“We were having a private conversation,” I hiss at the stranger. “Get your blaster out of my boyfriend’s face or I’m going to shoot your floppy penis off.”
CHAPTER 32
MATHIRAS
I’m pissed at myself for getting distracted by my conversation with Helen. I should have been scanning the cantina, keeping an eye on danger, but she has a way of getting under my skin and distracting me away from whatever I’m supposed to be concentrating on. I should have had the credits out on the table to show Lukzar I mean business, and instead I’m curled up with an ooli, drinking and talking about porn vids. No wonder he’s pissy. Lukzar is all business all the time.
And now Helen has a blaster pointed at his cock under the table. This is not going to win him over to our side.
“Helen,” I murmur.
She flicks on the blaster, and the hum of it powering up is subtle, but just loud enough to be heard. “I mean it,” she says, her voice tough. “I don’t like him putting his weapon in your face. So I’m going to keep my blaster on his big ugly balls and if he doesn’t move it soon, I’m going to shoot.”
Lukzar doesn’t move. He scowls down at me, whiskers twitching.
Helen doesn’t move.
Do I point out she has accelerated reflexes and he’ll lose his cock quicker than he’ll be able to shoot? Nah. It’d just make him nervous. For some reason, I’m not nervous. Annoyed at myself, yes, but not anxious. I’ve dealt with Lukzar before and he’s brusque and abrasive but he listens when credits are involved. “I have your credits,” I say carefully, my gaze locked on him. “And I’m willing to give you another five percent if you get your blaster out of my face.”
Somewhere in the distance, the music warbles on and a server approaches with our food and then pauses, waiting for things to play out. Just another day here in the dregs of the universe, to them.
Lukzar grunts. He flicks his gaze over Helen, and then me, and shoves his blaster into his holster. “I don’t like being kept waiting.”
“I see that.” I put a hand on Helen’s arm. “You can put yours away, love.”
She scowls, the expression comical with her ooli mask. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Helen nods, and then the blaster’s hum disappears and she puts it back into her belt. “I don’t like it when people threaten you.”
“That’s just Lukzar’s way of saying hello,” I promise her as the server approaches again. “Look, your food is almost here.”
The server—a female slave wearing very little—frowns at all of us as she approaches. “No blasters inside the cantina. House rules.” She leans over and starts placing our food orders on the table. “I’m going to need to confiscate your weapons.”
Lukzar doesn’t move. I put a hand on Helen’s arm before she can hand over her blaster. “No, you don’t,” I say to the server and slip a credit in her direction.
She immediately scoops it up. “I tried,” she says in a bored voice. “Anything else?”
“Nothing,” I say, and I’m relieved when she heads off. Lukzar looms over the table, waiting. I can feel Helen’s tension next to me, and I remind myself that she’s not used to dealing with shady sorts. She’s not familiar with the posturing that goes on. I pull out the bag of credits I’ve brought with me and ease it onto the table. “Can we talk now?”
Lukzar leans over and scoops up the bag. He rolls it in his hand, and I can tell he’s inwardly counting credit chips. When he’s satisfied, he parks himself across from us, legs sprawling under the table, and sets his blaster on the tabletop in a show of friendliness. Well, friendly for a praxiian. He waves the server back, and she trots over to us with all of her parts bouncing. “I want a Valdorean steak and two pints of ooli brew.” Lukzar nods at me. “He’s paying.”
Of course I am. Figures that he’s ordering the most expensive food on the menu. I just ignore it and pick up a glowing veg flower from one of the plates in front of us. “Here, Helen. You’ll like this.” She plucks it from my hand and I pick up one of the fried leaves on my plate, since I have a weakness for greasy foods. We eat quietly, staring at Lukzar until the server returns with his steak a moment later. She sets it down, then the beers, and bounces away again.
True to form, Lukzar doesn’t eat. He scoops the steak up into a plas-bag and seals it tightly, probably saving it for later. Cheap bastard. He takes a sip of the ooli brew and then tilts his head at me, his expression blank. “Let’s talk retrieving. What are you needing?”