Star Wars_ Tales From the Mos Eisley Cantina - Kevin J. Anderson [16]
The big Wookiee was still holding the terrified Rodian a meter off the floor, as if waiting for a signal from his friend the smuggler.
“Wait a minute,” said the smuggler. “Don’t hurt him, Chewie. I’m going to teach the little sneak a lesson … Where’d you put those burnt-out Modogs, Warb?”
The Wookiee lowered Greedo to the floor, but kept his hairy paw on him as Warb fished around in a big trash barrel next to the workbench. A second later Warb emerged with two blackened and corroded Modog power couplings. He gave them to the smuggler and the smuggler handed them to Greedo.
“Here. The kid wants power couplings, he can have these. I took ’em off the Millennium Falcon. They’ve got a real pedigree, kid. And all I want for ’em is this rancor-skin jacket. What do you say? Even trade?”
The smuggler grinned and the Wookiee squeezed Greedo’s shoulder.
“T-te jacta.” I’ll get you for this.
“Did he say what I think he said?” asked the smuggler.
“He said it’s a deal,” laughed Warb.
“Good. The kid knows a bargain when he sees one.” The smuggler held out his hand for a handshake, but Greedo ignored it. Instead he made a popping noise with his hand-suckers and threw the burnt couplings on the floor. Then he turned and ran for the door.
“HWARRNNUNH.”
“Yeah, Chewie, I was probably a little rough on him. But you got to set punks straight while they’re still young. Otherwise no telling where they’ll end up … Here, Warb, ya want this jacket? It’s a birthday present.”
“Thanks, Han. How’d you know today’s my birthday?”
6. The Teacher
Spurch Warhog Goa was sitting by himself, counting a pile of credits, in a corner of the Meltdown Cafe. He waved his arm when he saw Greedo come in. “Hey, kid—over here!”
Greedo was still nursing his anger and resentment, but he tried to look like a seasoned spacer as he moved through the noisy gathering. He started to feel better when one grizzled old Twi’lek actually jumped out of his way.
“Hello, Spurch.”
“Have a seat, kid. Ya want somethin’ to drink?… Don’t sit too close. You Rodians don’t smell right to a Diollan.”
Greedo took a place opposite his new mentor. Goa ordered up a bottle of Tatooine Sunburn for Greedo.
“T-that’s a lot of money, Spurch.” Greedo eyed the pile nervously. He hoped Ninx would still sell him the Corsair, after what happened.
“Call me Warhog, kid. I don’t care for that other name. My mother thought it was cute ’cause it means ‘brave bug catcher’ in our language.” Goa snorted. He took a stack of chits off the pile in front of him. “Here, kid. For you. Thanks for the tip about the Rebels. It paid off … big-time.”
“Cthn rulyen stka wen!” Wow, that’s great! Greedo picked up the bills and flipped through them. They were small denominations … far less than he had expected. Visions of piloting his own fast Corsair began to evaporate.
“Uh … two hundred credits … uh, thanks, Warhog.”
“Whatsamatter, kid? You look disappointed.” Goa surveyed his new protégé with a bright bird eye.
“Uh … I thought there would be more, I guess.”
“Hey, kid. You want to be a bounty hunter, right? Didn’t I say Rodians make the best bounty hunters? Didn’t I?”
Greedo nodded solemnly. I do want to be a bounty hunter. But a bounty hunter needs a ship.
“Now, you think I train bounty hunters for free? Huh? Do ya?… Drink your Tatooine Sunburn, kid, it’s delicious.”
Obediently Greedo picked up the bottle and swallowed the thick fluid. It tasted bitter. He felt embarrassed. Warhog was right. “Uh … I guess I … uh, never thought about that,” he said.
“Right. It never crossed your greedy little mind. Goa gets paid for teaching young punks how to hunt! Now look here—” Goa reached into one of the many pouches strapped to his body and pulled out a much larger roll of credits. “This is all yours, if you want it—twenty thousand. That’s one-third of what the Imps paid for the intelligence on the Rebels.”
Greedo’s eyes watered, and a profound