“Now we need to find the Splendor Tavern,” Obi-Wan said.
“I know where it is,” Qui-Gon answered, striking off to his left down a small alley.
Obi-Wan lengthened his stride to match his Master’s. “How do you know?” he asked curiously.
“Because I have had occasion to go there,” Qui-Gon responded. “It’s where connections are made for the black market. If one needs weapons or an illegally modified speeder, or wants to gamble, one goes to the Splendor.
Sometimes on a mission you need help from the worst sorts as well as the best.”
Qui-Gon led him farther into a section he had never been in before, down many levels closer to the planet’s surface. If Obi-Wan had been asked to describe Coruscant, he would have talked of a gleaming planet, all silver and white, with wide walkways and space lanes that flashed with agile crafts zooming toward their destinations. He barely knew the other Coruscant, below the levels of the Senate and the beautiful residences above. This one was made up of narrow alleys and cluttered streets, with dark shadows and furtive creatures who darted away when they saw the Jedi striding toward them. Games of chance were played on stoops and in outdoor cafŠs. Weapons were placed on tables as warnings for cheaters.
Qui-Gon stopped in front of a metal building with a sagging roof. An old readout sign swung in front, occasionally banging against the rough metal walls with a screeching sound. Half of its letters had burned out, so it read: s P D O R. The windows were shuttered, and only a thin strip of light came through.
“Here we are,” Qui-Gon said.
“Here?” Obi-Wan studied the building with a dubious eye. “It certainly doesn’t live up to its name.”
“Don’t worry. It’s worse than it looks.”
Qui-Gon pushed open the door. Immediately they were met with a blast of noise. Music played from a recorder in the corner while a variety of customers drank, ate, and played games of chance at each table. A jubilee wheel whirled on the bar, and gamblers gathered around with fistfuls of credits, betting on the outcome. It stopped, and one crowed triumphantly while two others began to fight. A fourth turned away, desperation on his face.
Qui-Gon made his way to the lmbat bartender, whose head nearly bumped the ceiling, and whose long ears drooped to his shoulders. As the Jedi watched, his massive hand reached out and casually smacked a bar customer who was trying to get his attention by waving his arms. The customer fell back off his seat and crashed to the floor, a stunned look on his face. Someone stepped over him and took his place.
With a jolt, Obi-Wan realized that Didi’s cafŠ hadn’t been filled with the worst of the galaxy, as he’d thought. He did not know who owned the Splendor. But whoever it was obviously did not care one bit about his customers.
Qui-Gon took up a position at the end of the bar. He did not signal the bartender in any way, but the lmbat moved toward him. He bent his massive head and listened to Qui-Gon dolefully.
Then, moving only his eyes, he indicated a shadowy corner.
Qui-Gon signaled to Obi-Wan, and they moved toward it.
Helb was a Neimoidian. Instead of the large glasses of ale the other customers were swilling, a small cup of tea was almost hidden in his large, sharp-nailed hands. Though Neimoidians usually favored the richest robes they could afford, Helb wore a plain gray unisuit with two blasters strapped to his hips. His back was to the wall, and he watched the crowd with shrewd orange eyes.
Qui-Gon took a seat at the table across from him. Obi-Wan did the same.
Helb gave them a considering look. “I am surprised to see Jedi in a place such as this.”
“We come for information only,” Qui-Gon said.
“That is probably the one thing I do not have to sell,” Helb said.
“That is all right, for I do not wish to buy it,” Qui-Gon said. He sat in silence, waiting. Again, Obi-Wan marveled at how much Qui-Gon was able to convey through stillness.
Helb gave the hissing sound that passed for Neimoidian laughter. “You are lucky. I’m in a good mood. I just won a game of sabacc. Otherwise you would be talking to a wall.”
Qui-Gon didn’t rise to the bait. “There is a death mark on the head of Didi Oddo. He wonders if the Tech Raiders are displeased with him.”
Helb laughed again. “I am the one who is displeased with Didi. He beat me at a game of sabacc the other day. That is why I am so happy to win today.”
Qui-Gon nodded. Helb took a sip of tea.
“Which doesn’t mean I want to kill him,” Helb continued. “If I were going to put a death mark on someone’s head, it would be his friend
“Why?” Qui-Gon asked.
“Because he owes the Tech Raiders an interesting sum of money,” Helb responded. “Not just gambling winnings on one game of sabacc, but favor after favor we have done him for which he has not paid. Why would I put a contract out on Didi?”