Just Another Day in Espirelle

"What do you mean your money is gone?" Vennlyss clicked and buzzed in the Gand dialect of Aurebesh. He rubbed two fingers around the ammonia re-breather on his face and stared intently at the distraught human in front of him. The old man was nervously dry-washing his hands and seemed perplexed that the Gand Marshall couldn't somehow miraculously read his mind. The Gand sighed, heavy breath vibrating the metallic vocoder in his re-breather.
"Listen, I ain't one of those Jedi mind readers. I need you to break it down for me what happened and then me and the boys can help you," he said slowly and deliberately. The man nodded quickly and then closed his eyes, breathing deep to compose himself.
"Alright Marshall. I was working at the spaceport, like I always do and these new fellers came into town. Looked like fringers by the condition of their clothes and their ship. One of them was a Corellian I was sure, I could sees it in the way he walked. One was a real Hutt about paying the tipping fee-" the man began to explain but stopped when Vennlyss raised two fingers.
"Tipping fee? Are you hustling people at the spaceport?" he asked and watched the man squirm under his blank bulbous eyes, humans never did well with Gands and they expressed most of their emotions through pheromones of which the humans were unable to detect. As far as they knew he could be asleep and they couldn't see the difference. The man began to shake his head and stammered.
"N-n-no Sir. I was just doing my job. I collect the fee which pays for the fuel and to keep them critters and Jawas out of the ship," Vennlyss stared at the man for a moment and then sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. The spaceport would have to wait to another day; maybe a task for one of the newer men on the force. He drummed his fingers on his arm as he cycled through the names in his head. What was that new Duros called again...Eshi...Eshree? Something along those lines. He was a smart kid, he could try and suss the truth out of this one. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk and motioned for the man to continue.
"Thank you Sir. As I was saying. They eventually paid me and I started to do my business - as an honest man would. I checked my credits to make sure everything went through alright and I was missing 300 credits from my account. I can't see where it went but I know they hustled me and took it. I just don't know how." he said and breathed heavily as he rushed out the last words of his tale.
"So it's just missing and you have no proof that it was these fringers or even proof that you had the credits in the first place?" Vennlyss asked. The man looked horrified and anger washed over his face.
"You calling me a liar? I would never-" he said, voice starting to raise but he stopped again, muted by a casual wave of the Gand's fingers.
"I ain't callin' you a liar just trying to get all the facts. We have laws to uphold and I can't have people shootin' up the cantina because they feel like it". In an moment of intergalactic irony the door slammed open and a young Duros ran through wearing the typical brown duster of an Espirelle Marshal. He was sweating and was visibly concerned.
"Someone is shootin' up the cantina! A few dead already. Apparently it's some fringers from out of town!" the Duros said panting. The old man sitting across from Vennlyss turned slowly to face him with a smug and satisfied look on his face. Vennlyss considered shooting the smug bastard for a moment and then sighed, standing up. He heaved the large scoped blaster from it's stand beside his desk over his shoulder and looked to the other Marshals in the room, all waiting for his command.
"Up ye get boys. Let's take these fringers alive. Y'all know I already don't trust that Yaztik feller so I wouldn't be surprised if that Rodian shot first," he said. There was a flurry of movement as the other Marshals hurried to respond. Moving forward Vennlyss looked to the old man in the chair who sat awkwardly at the room bustling around him.
"I'll try to keep them alive. Getting credits from a dead man is pretty tricky," he said and moved out of the building ignoring the stammered complaints behind him.