Jak & Bey Chapter 2: Trashed
Detective Jak Eagerman - 23-year-old human male, a detective of the Coruscant underground
Cadet Bey Bem'sura - 18-year-old Balosar female, Jak's new partner
Detective Haymer - Zabrak male, Jak's former partner
Commander Tshcoy't - Verpine male, the officer overseeing police forces in Jak's sector of the Coruscant underground
Sol - Rodian male, a local bartender
Groaning, Detective Jak Eagerman rolled off the bare mattress on his apartment floor. He swore as he landed on several empty beer bottles.
Lying there, he began his daily debate. Would it really matter if he got to the station late again? What was one more mark on his record? They were too short-handed to cut him loose. So short, in fact, they mercifully had left him partner-less for months.
He sat up suddenly. "Frak! The recruits arrive today."
No time for a shower. He splashed water on his face, threw on one of his cleaner uniforms, and hammered down the stairs of his apartment block, unwilling to wait for the elevator.
Five flights of stairs later, he jogged across the parking level and leaped onto his speeder bike. It scraped on the pavement from his considerable weight, and sparks flew off the undercarriage as he tore out of the parking lot and into the streets of Coruscant's underground.
Jak couldn't say how many millennia civilization had existed on Coruscant. All he knew was practically every centimeter of bare ground had been covered. As the population grew, new city was built over older parts. Generation after generation, more layers piled up.
Politicians, celebrities, and Imperial tycoons moved into the uppermost levels, while the poor and the non-humans kept getting pushed further and further down. Jak had been born and raised on level 1552, where you could still look up and see a sliver of daylight from your balcony on a good day.
Down here on level 1356, much of the population was non-human. Imperials rarely deigned to venture down this far, which had left the denizens to create their own systems of governance and law enforcement. For this reason, Jak had given up the middle-class roots his parents had fought so hard for. He'd seen enough of the Empire to know he was better off where the sun didn't shine.
The repulsors on his speeder bike finally recovered, and the trail of sparks died. Street lights, neon shop signs, and glowing holo projections of advertisement lit his way as he raced through the tunnel-like streets. The flashing police lights on his bike meant no one could complain about him breaking the speed limit.
Diving into the parking structure below the station, he swerved into the first available stall and bounded off the bike.
He checked his wrist chronometer. Fifteen minutes early!
The metal stairs rumbled under his feet as he charged up them. He paused at the top, caught his breath, straightened up, and ambled into the office nonchalantly. Clock in, grab a patrol assignment, get out before any recruits showed up. He could grab caf and breakfast after making his escape.
Rounding the cubicle dividers, he threw his weight into the officer chair—
Not the usual groaning of metal unprepared for a thickly-built, somewhat overweight, two-meter-tall human. This sounded more like he'd accidentally stepped on a rat.
Jumping up, he saw the problem.
A petite woman had already been sitting in his chair. She sprang upright, as did two antennapalps on her head. She was a Balosar. "So sorry, sir! I didn't know where else to wait for you! Cadet Bem'sura at your service. I'm your new partner!"
Frak! Fifteen minutes early, and it still hadn't been enough to avoid getting saddled with another dumb-as-rocks rookie.
"I'm ready to go, sir. What's our assignment?" She clutched a standard-issue datapad in her hands: Cadet's Guide to Rules and Regulations.
He grunted in irritation and pushed her out of the way so he could clock in at his desk computer and download the patrol route. Reaching into the pastry box on his desk, he realized the last doughnut in the box had been there for longer than even he was willing to risk.
"Doughnut?" He shoved the pastry mockingly at the cadet. She barely came up to his armpit and looked like she hadn't eaten a square meal in her life.
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." She chomped into the stale doughnut. It took her a moment of concerted chewing to get it down.
"I was joking, you idiot." It was worse than he'd expected. This was the best they could recruit these days? No wonder they hadn't suspended him yet.
She finished in several hasty bites and licked her fingers clean. "My mom told me to never waste food."
That explained her diminutive size, he supposed. Not everyone down here could afford daily meals.
She held up her datapad. "And rule one of the cadet's guide says, 'Always do what your superiors tell you. Learn from their experience how to be a great officer!' "
She pointed at a holo of Detective Haymer on his desk. "Who's that?"
"None of your business. Let's go." He strode to the stairwell, annoyed by how energetically she scampered after him.
