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You understand the predicament I have here." said the man on the phone.
"Yes, sir, I understand. No problems and no questions, that's the Fett guarantee!" quipped Boba Fett, leaning back on his chair.
Silence.
"Erm...I mean, I'll get right on it, sir. It'll be done before the week is out." Boba hated it when his enthuiastic approach to customers went unheeded.
There was a click as the other end went dead. Boba looked at the phone for a minute, before shrugging. His customers were generally very cautious. He didn't blame them. No-one wanted to be caught hiring an intergalatic bounty hunter. It wasn't the most reputable of professions.
Boba liked being an intergalatic bounty hunter, though. It gave him a chance to get out and about. His father had wanted him to take that desk job a while back, but there was no way was working for bald men. An entire race of bald men, they were. Boba liked his hair, and he feared greatly that they would make him shave it off. He had enough problems with helmet hair as it was.
"Oh Miss Stacey?" called Boba, politely. His secretary appeared in the doorway. He liked his secretary. He'd advertised on several planets when he first started up, and she was from Scotland, on Earth. It was quite useful, actually, because it was Earth that he was heading to right now, and he liked her accent. Plus, she was smoking hot. Boba occasionally thought about getting her quite drunk and taking advantage, but he always dismissed the idea. Boba was a very moral man. Which was rare in his line of work.
"You're looking lovely, Miss Stacey, if I may say so." She smiled at him. Maybe she wanted a bit of the Fett. He made a mental note to ask her out when he got back from Earth. "I have to go to Earth, Miss Stacey. I shot that president a while ago there, if you remember. Tidy job, I thought. It's England this time, though. I won't be able to take my ship, so could you arrange a suitable vehicle for me when I get there."
"Of course, Mr Fett."
"Ah, Miss Stacey, how many times? You can call me Boba."
"Oh, Mr Fett!" she giggled, and half ran from the room. Boba watched her leave. He liked watching her leave. But enough of such matters, he had a man to kill. But first he had to feed the cat. It got cranky otherwise.
--
It was times like this Boba wondered why he put up with Miss Stacey. A suitable vehicle, he had said. And she had got him...
"What is this?" asked Boba. The girl didn't answer straight away. She was looking at his clothes. "Oh, don't mind the armour. Can never be too careful, eh?" She didn't laugh. People never laughed at the armour joke.
"It's...a....err...It's a Volvo, sir. Almost brand new."
Hmm. A Volvo. Boba was undecided on the Volvo. It didn't look like it could take much firepower. It'd do, though, he didn't have that far to go.
--
He found his victim-to-be in a house that wasn't that special. He kicked the door open, all violent like. Boba found it was best to be violent at first, it made them scared and they didn't try to shoot him. Boba didn't like being shot at. Not that it mattered, of course, he had his Mandalorian armour. But he liked to keep it shiny.
"Who's there?" came a faint voice.
"Boba. BOBA THE FETT!"
"Boba the Fett? OK. Come back later please, I'm self-harming."
Boba didn't know what self-harming was. He thought he was the one who did the harming. "Boba don't care for no self-harming!" He shot a hole in the floor with his new laser gun, to emphasise his point. The shriek that came from below pleased him.
"Sssssh, self-harming." That voice again. Boba had already decided he hated that voice, and he was going to be pleased to shoot it in the face. But no, his client had left careful instructions. He was to make this look like a suicide.
He walked through into the kitchen. A pale-faced man was sitting on the floor. He seemed to be bleeding from the arm. Boba didn't understand this. The man didn't pay any attention to Boba. He was apparently trying to carve some sort of pattern into his arm.
"Come with me, human!" Boba would like to have one of those booming voices, like Prince Voltan. Instead his voice was rather hoarse. It annoyed him at times. That reminded him, he had to catch up with Prince Voltan some time.
The man looked up. He looked confused. "Come with you where? Can't you see I'm busy?"
Boba looked at him for a moment, and then hit him on the head with a frying pan. Yep, that seemed to do it.
