Chapter Text
Din shifted uncomfortably. His back was starting to kill him after hours spent in one position. He was not the young man capable of staking out his bounties for days on end anymore. He rolled his neck and shoulders, as much as the small space of the driver’s seat allowed, and sighed at the way they cracked and popped. It was time to face it. He was getting too old for this.
Din brought up his binoculars to look at the house up the road for what felt like a hundredth time. Yup, it was still there. Still standing out white against the desert landscape, but blending in perfectly with all the other dwellings in the neighbourhood. When he tracked his bounty down to Arvala, he expected nothing else. It was exactly the kind of unassuming city one would pick to hide in. Populous enough so that any new arrivals are not the talk of the town, yet tucked away from all major highways. It sprawled over the small valley and up the hills and he was sure that anyone unfamiliar with its geography could mistake the settlements up on the dunes as another town. The lack of density didn’t work in Din’s favor.
He already spent too much time on the street. His van-turned-home was made to look from the outside just like any other delivery truck, with only solar panels on the roof betraying its real function. Still, with not many other cars around, he stood out like a sore thumb. He was always careful not to park too close to the target and to not stay there for long. Here, with only stray cacti and short wooden fences providing cover, he might as well have parked right on the curbside of the house. Years of experience screamed at the back of his head to move and grab the perp as soon as he arrived in town and not risk the guy running.
He was glad he didn’t listen, because something didn’t add up.
Fucking Greef Karga, Din repeated his daily motto. The Nevarro Bounty Bonds owner told him that this was just a simple ticket fine evasion, worth a hundred credits. Enough to cover the cost of tracking the bounty down and maybe buy a new radio for the van, if he’s lucky.
And the house seemed perfectly suburban, all right. Its inhabitant did not. Shortly after Din parked his car down the street, the guy came out of the house. One look at him was enough to raise alarm bells in Din’s head. Even through the lens of his long distance camera, he could see the gun on the guy’s hip. It complicated things, for sure, but the fact that someone in a town like this could ever think to need one, made Din question what the man does for a living.
The man looked around his porch and went to feed two rottweilers, throwing some scraps into their locked enclosure, before going back inside. He hadn’t left the house since then. The dogs were staying locked alone for the whole day already and Din could only imagine what the lack of stimulation could do to a breed so dependent on it.
It made one decision that much easier for him to make: if the guy put up any fight, Din was not going to hold back. Not at all.
He made a mental note to ensure the cage was closed before he entered the premises and to alert animal control after all went down.
The night had fallen over the town. Din had to decide to act.
With the only illumination on the street provided by a solitary street lamp near the front gate, Din didn’t worry that the neighbors would spot him sneaking around. He locked his van behind him and quickly scaled the road, deciding to approach the house from the back. The wind would blow his scent away from the dogs and he hoped that it’d be easier to surprise the perp. He jumped over the back fence with only a small groan of pain, which he counted as a success.
The backyard was entirely clear from vegetation, with most of it covered in concrete. A shaded-in barbecue area with an enormous, envy-inducing grill was the only thing providing cover. Din crouched behind a bench and assessed again all he had on him. The bulletproof jacket, possibly his most prized possession, was fastened securely in place. The utility belt had the handcuffs hanging off it in preparation. During his first years of bounty hunting, he obsessed over filling all the little compartments with everything he could ever possibly need on a hunt, small first aid kid and protein bars included, in case he ever got separately from his car. Nowadays it seemed like a hassle to just check how many cartridges he had left.
A sound startled him from his thoughts. The back door opened and the perp came out. Din froze in the darkness.
The circle of light coming from inside the house illuminated only a small part of the backyard and the man didn’t seem to pay it much attention, focusing instead on his phone. He held it up in the air, probably trying to see if he could get a better connection. Satisfied, he brought it back to his ear. “Yeah, she’ll deliver it,” he was speaking into the phone. “Oh, don’t worry, Boss took collateral. She’ll pull through.”
A delivery, a collateral. Din didn’t like the sound of that. From up close, he could clearly make out the celtic tattoo on the man’s arm. Fucking Greef Karga. With every passing minute, Din was getting more and more sure that the perp would go down for not paying a speeding ticket the same way kingpins could go down for tax evasion.
“Tomorrow morning. As soon as I get any info,” the man said and turned to get back into the house. He turned his back to Din, a grave mistake.
The time to act was now. Din took out his gun and rose slowly from behind the bench and stepped around it. The sandy subtract of the town made way to the concrete patio and Din took care to put down his boots as quietly as possible.
“Crest Windfire?” he asked, more out of an obligation than a need to confirm identity. The man froze, head tilting to look over his shoulder.
“Don’t move,” Din said, pointing the gun at the man. “I’m an agent of a bounty hunting guild, license number TK593. You’re going to put your hands behind your back, slowly.”
To his credit, the man didn’t waste Din’s time with the usual I’m-not-the-one-you’re-searching-for routine. He moved his hands behind his back as instructed and stared straight ahead.
This hunt might not not go down in history as difficult, after all, Din thought and came up to the man. He holstered his gun and picked up a pair of handcuffs from his belt.
