Star Wars_ Tales From the Mos Eisley Cantina - Kevin J. Anderson [4]
I kept up my conversation with Thwim as Kodu minced from table to table, swiveling the anvil head. I watched sidelong. Abruptly I spotted the yellow-green glitter of his eyes.
Immediately he slithered in my direction. He’s got me mixed up with another Bith, I thought wearily. Thwim pushed back, lifting one edge of his cape, and made room for Kodu.
“Figrin, ihss it?” The bulbous scent organ between Kodu’s faceted eyes twitched.
“Not quite,” I mumbled.
“Oh, Doikk. Hssorry.” At least he knew my voice. “Information for hssale. Want to find Figrin?”
I glanced toward Figrin’s glimmering holographic sabacc table. Our leader hunched crookedly over his cards, feigning intoxication. Not a good time to interrupt. (Who made Doikk Na’ts the band manager? I wondered.)
Kodu pushed closer. “I don’t want to hsstay,” he hissed. “Do you want to buy? You’d hbetter.” He smiled smugly.
“Ten,” I offered. Figrin would cover that, if the news was worth hearing. Thwim watched the Uvide wheel studiously. His prehensile nose quivered as a cluster of Jawas hurried by, jabbering rapidly.
“A hhundred,” Kodu answered without hesitation. Within three minutes we’d settled on thirty-five. He aligned his cred card with mine and we effected the transfer.
“Jabba.” Kodu clicked his fingerclaws. “He’ss angry”
“Angry?” I glanced around. “Who, this time? Why?”
“You hsskipped out on your contract.”
My stomachs knotted around each other. “We got another band to cover for us! Not as good as we are, but—”
“Jabba notissed.”
It was the worst compliment imaginable. Who’d have guessed the big slug paid attention? “What’d he do?”
Kodu shrugged. “Fed two guardss to the rancor and promissed …” He shrugged again, skinny shoulders rising along his brown neck.
Promised to pay well if someone hauled us back to the palace. Good-bye, IFM retirement home. “Thanks, Kodu.” I tried to sound as if I meant it. I’d left a sentimental mother at the bubbling pink swamps of Clak’dor VII. She missed her musical son.
Kodu touched his blaster. “Good-bye, Doikk. Good luck.”
Luck. Right. Either we slipped out of Jabba’s range fast, in which case Kodu wouldn’t see me again, or …
I weaseled through the crowd to Figrin’s table. Fortunately, Figrin had just lost big-time. A Duro shuffled the sabacc deck, scattering and regathering card-tiles with a deft gray hand. I tugged Figrin’s collar. “Finish up. Bad news.”
He excused himself droopily and arose. It takes twice as long to cross a room when you’re looking over your shoulder every other step. Jabba pays well for mayhem.
We found an empty spot at the bar. “What?” Figrin’s eyes seemed to have shrunk: spicing already, or faking it well.
I dropped the news on him. “We’ve got our instruments and two changes of clothes,” I finished.
“But I’m losing. I’m behind.”
I flicked my mouth folds. We would also need this gig money to buy food till we could get another job— or Jabba recovered from his temper. I explained that to Figrin.
Barlight reflections wobbled back and forth on his head as he shook it. “We’ll get offplanet,” he said.
“What about your … stash, back at Jabba’s?”
“Nothing irreplaceable. We’ll leave tomorrow afternoon, after the wedding. I’m ready for bigger crowds again.”
I agreed. “Even if gigs aren’t so regular, out there in the competition.” We’ve always had a following, but you can’t eat “esoteric.”
“Richer tables, too,” he added, gilding his voice. “Somebody’d better stay awake tonight. Did I hear you volunteer?”
So the spicing act was just that … an act. “I’ll take the first shift,” I said.
Our band set up bleary-eyed the next morning in the Star Chamber Cafe. After breakfast, wedding guests started prancing, oozing, and staggering into the Lucky Despot’s lounge. Waiting in the cafe, we tuned. I tried to imagine a Whiphid wedding (Did they osculate, lock tusks, or shout battle cries at the climactic moment?). I’d spotted two turbolifts, a kitchen entry, the main entry, and a small circular hatch that must’ve once been an emergency airlock. My caped, long-snouted friend Thwim staunchly held up one end of the