--
The Volvo wasn't the best bounty-hunting vehicle that Boba had ever driven. It seemed to get jammed from 4th to 5th. Boba resolved that he didn't care about his deposit, and was going to shoot the hell out of the Volvo when he'd finished. He looked across at his companion, who was starting to wake up.
"What's your name?" ventured Boba. He liked to be friendly.
"Richey.." muttered the pale man. He hadn't really woken up yet.
"Well, Richey, your arm seems to be leaking." said Boba, jovially.
"Wha?" said Richey. "Wha's going on?"
"I'm going to kill you, Richey. But not for a few miles yet, so don't worry." Boba reached across and patted him on the shoulder. "There there."
".....Wha?" said Richey again, now rubbing the spot on his head where Boba had hit him. "Let me go!"
"Not right now, Richey!" said Boba, in a friendly manner. "But, if it helps, I'll be letting you go in about 10 minutes. Sleep now." Boba hit him again.
--
Boba pulled the Volvo up at a service station near the river Severn. He liked the Severn, it had a pretty bridge.
"Come on, Richey, out you get."
"'it's snowing..." muttered Richey.
"Oh, is that was it is?" said Boba. The white flakes falling from the sky had confused him. Richey celebrated this by falling over in it.
"Richey. C'mon. You've gone and got blood all over the nice white snow. What would your mother say?"
"Dunno. Could do with a vodka?" ventured Richey, from the floor.
"No, Richey, no vodka for you. Oh come on, cheer up. Give us a smile." Boba made a double thumbs up gesture. Richey stared blankly at him. "No? Ah well, never mind."
Boba picked up Richey and chucked him over his shoulder, and started walking towards the river. "I've found some help if you think about it like it's a new beginning. How about you try that?"
Richey swore. Loudly. Boba laughed. "You know, Richey, I think I'm beginning to like you." They had reached the river.
"Enough to let me go?" asked Richey.
"Heh, not quite. Over we go!" Boba heaved and chucked Richey into the river. He watched for a while. Richey made a big splash for such a small person. Boba watched for a while, hoping that was an end to it. He didn't see Richey emerge, but there was a lot of snow about. He dismissed the idea of Richey surviving out of hand. He was bound to have sunk, so he set off across the bridge, whistling. He'd been told to leave the car where it is. He'd got rid of the snow which Richey had fallen on, though. A big red "4 REAL" kinda spoiled the lovely white snow.
--
When he was back at his offices, Boba told Miss Stacey how things had gone. Her response hadn't best pleased him.
"Are you sure?"
"Almost certainly, Mr Fett."
"You can all do this swimming thing?"
"Erm...nearly all, yeah?"
"Nearly? What are the chances Richey can't do this swimamajig?"
"Er...pretty small, I'd guess."
"....Damn. I suppose I'd better go back and shoot him in the face, then."
Miss Stacey shook her head. "Afraid you can't, sir. It's Jabba, Mr Fett. He wants you back. Something about a Falcon, and I'm sure he mentioned a Wookiee. It's hard to understand him, sir, he has trouble with his esses."
Boba thought for a second. Jabba wanted something, huh? Boba had always liked Jabba.
"Alright, Miss Stacey. But as soon as I'm back from that, I'm going after Richie."
"Oh, sir, I do like it when you're forceful."
She definitely wanted a bit of the Fett.
--
Richey Edwards pulled himself out of the water. That had been....interesting. Someone clearly wanted him dead. Well, Richey Edwards was no mug. He was going to leave. Right now. Somewhere warm, where they had vodka on tap and didn't had a go at him every single minute if he wanted to cut 4 Real into his own arm. That's all he wanted.
Richey suddenly felt a lot more cheerful. And so he set off. Somewhere else. He wasn't sure where yet. But the world hadn't heard the last of Richey, that was for sure. Yeah, Richey was 4 Real.
"Yes, sir, I understand. No problems and no questions, that's the Fett guarantee!" quipped Boba Fett, leaning back on his chair.
