Meetings

The ride down in the elevator had been uneventful, it slowly turned during its descent just enough to make Durie motion sick. He hated the confines of the elevator. He felt captive waiting for the release of the opening doors. The elevator was designed to turn one time between each floor so the rider could see the "glorious" city. It was sickening for him because he lived on the 72nd floor. That meant 72 turns. Finally it opened to the lobby. Freedom.

He pretended that the enclosure did not bother him as he stalked across the lobby floor. He felt nothing for the people in the lobby or the bar as he strode in. His T-shirt was a tight black one that amplified his upper torso and natural muscles. The red logo across his right breast read "Hotel Malik, Corusant" in Basic, with a much larger "Night Cap" underneath it. He hated the shirt, hated wearing it, but it was a job, and the shirt acted as a deterrent to anyone wanting to take a swing at him. The bouncers were much larger, but normally were too involved in conversations with the trashy women to react to the first six punches thrown in a fight.

Harma was already working the tables. She boasted that she was a Levathan. But she wasn't, Durie never corrected her. Her pigmentation was spicy, but not the right shade to be a Levathan. She was short in comparison to his imposing frame, and fun. She wore the matching outfit that Durie did, but it was ripped and cut in specific areas because "Sex sells". He watched her flirt her way across the bar taking drinks as he moved behind the bar. Quickly he tied the apron around his waist covering the faux bantha leather black pants he was wearing, and looked around the bar for a customer.

"Shifty" was in his normal seat, the green Rodian slurped on his drink with his sucker, refusing a more couth approach like a straw. Durie had never had a real conversation with the Rodian. Neither of them spoke a familiar language. All "Shifty" did was point at the bottle, then tap the counter when he wanted a refill. They had a friendship of sorts. When no other customers were at the bar Durie would just talk to "Shifty", illiciting no response from the rodian. They played a game of charades, at times and knew each other's body language. On one occasion, a barfight broke out between two female patrons, and "Shifty" had just looked at Durie, rolled his eyes and continued to drink. Another occasion, Durie was being prodded to fight, "Shifty had grabbed his wirst before he could leap over the counter and choke out the human, and nodded to the human's friends that were waiting to jump in. The last occasion "Shifty" had slipped his hand into a rich woman's purse, Durie had caught him and did not say anything, just shook his head, to which "Shifty" simply pulled his hand away and shrugged.

Other then that the bar was barren, everyone sat in the lounge area watching the smashball game and flirting with Harma. It wasn't love, he decided at that point, he felt no jealousy for the men she flirted with. He saw the human female walk in and grunted quietly to himself. On the surface she looked the part to any other tourist who might come in and out of the bar, but he saw through it immediately. The cut of the dress was flawless in its style for down here, but the material was too expensive. Her shoes were too expensive. He was going to have watch "Shifty".

He watched her take a table in the lounge, Harma did not give her a chance to settle in and look at the menu. She was standing over the woman using the same flirty demeanor that she did with the men. Durie looked away, "Shifty" eyed the woman, then looked at Durie. He showed no emotion and Durie offered none in return. He started to wipe the glasses, glancing up to see Harma leaning over the table and pointing at the menu as the woman read it. Her lekku twisted behind her and her waist swayed from side to side, her bottom perfect in the leather pants. He turned to put the glasses away, one at a time until he smelled the perfume of Harma. She was behind the bar next to him now.

"So whadda ya think?" she asked, her yellow eyes glassy from either drinks or spice.

Durie smirked as he put the glasses away, breaking his eye contact from his woman. "About?"

Harma pointed to the girl. "The human girl," Harma said in a sing songsy voice, "she is hot!"

"She is trouble," Durie said to Harma, quickly glancing over her shoulder in the human's direction, but never looking at her.

* * * * * * *

"Sal ya owe me money," the man said as he crisscrossed the room. His eyes were covered by dust-sand goggles and a swoop helmet covered his head. The holo had just snapped off with Sal's prize winning reporter, Zyria. Sal sweated profussively, he never had gotten accustomed to the heat in Eisley, but that wasn’t it. He was scared. He owed credits. Lots of them. He had left the much more comfortable stations on Corusant and Naboo to hide in Eisley, but he was a hard man to hide. The credits he had run up in debt on Corusant had followed him to Naboo. The underworld in Naboo had paid his debt to Corusant. When he ran from Naboo and surfaced on Tatooine, the underworld had paid that debt to Naboo, and then revoked his ability to leave again. Public transportation was not an option. It would cost to pay a smuggler to get him off the rock, and he never knew who the smuggler really worked for.

“I am gonna pay ya,” Sal said. “Zyria’s onto a big story now, it’s gonna pay.”

“Two hundred thousand credits?” The man said with a laugh. “The going rate fer ah story in Corusant is twenty five hundred credits.” The female moved behind him, a razor under the fat man’s neck now. “Unless yer gonna sell ah tabloid implicatin’ the Emperor wears dresses.” The man laughed again, the woman showed no emotion.

“No, no,” Sal said, his hands had rested on his stomach after testing how sharp the blade to his throat was. “It’s on underground pit fighting,” he said with a swallow.

The man looked unimpressed. “Underground pit fighting?” He looked up at his female companion who just shrugged. “That’s a story?”

“In the more civilized worlds,” Sal gulped and looked up at the female “it is.”

“I will cut ya a deal,” said the man. “Give me a prize winnin’ pit fighter. And I will consider 25 percent of your debt paid.” The man snarled at him, sitting on the desk. “If ya wanna settle the whole thing, you will give me a prize winnin’ pit fighter and my boss Zyria as ah play thing.” The man smiled, his teeth golden across the top bridge.