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“How’s business?”

He stared at me suspiciously. “It stinks. It always stinks.”

“How would you like entertainment by real musicians?”

“Rebo? Can’t afford him, and his bunch don’t draw what they cost anyway.”

I gave him the polite smile. “Figrin Da’n and the Modal Nodes. They’re Bith. They’re good, Wuher. I mean really, really good.”

“What would they cost me?”

“Five hundred a week.”

He gave me the suspicious stare again. If something sounds too good to be true, someone’s being screwed. “Really. A band better than Rebo’s will work here for less than his.”

“I think I can arrange it.”

“How?”

I told him. When I was done he said in a somber voice, “You are one twisted puppy, Lab.”

“Is it a deal?”

He shook his head no, said “It’s a deal,” and wandered away, shaking his head and muttering to himself.

The Lady Valarian is the closest thing to competition that Jabba the Hutt has on Tatooine. That’s not saying much; Jabba tolerates her because it keeps all the discontents in one place. She’s a Whiphid, which means she’s stupid, huge, ugly, has more muscle on her than I do, and smells worse than Jabba. I wouldn’t eat her even after a long hunt.

I went to see her at her hotel, the Lucky Despot. The Lucky Despot isn’t much of a hotel, truth told; just a spaceship that won’t ever lift again.

“That’s right,” I said. “Modal Nodes. Lead is Figrin Da’n. I know you want the best for your wedding, Lady Valarian. This group makes music so glorious, your wedding will be the talk of this corner of the galaxy. People for dozens of light-years will speak with envy and longing of the entertainment provided at the wedding of the great Lady Valarian and her handsome consort, the daring D’Wopp, of the romantic mood set by the finest musicians this poor galaxy has ever seen.”

She glared at me—well, I think she glared at me; with those mad little eyes Whiphids have, it’s hard to tell—and said skeptically, “Better than Max Rebo? I love Max Rebo.”

She would. And she deserved to have the ugly little runt play her wedding, for all of me. “Fair mistress, your taste is as that of your tongue, and none would dare say otherwise.” I gave her the polite smile. “But Modal Nodes is currently Jabba the Hutt’s favored entertainment. Would you have it said that the entertainment at your wedding was provided by the musicians Jabba deemed too poor to play for him?”

It took her a bit to work through it. I’d gotten a little carried away with my syntax; Whiphids have a working vocabulary of only about eight thousand words. “No! No, I won’t have it! I want the Nodal Notes!” She looked briefly uncertain. “Do you think they’ll come?”

“They’ll be expensive, madam. They’ll be braving Jabba’s displeasure to play for you. It might cost … two, or three thousand credits, perhaps. If I can have the loan of a messenger droid, I would be most happy to begin making the arrangements …”

The morning of the wedding I called Jabba.

He laughed with, I think, real amusement on seeing me. “My least favorite spy!” he boomed. “Perhaps you should come visit me. We can have dinner together, and talk about the mercenary you introduced to me.”

“I have information, Jabba.”

“Hmmm.”

“Do you know your musicians are missing? Figrin Da’n and the Modal Nodes?”

“Hmmmph!” He made a bellowing noise and rocked himself off camera. I heard shrieks, steel clanging, things breaking … I stood patiently in front of my comlink’s pickup and waited for him to come back, if he was going to. After a bit he did. “Hoooo,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Where are they, least favorite spy?”

“The Lady Valarian is getting married today. She’s hired them to play at her wedding, at the Lucky Despot Hotel.”

The eyes narrowed to slits. “And what does my least favorite spy want for this information?”

I spread my hands. “Let us forget a certain unfortunate introduction …”

He looked at me through the slitted eyes for a second, and then gave the booming laugh. “Least favorite spy, call me again sometime.”

He broke the connection.

Cold sweat trickled through the fur on the