Silence.
"Erm...I mean, I'll get right on it, sir. It'll be done before the week is out." Boba hated it when his enthuiastic approach to customers went unheeded.
There was a click as the other end went dead. Boba looked at the phone for a minute, before shrugging. His customers were generally very cautious. He didn't blame them. No-one wanted to be caught hiring an intergalatic bounty hunter. It wasn't the most reputable of professions.
Boba liked being an intergalatic bounty hunter, though. It gave him a chance to get out and about. His father had wanted him to take that desk job a while back, but there was no way was working for bald men. An entire race of bald men, they were. Boba liked his hair, and he feared greatly that they would make him shave it off. He had enough problems with helmet hair as it was.
"Oh Miss Stacey?" called Boba, politely. His secretary appeared in the doorway. He liked his secretary. He'd advertised on several planets when he first started up, and she was from Scotland, on Earth. It was quite useful, actually, because it was Earth that he was heading to right now, and he liked her accent. Plus, she was smoking hot. Boba occasionally thought about getting her quite drunk and taking advantage, but he always dismissed the idea. Boba was a very moral man. Which was rare in his line of work.
"You're looking lovely, Miss Stacey, if I may say so." She smiled at him. Maybe she wanted a bit of the Fett. He made a mental note to ask her out when he got back from Earth. "I have to go to Earth, Miss Stacey. I shot that president a while ago there, if you remember. Tidy job, I thought. It's England this time, though. I won't be able to take my ship, so could you arrange a suitable vehicle for me when I get there."
"Of course, Mr Fett."
"Ah, Miss Stacey, how many times? You can call me Boba."
"Oh, Mr Fett!" she giggled, and half ran from the room. Boba watched her leave. He liked watching her leave. But enough of such matters, he had a man to kill. But first he had to feed the cat. It got cranky otherwise.
--
It was times like this Boba wondered why he put up with Miss Stacey. A suitable vehicle, he had said. And she had got him...
"What is this?" asked Boba. The girl didn't answer straight away. She was looking at his clothes. "Oh, don't mind the armour. Can never be too careful, eh?" She didn't laugh. People never laughed at the armour joke.
"It's...a....err...It's a Volvo, sir. Almost brand new."
Hmm. A Volvo. Boba was undecided on the Volvo. It didn't look like it could take much firepower. It'd do, though, he didn't have that far to go.
--
He found his victim-to-be in a house that wasn't that special. He kicked the door open, all violent like. Boba found it was best to be violent at first, it made them scared and they didn't try to shoot him. Boba didn't like being shot at. Not that it mattered, of course, he had his Mandalorian armour. But he liked to keep it shiny.
"Who's there?" came a faint voice.
"Boba. BOBA THE FETT!"
"Boba the Fett? OK. Come back later please, I'm self-harming."
Boba didn't know what self-harming was. He thought he was the one who did the harming. "Boba don't care for no self-harming!" He shot a hole in the floor with his new laser gun, to emphasise his point. The shriek that came from below pleased him.
"Sssssh, self-harming." That voice again. Boba had already decided he hated that voice, and he was going to be pleased to shoot it in the face. But no, his client had left careful instructions. He was to make this look like a suicide.
He walked through into the kitchen. A pale-faced man was sitting on the floor. He seemed to be bleeding from the arm. Boba didn't understand this. The man didn't pay any attention to Boba. He was apparently trying to carve some sort of pattern into his arm.
"Come with me, human!" Boba would like to have one of those booming voices, like Prince Voltan. Instead his voice was rather hoarse. It annoyed him at times. That reminded him, he had to catch up with Prince Voltan some time.
The man looked up. He looked confused. "Come with you where? Can't you see I'm busy?"
Boba looked at him for a moment, and then hit him on the head with a frying pan. Yep, that seemed to do it.
