Neil had watched as his two friends departed through the doors of the Candid Cantina, logically he knew that they would be coming back but he couldn’t help but shake his creeping suspicion that it would be the last time he saw them. At first, he assumed that they would get killed out there, but as he continued to sit alone in his booth his worry turned inward- now he expected he’d be the one who’d get offed. The boy sunk back into his booth, hugging himself from deep within his long, grey-tattered and patchy coat. Maybe he could just stay here forever? This booth could be his new home- he could just slink away underneath the table and use the surprisingly comfy cushions as barriers to keep the world from getting in. Neil chuckled at the ridiculousness of his thoughts, though if that truly were an option, he knew there was a chance that he would take it.
Cautiously Neil peeked his head out from over the top of the booth as if he were expecting some guillotine blade to come and slice it off his shoulders. WaldAcker had taken a seat next to Short-Barrel John-John at the bar, it looked as though they were having an engaging conversation- albeit one that was heavily being carried by the strange man in the helmet. Neil grunted as he ducked his head back down, was he going to do this?
“There’s no reason they would kill you.” The boy in the tattered coat said to himself, a habit he had picked up after months of isolation. “No reason at all! You’re nice, well, fairly nice. Plus, there are rules against murder around here… what am I even saying? There are rules against murder everywhere! It’s just a little more specific here.” He peeked back at the two alien men, and he shivered a bit. “Then again, one of them has tried to kill us before and the other… well, he hasn’t done anything really, but he gives me bad vibes.” Somewhere in the cantina, someone slammed a glass down a little too hard, Neil reacted as if a grenade had been thrown and ducked for cover. He felt a little foolish after realizing what he had done, “Jesus, I’m a mess.”
The boy forced himself to stand to his feet, it was like he was fighting himself to do it. He had to be brave now, he couldn’t just hide away and let his friends do all the work by themselves. Well, he could actually, but that would be a very bad look now wouldn’t it- especially since there was a life on the line. “Goddamn it, Timothy.” He muttered under his breath as he reached the bar.
John-John was slouched over with his face pressing on top of the glowing bar, causing the purple pattern that ran along his cheek to appear bloated. His nose appeared to be slightly at an odd angle now, pointing upwards to the cracked screens on the ceiling- it would appear that Sophia truly did have a nasty left hook. WaldAcker was gesturing wildly as his mouth ran with some strange story that he seemed excited to relay to his conversation partner- although he seemed to not return the feeling. “So, with all my energy packs depleted, there was only one thing I could think to do- I threw my gun at him! You should have seen the look on his face… let’s just say I left an impression.”
“Why are you talking to me?” Groaned John-John from the table. “Just leave me be… can’t ya see I’m not havin’ a good day?”
WaldAcker frowned. “Well, if I waited to talk to you on one of your good days then I’d probably die of old age, or you would at least.” The man raised his hand and waved Pollum over with a smile from beneath his large helmet. “Could you get us two shots of Relacian Ale please, my friend needs a pick-me-up!”
Pollum nodded as his arms got to work, constructing a drink like a spider building a web. Meanwhile Neil, as nonchalantly as he could, took a seat on the other side of John-John, hoping desperately to not be noticed. “Who even are you?” Said the slouching man to the other.
“Oh, I’m no one, just a guy who enjoys a good chat.” WaldAcker slapped the man on the back. “You look like you have a lot of good stories to tell!”
John-John leaned up and opened his mouth as if to speak, but then plopped back down. “Not really, man.”
“Oh, come now, you’ve never gotten out of a scrape just in the nick of time or pulled off a daring robbery? This is the Ring! That sort of stuff is supposed to happen all the time, or so I hear.” Through the tinted glass of his helmet WaldAcker cracked a smile. “At least try, I did just buy you a drink after all.”
As if on cue, Pollum finished the drinks and expertly slid them over to the men without spilling a drop. The unlucky thug reached up a sad little hand and grabbed his glass of ale. The glass made a screeching noise as he dragged it to his lips, tipping it over into his mouth like the world's most depressed water fountain. “Fine… I suppose I have a story.” Maybe if he talked the guy would just buzz off. “One time, me and my mates saw this group of scrapers. They were clearly newbies so we figured it would be an easy score, but nope, that bitch Jenny McClain had to go and show up, and Novan just had to decide that then would be a good time to have a gunfight. Then pew!” John-John made a gun gesture with his hand and then pretended to blow away the smoke from his fingertips. “Bye-bye mate.”
WaldAcker nodded along with the story, but it still took him a minute to realize it was over. “Oh… that’s it?” He sighed as he grabbed his glass. “Well, I guess beggars can’t be choosers, isn’t that right stranger?”
It’s hard to describe the reaction Neil had when he realized that WaldAcker was looking directly at him, it was as if a bat suddenly gained the ability to see, immediately hated everything it saw, and then flew directly into a window. “What, um ah, no, I don’t, I wasn’t… ahhh.” Neil scrambled.
John-John flipped his head around on the bar to see who was having a stroke. “Wait a minute, I know you!” He sat upright in his chair, his eyes glowing with recognition. “You’re one of them scrapers! You’re a part of the crew that did this to me!”