"Don't call me that."
"But that's your name, sir."
"My name—" Jak turned abruptly, and she bounced off him "—is Jak. Don't forget it. And knock it off with the sirs."
"Got it!" She made a hasty note in her datapad.
Once in the parking structure, he straddled his speeder and jerked his head behind him. "Get on."
"Got it!" She clambered on, perching on the seat behind him. "Where are we going first?"
"To the nearest café. I'mma need a buttload of caf to put up with you." Stamping on the accelerator pedal, he sent the bike zipping for the exit to the street. Hearing a shriek, he stopped and looked over his shoulder.
The girl sat on her butt, squarely in the parking stall. She scrambled to her feet and ran after him. "Wait for me!"
"Hang on this time, for cryin' out loud." He sighed as she hopped on and looked around for handholds. "Just put your arms around me and don't let go."
She leaned forward tentatively and reached around him. Her fingertips barely met each other in the center of his chest.
"Like you mean it, or you'll end up as a speed bump."
"Sorry. You're bigger than I expected." She hugged him tighter, finally getting a good grip.
"Yeah, that's what they all say." He smirked, pulling down his riding goggles.
"Your other partners?"
"Sure." The good news was, this girl wouldn't last two weeks. The bad news was, he had to put up with her until then.
"Look on the bright side." The café owner, a human man named Larro, winked at Jak as they watched the cadet through the storefront. "She might be an airhead, but she's easy on the eyes. There are worse things to have hanging onto you all day."
"Not my type." Jak chugged his first cup of caf and eye the cadet appraisingly. She did have an attractive figure and a cute face. If she let her hair down from that tight bun and put on a dress, she could definitely catch eyes. Could come in useful someday.
The café owner slid a paper bag across the counter. "Your usual. Although you might consider cutting back. You're getting a bit of a paunch, no offense. When I first saw you, you were a lean, mean, killing machine, know what I mean?"
Jak looked down and grunted. "Just lemme enjoy my breakfast in peace, Larro."
The next eight hours crawled by. He investigated disturbances, pulled over a few drunks, and took statements from two speeder bike riders who had crashed into each other. Every step of the way, the young Balosar took notes constantly, asking a slew of annoying questions.
When he clocked out, he let out a heavy sigh. Another day done. Time to go home, get piss drunk, and pass out regretting his life choices. At least he was finally rid of the bright-eyed airhead.
Turning away from his desk, he saw the same bright-eyed airhead standing behind him expectantly.
"Go home! Shift's over. Get out of here." He flapped his hands at her.
"Rule two of the cadet's guide says, 'A strong bond between partners makes for a great team! A good way to get to know each other is through off-duty social activities.' "
"Karking frell." He stood up and pushed her out of the way. "Do I look like a socialite? Ain't got no 'off-duty' social activities planned."
"That's okay. We can do whatever you normally do. I'm not picky!" She smiled cheerily. "I already called my mom and told her not to pick me up today. I'll hire a ride home later."
Jak swore. "Whatever your name was, how about you go home and leave me alone."
"Cadet Bey Bem'sura. The guide says—"
"I don't give a frak what the guide says." She was going to be one of those by-the-book snobs, wasn't she? He pointed to himself. "And you aren't my partner. You see this? This is Team Jackie. Team Jackie consists of one man—Jak Eagerman. Got that?"
The cadet opened her mouth, then closed it. Her antennapalps sagged. "Yes, sir."
She looked so crestfallen that he forgot to chew her out for calling him sir again.
"Look, kid, I'm not fun to hang out with. Ya know what I do after hours? I go drink anything that'll make me forget this crap job."
"Oh." She stared at the floor. "I've never had any other job to compare it to, but it doesn't seem that bad."
He sighed. "Fine. Come on."
"Okay!" She brightened and tucked away the datapad as she chased after him.
Jak's plan was simple. Drink until the cadet got tipsy enough or bored enough to go home, and then celebrate her departure by drinking some more.
He tapped the bar with a beefy finger. "Two shots of Wyvern's Reserve, Sol."
"You got it, boss." The wizened Rodian smacked down two glasses and poured a measure of the cheap knock-off brand into each. "Finally got tired of drinking alone?"
Jak grunted and slid one of the glasses to the cadet.