--
The Volvo wasn't the best bounty-hunting vehicle that Boba had ever driven. It seemed to get jammed from 4th to 5th. Boba resolved that he didn't care about his deposit, and was going to shoot the hell out of the Volvo when he'd finished. He looked across at his companion, who was starting to wake up.
"What's your name?" ventured Boba. He liked to be friendly.
"Richey.." muttered the pale man. He hadn't really woken up yet.
"Well, Richey, your arm seems to be leaking." said Boba, jovially.
"Wha?" said Richey. "Wha's going on?"
"I'm going to kill you, Richey. But not for a few miles yet, so don't worry." Boba reached across and patted him on the shoulder. "There there."
".....Wha?" said Richey again, now rubbing the spot on his head where Boba had hit him. "Let me go!"
"Not right now, Richey!" said Boba, in a friendly manner. "But, if it helps, I'll be letting you go in about 10 minutes. Sleep now." Boba hit him again.
--
Boba pulled the Volvo up at a service station near the river Severn. He liked the Severn, it had a pretty bridge.
"Come on, Richey, out you get."
"'it's snowing..." muttered Richey.
"Oh, is that was it is?" said Boba. The white flakes falling from the sky had confused him. Richey celebrated this by falling over in it.
"Richey. C'mon. You've gone and got blood all over the nice white snow. What would your mother say?"
"Dunno. Could do with a vodka?" ventured Richey, from the floor.
"No, Richey, no vodka for you. Oh come on, cheer up. Give us a smile." Boba made a double thumbs up gesture. Richey stared blankly at him. "No? Ah well, never mind."
Boba picked up Richey and chucked him over his shoulder, and started walking towards the river. "I've found some help if you think about it like it's a new beginning. How about you try that?"
Richey swore. Loudly. Boba laughed. "You know, Richey, I think I'm beginning to like you." They had reached the river.
"Enough to let me go?" asked Richey.
"Heh, not quite. Over we go!" Boba heaved and chucked Richey into the river. He watched for a while. Richey made a big splash for such a small person. Boba watched for a while, hoping that was an end to it. He didn't see Richey emerge, but there was a lot of snow about. He dismissed the idea of Richey surviving out of hand. He was bound to have sunk, so he set off across the bridge, whistling. He'd been told to leave the car where it is. He'd got rid of the snow which Richey had fallen on, though. A big red "4 REAL" kinda spoiled the lovely white snow.
--
When he was back at his offices, Boba told Miss Stacey how things had gone. Her response hadn't best pleased him.
"Are you sure?"
"Almost certainly, Mr Fett."
"You can all do this swimming thing?"
"Erm...nearly all, yeah?"
"Nearly? What are the chances Richey can't do this swimamajig?"
"Er...pretty small, I'd guess."
"....Damn. I suppose I'd better go back and shoot him in the face, then."
Miss Stacey shook her head. "Afraid you can't, sir. It's Jabba, Mr Fett. He wants you back. Something about a Falcon, and I'm sure he mentioned a Wookiee. It's hard to understand him, sir, he has trouble with his esses."
Boba thought for a second. Jabba wanted something, huh? Boba had always liked Jabba.
"Alright, Miss Stacey. But as soon as I'm back from that, I'm going after Richie."
"Oh, sir, I do like it when you're forceful."
She definitely wanted a bit of the Fett.
--
Richey Edwards pulled himself out of the water. That had been....interesting. Someone clearly wanted him dead. Well, Richey Edwards was no mug. He was going to leave. Right now. Somewhere warm, where they had vodka on tap and didn't had a go at him every single minute if he wanted to cut 4 Real into his own arm. That's all he wanted.
Richey suddenly felt a lot more cheerful. And so he set off. Somewhere else. He wasn't sure where yet. But the world hadn't heard the last of Richey, that was for sure. Yeah, Richey was 4 Real.
Aha, genius. Love it.
A touch of genius about this. Especially Boba Fett giving Richey Manic the double thumbs up before pushing him off the Severn Bridge.
And mocking self harming too. 4 Real.
