The Summer Strikes Back, Part 3

The docks down at Roseman's Landing were always a little rough, but Leia wouldn't have them any other way. Grimy two-story cottages mixed with splintered wooden shacks and sagging diners along the bay side. Gleaming white yachts butted up in Brentwood Marina against aging green, yellow, and tan fishing boats. She could see at least two brand-new condo buildings rising over the harbor right before you walked over the concrete bridge and entered the island.

Roseman's was a small series of islands that were technically part of Spring Creek, the last town on the mainland before you went into Ocean View. No one really thought of them that way. They were as much a part of the Ocean View scene as the beaches and historic hotels.

Ackbar's Restaurant was on the very end of Roseman's, between Brentwood Marina and the Exxon. They were one of the most popular eateries in Ocean View, mainly because Ackbar's doubled as a marina. The catch of the day was as fresh as you could get! Old Admiral Ackbar ran everything ship-shape and on time. He was in the Navy through at least four wars, finally retiring and buying the old restaurant in the early 70's.

She dropped by the Admiral's Fish Market first. It was the smaller, recent building attached to the main dining hall. A young man with spiky royal blue hair, his lanky form encased in a pale-blue polyester polo shirt and black apron over dark shorts, was blaring “Hungry Like the Wolf” on his silver Sharp radio. He danced along as he added a tin container of scallops to the display case under the counter.

“Hi, Ezra.” Leia grinned as he whipped around. “How's business?”

The young teen looked up from the counter. “Hi, Leia! It only just slowed down in here. When did you get in? Where's Luke? On the beach?”

“Yeah, he's on the beach already. Him and Uncle Ben.” She smiled. “Is the Ghost in?”

“Yeah.” Ezra turned his attention to the radio as Fulcrum, Ocean View's most popular DJ, switched to the theme song from Flashdance. “Hera n' the others just got in on Friday. They should be at the docks.”

“Thanks.” She headed back out, promising herself she'd pick up some fresh fish for hers and Luke's dinner later. The docks were easy to find, once you picked your way through the long lines slumped on polished wooden benches or admiring the enormous stuffed fish and shellacked crabs hanging on walls in the lobby of Ackbar's.

The tang of the harbor, of salty air and barnacle-crushed boats and just-caught crabs and fish, greeted her as she stepped out onto the dock, passing by the old schooner used as a bar, the Magnolia Belle. The Belle was joined by a motley assortment of fishing vessels in various states of repair, from state-of-the-art crab trappers to tiny cruisers with faded paint and flowery names that had seen better days. She recognized most of them. Ackbar's prided itself on its fresh fish and crustaceans, caught by the same local fishermen year after year.

The ship that was docked on the landing closest to the Magnolia Belle was a new one on her, though. The Millennium Falcon was painted on the slightly chipped red stripe that ran the whole of the small boat. It was a fishing vessel, barely. She'd seen toy boats in better shape. The hull was covered in scars and barnacles. The boat was dirty and smelly and the front looked like a baby shark used it to gnaw on.

The man gathering crab traps on-deck was far more attractive. The cool breeze wafting in from the harbor blew his scruffy red-brown hair in all directions. His tight, frayed jean shorts were paired rather haphazardly with high rubber boots, knee-high white tube socks, and an old Bruce Springsteen t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The jeans showed off his slender legs and a well-shaped rear. A set of silver military dog tags dangled from a chain around his neck. She admired it as he loaded crabs into ice-filled, wax-coated boxes.

He looked up at her and whistled. His eyes hid behind a battered pair of tinted sunglasses. They were perched on a long, slightly bent nose was covered in white sunscreen. “Well, hello there, Princess! What brings you to this side of the island? Slumming?”

“If you must know,” Leia sniffed, “I'm visiting friends.”

The man pointed across the marina. “The yachts are that way, sweetheart.”

Leia glared at him. “My friend runs the Ghost. She and her crew should be around here somewhere.”