"Ooh. Thank you!" She smiled, as if she'd never been bought a drink in her life.
"Bottom's up!" He chugged the whole drink. Might as well get started off strong.
She immediately did the same, except the moment she got it down, her eyes went huge, her face went red, and she started coughing so hard she fell off her stool. A few seconds later, she climbed back up, wheezing and clearing her throat. "I'm good. I'm good. Just never drank whiskey before."
Jak shrugged. "Another round, Sol."
"Coming up." Sol slipped some ice cubes into the cadet's glass this time. "Rough day?"
"Ya got no idea." Jak knocked back the second drink. He knew his limits well, and no human had ever matched him drink for drink. This scrawny chick would be calling it quits as soon as the liquor sank in.
Having not learned her lesson yet, she screwed up her face and forced down the second glass. She only coughed a few times before recovering. "Well! That burns a bit."
Jak shrugged and watched her crunch on ice cubes for a while, waiting for the signs of inebriation to kick in.
The cadet's hand shot up. "Another round, Sol! This one's on me. You got anything that tastes any better?"
Sol's lips may have pursed in slight offense, but it was hard to tell with Rodians. "Define better."
She leaned over the bar eagerly. "Got anything that tastes like zherries?"
"Sure thing." Sol mixed her a vibrant drink with ample measures of syrup. "Another whiskey for you, boss?"
"Yeah." Jak hid his astonishment as the cadet sucked the drink with gusto, finishing half of it before he even started on his.
"This is delicious!" She turned to Jak. "What a great way to unwind after work! The cadet's guide was right. You old-timers really do know what you're talking about."
"Old-timer?" Jak bristled. "I'm five years older than you, tops!"
"Five years is more than a quarter of my life." She happily finished her drink. "Balosar age a bit faster than humans though. What else have you got, Sol? I want to try something else!"
"Might want to pace yourself, little lady." Sol poured her a new drink anyway. "You can't keep up with a man his size."
"It's okay. I hear we're especially resistant to toxins. Alcohol counts as a toxin, right?" She eyed Jak. "What's size got to do with anything?
Jak snorted softly. "More body mass means I can handle more alcohol."
"Oh." She spread her hands far apart as if measuring his height and width. "So you can drink a lot."
Sol chuckled. "She gets it."
"Ya callin' me fat?"
She shrugged. "Rule number fifteen says honesty is the best policy."
"Except when it ain't." Jak was starting to wonder if he could get away with chucking her or her datapad into a trash bin.
"I shouldn't lie to my partner, right?" She sipped her drink with an oblivious sort of innocence.
"You're not my partner! You're a raw rookie they saddled me with as punishment." Jak grumbled into his drink. "You're not even an officer yet."
"Punishment?" She giggled suddenly. "I'm s'posed to punish you? How? Spill your drinks? Put tacks on your chair? What sort of punishment would you like?"
Jak pulled away a few centimeters. "Yeah, maybe don't ask that question like that."
"Liiiiike what?" She lifted glass into the air. "Another!"
Then she fell off her chair.
Without sympathy, Jak stared down at her. "Maybe it's time for you to go home."
"Owww." She got up, making several grabs at the counter before catching it and holding herself steady. "I thought Balosrrrr were . . . imm . . . immnunne . . ."
Trailing off, she pulled out her personal datapad. "Ssuure wasss fun meeting you, Defective Eggerman, I'mma go. Goo'night. I feel weird. . . ."
"Yup. See ya." He made a shooing motion.
She fumbled with her datapad as she pushed through the front door.
Jak lifted his drink in a toast. "Good ridd—"
The cadet promptly vomited on the sidewalk and then collapsed in the mess.
"Took long enough." Jak noticed Sol's reproachful look. "What? Give her a few minutes, she'll get back up and hail a ride. Or call her mom. Or somethin'."
Five minutes later, the girl hadn't moved, although she had been tripped over by pedestrians twice.
Jak checked his wrist chronometer. "Welp. Time to head out. Have a good one, Sol."
Sol called after him. "What would Haymer think of what you're doing, Jak?"
"Frak you, Sol. Leave him out of this!" But as he stepped over the cadet on his way out, he paused. She was definitely dead to the world. Her datapad lay in her limp hand, unlocked, but with no evidence of a call placed.