And mocking self harming too. 4 Real.
Zaha. The mental image of Boba Fett... Entertaining story with lots of witty one-liners. Like it.
I'm going to pop this, because it's fallen pretty low and it won't get considered otherwise.
You understand the predicament I have here." said the man on the phone.
"Yes, sir, I understand. No problems and no questions, that's the Fett guarantee!" quipped Boba Fett, leaning back on his chair.
Silence.
"Erm...I mean, I'll get right on it, sir. It'll be done before the week is out." Boba hated it when his enthuiastic approach to customers went unheeded.
There was a click as the other end went dead. Boba looked at the phone for a minute, before shrugging. His customers were generally very cautious. He didn't blame them. No-one wanted to be caught hiring an intergalatic bounty hunter. It wasn't the most reputable of professions.
Boba liked being an intergalatic bounty hunter, though. It gave him a chance to get out and about. His father had wanted him to take that desk job a while back, but there was no way was working for bald men. An entire race of bald men, they were. Boba liked his hair, and he feared greatly that they would make him shave it off. He had enough problems with helmet hair as it was.
"Oh Miss Stacey?" called Boba, politely. His secretary appeared in the doorway. He liked his secretary. He'd advertised on several planets when he first started up, and she was from Scotland, on Earth. It was quite useful, actually, because it was Earth that he was heading to right now, and he liked her accent. Plus, she was smoking hot. Boba occasionally thought about getting her quite drunk and taking advantage, but he always dismissed the idea. Boba was a very moral man. Which was rare in his line of work.
"You're looking lovely, Miss Stacey, if I may say so." She smiled at him. Maybe she wanted a bit of the Fett. He made a mental note to ask her out when he got back from Earth. "I have to go to Earth, Miss Stacey. I shot that president a while ago there, if you remember. Tidy job, I thought. It's England this time, though. I won't be able to take my ship, so could you arrange a suitable vehicle for me when I get there."
"Of course, Mr Fett."
"Ah, Miss Stacey, how many times? You can call me Boba."
"Oh, Mr Fett!" she giggled, and half ran from the room. Boba watched her leave. He liked watching her leave. But enough of such matters, he had a man to kill. But first he had to feed the cat. It got cranky otherwise.
--
It was times like this Boba wondered why he put up with Miss Stacey. A suitable vehicle, he had said. And she had got him...
"What is this?" asked Boba. The girl didn't answer straight away. She was looking at his clothes. "Oh, don't mind the armour. Can never be too careful, eh?" She didn't laugh. People never laughed at the armour joke.
"It's...a....err...It's a Volvo, sir. Almost brand new."
Hmm. A Volvo. Boba was undecided on the Volvo. It didn't look like it could take much firepower. It'd do, though, he didn't have that far to go.
--
He found his victim-to-be in a house that wasn't that special. He kicked the door open, all violent like. Boba found it was best to be violent at first, it made them scared and they didn't try to shoot him. Boba didn't like being shot at. Not that it mattered, of course, he had his Mandalorian armour. But he liked to keep it shiny.
"Who's there?" came a faint voice.
"Boba. BOBA THE FETT!"
"Boba the Fett? OK. Come back later please, I'm self-harming."
Boba didn't know what self-harming was. He thought he was the one who did the harming. "Boba don't care for no self-harming!" He shot a hole in the floor with his new laser gun, to emphasise his point. The shriek that came from below pleased him.
"Sssssh, self-harming." That voice again. Boba had already decided he hated that voice, and he was going to be pleased to shoot it in the face. But no, his client had left careful instructions. He was to make this look like a suicide.
He walked through into the kitchen. A pale-faced man was sitting on the floor. He seemed to be bleeding from the arm. Boba didn't understand this. The man didn't pay any attention to Boba. He was apparently trying to carve some sort of pattern into his arm.
"Come with me, human!" Boba would like to have one of those booming voices, like Prince Voltan. Instead his voice was rather hoarse. It annoyed him at times. That reminded him, he had to catch up with Prince Voltan some time.
