Star Wars_ Rebel Force 03_ Renegade - Alex Wheeler [18]
"Still here?" Jabba shouted at the human cowering before him.
Shaking, the man mumbled something under his breath.
Bib Fortuna leaned toward Jabba. "The human wants his reward," he hissed.
"Reward?" Jabba asked loudly. " Reward? HO HO! This human wants a reward!" Again, the room laughed with Jabba. And kept laughing as Jabba pressed a button on the end of his long hookah pipe.
The human cowered, squeezing his eyes shut, and the laughing grew even louder. But he wasn't in pain…yet. Still shaking, he opened his eyes to see a small pile of credits in front of him.
"Thank you, Honorable Jabba," the man murmured, bowing low and piling the credits into his threadbare tunic, "you truly are the greatest of the Hutts." He kept bowing as he scuttled out of the room, a few credits scattering in his wake.
As the laughter swelled, the band struck up another tune, filling the room with jaunty music. Jabba snapped his fingers for another gorg, when Bib Fortuna leaned and whispered into his ear.
"Another one?" Jabba asked. "Make him wait."
Bib Fortuna hesitated. "But this one, he has…debts."
Jabba smiled. "Very well. Send him in."
A Toydarian buzzed into the room, flitting nervously and looking over his shoulder, taking in the courtiers and henchmen.
Jabba began to shake with laughter. "Block the exits! I will now have my justice."
CHAPTER EIGHT
It wasn't the first time Han had felt the cold durasteel of a blaster muzzle against his skin. When it came to life and death situations, he was an old pro.
Still, all things considered, he'd rather be playing a hand of sabacc.
"Hands in the air, and turn around," the voice said. " Slowly. "
Han raised his hands and turned. Slowly.
The blaster was a Merr-Sonn J-I Happy Surprise hold-out model, small enough to fit in the palm of a hand, useless at distances of more than three meters. Deadly at point-blank range. A pale, stubby finger was itching to pull the trigger. And attached to it, the hand, the arm, the shoulder, the face of a man Han hadn't seen in years. A man whose last words to Han had been, "Next time I see you, you're dead."
Han grinned.
Chewbacca roared in frustration, knowing that the wrong move could get Han killed.
"Would you shut that Wookiee up!" the man yelled, pressing the blaster to Han's forehead. A few of the other gamblers looked over, then shrugged and turned back to their gaming tables. In a place like this, you didn't pay too much attention to what anyone else was doing. Not if you wanted to walk out in one piece.
"Easy, Chewie," Han said, hoping that the Wookiee wouldn't do anything rash. "Lore isn't going to shoot me, are you, Lore?"
Chewbacca barked a question.
"Yeah, Lore and I go way back," Han said, winking at his assailant. "Long time no see, Lore. How's it going?"
"Better, now." Avik Lore—failed musician, failed gambler, failed cantina owner, successful smuggler—snarled at Han.
"Don't tell me you're still mad about that little incident back on Dubrillon," Han said wearily.
Lore's eyes widened. " Incident? You shot me!"
Han shrugged. "Not on purpose," he pointed out. "Besides, it was just a flesh wound. Don't be such a baby."
"I couldn't sit down for a month!"
Chewbacca let loose a hiccupy gurgle that Han knew was suppressed Wookiee laughter. Lore shot him a sharp glance. Chewbacca pounded his chest in a good imitation of a Wookiee not at all amused.
"How was I supposed to know it was you behind that door?" Han wheedled. "I though it was the G'looth Brothers!"
"You could have asked," Lore said. "You could have knocked. Or you could have opened the door and taken a peek before you let loose with your blaster.
You could have done a million things."
"Could have," Han said. "Didn't."
Lore sighed. "I know, I know, rule number one—"
"Always shoot first," Han finished with him. "And I always do. Best way to keep breathing."
"Not when you're the one who gets shot,"