Sighing he plucked the datapad out of the vomit with two fingers and swiped through her contact list. "Mom" was easy to find. He'd call her and tell her to come collect her daughter before someone tried to harvest her organs or something.
But as he looked at the motherly face while the line rang, and as he glanced down at the puke soaking into the bedraggled cadet's uniform, he heaved another sigh.
"Hello?" A voice picked up. "How's it going on your first day, baby? Is your partner nice?"
Jak ground his teeth together. He couldn't send her home like this. "Yeah, hello, ma'am? This Detective Eagerman. Something urgent came up. We need her to stay late, possibly an all-nighter."
"Oh! My, I didn't expect a cadet to be needed so badly on her first day."
"Short-staffed, ma'am. Sorry. I'll make sure she gets home tomorrow."
"Oh. Alright then. Can I talk to her?"
"Sorry, ma'am. Got to go!" Jak disconnected, shoved the datapad into his back pocket, and threw the girl over his shoulder. He grimaced at the feel of cold stomach juices running down his back, but he'd been covered in worse.
Moaning woke Jak up, but for once, it wasn't his own. He cracked an eye open and immediately wished he hadn't.
The cadet lay on a blanket he'd spread over a row of cardboard boxes. She rolled off the edge with a fleshy thump, wheezed, and curled into a ball with a whimper.
He could smell her from across the room. Grumbling, he got off his mattress, grabbed a fistful of her jacket, and dragged her to the bathroom. "Wash up. Got an hour before shift starts."
"Stop yelling," she mumbled. "Why does it hurt so much?"
"You've never had a hangover? The way you were slamming them down last night?"
"I don't feel good." She hugged her stomach. Then she made a face, and her antennapalps laid back. "What's that smell?"
"It's you, bright-eyes. I scraped you out of a puddle of your own vomit last night."
"Oh." She sat up halfway and looked around, as if only now realizing she didn't know where she was.
A few minutes later, Jak leaned against a washing unit in the communal laundry room, his arms crossed. How did such a suggestible fool ever make it through the academy, let alone survive to adulthood in the Coruscant underground?
She was mentally and physically useless. He had to get rid of her as soon as possible. A good partner had your back. A good partner pulled their own weight. Right now, he was a glorified babysitter.
He could only hope the hangover experience would be enough to make her reconsider her life choices, or at least ask to be reassigned.
The cadet emerged from the bathroom wearing her freshly laundered uniform. Wet hair gave her a bedraggled appearance, but she looked better.
"Caf?" He held up the electric kettle, ready to fill a second mug.
"Yes, sir. Please." She slumped across the rickety table from him.
He withdrew the kettle warningly.
"Sorry," she mumbled. "Jak."
He filled her mug.
She sat in silence, studiously sipping the caf and not looking up until she'd drained the mug. "Why'd you bring me here? You could have—"
"Left you in the street all night? Given you over to your poor mother smelling like a liquor-soaked vagrant?" Jak snorted.
"Yeah, but . . ." She bit her lip. "Thank you. You didn't have to."
"Course I did," he grumbled. "It's what partners do."
Jak didn't know how to get rid of her. Other partners he'd been paired with, he'd been able to berate, belittle, and generally aggravate until they left, but nothing he said fazed the diminutive Balosar. She took the verbal punishment quietly and kept taking notes.
In the second week, she greeted him at his cubicle as usual, but this time with a cup of caf and a paper bag of imitation ryshcate. He recognized the brand. Neither Corellian whiskey nor vweilu nuts could be found in the Underground, but it was close enough that no one complained.
"Thanks," he said grudgingly, vexed that she was being nice. "Why do you have a ridiculous sticker on your jacket?"
"To help you remember my name" The sticker had large black letters drawn on it.
"Bey B." He squinted. "That's your name?"
"Bey is my first name. Bem'sura is my last name, but it didn't fit." She shoved her hands into her pockets. "Bey. Easy to remember. Rhymes with 'day' and 'hey'."
"Bey," he repeated. "Bey. B."
"Well, yeah. That's my last initial, though, it's not—"
"Bey B. Like baby."
"Yeah, but—" She gave up and stared at the floor. "Yeah."
"Okay, Bey B, let's hit the road." He swigged the caf. It was actually pretty good. Too bad fetching breakfast didn't make her any less useless on the beat.
By the third week, Jak knew he was screwed.
