Darth Plagueis - James Luceno [138]
The Theelin was unknown to Plagueis. Pale and shapely, she had lustrous orange hair and purple beauty marks that ran down her face and neck to disappear beneath a revealing costume.
“Diva Shaliqua,” Jabba said when he realized that Plagueis was studying her. “A singer in the band.”
“As her name suggests.”
“A gift from Ingoda, in place of credits owed to me.” Jabba’s big eyes settled on the Theelin. “She and Diva Funquita came as a pair, but I made Funquita a present to Gardulla in the hope of smoothing over our lingering rivalry.” He grunted. “My first mistake. The second: introducing Shaliqua to Romeo Treblanc, who would move worlds to possess her.”
Notorious for his gambling, Treblanc owned the Galaxies Opera House on Coruscant. Why Jabba chose to associate with gamblers and other lowlifes was a mystery to Plagueis. In some ways the Hutt’s illicit empire was the inverse of Hego Damask’s, where, if nothing else, the criminals were at least politicians, corporate honchos, and financiers. His coming to Sojourn was both uncharacteristic and unexpected.
“Are you here to talk about Treblanc or Gardulla?” Plagueis asked.
Jabba reacted in annoyance. “As always, straight to the heart of the matter. But I can appreciate the fact that you’re a busy Muun.” He wriggled to adjust his position on the platform. “I know you were instrumental thirty years ago in giving Gardulla the run of Tatooine, as a base for her slavery operations and Podracing events. I’ve come this far to inform you that Tatooine will soon have a new overseer.” He gestured to himself. “Me.”
Plagueis said nothing for a long moment. “I was under the impression that Tatooine was already as much yours as Gardulla’s.”
“Appearances can be deceiving,” Jabba said. “I’ve tried to undermine her influence by fomenting distrust among the so-called Sand People—the Tusken Raiders—but success at chasing her offworld continues to elude me.”
Plagueis made an adjustment to the breath mask. “How can I help?”
Jabba appraised him. “I happen to know that Gardulla hasn’t been able to make good on the loans you extended. What she earns from events like the Boonta Eve Classic, she loses to gamblers.”
“That much is true,” Plagueis said. “But what of it?”
“I want you to stop funding her, so I can starve her out.”
Plagueis shrugged. “Your information is incomplete, Jabba. I haven’t funded her enterprises in a decade.”
Jabba balled his hands in anger. “You have influence over members of the Banking Clan and the Trade Federation who are funding her.”
Plagueis lifted his head, as if in revelation. “I see. And what can I expect in exchange?”
“To start with, a better percentage of the profits from the races and other enterprises.”
Plagueis frowned in disappointment. “You must know that I’ve no need of credits, Jabba. And you wouldn’t have come this far, as you say, unless you had learned a few things that might sway me over to your side.”
Jabba wriggled, restraining his anger. “In return for your help, I will weaken Black Sun’s influence with the Trade Federation Directorate—”
“I need no assistance.” Plagueis leaned forward in the armchair. “What do you know that I may not know?”
Jabba inflated his body, then allowed the air to escape him in a protracted, mirthless laugh. “I know something you may not yet know about the Bando Gora.”
Plagueis raised himself somewhat in the chair. Hideously masked Bando Gora assassins had become a growing concern in the Outer Rim, posing a problem to the leadership of some of the cartels Plagueis backed. “Now you have my interest, Jabba.”
“The cult has a new leader,” Jabba went on, happy to have the high ground. “A human female, she has entered into a plan with Gardulla, a Malastare Dug named Sebolto, and a Republic Senator to distribute contaminated death sticks, as a means of supplying the Bando Gora with