Star Wars_ Tales From the Mos Eisley Cantina - Kevin J. Anderson [22]
“Maybe they’re bending over to throw up,” said Dyyz, reading Greedo’s thoughts.
“How would a Rodian know the difference?” said Goa. “The green goons stink almost as bad as Jabba.”
Greedo gave Goa a startled look. Why did he say that? Am I just a “green goon” to him? He decided Goa was trying to make a crude joke.
As the two Rodians faded back into the crowd, majordomo Bib Fortuna cast a suspicious eye toward the new visitors. With an almost imperceptible nod, he signaled for Goa, Dyyz, and Greedo to step forward.
The rabble quieted as the three hunters moved to position in front of the great worm. Everyone wanted to see if a death sentence was about to be executed. When it became apparent that these were just another team of rapacious bounty hunters, the hubbub resumed.
“Vifaa karibu uta chuba Jabba!” began Goa, speaking perfect Huttese. He knew that Jabba himself spoke many languages fluently, and used his protocol droid for the several million other forms of communication. But he wished to honor the crimelord in every way possible.
“Moja jpo chakula cha asubuhi!” rumbled the Hutt, apparently pleased to be treated with respect by scum.
“What did he say?” said Dyyz. “What did you say?”
“I told ’im he’s the most disgustin’ pile o’ swamp sludge in the galaxy. He thanked me for groveling before his bloated slimy putrid body.”
“R-really,” whispered Greedo. “You said that?”
“Goa’s pullin’ yer snout, kid. We’d be rancor bait if he’d said any of that stuff.”
Goa turned his full attention to the Hutt, hoping Jabba hadn’t heard the whispered exchange.
If he had heard it, Jabba gave no sign. He proceeded to laugh quite jovially and popped a squirming sand maggot into his mouth. Greedo almost retched at the sight of the swollen tongue, dripping with slaver. At this distance, of not more than a meter and a half, the malignant smell of Jabba’s breath was overpowering. The Hurt’s lardaceous body seemed to periodically release a greasy discharge, sending fresh waves of rotten stench to Greedo’s sensitive nostrils.
“Ne subul Greedo, pombo gek fultrh badda wanga!” Goa put one hand on Greedo’s shoulder as he introduced his protégé to the illustrious gangster. Greedo bowed nervously, as the huge eyes turned on him and reduced him to space dust.
Jabba and Goa exchanged a few more phrases, and then Jabba proceeded to deliver a long soliloquy that ended with the words “… kwa bo noodta du dedbeeta Han Solo?”
Goa turned to Greedo and Dyyz. “The worm has seen fit to offer us the opportunity of hunting one of his most notorious debtors—that pirate Han Solo. Solo claims he lost a load of spice when he got boarded by Imps. But Jabba thinks Solo sold the spice and kept the money. This is a collection job—Jabba wants that money.”
“I ain’t messin’ with Solo,” said Dyyz. “He’s got too many ways of gettin’ revenge … even after he’s dead.”
“I can handle him,” said Greedo. “He’s just a smalltime Corellian spicerunner who thinks he’s big stuff. He stole a rancor-skin jacket off me. I’ll take Solo.”
Warhog Goa looked at Greedo for a moment and then slapped him on the back. “Okay, kid. That’s what I like to hear! This’ll be a good assignment to cut your baby teeth on, ’cause Solo’s on Tatooine! We saw him today in the cantina, remember? I’ll even be able to give ya some backup. If he’s got the money on him, you’ll get it easy.”
Dyyz snorted. “Great—you help the kid. I don’t want no thin’ to do with it … Now what about us? You gonna set up a couple of deals for us, or you gonna waste the whole trip on the kid?”
“Right. I got that covered.” Goa exchanged a few more words with Jabba, and then Fortuna handed the bounty hunters three scrolls, the official contracts assigning them exclusive