Private Enemies in High Places

[Tamiko Sabo]

Malcoma Hesse

Uscru Entertainment District.

A neighborhood crawling with intoxicated masses, routinely filtering in and out of whatever clubs had the brightest neon. Only to resurface, inhibited by alcohol and struggling to walk straight. Those who frequented Coruscant's nightlife were easy pickings, liquor stripping away any semblance of self-preservation and softening the immediate realization they were close to being scammed out of their life savings. It was as if they readily threw their wallets to the ground.

Taking advantage of that wasn’t a complicated gig.

Leaned against the entrance of a particularly popular bar, right outside the main surge of partygoers, all it took was an occasional jaunt through the crowd. Pocketing whatever low hanging fruit she could before moving onto the next scene. It wasn't a difficult feat to go unnoticed, credits discreetly slipped into the pockets lining her jacket.

Not entirely moral, but nonetheless it kept her on her feet. There wasn’t much guilt available to grapple with anyway, everyone had to make a living somehow.

Wasn’t like she happened to be some raging kleptomaniac, just a kid with a survival instinct.

Hood drawn and hands shoved into the frayed pockets of her jacket she walked the lanes, blazing lights charging the skyline with activity. She took to listening in on the indistinct conversations flooding the strip, some extension of the atmosphere.

​

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

make war, not love
Tamiko Sabo ​

Coruscant's underworld was a work hazard for even its toughest criminals.

Those who said they were entirely comfortable down here were lying, and certainly Madam Hesse wouldn't be caught dead doing that.

She had wanted a nice dose of artificial air, but instead she had grown a shadow. It had been ghosting behind her for the last few blocks. She had glimpsed a hooded figure a few times: once in the reflection of a shorted-out advert board, once over her shoulder while waiting for the crosswalk light to change. She assumed it to be the same one rather than two with an impeccably similar fashion taste—if that was what you could rightfully call it.

Damris was going to kill her when she got back to Eden's. Technically, he'd put her on lockdown in her suite, but that was effectively the same thing. Of all the walks she had taken alone, this had to be the one where she caught some unwanted attention. Malcoma ducked into an alleyway she knew to be a shortcut to Storyville Street. It would let her out near the club's main entrance. Then, there, she'd be on the home free. She just had to get within earshot of the bouncer on duty.

Shouting would do no good until then. The alley was abandoned, and the whirs of hover traffic all around dampened any hope in attracting the rare good Samaritan.

 

[Tamiko Sabo]

​

Malcoma Hesse

It wasn’t long before she found someone of undoubtable interest, a new target to redirect her attention. Lagging behind at hopefully a discrete enough pace, she reinforced her plan in preparation. Brush by unannounced and disappear with her wallet before Malcoma had a chance to realize what happened.

Despite her best efforts it seemed she hadn’t entirely avoided detection as the woman slipped between an obscure alleyway. Tamiko had a feeling she should drop it, or else run herself into a dead end. If her discretion was already compromised, why risk it? She wasn’t some mugger, ready to pull out a blaster and demand Malcoma drop her purse.

Still purses could hold more credits than wallets.

After a moment of deliberation she followed, slipping down the same path Malcoma had taken. Judging the distance she’d need to cut her off at some point before she’d be free out the other end.

Upon recognizing this, Tamiko skimmed the edge of a gutter, lifting herself up by her forearms and onto a slanted roof. With a couple well placed steps she overtook Malcoma, dropping down a few feet in front of her with agility.

Tamiko straightened, offering somewhat of an ironic smile as she met the women’s line of sight.

“Hey there.”

​

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Tamiko Sabo ​

She laughed though nothing about this situation was actually funny. "Clever girl."

Malcoma put her manicured hands on her hips, effectively trapping the handle of her purse in a closed loop. She straightened up too, pretending she actually had the gumption to stand her ground. She did for now, but what if the girl stepped forward? Not if—when. Force, Malcoma hated being so powerless, and scared. Still scared. She'd be scared for the rest of her life, she just knew it, but at least it was often enough to fake it until she made it.

"I suppose you think you deserve something of mine, then, hmm?" she asked almost, almost, rhetorically.

 

[Tamiko Sabo]

​

Malcoma Hesse

The women's reaction no doubt tested Tamiko's confidence. No immediate fear or willingness to comply certainly complicated things. Too much to ask for casual robbery to go well for once?

Reflexively, she reached down into her boot resurfacing with a comfortable hold on a dagger. She could almost feel the palpable escalation of the moment, higher stakes forcefully introduced. It was only for presentation however, a show of danger to get Malcoma's heart racing. Remaining unpredictable usually worked after all, get them scared just enough for their sense of self-preservation to finally kick in.

