Disclaimer: None of this is mine. The universe belongs to Mr Lucas. Literally.
There he was, the cocky Corellian slime ball, leaning against the wall as if he owned the place. Greedo's suckered fingers caressed his blaster pistol longingly. Oh, what he wouldn't give to fry a gaping hole through the middle of that smug face. But Jabba wanted money, and Greedo highly doubted the Hutt lord would be pleased if he received Solo in pieces, and consequently unable to pay off his debt.
Greedo had been exceptionally disappointed to find it was a live bounty that rested on the smuggler's head. For reasons that quite escaped the Rodian, Jabba was fond of Han Solo. But not fond enough to ignore a lost load of cargo. Greedo's long snout twitched as he smirked. Oh no, Solo was going to pay for that one.
He narrowed his large bulbous eyes in an attempt to see through the smoky gloom of the cantina. The smuggler was in the far corner, conversing jovially with a pair of fierce looking Verillian blade runners. Greedo shifted slightly in his seat. One small movement, that's all it would take, and Solo would be nothing more than a smoldering pile of flesh on the sticky cantina floor. But he would wait until he was alone to confront him. As much as his fingers itched to squeeze the trigger of his blaster, he wasn't fool enough to pick a fight right under the noses of those nasty knife wielders – especially if they were going to side with the Corellian.
But no matter. Greedo could wait…
The Rodian settled back in his seat as he watched Solo chat with the Verillii. How irksomely predictable. Han Solo would befriend the most dangerous pair of sentients in the place. It was a wonder he wasn't dead yet, the company he kept… and speaking of which – Greedo stiffened – where was the Wookie? The Rodian's eyes darted around the cantina, halting as they caught on a massive shadow by the bar. There he was, buying drinks. Greedo made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. The great hulking thing was never far behind when Solo was around; curse that hairy beast. Trust the Corellian to run round with a 7-foot tall anger management problem that would dismember you as soon as look at you.
Greedo swallowed and rubbed his skinny arms unconsciously as he watched the Wookie. The memory of what had befallen poor old Snarb at his great paws would stay with him till his dying day. All the unfortunate Nondox had done was beat him in a game of holochess. And he had such troubles walking without his arms for balance…
He shuddered slightly. They were no good, either of them. Both Solo and his Wookie friend (whose name he had never managed to get his rubbery lips around) deserved to be thrown to Jabba's Rancour.
The Rodian smiled at the thought. He sat for a moment, caught up in visions of the smuggling pair's untimely demise, and only looked up lazily when the oozing sentient next to him dropped his glass. A scuffle appeared to have broken out on the other side of the bar. Greedo eyed the confrontation with light interest as a loud droning noise pulsated across the room, finding its source to be one of the strangest weapons he had ever seen. It was some sort of sword, and although Greedo scoffed at the primitive form of weaponry, the bright glow
emitting from the blade had his curiosity fixed. The old human whose hand was wrapped around the hilt banished it threateningly, causing the weapon to hum with the movement.
Greedo's eyes shifted downwards to his drink in decided disinterest as the man waved his weapon about a bit more. Bar fights were not so infrequent as to be worthy of his attention, regardless of the strange glowing sword. But he did wish the ancient old human would put it away. Its buzzing was echoing through his sensitive ears and causing his head to throb. His large eyes snapped back up to glare across the room. And the band, that stupid group of Bith, had stopped playing. Clearly they were new.
Greedo continued to glare as the human deactivated his weapon with a hiss. He then bent to help a floored farmhand to his feet, and the Rodian's interest once again evaporated. Except, damn it all, now the Wookie had disappeared. Greedo flinched habitually as his eyes whizzed around the room a second time, hunting for the enormous sentient. As a rule, he tried to keep one eye trained on the Wookie at all times. The green mercenary valued his limbs, and frankly didn't trust the great hairy thing any further than he could throw him – which, he mused, would not be very far at all.
Ah, there he was. His eyes once again came to rest on the Wookie, who was now conversing with Solo in the opposite corner. Greedo saw Solo rub a hand thoughtfully across his jaw, nod once, and mutter something to his shaggy companion. He then watched the Wookie carefully as he left Solo and ambled through the crowd to join – well that was interesting – the old man who had sliced the arm off the Aqualish, and his farm boy cohort with the youthful face.
Greedo hummed thoughtfully. Very interesting indeed. So Solo and the strange humans were conspiring? Well, the Corellion had another thing coming if he expected to get off-planet without reimbursing Jabba first. Or at least answering to Greedo.
