Star Wars_ The Han Solo Trilogy 02_ The Hutt Gambit - A. C. Crispin [29]
Han looked sheepish as he raised his second tankard of Alderaanian ale to his lips. “You know me too well,” he admitted. “But what could I do, Mako? Nyklas was gonna kill Chewie!”
Mako’s ice-blue eyes were smiling with unaccustomed warmth. “Nothing else you could have done, kid,” he said.
“So, Mako, how’ve you been doing?” Han asked. “How’s the business?”
“Booming, Han,” Mako said. “The Empire’s restrictions are makin’ us all rich, runnin’ contraband of all kinds these days. Spice, yeah, that’s still big. But we do nearly as well these days smuggling arms, weapons components, power paks, all that kind of thing. Luxuries like perfume and Askajian fabric, too. Lemme tell ya, Han, old Palpatine wouldn’t rest nearly as easy nights if he knew how dissatisfied with his rule some worlds are getting.”
“So there’s work here?” Han asked eagerly. “Work for pilots? You know I’m good, Mako.”
Mako signaled the server droid for another round of drinks. “Kid, you’re one of the best, and I’ll let everyone know that,” Mako said, slapping Han on the shoulder. “Badure didn’t name you ‘Slick’ for nothin’! Tell you what, want to work for me to get your feet wet? I could use a good copilot, and while you’re ridin’ with me, I can show you some of the best runs. I’ll introduce you to all the other runners, too. Some of ’em are bound to need help.”
Han hesitated. “Could Chewie here come along?”
Mako shrugged and took a huge swig of ale. “Can he shoot? I can always use a good gunner.”
“Yeah,” Han said, finishing his own tankard with more confidence than he felt. Chewie was a dead shot with his bowcaster, but he’d only been training as a gunner for a month or so. “He can shoot.”
“It’s all set, then,” Mako said. “Listen, kid, you found yourself a landing zone yet?”
“A landing zone,” in smuggler’s lingo, meant a room or flat. Han shook his head and felt the room lurch slightly. “I was hoping you could recommend a decent place,” he said. “Not too expensive.”
“Sure I can!” Mako said, slurring ever so slightly. “But why don’ you two come stay with me for a day or so, till we c’n get you set up.”
“Well …” Han glanced over at Chewie, “sure, we’d love to, wouldn’ we, ol’ buddy?”
“Hrrrrrrnnnnnnnn!”
Mako insisted on paying for the drinks, then the three left, heading for Mako’s digs. The two humans were rather the worse for the ale they’d consumed, but Mako assured them it wasn’t far. They headed a few levels down, where the buildings were grimier and seamier. “Don’ be fooled,” Mako said, waving a hand at their surroundings. “I’ve got plenty of room, ’n my place is fixed up decent. But living down here, you’re not as much a target for thieves and burglars as the folks livin’ topside.” He jerked a thumb upward.
Han eyed their surroundings, and concluded that back in his days as a burglar he’d have given this area a clean miss. It was unprepossessing. Drunks weaved along the permacrete, and the glidewalks down on this level were permanently broken. Beggars and pickpockets eyed them, but didn’t approach the trio. Han figured that was because Chewbacca was wearing his fiercest “Don’t mess with me or I’ll rip your arm off” look.
But suddenly, what Han had assumed was a heap of old, grimy rags stirred. From within the rags a skeletal human hand appeared, and Han caught just a glimpse of a beaky-nosed, nearly toothless face. An ancient crone, whose eyes shone bright with … what? Drugs? Madness?
Oh, no! Not again! What is it with all the old women on Nar Shaddaa? Can’t wait to get their hands on young pilots?
Han drew back, but the liquor had slowed his reflexes, and he wasn’t quick enough. A second talonlike