Star Wars_ The Han Solo Trilogy 01_ The Paradise Snare - A. C. Crispin [112]
Han saw the clerk behind the counter, but he ignored the female Selonian. Instead, he walked as directly as possible through the labyrinthine paths between the displays of merchandise, until he reached a small door set inconspicuously at the back. It was covered with an ancient tapestry depicting the founding of the Republic, and only certain “customers” ever discovered the door was behind it.
Once there, he looked around to make sure he was alone and unobserved, then he knocked sharply, in a preordained pattern. He waited, and after another minute the sound of an electronic lock being released sounded from the other side of the door. Han raised the tapestry, slipped under it, and walked through, into the back room.
The proprietor was an old, old man, still spry despite his stooped body, wrinkled face, and wispy yellow-white hair. Galidon Okanor had looked exactly the same in the five years since Han had first met him. Now he looked up and smiled at Han. “Well, it’s … um … who, today, son?”
Han smiled. “Jenos Idanian, sir. How are you?” He genuinely liked the little man, who was, at one and the same time, a genuinely respected art assessor and appraiser, and a very competent and trustworthy fence.
“Oh, can’t complain, can’t complain,” said the little man. “Because if I did, what good would it do me?” he added, emitting a wheezing chuckle.
“You got a point,” Han said.
Okanor sat down on a high stool before a table that was lit with a jeweler’s and appraiser’s light, specially angled and illumined to show flaws in gemstones and cracks or flaws in antiques. He waved to a seat opposite his. “Sit down, sit down, Jenos Idanian. What have you brought me today?”
“Lots of things,” Han said. “I’d like a price for the lot, and I’d like the credits deposited immediately in the Imperial Bank on Coruscant.”
“Fine, fine,” said Okanor. He rubbed his aged, veiny hands together. “You usually have good taste, Jenos. Now let’s see what you’ve brought me!”
“Okay,” Han said, and began unloading the knapsack, placing each item on the table beneath the light. He held back his favorite treasure, though, a tiny golden statue of a long-extinct Corellian paledor. It was beautiful, and its eyes were flawless Keral fire-gems.
Okanor watched avidly, occasionally uttering a soft “oh” or “ahhh,” but he forbore to speak until Han was finished. Then he carefully picked up each piece, studied it intently, sometimes through a jeweler’s glass, then placed it on the table again and went on to the next.
“Remarkable, most remarkable,” he said, finally. “I am going to break a rule of mine and ask you where in the name of the galaxy you found all of this? In a museum? I do not approve of stealing from museums, you know.”
Han shook his head. “Not a museum.”
“A private collection?” Okanor pursed his lips. “I am most impressed, lad. The collector in question is a sentient of taste and discrimination. I will also tell you, young man, that he is not very particular about his acquisition sources. I recognize, from their description, that at least half of these items have been reported stolen. Some have been on WANTED lists for years.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Han said. “And you, you’ll sell ’em to museums, won’t you?”
“Most of them, most of them,” Okanor agreed.
“Okay, then, that’s good,” Han said, thinking that would please Bria. “That’s where they should be. So … how much?”
Okanor named a figure.
Han gave the old man a look of withering contempt and reached for his knapsack. “There’s a guy over in Kolene who will be thrilled to get a look at this stuff. I can see I should have visited him first,” he said, reaching for the scrimshawed bantha tusk from Tatooine.
Okanor named another, higher figure. Silently Han began stowing items in the backpack.
Okanor sighed as though he’d just breathed his last and named another figure,