Neil thought about running, but where would he go? “Um… I think you have the wrong guy?” He tried to channel his inner Alex with a clever lie, but clearly, he didn’t have the same spark.
“You’re lying! I’d see that floppy coat from anywhere!” John-John, suddenly agile, shot a hand out in an attempt to grab the boy but it was quickly dodged as Neil slipped out of his chair.
“I didn’t do anything!” Cried, Neil. “I was just there, man! I didn’t shoot Novan or Corpus, that was Jenny and Timothy… well, probably not Timothy, we’re still working on that, but I’d be glad to fill you in when we get an update!”
The man now stood over the boy, his chest heaving in and out. But, to Neil’s surprise, instead of another shouting match, John-John began to cry. It was rather uncomfortable watching his eyes swell and burst into giant salty tears, the boy didn’t know whether to crawl away or offer him a tissue. “Oh god, oh god!” The unlucky thug cried as he once again took a seat and flopped his head down on the bar. “How’d my life come to this? I thought we had it made, but no! He had to go and fuck it up, the bastard!” He raised his head and slammed it against the table- which ironically made his nose go back into place.
WaldAcker gingerly patted the man on the shoulder as he stood from his seat and walked over to the prone boy. He extended a hand, “I don’t think I caught your name.”
Neil didn’t take the offer, instead choosing to stand on his own. “I’m Neil, you may recognize me from the time I hid under your table.”
“Oh yeah, that was you… I must say that was a little odd.”
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“It wasn’t one of my proudest moments.” He admitted.
John-John let out a loud sob that the entire cantina overheard but paid little attention to. “I’m gonna die!” He cried into his glass of ale.
“Don’t say that!” WaldAcker replied going over to the man. “You’re young, marginally attractive, and I’m sure you can pull yourself out of this slum!”
“No… you don’t get it!” John-John wept. “I’m 100 thousand credits deep in debt with the Cutters!”
WaldAcker’s cheery nature dropped almost instantly. “Oh… well then, sorry for your loss.”
Neil raised an eyebrow. “The Cutters?”
The man in the helmet leaned over and whispered out the corner of his mouth, “drug cartel of the cutthroat variety, he’ll be dead by the end of the week.”
“That’s horrible!”
“That’s life.”
Shaking his head, Neil remembered what he was doing over here in the first place. “Hey, look, do you mind if I ask you two some questions?”
He received a vicious sob from John-John and a shrug from WaldAcker. “I don’t see why not. Wait, is this about Timothy?”
“Yeah, it is.” Neil eyed the man up and down; he didn’t like how personable he was being. It reminded him of a teacher he had back in school, one that acted nice to everyone in the class but when it came time to grade the papers, they were more ruthless than a vulture. “You saw what happened to him.”
“I did, such a shame too, he was rather lovely,” WaldAcker said as he took a seat. “But, before you begin, know that your questions come with a price!”
Neil wasn’t looking forward to hearing what that entailed. “What kind of price?”
“A story!” The man smiled. “I’d love a good story if you have the time. I’ll answer all your questions first, of course, I’m not that rude.”
It wasn’t too steep of a price; Neil gave him that. The boy in the tattered coat slipped back onto his barstool, trying to ignore the fact that John-John was leaving a puddle next to his cup. He opened his mouth to speak, then realized he hadn’t prepared this far and fumbled. “Um… who are you?” Was the first thing that came to his lips.
“I’m WaldAcker.” The man put blankly.
“But like, who are you? What do you do?” The boy clarified.
He thought for a moment, “I… travel.”
“Really?”
“Really.” WaldAcker lifted his glass to drink, but then stopped when he realized he was wearing a giant helmet on his head and awkwardly sat the cup back down.
That didn’t help Neil with solving a murder all that much. “Okay, um, John-John… what do you do?”
“I die, that’s what I do, I fuckin’ die!” The man cried, reaching up and tipping the last drops of ale into his mouth.
Clearly, this interview was off to a bad start. Neil licked his teeth trying to come up with a better question. Maybe he should adjust his strategy. “So, John-John, I know that you aren’t doing great right now, and I’m sorry about Corpus, that must…”
“What?” John-John sat up, eyes red and cheeks puffy. “You think I’m sad ‘cuz I lost Corpus? Ha! I’m glad that bastard died- he betrayed me!” He pounded his fist on the bar, making his glass jump a little. “I’m sad because I didn’t get the ticket!”
“You didn’t?” Neil sounded a little more surprised than he would’ve liked. “Oh… do you know who did?”
The crying man nodded his head. “Of course, I do!”
The boy’s heart skipped a beat, was it going to be this easy? “Who?”
“The Janitor!” Like a doll being dropped by its owner, John-John let his neck go limp and his head once again slammed onto the table- unfortunately, this made his nose go back to pointing at the ceiling. “I’m an idiot, I didn’t think to grab the ticket after I…” He stopped himself from continuing.
“After you…” Neil leaned in.
Silence.
“Oh, dear.” WaldAcker cried, patting the man on the face. “I think he may have just died.”