Before he could clasp them around the man’s wrists, the guy swiveled around and headbutted him straight in the face. A fist connected with Din’s groin, driving into it hard enough to make him bend outside of his own will. Another punch landed on his jaw, sending him prone backwards.
‘A hundred credits’ ran through Din’s mind before his head connected with the concrete. Pain exploded white before his eyes. With a grunt, Din blinked rapidly, trying to clear the spots that blocked his vision, bright like staring right into the sun. Somewhere above him there was a rustle of fabric and the sound of a gun leaving it's holster.
He wondered then if this was it. If he was going to die here. A part of him was ready to welcome it. He was tired. He was so very tired.
But there was another part who said no. It was the part of him that survived the accident and subsequent joggling between five foster homes, a sting in juvie and the every day slog of trying to make ends meet in the last two decades.
That part of him said, it's not your time yet. And you're not going to die in some Nazi dealer's backyard.
It sounded surprisingly like Arnie.
He threw his right foot in the air, more on instinct than knowing where to kick. Still, his heavy boot connected with the man's knee, surprising him enough for the impact to rattle his figure and buy Din a precious second.
Din rolled on his stomach and jumped to a squat. Turning, he threw his elbow back, connecting it with the man's stomach and used the momentum to crash into him, bringing him down to the ground. It was hardly elegant, but did the job. He climbed on top of him and slammed the man’s wrist against the concrete.
With a yelp, the man released his gun. He wasn’t ready to give up though. His hands went straight for Din’s neck, with a powerful grip on Din’s windpipe making him see stars again.
Not waiting anymore time, Din grabbed the man’s head and slammed it back on the patio floor, satisfied to give him a taste of his own medicine.
The guy’s arms stopped, he slumped on the ground. Din took another pair of handcuffs off his belt and put them on the perp, before getting up. Standing over the man, he watched him slowly coming to. Not wanting to risk anything, Din took out another pair of handcuffs and bound the man's ankles. This pair had a wider chain link so the man would be able to shuffle down the road to Din's car.
Din panted, the adrenaline in his blood still rattling his heart. He furrowed his brow, focusing on the ringing sound echoing in his skull and realized at once that what he was hearing was actually the rottweilers barking furiously upfront. Scared of the scuffle he caused, they no doubt snarled and jumped around their small enclosure. Liable to alert the whole neighborhood.
Din tensed up, looking around the backyard. Somewhere in the distance, another dog howled in response to the rottweilers’ barking. Bright lights of a passing car moved down the street. Wind breezed down the hills with a whoosh. Someone laughed loudly.
No one was coming to check on their unfriendly neighborhood Nazi. Not from other dwellings and certainly not from inside the house.
Din’s head still hurt. He ran his hand over the messy curls, long past due a haircut, and sighed in relief when his hand came back dry. Nothing requiring immediate medical attention, then. It’s okay, he told himself. All he had to do was to manhandle the guy to his car and bring him to the nearest station. Good day, overall.
He eyed the opened backdoor. Throughout the whole day, no one new entered or exited the house outside from his perp. That didn’t mean no one was home. Despite only having one level, the house sprawled out with at least several rooms.
Din picked up his gun, looked at the guy one last time to make sure he’s incapacitated and slowly moved toward the house.
Just a quick sweep, he decided. It’s better to check than to risk a bullet in the back. As soon as the guy is booked someone will come down and take care of the dogs. It’s not going to be any of Din’s concern at that point.
He stepped to the side of the door and looked inside from behind the door frame. The back area was a laundry room, but a narrow corridor led deeper into the house. Din walked slowly, his gun at the ready. From the front of the house, television could be heard blasting some kind of action movie. He hoped that if someone was there, the sounds had drowned out the fight and now Din’s footsteps. He came up to the first door in the corridor and listened in. Nothing could be heard from inside. He pressed the handle slowly and pushed the door open.
A bathroom. Clean and spacious, with the kind of bathtub that probably had a bigger square footage than Din’s current domicile.
He made a quick way down the hallway and checked the remaining rooms. One door was locked, but aside from that there were no surprises.The house was clear. Din could go.
Something at the back of his head made him look again at the only locked room. It was probably nothing. Maybe the guy was stupid enough to keep something from his illegal bussiness in the house and that’s where it was hidden.
Surprising himself, he touched the wooden door.
It was the lack of sleep, he decided. He was letting his imagination run wild.
His hand dropped and he turned to leave.
“Patu?”
Din stopped in his tracks. The sound came from within the room.
“Hello?” he called out. “Is anyone there?”
The only response this time was a soft whine. It sounded like a child’s.
He came up to the door and pressed his ear against it, calling out again. Silence was the only response, but he knew even in his weary and sleep deprived state, he wasn’t hallucinating.
He went quickly back outside and searched the perp’s pockets, listening patiently to the guy’s assurances that he’s going to regret this or that. Having found a key, he nearly ran back into the house. He had to steady his hand to fit the key into the hole and when he turned it and the door opened, Din’s entire body seized up.
Alone, in the darkness, there was a child sitting on the floor, a dirty blanket pooled around him. An oversized t-shirt and a diaper looked like to be the only pieces of clothing he had on.
The boy looked at him with big, dark eyes.
Din picked up his phone and dialed the number of a member of child’s protective services; his sister.