"KuRuuru was taken out? When? Where?" Darth Malthael frowned as he questioned the drunken mercenary in the bar.
"Hey!! Kuruuru was just a small-time nobody. He couldn't beat the Spider Venom Gang in their turf war. Every time he took his men out to start trouble, they came back battered and bruised. Eventually, his underlings didn't even want to follow him anymore." The mercenary was also a Kubbit. Drunk as he was, his long forked tongue lay limp across the table, drool running down from it.
And he could still talk like that. Impressive.
"So Kuruuru was taken out by the Spider Venom Gang?" Darth Malthael asked.
"HAHAHAHA... Of course not! The Spider Venom Gang had their own problems at the time! Hahahaha, you're an outsider, aren't you? You probably don't know that the ones who took him out... were the Separatists." The mercenary lowered his voice mysteriously.
"This planet is loyal to the Galactic Republic, isn't it? The Separatists would come here?" Darth Malthael asked.
"Hahahaha, now that's something you don't know... something you don't know... hehehehe..." The mercenary seemed to spot an opportunity. He raised a hand and made a money gesture, snickering.
Darth Malthael did not waste words. He took out a bag of credit chips and tossed it onto the table. The pouch was still stained with black smears—it was the very bag he had thrown to the ice diggers on the Jubal planet earlier.
The mercenary's eyes lit up. Greedily, he snatched the money pouch over and stuffed it straight into his clothes. Only then did he lean across the table and whisper, "Buddy, you've come to the right person. There really are some things only I know!"
There were far too many credits in that bag, at least several thousand. Afraid that Darth Malthael