Who Done It and Who Didn't?

[Dayne Gehnt]

It was a nice, bright, sunny day in Utapau. Dayne was visiting the laboratory which he was frozen in. He always checks up on it. Was it for nostalgia? No, but rather the fact that the doctor might come back one day. Dayne was hot, and his armor wasn't helping. He had to travel by foot, and he still had a long way to go. After about two hours of travel, Dayne decided to take a little rest. He sat down on a small bump. He took his helmet off to reveal his sweaty face. He was exhausted, and the gloss in his eyes showed it. After sitting down and taking some sips from his canteen, he saw someone in the distance. Dayne looked at the person in the distance while putting away his canteen and putting on his helmet. He ran over to the man, yelling. "Hey! Hey! You! Hey!" The man stopped while Dayne came to a halt next to him. "Got any food, I'm starving." Dayne said "I'm sorry to ask, but it really is an emergency." The man said "Well, I'm a merchant. I've got some you could buy. Here, I have some meatlump. 15 credits." Dayne reached into a pouch, and pulled out fifteen credits, and exchanged with the merchant. "I'm Dayne by the way. Dayne Gehnt." Dayne said. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Gehnt," the merchant said, "I'm Don. I travel around selling whatever I can find."

After two hours of talking, the merchant and Dayne parted ways. They had become friends, and were going to meet up sometime in Coruscant.

Dayne went to check on the lab, and no one was there.

After about two days, Dayne had found out that Don was murdered. He was shot, three times in the back somewhere in Utapau. Although Dayne had barley known Don, he knew he deserved justice, and took his case up with [member="Van Rolark"]

 

[Van Rolark]

Slowly, the private investigator exited the cantina, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The stench of fried Womp Rat filled his nostrils. The heavy breeze occasionally kicked sand up and the cigarette in his mouth produced a thick cloud of smoke every time he took a puff. He was contacted by [member="Dayne Gehnt"].

Something about his buddy being murdered and he wanted justice, not the first time he had been hired for such a thing. Personally, Van Rolark despised jobs like this. He preferred simple jobs, such as searching for unfaithful husbands or spying and surveillance, but nope, he now had to possibly stare at a corpse for several hours, attempting to come up with some idea on how to figure out who shot the poor bastard.

He was told to meet the poor bastard's buddy in this filthy marketplace. Taking a drag on the cigarette, he plucked it from his mouth for a moment to exhale a billow of smoke.