[Bounty Hunter Wars] - 03(11)

“You must be joking.” Bossk sneered at the beggar.

“What use would I have for a partner like you? My line of work is bounty hunting, not begging.”

“Like I said before, pal, this ain’t all I do. There’s lots of other things I’m good at. One you might find really valuable. And that’s keeping my mouth shut. I’m an ace at that-for the right price, of course.”

“I bet you are.” Bossk gave a slow nod, then lowered the beggar to the black-streaked surface of the spaceport’s landing area. “But what about all the others? The ones in your little network of informants that you heard about me from?”

“No problem; they can be taken care of.” The beggar brushed off the front of his rags to little visible effect. “I’ve handed ‘em a line before. All they knew was that you were heading this way, here to Tatooine. They don’t need to know whether you stopped here, or for how long. I can tell ‘em that you were just passing through, on your way to some other hole in the borderland regions. Communications are so bad out in these territories, they’ll figure it just stands to reason if nobody reports spotting you for a while.”

“I see.” Bossk looked down at the beggar. “And just what is the price for this … service of yours?”

“Very reasonable. Even in what appears to be your rather, um, reduced state financially, I’m sure you’ll be able to afford it.”

Bossk mulled it over for a few moments. “All right,” he said at last. “You’re right about one thing. We’re both men of business.” He didn’t want to attract any more attention to himself, out here in the public zone of the landing field. “Why don’t we go on into town?” Bossk nodded toward Mos Eisley itself. “So we can talk over the details of our little partnership. Like businessmen.”

“Sounds good to me.” The beggar started walking, in his hobbled, awkward manner, toward the distant buildings. He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m a little thirsty, if you know what I mean.”

“Everybody’s thirsty on this planet.” With an easy stride, Bossk followed after the beggar. He already knew just what business arrangements he was going to make.

When he was done making them, in one of the first back alleys that they came to inside Mos Eisley, Bossk wiped from his clawed hands the dirt that had stained the beggar’s neck so greasily black. It didn’t take long to do so; hardly more than the few seconds that had been required to snap the scrawny bones in the first place. Killing someone, Bossk had found over the years, was always the best way to ensure their silence.

With a couple of kicks, he pushed what now looked like no more than a bundle of rags over against the wall of the alley. Bossk glanced over his shoulder to make sure that no routine security patrol had spotted what had gone down. He had come here to Tatooine, and specifically to Mos Eisley, for the purpose of lying low and making his plans without anyone being too curious about his identity-the beggar had been right about that much. About how to conduct business with a Trandoshan, the beggar had been a little off the mark. Too bad for him, thought Bossk as he headed for the bright-lit mouth of the alley.

As for the

suddenly

deceased

beggar’s

network

of

contacts off-planet-Bossk had already decided not to worry about them. He was probably lying to me, anyway. The beggar could have recognized Bossk and then made up that story about informants strung through the system, all keeping an eye on bounty hunters and other suspicious creatures, just to jack up the price he had been asking for his continued silence.

Which hadn’t even been all that high; Bossk knew he could have easily afforded it, without dipping too far into his stash of credits. Things are cheaper on Tatooine, thought Bossk. They deserve to be. The shade of a pair of tethered dewback mounts fell across him as he made his way across Mos Eisley’s central plaza and toward the cantina. Deciding to eliminate the beggar rather than pay the shakedown had been more a matter of general principles rather than economics. If a bounty hunter let himself begin paying to keep his affairs private, he’d eventually wind up paying off everybody. With that kind of overhead, Bossk knew, it’d be hard to turn a profit.

He descended the rough-hewn stone steps into the cantina’s familiar confines. In a hole like this, he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone sticking a proboscis into his affairs. They’d know what the consequences would be. Plus, most of them had their own secrets-some of which Bossk knew a little about-so silence was a mutually desired commodity.

A few glances were turned his way, but the faces remained carefully composed, devoid of even the slightest sign of curiosity. The cantina’s regulars, the various lowlifes and scheming creatures with whom he’d had innumerable business dealings, here and elsewhere in the galaxy, all responded as if they had never seen him before.