“Leia!” Hera Syndulla rushed up to her. The tall, freckled woman was dressed similarly to the fisherman on the Falcon, in tight, ripped stone-washed jeans, old rubber boots, and a t-shirt (though hers was pale yellow and had “Ocean View” embroidered on the chest). The yellow shirt was complimented by her long green-tipped black braids and coppery skin. “Hi, hon. I'd hug you, but I smell like the harbor. How's your brother? When did you get in?”

“We've only been here a few hours. Luke's great. He's already at the beach.” The younger girl grinned. “Do you still live in Cottage 10?”

Hera shrugged. “Yeah. It's small, but the rent's decent, and Sabine probably won't be around for much longer anyway. She's growing like a weed, that girl. She'll be going into 11^th grade at Ocean View High School this year.”

Leia smiled. “Is she still working for Admiral Ackbar?”

“She got a raise.” Hera nearly glowed with pride. “She's not a bus girl anymore. She's a full waitress, working in the kitchen with Ackbar himself. It's a tough job, but I think she can handle it. She's saving her tips for art school.”

“Hey!” The man in the tight shorts waved down at them. “Hera, I didn't know you were friendly with yuppies.”

“I'm not a yuppie.” Leia glared at him. “My uncle owns a hardware store.”

Hera sighed. “Hank, grow up and quit flirting. Leia's not interested.” She grabbed the claw of the crab before it could bite her. “And what do you think you're doing?” Determined green eyes met tiny black orbs on stalks, both trying to out-stare the other.

Hank smirked. “I think he's giving you a love nip.”

“Yeah, he's so loving, he nearly took off my finger.” She shook the creature's claw. “Sorry, pal. You're going in the crab tank at the fish market.” Her eyes switched back to Leia. “Hey, did anyone tell you and Luke about the party in Cottage 4? The Rogues' first major event of the season. Everyone is invited.”

“Including Charlie and me.” Hank clamored down a slightly rusted set of metal steps. “Kanan invited us. We took over Cottage 7 a couple of months ago. Don't worry. It's only temporary. We'll be moving on by the end of the summer.”

“Can't be too soon.” Leia turned to Hera, ignoring Hank. “I'd love to come to the party, and I'm sure Luke would, too, if the Rogues haven't already asked him.”

Hera leaned over and whispered into Leia's ear. “We're going to talk about what's going on in town. Some asshole's been trying to buy the Cottages. They've got something planned. We just need to figure out what, and what to do about it.”

Leia nodded. “We saw the asshole earlier. He practically threatened Uncle Ben.”

Hank got between them. “Is this a girls-only thing, or can anyone join in?”

“Don't you have something to do?” Hera rolled her eyes. “Like bringing your catch of the day to the Admiral?”

“Charlie's doing that. I'm working on the Falcon.” He turned on his lazy grin. “See you at the party tonight, Princess?”

“I hope not.” Leia turned her back on him...but she couldn't help looking over her shoulder at the tight ass and long legs that strolled back onto the heap of wood he called a boat.

Hank stared back. “What was that all about, mate?” snapped a growl heavily inflected with a North English accent. Charlie Bachman's blue eyes followed Leia as she went across the street. “Hey, she's an all right little lass.” His best buddy knew him as well as, maybe even better than he did by now. Charlie was a big guy, nearly 7 feet of brown hair and World Wrestling Federation-worthy muscle, but sometimes, he didn't know his own strength. He gave Hank a playful shove that nearly sent him into the harbor. “I think you like her!”

Hank rubbed his shoulder. “I don't like her! She's just some rich bitch from Philly.”

“I saw the way you were lookin' at 'er.” Charlie grinned, showing all of his very even, very white teeth. “Admit it! You like her. You think she's cute.”

“Ehh, bitchin' babe like that with some fisherman? I'll bet she's got eight guys at home she's stringing along.” Hank finally managed to tear his gaze from her shapely legs peeping out of the pink Laura Ashley skirt. “Come on, man. These crabs ain't gonna walk to the fish market on their own.”

Charlie put an arm around his friend. “If you left the top off the traps again, they might just try doin' that.”

