowhere to run, not that she could get far in platform heels. Fighting looked like her only option.