Neil’s eye’s widened, his heart fluttering like it was in a bag full of butterflies. “What?”
WaldAcker reached out a gloved hand to the man’s neck and felt for a pulse. After a minute he came back with his response, “sorry, false alarm, he’s just asleep! It’s so hard to tell sometimes.”
Breath escaped the boy’s mouth that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Neil regretted coming over here, what did he think he was going to do? He wasn’t a detective, even though he had the coat for it. What was he even supposed to do? “So WaldAcker,” his mouth carried on without permission from his brain. “I noticed that you were also near Corpus when the lights went out, weren’t you?”
The man in the helmet thought for a moment. “Hmm, I suppose I was. Oh, I see, you think that I could have killed him?”
Neil’s face went red. “No!” Silence filled the air; the lie was obvious. “Fine, yeah I do.”
“No need to lie, I totally understand! You’re trying to help out your friend and I commend that.” WaldAcker reached over John-John and placed a hand on Neil’s shoulder- the boy didn’t like that one bit. “But I have no reason to want to kill the man, my only gripe with him was that he was ruining the music!”
The boy wiggled his arm out of the grip that it was in. “I guess that’s true.”
WaldAcker looked at the boy for a moment, then tilted his head as if noticing something at an angle. “What are you worried about?”
“Huh?” Neil felt a little called out by the question, was it that obvious?
“You’re thinking about something, I can tell, I’ve got a good eye for that sort of stuff.”
Neil wasn’t the type of person who would just let anyone into what he was thinking. He was more of a dollar for your thoughts instead of a penny sort of guy. But with no one else to talk to, he relinquished. “I’m worried about my friend.” He said, crossing his arms into his giant coat.
“That’s understandable, he is about to be executed after all.”
“Yeah, but that’s not what I’m worried about.” Neil groaned; he wasn’t good with personal stuff but the man in the helmet just had a strange way of prying the truth out. “I’m worried that he may have actually done it.”
“Oh?” WaldAcker’s sounded a bit surprised. “What makes you say that?”
The truth was that Neil didn’t know what made him say that. It was just a thought that was wedged into his brain, one that he couldn’t pry away. “Maybe because I haven’t gotten the chance to really know him? We’ve been through a lot together, more than I could have ever imagined really, but it hasn’t even been a week!” He let that sink in a bit. “Jesus, it hasn’t even been a week.”
“Well, if you ask me, I’d say you’re wrong.” The man in the helmet began. “I’ve talked to Timothy before and I’m usually a good judge of character. I’d say that your friend was just in the wrong place and at the worst possible time.”
“I want to believe that too, I truly do man. Timothy seems nice, like absurdly nice, but I’ve met people like that before and they always have a dark side. You can’t trust people, you just can’t!” Neil eyed the glass of ale that WaldAcker had left unfinished, the man caught the hint and slid the drink over without a word. Putting it to his lips the boy went in for a sip, then remembered that he had no idea what he could be drinking and sat it back down again with a sigh.
“I can relate to that.” WaldAcker smiled. “Sometimes it can be hard to truly recognize someone for who they really are.”
A little light went off in the boy’s head. “Wait, didn’t Corpus say he recognized you from somewhere?”
Up until now, the man in the helmet had talked with a cheery and comforting tone, but all that instantly fell away. “No, you must be mistaken.”
Neil shook his head. “No, I remember it, he said that he knew you from somewhere! You said you were just a traveler… what’s that about?”
There was nothing but silence from his conversation partner for the longest time, Neil felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. His eye’s fixated on WaldAcker’s hand as it slowly reached inside his coat pocket, he dreaded to know what for. Then the hand stopped as if it had changed its mind, instead deciding to retreat and rest on a knee. “I just have one of those silly faces.” The man’s voice was anything but silly.
“Is that why you wear that helmet?” Neil couldn’t believe himself as he spoke, he was going to get killed!
WaldAcker’s silly face morphed into a smile. “It certainly helps, most of the time.” The man leaned forward, and through the tinted visor Neil could just barely make out a pair of eyes staring intensely back at him. “But you don’t know me from somewhere… do you?”
“No.” He replied quickly. “Not a clue, I swear.”
“Good.” The cheery nature returned like someone had flipped a switch. “Now, since that is all settled and done for, it’s time you paid me.”
“Pay you?”
“Come now, did you forget so quickly?” The man lowered his helmet into his two hands and leaned against the bar. “You’re supposed to tell me a story now! Do make it a good one, if I’m being honest, I’ve been starved of a good tale recently.”
Neil truly was experiencing emotional whiplash. One moment he is fearing for his life the next he’s trying to think of a good story to tell. He felt the urge to just excuse himself from the conversation, but he knew that when dealing with crazy people it’s sometimes best to humor them until you can make a clean escape, so he thought up a tale. “Um… I can tell you about the time my friend was mistaken for a goddess?”
“Oh really? That sounds fascinating!” WaldAcker leaned in closer, practically hovering over the sleeping body of John-John. “Do tell.”
Neil cleared his throat. “Well, I guess I can start at the beginning. So you see, there was this triangle thingy…”