As she returned to the cottages, Leia swore she saw a man in a green and red Members Only jacket and black Ray Bans watching her from a black and green boat docked at Brentwood Marina across the street. Charlie and Hank never saw him at all. By the time she'd gone to ask him what he was staring at, he'd already pulled out, leaving nothing but white foam on the waves in his wake.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Leia was starting to regret having come to this party. She was still unnerved by the man she'd seen in the boat earlier, even though Luke told her there was nothing to worry about. He was probably some boater passing through on his way down south.

The Rogues' summer parties were legendary for being balls-to-the-wall insane, and this one was no exception. She had to climb over at least three couples making out in the hall, two guys trying to snort things that probably weren't legal, someone racing lobsters in the kitchen (she had five dollars on the one with the broken claw), a guy drinking punch out of his girlfriend's bra, and Wes and Hobbie trying to see who could sing “Billie Jean” better naked. (Personally, Leia thought they both looked somewhat better than they sounded.) Over the din, Leia could hear Fulcrum going on about the purchase of the Alderaan Manor Country Club over on Organa Island between “Thriller” and “Every Breath You Take.”

Luke was playing Atari games with Wedge. As far as she could tell, Luke had the edge on Wedge on Combat, but only because he was slightly less drunk. Every time one of them lost, they had to take off clothes. Wedge was down to his underwear. Thankfully, her brother still wore his shorts and flip-flops.

“Penny for your thoughts, Princess?” Hank leaned against the archway over the heating grate. He'd traded his grimy shirt and shorts for clean jeans, a white t-shirt, a black jean vest with frayed sleeves, and battered sneakers. Still wore the sunglasses, even indoors and in the dim light, and the dog tags. He held a can of Miller Light in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. “Interestin' little shindig they have here, ain't it? By the way, I have ten bucks on the lobster with the pink claws.”

Leia rolled her eyes. “My name isn't Princess. It's Leia.”

“Leia.” Hank rolled it around on his tongue. “Cute name.” He inched closer to her. “You sure you're not a princess, running around in that fancy get-up and the buns?”

She tugged at her white Gunne Sax sundress and wished she'd worn something with fewer ruffles. “The buns were inspired by Mexican women, who wore their hair like this during the Mexican Revolution. I read about that.” She wasn't going to admit she'd filched the style from Seventeen Magazine. “What about you?”

“I'm goin' for debonair.” He flicked his cigarette into a coffee cup on one of the crab trap side tables. “Face it, sweetheart, you just can't get enough of me.”

Leia glared at him as she sat next to Luke on the floor in front of the TV. “I think you just can't get enough of yourself.”

Luke's blue eyes slid to Hank as Wedge struggled to get Frogs and Flies in the game console. “Are you bothering my sister?”

She made a face at her brother. “You know this guy?”

“Sort of. I've seen him around.” He grabbed a bag of Doritos, stuffing three in his mouth, before addressing Hank. “You were here last summer. You delivered fluke to Uncle Ben for our end-of-the-summer barbecue.”

“I was paid good money for that fish.” Hank didn't add that the money from that shipment vanished into repairs on the Falcon and various gambling debts.

Hera showed up with a can of Pepsi Light. She'd swapped her jeans and yellow t-shirt for an orange button-down blouse with skin-tight black shorts, a cropped jean jacket, and two black belts that slipped around her waist. “Meeting on the back porch, guys, for those who are still able to think. We have to talk.”

“Really?” Wedge switched off the game. “I thought that's what we were doing.”

“Without the booze and lobsters crawling around on the floor.” She handed Leia a ten dollar bill. “By the way, your lobster won. I lost three bucks. The one with the wonky back leg wandered into the side yard and is currently scaring the squirrels.”

“Thank you. At least it's is doing something useful.” Leia put the money in her purse and followed the three guys and Hera to the enclosed back porch. The back porch doubled as a storage area and a kind of den. Ezra and Sabine argued over the merits of Falcon Crest over Remington Steele on Hobbie's 10-inch black and white Zenith. Sabine hadn't even taken the time to change out of her red waitress uniform. Ezra, at least, now wore shorts and a Pac-Man t-shirt and did not reek of crustaceans.