He sent the speeder bike skidding through an intersection and around a corner. The perp, a lanky Balosar male, scurried into an alleyway as the speeder bike shot past.
Jak yanked the bike into a vicious U-turn, nearly whipping Bey off the back. He plunged the bike into the alley and slammed the brakes a second later as he realized it was a dead end.
He dove off the bike. Bey, still holding onto him, fell with him. The bike smashed against the wall. Bey yelped as Jak rolled to his feet, but he could only think about one thing: the Balosar who was brandishing a vibroblade at them.
"Stop right fracking there, or I'll slag your brains right here!" Jak pointed his blaster at the slythmonger. "Flat on the ground—NOW!"
The Balosar froze, eyed his options, then realized he had nowhere to go. Dropping the vibroblade, he did as instructed.
"Toss over the deathsticks."
The slythmonger reluctantly tugged a metal tin from his pocket and threw it. The tin clattered across the pavement, stopping at Jak's boot.
"Bey! Restrain this scumbag." Jak crouched to pick up the tin, not taking his aim off the man for even a second. "Hurry the frell up, woman!"
Bey shuffled over to the man, white-knuckling a pair of cuffs in one hand. She knelt, took forever fumbling the restraints shut, and then, slowly, keeled over the perp's back.
Her face planted into the pavement.
"It's nothing a little bacta won't fix up in a few days," the Mirialan doctor assured as he and Jak observed the unconscious form on the hospital bed. "Bacta tanks are out of our budget down here, but bacta patches and localized applications are still effective."
"I just don't understand what happened. The guy wasn't shooting at us or nothin'."
"Detective, I've read the report, and it's pretty clear to me. She's got a broken wrist and three broken ribs. She passed out from shock." The doctor clasped his hands around a datapad of medical charts. "Jak, you fell on her. You weigh three times what she does. And if you don't mind me saying, you could stand to lose a few kilos."
"Kark you, doctor." Jak spun away from the hospital bed and stormed out.
"I'm denying your request, detective." Commander Tshcoy't stared at Jak levelly from behind his desk.
"Sir, she's an utter liability. She's naïve, gullible, and far too impressionable." Jak shook his head in disgust. "She's underfed, frail, and doesn't know anything that's not in a damned datapad. I don't want her anywhere near me."
"I'm denying your request," the Verpine repeated. "And for one simple reason. Of all the partners you've been assigned these last couple years, this is the only one who hasn't complained. Simply put, she's the only one who can put up with you, so I don't really care what you want."
"She's your responsibility. If she's weak, make her stronger. If she's inexperienced, train her." The Verpine shook his head to forestall Jak's protest. "A trainee is a reflection of their mentor."
"Great! That means she and I are both screwed." Jak stormed out of the office.
Lying on his bare mattress, Jak fumbled for the bottle next to him. It was empty. He reached for another. It was also empty.
Finally, he pawed under his pillow until he found the tin. It had only taken one dose to finally understand Haymer's obsession with the stuff.
As he popped the lid with a shaking thumb, he also realized why he hadn't been able to save his partner from it. He'd never used death sticks before, but now it was the only thing he wanted. Of course, his life had never exactly been filled with desirable things.
He lifted the tin to Haymer's memory. "Guess I wasn't smarter than you after all."
A shadow at the corner of his eye stirred. He recoiled, but not before a boot kicked the tin out of his hand.
Bey stooped to gather the scattered death sticks and shoved them back inside. "Now I know why these weren't in your after action report."
"How'd you get in?"
She pointed to a badge and a blaster on her belt. "I made officer after getting out of the hospital. Your superintendent let me in to perform a welfare check."
"Welfare check?" Jak racked his brain for anyone who'd care about his week-long absence. "Who called it in?"
"I did." She sat cross-legged on the floor beside him, lifting one of the sticks up to the light. Red liquid and clear liquid coexisted uneasily inside, like oil and water. "My parents taught me about these. They're made from poisonous mushrooms on Balosar. We have a strong resistance to toxins, so death sticks don't shorten our lives like they do yours. They're just very, very addictive. More so to us than to you. Single-most destructive substance there is to Balosar society."
"I don't need a history lesson." He flapped his hands at her. "Get out of my apartment. And give those back."
Her black eyes met his. "No."
"What are you going to do? Report me?" It's what he should have done for Haymer.
