[Bounty Hunter Wars] - 03(12)

That was the way he liked it.

Even the bartender said nothing, though he remembered Bossk’s usual order; he poured it from a chiseled stone flagon kept beneath the bar and set it down in front of the Trandoshan. Bossk didn’t need to tell him to put it on his tab.

“I’m looking for a place to stay.” With his massive, scaled shoulders hunching over the drink, Bossk leaned closer to the bartender. “Someplace quiet.”

“So?” The scowl on the bartender’s lumpish face didn’t diminish; he continued wiping out an empty glass with a grease-mottled towel. “We ain’t running a hotel here, you know.”

This time, Bossk slid a coin across the bar. “Someplace private.”

The bartender laid the towel down for a moment; when he picked it up again, the coin had vanished. “I’ll ask around.”

“Appreciate it.” Bossk knew that those words meant the negotiations were concluded, and successfully. The

Mos Eisley cantina actually did have some chambers for rent-dark, airless holes, down beneath the cellars and subcellars where the barrels of cheap booze were stored-but only a few creatures, even among the establishment’s regular habitues, knew about them. The cantina’s management preferred keeping them little known, and empty more often than not; it cut down on the amount of raids and general hassles from the Empire’s security forces. “I’ll check with you later.”

“Don’t bother.” The bartender slapped something down. “Here’s your change.”

Bossk didn’t even bother to look. He palmed the small object, feeling the outline of a primitive all-metal key, and slipped it into one of the pouches on his belt. He already knew the way to the chambers beneath the cantina, down one of the narrow stairs tucked behind a crumbling stone wall.

Carrying the drink with him, he slipped into one of the booths along the far wall. It wasn’t too long before somebody joined him.

“Long time, Bossk.” A rodent-faced Mhingxin sat himself down on the other side of the booth’s table. Eobbim Figh’s long-fingered hands, like collections of bones and coarse, spiky hairs, set out a multicompartmented box with an assortment of stim-enhanced snuff powders. “Good to see you.” Figh’s sharp-pointed nails dipped into the various powders, one after another, then to the elongated nostrils on the underside of his wetly shining snout. “Heard you were dead. Or something.”

“It would take a lot to kill me, Figh.” Bossk sipped at the drink. “You know that.”

“Boba Fett is a lot. Lot of trouble.” The Mhingxin shook his tapered head. “Shouldn’t take him on. Not if you’re smart.”

“I’m plenty smart enough for Fett,” said Bossk sourly. “I just haven’t been lucky.”

Figh exploded into high-pitched laughter, a squealing gale that sent clouds of acrid snuff rising from the box on

the table. “Lucky! Lucky!” He slapped his narrow paws beside the box. “Luck is for fools. Used to tell me that. You did.”

“Then I’ve gotten even smarter than I was before.” Bossk could feel the expression on his muzzle turn ugly and brooding. “Now I know how important luck is. Boba Fett has luck. That’s why every time I’ve encountered him, he’s won.”

“Luck?” Figh shrugged. “Little more than that. What. I think.”

The awkward Basic of the creature sitting across from Bossk irritated him. “I don’t care what you think,” he growled. “I’ve got plans of my own. Plus, I’ve got the odds on my side now.”

“Figure that? How so?”

“Simple.” Bossk had had a long time to brood over the matter. “Boba Fett’s run of luck has gone on way too long. It’s got to end; maybe it’s already ended. Then it’ll be my turn.” He nodded slowly, as though already tasting blood seeping between the fangs in his mouth. “And it’ll be payback time for Boba Fett.”

That produced another bout of snickering laughter from Figh. “Long time coming. That payback. Not the only one-you.”

Bossk knew that was true enough. The breakup of the old Bounty Hunters Guild, for which Boba Fett had been largely responsible, had left a lot of creatures throughout the galaxy with a simmering hatred for Fett. He hit us all, right where it hurts. Bossk nodded again, even slower and with eyes narrowed. In our pockets. The old system, under the Guild, had spread the wealth out, not evenly-Bossk’s father, Cradossk, as head of the Bounty Hunters Guild, had always done better for himself than any of his followers-but well enough that no hunter went completely hungry. All that was changed now; a lot of former bounty hunters were either dead or had dropped out of the trade, getting into other lines of work that were either closer to or further from being legal. The criminal organization Black Sun had reorganized; the Empire had picked up some new recruits, as had the Rebel Alliance.