Hobbie and Deak stumbled in next, wearing shorts and looking bleary-eyed. Charlie, who had switched to a jean vest and Van Halen t-shirt, helped Wedge, Wes, and Hera's long-time boyfriend Kanan drag in chairs. Cassian and Jyn arrived arm in arm, both carrying cups of cola mixed with cheap wine and a long white box loaded with saltwater taffy. Uncle Ben arrived last, looking like the laid-back beachcomber he was in a white linen shirt and worn khaki shorts.

“All right.” Zeb, Hera's big gray-haired first mate, grabbed a meat mallet and pounded on a crab trap with it. “Is everyone here?”

“I don't know,” Hobbie snickered. “Why don't we go outside and ask them?”

“Kes, Bodhi, and the nerds in Cottage 6 are pretty much the only ones missing. The nerds, Kes, and Biggs.” Wedge raised his hand. “We, the Rogues, can vouch for two of them. Biggs is sleepin' off medication for his ribs, and Kes is at his place, watchin' his kid.”

“Chip, Kris, and Arturro have early work.” Luke leaned back in his chair. “I saw them when I came off the beach.”

Jyn shrugged. “Bodhi's still busing tables at Chirrut and Baze's place. They're open later in the summer.”

“So, let's get this started.” Hera slid into the folding chair next to Zeb. “There are rumors going around that Empire Industries is trying to buy the Cottages and the surrounding property.”

Uncle Ben nodded, sitting in an old green metal chair with a flower pattern and a ratty cabbage rose-print cushion. “Tarkin's made offers for this place at least three times in the past four months, including today. My friend George Walker and I bought them from the original owners 30 years ago. And if I ever did consider selling, it would be on the condition that the rent not be raised and all of you be allowed to remain.”

“We have memories here.” Luke thought of the photos in Uncle Ben's living room. “I don't want to lose them.”

“The Cottages aren't the only piece of property on this end of the island Empire Industries is after.” Hobbie leaned back in his chair, trying to think through the drug-fueled haze in his head. “Kes told me they'd made an offer for his shop on the Boardwalk. He said no way. His boardwalk shop is twice the size of the one downtown and does great business in the summer.”

Ezra looked up from ogling Stephanie Zimbalist. “I heard someone bought the wooded areas behind Endor Estates. Davy and a bunch of the kids down there said there was a fence, and some guy with a gun chased them away when they tried to climb it.”

Hera waggled a finger in his face. “Is that how you ripped the butt of your new Wrangler jeans the other day? Going over a fence?”

Ezra unconsciously rubbed his rear. “I told you I was sorry!”

“Someone bought Alderaan Manor Country Club and Organa Island, too.” Luke shrugged. “I just heard Fulcrum mention that on the radio.”

“We should ask around.” Jyn swallowed a piece of pale pink saltwater taffy. “See if anyone else has had an offer from Empire Industries that sounds too good to be true.”

“I could make calls.” Leia tucked her legs under her. “Senator Mothma has a lot of contacts. She might be able to find out what Palapatine has in mind.”

“My dad has a construction business. He was the head of one of the crews that built the Coruscant Condos.” Jyn shook her side ponytail. “They were real bastards. Never paid on time, treated Dad and his crew like slave labor, stinted on a lot of materials and safety measures to get the job done faster. I know he'd love to find out anything that would put those assholes out of business, or at least give them a sock in the eye.”

“How do you plan on doin' this?” Hank flicked the last of his sixth cigarette of the night into an overflowing green glass ashtray. “Empire Industries is one of the ten biggest companies in the US. You wage war with them, they play air hockey with your balls.”

Cassian smiled. Jyn smirked and mock-swooned, kissing his cheek. “Leave that to us.” Jyn wrapped an arm around her boyfriend's shoulder. “I grew up here. Cass is from Holly Beach. We know this area inside and out.”

“You guys are crazy.” Hank threw the stub of his cigarette into the ashtray, where it slid and landed on the pock-marked side table. “The Imperial Gang will murder the whole lot of ya. Ain't none of my business, anyway. Charlie n' I are leavin' soon. Besides, we got other things to do.”

