Disclaimer: I do not own any of the quotes I used from the following movies: Casablanca, The Big Sleep, and To Have and Have Not. (But I've already established I don't own the Clone Wars on my profile...ha! I slipped out of that one like a pro!...oops, I just did it again for no reason...)
This is my own tribute to Lauren Bacall and the late Humphrey Bogart. Best and purest Hollywood romance of all time. I will never forget you, Mr. Bogart.
So, enjoy!
"Play it again, Todo."
In the cool darkness of the Coruscant cantina, at a table obscured from lazy view behind a pillar, sat two figures. The two mentioned each wore his own version of a wide-brimmed hat—one being a handy disk-like weapon, the other a trademark of his attire. The former had not said a word in quite a handful of minutes, which was normal for him. But it was the latter who had just spoken to the third figure, a small technical service droid to be exact.
"But Bane, I've whistled it for you six times already. Why do I have to do it again? I'm a techno service droid, you know, not a jukebox."
The one who had spoken, and we shall establish that he goes by Cad Bane, tapped his index finger on the table. His hand inched over to his glass, in which was the last of his round of Corellian spice.
"Maybe I like it," he replied, his tone as warmhearted as the Hoth system.
The droid silently scoffed to himself, turned away, and did as he was told.
It was a lovely little tune. Even the other figure, seated across from the droid, had to admit it. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke up, speaking in his own native tongue.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
Cad Bane sighed and, in one swig, finished off his drink. He set the glass down on the table and it made a sharp clack sound.
"Embo, we've been stuck together on 'dis job for over two months. Now we're just two bounty hunters waiting to get our reward back. Right now, all I want is my money so I can start putting together my team for a new job I've 'bin offered."
Embo nodded and didn't say anything at first.
"Agreed. It's time we went our separate ways," he said. "I guess this is the end of a beautiful friendship, then."
"You're all right, pal, but 'dis next job is something I'm not about te pass up."
"If I were so lucky. I plan to swing on by these parts. See what I can pick up. I heard somewhere our kind are needed as—protectors or the like."
"Maybe when 'de war is over, we'll actually get to be a little more choosy, huh?"
To that, Embo let out a small noise Bane assumed was his version of a chuckle. Afterward, the conversation died out like a cold ember.
Bane let out a long, tired sigh as he rested his forearms on the table. So far, they had been waiting half an hour at the designated place they were to receive their pay from a Separatist ambassador. It was not so much the fact that he and Embo could share a few parting drinks in the meantime, but it was the waiting. Perhaps he shouldn't have so-eagerly anticipated a quick enter, exit, and off to restock on supplies and gear up for the next job. Still, a guy with a couple dozen folks who would love to fill his carcass with lasers could only hang out for so long.
As Embo ordered them each another drink, Bane took another glance around the cantina. It was not so crowded in mid-afternoon, but business was still going. A drunk here and there, some laughter there, gambling a couple tables away, and always the music in the background. Always the damned music.
He bristled when he felt someone accidentally bump his shoulder. With his head still lowered, he glanced to his left. A humanoid woman with ivory skin and an orange suit took a step back, her hand gently touching his bicep.
"Sorry 'bout that, cowboy," she muttered, fluttering her long, dark eyelashes.
"No need for 'dat," said Bane, waving her off. He couldn't help but glance at her from the top down as she continued on her way. Cute face. Long hair. And an ass hot as hell.
When their drinks arrived, Embo slid Bane's across the table to him and said,
"Oh, by the way, it's your turn to give the tip."
"Damn. I should have expected 'dat coming from you." Bane sat up and leaned back in his chair, reaching for his wallet, which was in his coat pocket.
He stopped. He checked his pocket again. Where in...it was gone.
Gone? He checked his other one...his breast pocket...his—it was gone!
"Is something the matter, Bane?" Todo asked. Was he programmed to sound that sarcastic?
"Can it, Todo." Bane glanced up, but the ivory-skinned woman with the hot ass was gone. "I'll be goddamned. That dame took my wallet."
Embo took out a fresh cigarette from his pocket and twirled it between his fingers, acting as if he didn't care, which he probably didn't.
"Well..." he drawled.
Bane, his blood running hot with the indignity of it all, jumped up from his chair. This time, when he looked around the cantina, his crimson eyes were flashing, almost burning. The whiskey was beginning to go all but sour in his mouth. Then...was that her? Yes, it was her—leaning on the counter with her long, skeletal fingers playing on the brass buttons of some Rodian smoking a deathstick. She was smiling slyly. She had a cute smile, too.
"I guess I'll see you around, sailor," she said to the Rodian, after which giving his collar a gentle rub and a pat of farewell.
"Anytime, Aurra," the Rodian replied, sucking at his deathstick with passion.
Even Bane could not help but notice that, as the ivory-skinned woman stood up straight and walked past her Rodian associate, her hand slipped into the inside of his coat and pulled out a small security chip. The poor fellow had not even noticed, as he was too busy touching his collar where her fingers had just been.
What a pansy, Cad Bane thought to himself with a grunt.
The insides of the woman's thighs rubbed against each other as she trotted patiently, as if she were crossing a minefield. Bane noticed she was heading for the side exit, a homely open doorway in a secluded corner of the cantina. Being a good ten paces closer to the exit than her, Bane arrived at the spot mere seconds before she could. He dug his shoulder into the wall behind him while pressing his palm into the other. By then, it was impossible for her to pretend she hadn't noticed him. When their eyes met, a calm smirk spread on her lips.