The man looked up. He looked confused. "Come with you where? Can't you see I'm busy?"
Boba looked at him for a moment, and then hit him on the head with a frying pan. Yep, that seemed to do it.
--
The Volvo wasn't the best bounty-hunting vehicle that Boba had ever driven. It seemed to get jammed from 4th to 5th. Boba resolved that he didn't care about his deposit, and was going to shoot the hell out of the Volvo when he'd finished. He looked across at his companion, who was starting to wake up.
"What's your name?" ventured Boba. He liked to be friendly.
"Richey.." muttered the pale man. He hadn't really woken up yet.
"Well, Richey, your arm seems to be leaking." said Boba, jovially.
"Wha?" said Richey. "Wha's going on?"
"I'm going to kill you, Richey. But not for a few miles yet, so don't worry." Boba reached across and patted him on the shoulder. "There there."
".....Wha?" said Richey again, now rubbing the spot on his head where Boba had hit him. "Let me go!"
"Not right now, Richey!" said Boba, in a friendly manner. "But, if it helps, I'll be letting you go in about 10 minutes. Sleep now." Boba hit him again.
--
Boba pulled the Volvo up at a service station near the river Severn. He liked the Severn, it had a pretty bridge.
"Come on, Richey, out you get."
"'it's snowing..." muttered Richey.
"Oh, is that was it is?" said Boba. The white flakes falling from the sky had confused him. Richey celebrated this by falling over in it.
"Richey. C'mon. You've gone and got blood all over the nice white snow. What would your mother say?"
"Dunno. Could do with a vodka?" ventured Richey, from the floor.
"No, Richey, no vodka for you. Oh come on, cheer up. Give us a smile." Boba made a double thumbs up gesture. Richey stared blankly at him. "No? Ah well, never mind."
Boba picked up Richey and chucked him over his shoulder, and started walking towards the river. "I've found some help if you think about it like it's a new beginning. How about you try that?"
Richey swore. Loudly. Boba laughed. "You know, Richey, I think I'm beginning to like you." They had reached the river.
"Enough to let me go?" asked Richey.
"Heh, not quite. Over we go!" Boba heaved and chucked Richey into the river. He watched for a while. Richey made a big splash for such a small person. Boba watched for a while, hoping that was an end to it. He didn't see Richey emerge, but there was a lot of snow about. He dismissed the idea of Richey surviving out of hand. He was bound to have sunk, so he set off across the bridge, whistling. He'd been told to leave the car where it is. He'd got rid of the snow which Richey had fallen on, though. A big red "4 REAL" kinda spoiled the lovely white snow.
--
When he was back at his offices, Boba told Miss Stacey how things had gone. Her response hadn't best pleased him.
"Are you sure?"
"Almost certainly, Mr Fett."
"You can all do this swimming thing?"
"Erm...nearly all, yeah?"
"Nearly? What are the chances Richey can't do this swimamajig?"
"Er...pretty small, I'd guess."
"....Damn. I suppose I'd better go back and shoot him in the face, then."
Miss Stacey shook her head. "Afraid you can't, sir. It's Jabba, Mr Fett. He wants you back. Something about a Falcon, and I'm sure he mentioned a Wookiee. It's hard to understand him, sir, he has trouble with his esses."
Boba thought for a second. Jabba wanted something, huh? Boba had always liked Jabba.
"Alright, Miss Stacey. But as soon as I'm back from that, I'm going after Richie."
"Oh, sir, I do like it when you're forceful."
She definitely wanted a bit of the Fett.
--
Richey Edwards pulled himself out of the water. That had been....interesting. Someone clearly wanted him dead. Well, Richey Edwards was no mug. He was going to leave. Right now. Somewhere warm, where they had vodka on tap and didn't had a go at him every single minute if he wanted to cut 4 Real into his own arm. That's all he wanted.