"How'd you guess?" Voice dry, she didn't wait for a response.

Adjusting her grip, she rushed the woman. Simultaneously grappling with the knife and closing the distance. That is if Malcoma allowed her to get that far. She the swung the knife, a sure fire way to add immediate panic to the situation. But her target wasn't the woman, instead sawing through the handle Malcoma thought to secure to her side, freeing the purse.

"Let's see you run in those heels." The line wasn't delivered with any sense of victory, just a blank intimidation tactic to discourage a chase. Follow me and see what happens. Wasn't like she was eager to send people into cardiac arrest.

Without pause she turned, disappearing down the narrow alley.


​

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Tamiko Sabo
​

Maybe she didn't want an answer, but she got one, albeit silently, in Malcoma's mind.

Because I've been you.

She sighed in defeat a moment before the assailant came at her. Instead of going for the holdout pistol tucked underneath her coat, she splayed the fingers of one hand—all she had time for. Red nails extended into five smaller versions of the blade Tamiko wielded. Seven and a half centimeters was all she needed to parry one of the swipes at her purse, but the next came too fast for the madam to react. The handles gave way like butter. They fell uselessly to the ground as Tamiko fled the scene with the rest of the purse.

Malcoma didn't give chase, but not because she was intimidated. Though she could run in these heels just fine, she tended not to put out effort she didn't have to. "I'm clever too," she muttered to herself, remembering the tracker she had discreetly hidden behind her power compact mirror.

She walked the rest of the way to Eden's and slipped in the back, down the hall, and into her suite like nothing was wrong, because in a sense nothing was. All she had to do to recover what was in fact hers was to lean back in her office chair and wait for the tracking software to triangulate.

 

[Tamiko Sabo]

​

Malcoma Hesse

She didn't waste time creating distance, a benefit of knowing the streets inside and out. Before long she was in a different part of town, a small sense of satisfaction sparking.

Disappearing into the confines of a garage, she slipped by her landlord without acknowledgment, purse wrapped tightly between her arms. He'd likely have questions, ones she didn't feel too inclined to answer.

Making a straight shot to a dingy stairwell wrapping up into an even more dingy apartment, she closed the door behind her. Slipping the bag off her shoulder, she let the contents spill haphazardly onto her desk, quickly moving to sift through the sprawl of items. As a blind pickpocket, you get a feel for credits, business cards, really anything of inherent value.

So when her hand brushed against an ID card she loosened it from the pile, pausing ever so slightly. Secured between her middle and index finger she absentmindedly moved the card across her desk, holding it in place under the line of sight of a disembodied droid head. One she'd programmed, however sloppily, to read text. After all she wasn't exactly keen on taking this up with Vaj. Distrust was a way of survival.

The strand of words read off to her in choppy mechanical bits almost gave her pause. Eden's Club. She'd heard the name before, some brothel down in the Entertainment District mentioned here and there. Apparently pretty flashy. Tapping the ID card against the edge of her desk, she moved away from the purse in a moment of deliberation. Easy place to pilfer a few credits, maybe even some bigger game from the wallets of distracted patrons. Certainly wouldn't have to worry about being the center of anyone's attention.

Loosening a floorboard she shoved the purse and the majority of its contents into a crawl space before slipping her arms into her jacket. Guess my night isn't over.

Drawing her hood, she slipped out the garage, back in the direction she came.
​

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Tamiko Sabo

"Malcoma?"

She glanced from her computer's screen to see her personal bodyguard standing in the archway leading into her office.

"How was your walk?"

"Just what the doctor ordered," she replied smoothly as she reached over to power down the monitor, effectively pausing the tracking software. "Is it that time already?" She turned her wrist to glance at her watch. Indeed. Her meeting with the madam of another escort outfit from down a few levels was in just a few minutes. Maybe it was a good thing she had grown a tail, otherwise she would have not walked back so fast, and lateness was not an option in this business.

After all, time was money.

Malcoma stood from her desk and walked around it to join Damris. "Lead the way."

They found the fellow madam out on the main floor sitting comfortably in a dimly-lit corner booth and sipping on a rosé. As they approached, Malcoma slowed her breath, attempting to pull her focus from Tamiko to the present moment. After it was over, she'd have plenty of time to resume her trace. "Miona," she called out when she and Damris were closer to her. "Thank you for accepting my invitation."

Miona floated up and intercepted Malcoma with a quick hug. The women didn't really know each other, but they could assume a certain kinship being in the same line of work. "Of course, of course," the other woman replied. "We will make sure your grand opening is absolutely splendid." As Miona ushered Malcoma to sit, Damris scooted even further into the shadows—ever the stoic observer.