"No." She tucked the tin into her coat. "I'm keeping these. If you ask for one, I'll give it to you. But if you use it, I'm using one too."
"The frell are you saying?" He sat up angrily. "Are you a moron?"
"No." She gazed at him flatly. "I'm your partner. Where you go, I follow. It's what partners do."
He stared at her, not quite believing what he was seeing.
"Get up, get showered, and meet me out front. I used my promotion bonus to fix our speeder bike."
"My speeder bike, you mean."
"Ours now." She strode out of the apartment. "Out front. Fifteen minutes."
Flabbergasted, he watched the door close. Where had she learned assertiveness? Had the promotion come with a free spine?
He brushed his teeth, dragged on a clean uniform, and headed out, only to trip over Bey in the hallway. She was sitting by the door, hugging her knees.
She sprang to her feet, wiping her eyes. Glaring at him, she turned and stormed for the exit to the street. "I said fifteen minutes, not five!"
He jogged after her, and as he approached, he noticed her trembling fists and quivering antennapalps. The performance she'd put on had been just that—an act.
"Bey. Wait." He caught her shoulder as they emerged onto the street.
"What?" she snapped, halting.
He didn't know what to say. The vague notion he had to say something forced him to speak anyway. "How's . . . your wrist?"
"It's better now." She glanced away, surly. "Thanks."
"I'm . . . sorry."
"I know." She held up the tin. "I looked up Detective Haymer. You've driven away every partner you've had since 'Team Jak Haymer'. It's not because no one else is good enough. It's never been about their failures, has it? You think his death was your fault. That it all could happen again."
He glared at her, wishing she were wrong.
A scream yanked them both into high alert. A Zabrak had snatched an elderly Ithorian's handbag and was darting right towards them.
Bey stepped out, presenting her blaster. "Stop right fracking there, or I'll slag your brains right here!"
The Zabrak backpedaled frantically, falling on his butt.
"Flat on the ground—NOW!"
The Zabrak seemed momentarily stunned by the ferocity of the small Balosar, but then he scrambled to his feet.
Jak covered the ground in two strides and decked the thief in one blow. As he rolled the perp over and closed restraints around his wrists, it struck him that Bey's behavior seemed familiar.
Bey pulled out her datapad and called the station.
No, it was more than familiar, Jak mused. Her directions had been word-for-word what he'd told the slythmonger, right down to the inflection.
She hadn't just been stoically taking notes. She'd been studying him.
"They're on the way to pick him up." She saw him staring. "What?"
He nodded to the unconscious Zabrak. "What was that performance?"
She blinked, tilting her head. "Well. It worked when you did it."
"You taught me everything I know."
He frowned. "I never taught you how to challenge suspects."
"I can emulate people easily." She shrugged. "That's why they hired me. They're grooming me for undercover operations."
"Undercover operations?" Jak squinted at her. "Do you have any idea how serious or dangerous those are? Ain't no joke."
"Yes." She met his gaze. In her eyes, he saw determination. He also saw fear. Maybe she could mimic toughness, but inside, she was still a scared kid who didn't yet know what she was doing. Being a cop down here was rough, and she wasn't prepared.
He remembered the death sticks. "Give me the tin."
She crossed her arms over her chest pockets. "No."
Catching her by the collar he plucked it from her pocket.
"No!" She grabbed for it. "I'm not letting you do that!"
He badly wanted—needed—a second one. But now he wanted something else more.
He dropped the tin to the pavement and crushed it under his boot heel. Liquid and broken glass oozed out of the mangled metal. He kicked it into a gutter. "You have no business with those."
Her shoulders sagged with relief. After a long silence, she bit her lip. "It's been awhile since we hung out. Want to grab drinks after our shift?"
He remembered wiping vomit off her face. "Actually, I was thinking about hitting the gym."
"Can I come?"
"Maybe, Bey B." He turned his head as if checking on the arrested Zabrak, so she couldn't see him cracking a smile.
He'd woken up feeling like road kill, but he'd get over it. What if this time . . . he didn't screw up?
"Welcome to Team Jackie, Baby." Planting a hand on her head, he ruffled her hair.
"Team Jackie Baby," she corrected, laying her antennapalps back in annoyance and rolling her eyes.
He grinned shamelessly. "Sure thing, Bey-Bey."