Richey suddenly felt a lot more cheerful. And so he set off. Somewhere else. He wasn't sure where yet. But the world hadn't heard the last of Richey, that was for sure. Yeah, Richey was 4 Real.
"Yes, sir, I understand. No problems and no questions, that's the Fett guarantee!" quipped Boba Fett, leaning back on his chair.
Silence.
"Erm...I mean, I'll get right on it, sir. It'll be done before the week is out." Boba hated it when his enthuiastic approach to customers went unheeded.
There was a click as the other end went dead. Boba looked at the phone for a minute, before shrugging. His customers were generally very cautious. He didn't blame them. No-one wanted to be caught hiring an intergalatic bounty hunter. It wasn't the most reputable of professions.
Boba liked being an intergalatic bounty hunter, though. It gave him a chance to get out and about. His father had wanted him to take that desk job a while back, but there was no way was working for bald men. An entire race of bald men, they were. Boba liked his hair, and he feared greatly that they would make him shave it off. He had enough problems with helmet hair as it was.
"Oh Miss Stacey?" called Boba, politely. His secretary appeared in the doorway. He liked his secretary. He'd advertised on several planets when he first started up, and she was from Scotland, on Earth. It was quite useful, actually, because it was Earth that he was heading to right now, and he liked her accent. Plus, she was smoking hot. Boba occasionally thought about getting her quite drunk and taking advantage, but he always dismissed the idea. Boba was a very moral man. Which was rare in his line of work.
"You're looking lovely, Miss Stacey, if I may say so." She smiled at him. Maybe she wanted a bit of the Fett. He made a mental note to ask her out when he got back from Earth. "I have to go to Earth, Miss Stacey. I shot that president a while ago there, if you remember. Tidy job, I thought. It's England this time, though. I won't be able to take my ship, so could you arrange a suitable vehicle for me when I get there."
"Of course, Mr Fett."
"Ah, Miss Stacey, how many times? You can call me Boba."
"Oh, Mr Fett!" she giggled, and half ran from the room. Boba watched her leave. He liked watching her leave. But enough of such matters, he had a man to kill. But first he had to feed the cat. It got cranky otherwise.
--
It was times like this Boba wondered why he put up with Miss Stacey. A suitable vehicle, he had said. And she had got him...
"What is this?" asked Boba. The girl didn't answer straight away. She was looking at his clothes. "Oh, don't mind the armour. Can never be too careful, eh?" She didn't laugh. People never laughed at the armour joke.
"It's...a....err...It's a Volvo, sir. Almost brand new."
Hmm. A Volvo. Boba was undecided on the Volvo. It didn't look like it could take much firepower. It'd do, though, he didn't have that far to go.
--
He found his victim-to-be in a house that wasn't that special. He kicked the door open, all violent like. Boba found it was best to be violent at first, it made them scared and they didn't try to shoot him. Boba didn't like being shot at. Not that it mattered, of course, he had his Mandalorian armour. But he liked to keep it shiny.
"Who's there?" came a faint voice.
"Boba. BOBA THE FETT!"
"Boba the Fett? OK. Come back later please, I'm self-harming."
Boba didn't know what self-harming was. He thought he was the one who did the harming. "Boba don't care for no self-harming!" He shot a hole in the floor with his new laser gun, to emphasise his point. The shriek that came from below pleased him.
"Sssssh, self-harming." That voice again. Boba had already decided he hated that voice, and he was going to be pleased to shoot it in the face. But no, his client had left careful instructions. He was to make this look like a suicide.
He walked through into the kitchen. A pale-faced man was sitting on the floor. He seemed to be bleeding from the arm. Boba didn't understand this. The man didn't pay any attention to Boba. He was apparently trying to carve some sort of pattern into his arm.
"Come with me, human!" Boba would like to have one of those booming voices, like Prince Voltan. Instead his voice was rather hoarse. It annoyed him at times. That reminded him, he had to catch up with Prince Voltan some time.
The man looked up. He looked confused. "Come with you where? Can't you see I'm busy?"