She stopped and sniffed at the bounty hunter with the wide-brimmed hat who was blocking her escape.
"You almost got away with it, Slim," said he, "but you were a little too slow for my taste."
"Looks like you caught me in the act, cowboy. Are you gonna watch me give him his wallet back just for your own entertainment?"
"No, I'm gonna watch you give me back mine."
"Oh?"
And before she could say anymore than that, he straightened and rested one palm over his left holster, puffing out his chest as if to intimidate her.
"Like I said, you almost got away with it. Now be a good kid an' hand it back before you make any more trouble."
"Sure, I'll give it back, if..." she pulled it out from between her breasts, hanging it in mid-air—she was teasing him! "If you happen to have a smoke on you."
"Well, Slim, as a matter of fact..." This time, when his hand went for his pocket, he found what he was looking for. He pulled out his half-empty pack of cigarettes and tossed it to her underhanded. It slapped against the open palm of her free hand, and just as she had promised, she pitched him his wallet. Bane found himself still giving her the cold glare as he stuck it in a safer place beside his holster.
But, holy smokes, the wallet was still warm from its hiding place in the woman's—
"There you go. You happy now, cowboy?"
As earlier mentioned, the side exit was stuck in a secluded place, and no else could hear, much less listen in on, this conversation.
"On second thought, no, I'm not."
"Are you asking for an apology?"
"No, I'm not at 'dat part yet. Three times 'dis year someone's tried to pickpocket me just like you did—one here, one on Tattooine, an' one on Nal Hutta. I saw it comin' before 'dey even had their paws on me an' I shot them all down like wompa-rats."
"Blasters don't work on me. It's been tried."
She's a smart gal, he thought with growing interest and parallel hunger pains. We could use someone with her talents. She isn't scared easily. And she's quite the looker.
"Don't start putting words in my mouth, Slim." He crossed his arms as his eyes glazed over her. "You're 'de first one who stole from me an' is still living te tell about it. I would chew on you harder for 'dat, but I got a better idea. How 'bout I buy you a drink an' see if you're open to a job offer straight from 'de boss?"
The ivory-skinned woman let out a deep, throaty chuckle and she propped one hand on her hip and her grin cracked a third of an inch wider.
"For someone who's letting this girl off the hook, you're not such a bad catch, cowboy. What you go by?"
"Say yours first, Slim."
"All right. I'm Sing. Aurra Sing. You heard of me? You haven't? Take it or leave it."
"What kind of drink do you want, Slim?" Now knowing escape had slipped out of her mind, Bane relaxed and slowly made his way to the counter. The woman—Aurra Sing—was not reluctant to follow. She was probably holding suspicions, but she should know that if he had wanted to he would have already killed her.
"Whiskey," said Sing, as she puckered her lips over the cigarette in her mouth. She sat down on a stool, crossing one knee over the other. Bane decided to remain standing. "Now, cowboy, what sort of job offer are you thinking about?"
"If you want te know, we'll have te find another place to talk."
"That kind of job, huh? Sounds like just my size. So what does my new boss go by?"
"Name's Cad Bane. If you have any more questions, let's head on upstairs."
"What kind of questions?" She took a long, luxurious drag on her cigarette.
Bane fingered the rim of his hat around the front as he leaned in a bit closer to this girl next to him on a stool.
"Like where I come from. How many weapons I carry. What my favorite drink is." He paused, as his trademark sneer mixed with a smile and spread on his thin, cracked lips. "The way I work."
"Go ahead, Cad Bane. I like the way you work." She rested her chin in her palm, and her arm brushed his for a brief but arousing moment. "In case you don't know it, you're doing all right."
"Unless you need another drink, why don't we finish 'dis conversation upstairs."
"Did you forget we just met?" She held up her shot of whiskey and finished it off in one swig.
Cad Bane was just about to reply, when he heard familiar footsteps behind him, which he recognized in an instant. Cursing to himself, he stood up and turned around, and Embo stood rigidly with Todo tagging along at his feet.
"Pay's here, Bane," said Embo. Then his eyes flickered as he noticed the woman. "Busy again already?"
"I 'tink I'm about to be," said Bane, and he wasn't sure whom he was really speaking to—Embo, or Aurra Sing. He glanced back at her.
She did that smirk again, and lightly pinched the cigarette in her index finger and thumb, holding it up within his reaching distance. Bane's sneer spread as he slowly stuck two long, bony fingers on each side of the cigarette, raised it to his lips, and sucked in a 'healthy' dose of nicotine. She was still smirking as he folded his hand over hers and handed her back the cigarette, which she finished off with pleasure.
"Looks like I have a bit of business te do," he told Sing. He gestured with his head to the stairway next to the side exit. "Find us a room upstairs an' meet me 'dere in ten minutes."
She nodded slowly, as if to herself, as Bane began to turn away to follow Embo, so their waiting could finally end and today would become the payday it was supposed to be.
"Oh, and Slim," he couldn't help but add teasingly, just to see how she'd respond, "If I'm not back by 'den, something probably went wrong."
"So you can signal me. Maybe with a whistle," Sing chuckled. "You know how to whistle, don't you, Cad Bane? You just put your lips together, and blow."
As Bane and Embo approached the Separatist ambassador waiting for them outside, Embo added,
"You lose your senses around women, you know."
"I might. I might not."
"Whatever that is supposed to mean, I am not interested for details," Todo muttered to himself.