Double Helix 06_ The First Virtue - Michael Jan Friedman [34]
There didn’t seem to be anyone else in charge, so Crusher made his way through the crowd and slipped into a wobbly chair at the bar. He gave the bartender a dazzling smile.
“What’ll it be?” asked the four-armed specimen, training a dark, protuberant pair of eyes on the human and Tuvok.
“Information,” Crusher said. “I’m looking for a Melacron named Bin Nedrach. Seen him around lately?”
The dark eyes narrowed to slits and the alien paused for a moment, indicating to Crusher that he wasn’t all that quick on the uptake. “Who wants to know?” the bartender rumbled warily.
“Someone who wishes to offer him employment,” the Vulcan replied.
His clipped tone made the commander wince a little. “Lucrative employment,” Crusher added quickly.
The bartender stared at Tuvok for a moment, his brow creased down the middle. Then he began to wheeze alarmingly. It took the commander a few seconds to realize that the alien was laughing.
“You want to employ Nedrach, do you?” he asked, exaggerating the words in a mocking tone of voice. “Well,” and his voice dropped to an unfriendly growl, “”you won’t find Nedrach around here. Go find someone else.”
Crusher didn’t like the way the conversation was going. He had to do something about it, he told himself, or he and his Vulcan partner would soon find themselves stymied in their investigation.
Before the bartender could turn away from them, the commander reached up with a casual bravado he didn’t feel and seized the grimy material of the alien’s tunic front. Then he hauled the bartender’s face down to within an inch of his own.
Silence fell all around him. By that, Crusher knew everyone present was taking in the scene. It was fine with him. In fact, it was exactly what he had been hoping for.
“I don’t think you understand,” Crusher growled, smiling a wolfish grin. “My friend Sulak here said we wanted Nedrach. We don’t want anyone else.” The human tugged harder on the bartender’s shirtfront. “Only Nedrach will do. Maybe you understand that now?”
The alien was big enough and muscular enough to pound the commander to a bloody pulp. However, as Crusher had gambled, he was also too slow-witted to be sure of his chances in a fight.
Crusher held the bartender’s gaze for just long enough before releasing him with an air of disdain. Then, flicking his wrist, he let a few pieces of latinum slip from his sleeve onto the wooden bar.
Staring into the alien’s dark, angry popeyes, the commander repeated, “Do you understand now?”
The bartender’s thick, hairy brow lowered at the sight of all that latinum gleaming on his bar. This much, at least, he clearly understood. He reached out a thick-fingered hand for the latinum, the slender slips of yellow-white metal looking tiny in his big mitt.
But before he could close his fingers about the latinum, Crusher deftly plucked them from his palm.
“Hey!” the bartender exclaimed indignantly.
“I don’t give something for nothing, friend,” the human told him.
For a moment, the alien looked as if he was about to vault over the bar and do some pulping after all. But Crusher stood his ground as if he weren’t the least bit concerned about that possibility.
At last, the bartender jerked his massive head. “Back here,” he said, lowering his voice so only the human and the Vulcan could hear him. “Too many eyes and ears out here, you know what I mean?”
Crasher knew what he meant, all right. It seemed that everyone in the Den was watching as they followed the alien’s hulking figure to a tiny, smelly back room. The barkeeper opened the door, closed it behind the three of them, then glanced around carefully before speaking.
“Like I said,” he grumbled at last, “Bin Nedrach doesn’t come around this place anymore.”
“Do you know where he does go?” the commander inquired.
The alien shook his head from side to side. “No idea.”
Crusher glanced at Tuvok. The Vulcan shrugged. Turning back