Boba looked at him for a moment, and then hit him on the head with a frying pan. Yep, that seemed to do it.
--
The Volvo wasn't the best bounty-hunting vehicle that Boba had ever driven. It seemed to get jammed from 4th to 5th. Boba resolved that he didn't care about his deposit, and was going to shoot the hell out of the Volvo when he'd finished. He looked across at his companion, who was starting to wake up.
"What's your name?" ventured Boba. He liked to be friendly.
"Richey.." muttered the pale man. He hadn't really woken up yet.
"Well, Richey, your arm seems to be leaking." said Boba, jovially.
"Wha?" said Richey. "Wha's going on?"
"I'm going to kill you, Richey. But not for a few miles yet, so don't worry." Boba reached across and patted him on the shoulder. "There there."
".....Wha?" said Richey again, now rubbing the spot on his head where Boba had hit him. "Let me go!"
"Not right now, Richey!" said Boba, in a friendly manner. "But, if it helps, I'll be letting you go in about 10 minutes. Sleep now." Boba hit him again.
--
Boba pulled the Volvo up at a service station near the river Severn. He liked the Severn, it had a pretty bridge.
"Come on, Richey, out you get."
"'it's snowing..." muttered Richey.
"Oh, is that was it is?" said Boba. The white flakes falling from the sky had confused him. Richey celebrated this by falling over in it.
"Richey. C'mon. You've gone and got blood all over the nice white snow. What would your mother say?"
"Dunno. Could do with a vodka?" ventured Richey, from the floor.
"No, Richey, no vodka for you. Oh come on, cheer up. Give us a smile." Boba made a double thumbs up gesture. Richey stared blankly at him. "No? Ah well, never mind."
Boba picked up Richey and chucked him over his shoulder, and started walking towards the river. "I've found some help if you think about it like it's a new beginning. How about you try that?"
Richey swore. Loudly. Boba laughed. "You know, Richey, I think I'm beginning to like you." They had reached the river.
"Enough to let me go?" asked Richey.
"Heh, not quite. Over we go!" Boba heaved and chucked Richey into the river. He watched for a while. Richey made a big splash for such a small person. Boba watched for a while, hoping that was an end to it. He didn't see Richey emerge, but there was a lot of snow about. He dismissed the idea of Richey surviving out of hand. He was bound to have sunk, so he set off across the bridge, whistling. He'd been told to leave the car where it is. He'd got rid of the snow which Richey had fallen on, though. A big red "4 REAL" kinda spoiled the lovely white snow.
--
When he was back at his offices, Boba told Miss Stacey how things had gone. Her response hadn't best pleased him.
"Are you sure?"
"Almost certainly, Mr Fett."
"You can all do this swimming thing?"
"Erm...nearly all, yeah?"
"Nearly? What are the chances Richey can't do this swimamajig?"
"Er...pretty small, I'd guess."
"....Damn. I suppose I'd better go back and shoot him in the face, then."
Miss Stacey shook her head. "Afraid you can't, sir. It's Jabba, Mr Fett. He wants you back. Something about a Falcon, and I'm sure he mentioned a Wookiee. It's hard to understand him, sir, he has trouble with his esses."
Boba thought for a second. Jabba wanted something, huh? Boba had always liked Jabba.
"Alright, Miss Stacey. But as soon as I'm back from that, I'm going after Richie."
"Oh, sir, I do like it when you're forceful."
She definitely wanted a bit of the Fett.
--
Richey Edwards pulled himself out of the water. That had been....interesting. Someone clearly wanted him dead. Well, Richey Edwards was no mug. He was going to leave. Right now. Somewhere warm, where they had vodka on tap and didn't had a go at him every single minute if he wanted to cut 4 Real into his own arm. That's all he wanted.
Richey suddenly felt a lot more cheerful. And so he set off. Somewhere else. He wasn't sure where yet. But the world hadn't heard the last of Richey, that was for sure. Yeah, Richey was 4 Real.