[Boba Fett] - 1(32)

It was far enough down that the light was dim and the neon signs could glow all day. But not so far down that one had to hire a posse of armed guards to cross the street.

Boba walked in through the sliding door.

The bar was deserted except for the bartender, a four-armed being who was using two of his arms to wash glasses, one to count credits, and one to wipe the bar with a wet rag. His skin was a dark crimson, and a proprietor sign named him as Nan Mercador.

Boba put his flight bag on the floor and sat on a bar stool.

“No kids allowed!” said Mercador, wringing out the rag and tossing it onto the bar. “And that means you!”

“I’m not a customer,” said Boba. “I’m not looking for a drink. I’m looking for a - uh, relative. Named Dooku.”

The bartender’s face brightened. “Dooku!” He looked at Boba with new interest. “Dooku. Oh, yes, of course. Absolutely. He’s a good friend of mine. Let me give him a call.”

Mercador started punching numbers into a comm unit. “Dooku? Is that you?” he said. “Somebody here to see you.” Static came up on the comm screen behind the bar, as if it were a long-distance planet-to-planet call. The bartender smiled at Boba. “How about a juice while you are waiting?”

“I don’t exactly have any money,” said Boba.

“It’s okay,” said the bartender, wiping the bar with one hand and filling a mug with two others. “It’s on the house!”

The juice was cold and tasted great. Boba could hardly believe his luck. He had only been in Coruscant for an hour or so, and already he had met a friendly bartender who actually knew Tyranus (excuse me, Dooku!), and now he was drinking a free juice!

Suddenly he remembered the black book: Watch out for things that go too well. Could it be that - ?

The static on the comm screen went away, and Boba saw two familiar faces. Neither was Tyranus. The one on the right was the Diollan; the one on the left was the Rodian. The two bounty hunters from the moons of Bogden.

“That’s him!” said the Rodian. “Grab him! You can bring him to the Jedi for the reward.” Boba tried to slide down off the stool and run. But it was too late. Strong hands grabbed his right arm.

And his left arm.And his left leg.

And his right leg.

Nan Mercador came out from behind the bar and lifted him off the stool, into the air.

“Hey!” Boba yelled. “Let me go!”

“Not a chance,” said the bartender, holding Boba over his head. “You’re worth money!” “This is a mistake!” Boba said.

“No mistake, kid,” said the Rodian on the comm screen.

“You’re bounty,” added the Diollan.

“The Jedi know you’re coming,” said the Diollan to Mercador.

“They will give you your share in cash,” said the Rodian.

“I should get half,” said the bartender as he started toward the door holding Boba over his head with all four arms. “I saved you both the trouble of coming here.”

“Too late for that,” said the Rodian.

“It’s already been arranged,” said the Diollan as they hung up.

The screen went black.

Think fast, thought Boba, squirming and kicking helplessly near the ceiling. And if that doesn’t work, think faster! He stopped squirming. “Don’t be a fool,” he said. “Count Dooku will pay twice as much as the Jedi. And you won’t have to split it with anybody.”

“I won’t?” Nan Mercador stopped. But he didn’t let go of Boba. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” said Boba. “Set me down, and I will call him myself. You can ask him.”

“You must think I’m a dope,” said Mercador, still holding Boba so high above his head that he almost scraped the ceiling. “Besides, you don’t know his number. You asked me to find him, remember?”

“I was just testing you,” said Boba, looking at the ceiling light near his left foot. It was only centimeters away. “But you don’t have to believe me. You can call him yourself. The number is…”

He rattled off a string of numbers, hoping they would sound right. Apparently they did. The bartender let go of Boba’s left foot and began punching them into the comm unit on the bar.

Boba was ready to move. As soon as his foot was free, he kicked the light as hard as he could.

CRASH! It shattered, showering glass down onto the bar, the stools, the floor….

Mercador lifted his hands to protect his head from the falling glass. Boba fell, straight down, headfirst. At the last moment he managed to twist in the air like a diver and land on his feet. He scrambled toward the door, which slid open