But that was the question upon which it all rested, wasn't it? Would Solo have enough credits to pay off the slimy gangster? Greedo highly doubted it. And what would Jabba do if Solo couldn't pay his debt? Feed him to the giant sandpit with teeth, perhaps? But then, the Hutt found great pleasure in seizing property. And he did have a soft spot the Corellian….
Greedo's skinny shoulders drooped slightly in disappointment. No, Solo would not be fed to the enormous desert worm. But what did the smuggler have by way of confiscatable property? His ship? He sipped his drink broodingly, watching Solo, who had joined the questionable pair humans at a table, lean forward in muted conversation with them. As he eyed the trio, the Rodian wondered inwardly how much the smuggler owed the Hutt lord. It must be a large amount; he had heard through the grape vine that it was a shipment of illegal spices Solo had dropped. Perhaps he could get a few of those credits off him before he turned him in.
The green sentient's gaze left his intended prey for an instant to glance at the cantina door, through which a couple of Stormtroopers had entered. When he turned back to the table, the old man and the farm boy were gone. Greedo rolled his large eyes. Humans, what a skittish race.
The Wookie was moving now, exiting the smoky cantina by way of the back door. Greedo watched as the door swung shut behind his hulking form, then turned greedily to Solo, who was, at long last, completely alone. The Rodian did not hesitate. Raising his blaster, he pounced on the smuggler as he began to make his way to the front entrance.
"Koona t'chuta, Solo?"
Greedo wasted no time attempting the awkward Basic language. He was perfectly aware the Corellian understood his preferred vernacular of Huttese.
The smuggler raised his hands as Greedo held the blaster pistol to his chest, forcing him backwards and into the booth he had vacated moments before.
"Yes, Greedo, in fact I was just going to see your boss," Solo smiled, "tell Jabba I've got the money."
Greedo snickered nastily as he lowered himself into the seat opposite Solo, the muzzle of his weapon never straying from its target. "It's too late," he said, "you should have paid him when you had the chance. Jabba's put a price on your head so large every bounty hunter in the galaxy will be looking for you."
"Yeah, but this time I've got the money," Solo rested his foot on his knee and leaned back, a patronizing, supercilious expression spreading across his face.
Greedo felt his blood begin to boil. Oh how he loathed, loathed the cockiness of the arrogant smuggler. What he wouldn't give to put a searing hole through his smirking face,
"Hand it over then," Greedo said, his finger inching closer to the trigger of his blaster.
Solo rolled his eyes, his hand rising to pick absently at the creviced stone wall behind him. "I don't have it with me," he drawled, "Tell Jabba –"
But Greedo wasn't having that. Either Solo had the money and was lying through his teeth, or the smuggler didn't have two credits to rub together and had absolutely no intention of repaying the Hutt. If Solo did indeed have the money, the Rodian would simply seize the pile of credits for himself. The green mercenary was never one to turn up his snout at an opportunity to make a profit, and he had a good idea that Solo's debt was far greater than the reward for bringing him to the Hutt lord alive.
If it was the latter, well then, Greedo would blast the obnoxious Corellian to atoms then and there. He would then take the smuggler's swollen-headed corpse and drag it through the sand dunes to Jabba's palace. The Hutt would be displeased, admittedly, but the slimy worm would just have to deal with it.
Greedo weighed his options. Deciding he would offer the petty criminal one last chance to pay up, he spoke.
"If you give it to me, I might forget I found you. Jabba's through with you. He has no use for smugglers who drop their cargo at the first sign of an Imperial crusier."
"Even I get boarded sometimes," Solo replied smoothly, "you think I had a choice?"
Greedo smirked inwardly. Very well, if that was the way he wanted to play it…
"You can tell that to Jabba. He may only take your ship."
The Corellian's face darkened. "Over my dead body," he growled.
"That's the idea."
It was the cue Greedo had been waiting for. He happily pulled his suckered green finger against the trigger of his blaster, but couldn't help himself from throwing one last sneering comment at the smuggler before he vaporized his innards.
"I've been looking forward to this for a long time."
Solo raised his fingers in mocking consensus. "Yes," he drawled, "I bet you have."
There was a flash of light and the sound of wood splintering as a blaster shot fizzled through the air. Greedo's lifeless head hit the broken remnants of the aged table with a loud thunk.
Han Solo cocked his head slightly to one side, his expression neutral. He then casually returned his weapon to its holster on his thigh and got to his feet. As he made his way out of the cantina, the tall smuggler flipped a coin into the barman's hand.
"Sorry about the mess."