Charlie was giving him dark looks. “Hank, you can't bloody just walk out,” he might have growled. It was hard to understand that thick Northern English accent sometimes. “These folks need help. Screw Greedo.”

“Yes, I can. Watch me.” He made for the door, glaring at Charlie. “Are you comin', or what?”

“I'm comin', mate.” He put a hand on Ben's shoulder. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, Charles.” Ben patted the man's steel-thick arm.

Hera looked around the remaining group. “Anyone else want to back out?” The only sound was the radio, which was now playing “Far From Over.” The tall woman waved the others closer. “Kids, gather 'round the table. This is what we're going to do.”

Chairs scraped and old wood floor boards vibrated as the others pressed over the crab trap table around Hera. Zeb's booming voice could be heard over the din. “Ok, who ate the whole damn bag of sour cream and onion chips? I can smell your bloody breath from over here!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Mos Eisley Cantina was the kind of place you didn't want to get caught without at least three forms of protection, including sexual. It was busy for a Sunday night. A jukebox that dated to at least the 50's belted “Highway to Hell.” The cracked green vinyl seats along the scarred bar were all covered with the closest thing this podunk town could get to an assortment of scum and villainy. Hank hadn't seen so many guys wearing leather since the Motorcycle Convention was in town back in April. He pushed his sunglasses back over his eyes and squinted, trying to find the guy he was looking for.

A skinny hand sitting at a table in the back waved to him. “Well, Solo, it took you long enough. You weren't thinking of running out on the Hutt, were you?”

Hank sat down across from Greedo. He was a greasy little punk with a stiff lime-green mohawk that stood up like a row of needles across his shaved head. His Clash t-shirt and battered tan windbreaker hung off him like a shroud. Hank gave him one of his easy smiles. “As a matter of fact, I'm getting ready to see your boss in a few weeks. Tell the Hutt...”

“A few weeks? Solokowski, he wants that money now. In fact, yesterday. The Hutt doesn't have room in his operation for runners who dump their shipment the moment cops turn up.” Greedo leaned back in the booth. “You know how expensive this shit is?”

“I'm well aware of the costs.” Hank ordered a whiskey and Coke from the bleached-blond waitress. “Even I get boarded at times. You think I had a choice? The Coast Guard doesn't mess around.”

“Tell that to the Hutt.” Greedo leered at him, showing crooked yellow teeth. “He might only try to take your boat.”

Hank glared at him under the sunglasses. “Over my dead body.”

Greedo pulled a small snub pistol from his jacket pocket. “That's not a bad idea. I've been looking forward to this a long time.”

“Yeah, I'll bet you have.” Hank grabbed the first fat-coated hamburger that came by him and threw it into Greedo's face. He then upended the table on him, the drinks flying everywhere.

The two mountain-sized bikers next to them didn't like their nice leather jackets getting splashed with liquor and ketchup. “Ok,” said the mountain with the tangled curly beard and mop of matted black hair, “which of you did it?”

Hank gave the men his most innocent smile and pointed at Greedo. “He did it!”

Greedo threw up his hands. “Wait, no! It was him!” He pointed at Hank. “Really!”

“I think we ought to take the money for these jackets from this dude the hard way.” He turned to his identical friend. “Nose or crotch?”

“Crotch.” The other mountain had a grin filled with broken teeth. “It hurts more.”

Hank dashed out the door the moment they reached for Greedo's asshole. He could hear his screams all the way from the parking lot.

Charlie was three-fourths of the way through a Snickers bar when Hank barreled out the side of the Cantina. “What's the bloody rush?” The big Brit licked the chocolate off his fingers. “I thought we were gonna eat here with Greedo.”

“Sorry, pal. Our midnight snack plans just got canceled.” He shoved Charlie into the passenger side of their rusted brick-red Ford truck. “Jasper knows we're in town. Greedo tried to kill me. I started a food fight before he got far.”

“Shit.” Charlie swallowed the last of his candy bar. “Well, what are we going to do now, mate? We can't make ten thousand dollars by next month! We'll be lucky if we can make two thousand.”

Hank just gave him the lazy grin. “I don't know, but I'll think of something.”