CHAPTER 37: Hazard

Reformation Year 980.06.15
Nar Shaddaa

Hunting down Shekkisch Vanner had been a chore and a half. It would have been marginally easier without the added complication of the Uvak Mercenaries butting in on things.

"Look, kid, I'm worth more alive than dead, right?" The Houk conman ducked reflexively as a shot scored a divot in the wall they were sheltering behind.

Obi-Wan returned with a couple shots of his own and heard muffled swearing. "Yes. Yes, you are." He popped the drained charge pack from his left-hand blaster, peeked around the corner, dodged another blaster shot, and threw the pack at an exposed head he could see on the other side of the room. A smirk curled his lip under his helmet when the projectile struck true and the other mercenary fell below the level of the table. "Starting a casino blaster-fight isn't how I intended to approach you, but it looked like you were about to have trouble."

"You got a hell of a throw, for a human. I'm guessing you're human under that getup." The big alien held his hands up. "Give me my blaster back and get me outta here in one piece, I'll behave and take my chances with Firketi."

A brief check in the Force told Obi-Wan that the man was being as honest as he ever was - Garris Shrike had a personal axe to grind with Vanner, while Firketi was a cartel boss with a reputation for being reasonable. Shocking, really. Obi-Wan handed the confiscated weapon back, grip-first. "No funny business, or I'll cut my losses and leave you cuffed to the bar for our temperamental Corellian friend over there."

"Whatever happened to common decency?" his target muttered. He joined Obi-Wan in laying down just enough covering fire to dissuade Shrike's backup from moving.

"Doesn't exist on Nar Shaddaa." Obi-Wan opened his comm. "Feid, status?"

"In thirty seconds, get ready to run for the nearest exit."

He blinked. "You mean the blasted-out window? Feid-"

"A little base-jumping never hurt anyone!" Her wild grin was clear in her voice despite the wind shrieking past her headset.

"I really hope you know what you're doing." Obi-Wan turned his external vox back on and got Vanner's attention. "On my mark, run for the window."

The bigger man stared at him, looking about as horrified as a Houk could express. "I said, in one piece!"

"Trust me, my people know what they're doing," he said with a lot more confidence than he felt.

Deesix's sudden transmission of, "Go!" was all the warning he got before the Staff Only door on the other side of the room exploded inward. The shriek of laser-fire was overridden by the deeper bark of Dee and Pulkka's blaster rifles; the droid spared a moment to lob a metallic sphere into the room, which broke open on the floor with a gout of thick greenish smoke. Shrike's team yelled in dismay and refocused on the new threat. Not waiting to see what happened, Obi-Wan grabbed Vanner's shoulder and shoved.

"Let's go!"

The Houk balked at the blasted-out window frame, and Obi-Wan added a bit of Force to his shove and followed him through. The drop was just far enough for their target to yell in fear before landing heavily in the back of Feid's open speeder. The vehicle rocked from their double impact but she didn't even wait for them to recover before sending it into a dive.

"I, uh, might have got the attention of some security force or other!" his second-in-command called cheerfully over the wind. In the front passenger seat, Zohli twisted to grin at them, her scaled-down rifle gripped tightly with both hands. "It's been an interesting day! How about you?"

Obi-Wan levered himself upright using the back of Feid's seat. "Oh, about the usual! Can you see about losing the heat?" The sirens he'd thought he'd heard earlier were definitely closer.

"Playing bait! If security is following us, they're not at the casino."

Vanner was already fumbling with the restraints, looking a bit green around the gills. Despite his species' reputation for working primarily as muscle, Shekkisch Vanner preferred comfort and taking advantage of everyone assuming he was a big, dumb brute. Personally, Obi-Wan thought it was a clever ruse. But a job was a job.

He twisted in his seat and pulled up his helmet's imaging. A quick flip through to compensate for the smoggy gloom of Nar Shaddaa's midlevels and some magnification, and he was able to make out the security vehicles closing in on them. He cursed softly. "Nope, you'll want to lose these ones, it's more of the Uvaks. Guess they were keeping an eye on you."

"It's so nice to have friends in low places. Siddown and strap in before you fall out." Feid hit something which caused the speeder's weather canopy to unfurl and close over their heads.

Feid was really starting to hate these assholes. She and Zoh had been on their way out of Minchin's shop when the skinny, dark-haired Uvak pilot, Toth, had cornered them.

"Feid. Fancy meeting you here." His smile had held no warmth.

"Fancy, indeed," she'd replied with an eyeroll and a close mimic of his stuffy accent, stepping aside so he could pass through into the shop. Instead, he'd mirrored her, blocking her path; the brush of Zohli's hand on her shoulder let her know Bastra's girl was right behind her and ready.

"We know why your team is here," Toth had said mildly. "We have our own interests in the target. You'd be best advised to back off."

"I dunno what you're talking about, Cavik. Me and the girl here are just doin' some shopping."

The human made a rude show of eyeing them. "You don't appear to be carrying anything."

Half-hidden behind Feid, Zohli snorted. "You've never asked to have something delivered before?"

Feid pressed her lips together against a smirk. Sharp, kid.

Toth sneered at her. "Shush, the grown-ups are talking."

Zoh punched him right where Bastra had taught her, and Toth folded like a losing sabacc hand, wheezing. Feid whipped the side of her fist into the nerve cluster behind the man's ear and grabbed Zoh's hand as Toth dropped to the filthy duracrete. "C'mon, speeder's this way!"

Ringing Toth's bell had given them enough time to get their new-used speeder almost to the casino where Bastra had been hoping Vanner would be feeling cooperative, but not quite enough time for a clean-ish getaway.

"What'd you do to piss off Shrike?" she yelled over the scream of the engines and other vehicles' warning alarms.

Their target had sunk as low in his seat as the restraints would let the big alien go, his knees pressed between his chest and the back of Zoh's chair. If his species could sweat, he would have been drenched; the man managed a wan smile that bared a row of small, pointed teeth. "Sent 'em on a wild tooka chase, in exchange for quite a lot of credits. Nothing compared to what Firketi is mad at me for, trust me. This was just for laughs."

Bastra was twisted around in his seat, watching their pursuers; he chuckled. "I can appreciate that. If it wasn't for the job-"

"I get it, you got a reputation to maintain." Vanner gulped and flailed for the grip-bar attached to the underside of the weather canopy. The interlocked plastoid panels would shrug off most blaster-fire, but not so effectively that Feid was willing to risk them unnecessarily. "Right now I'm kinda glad you guys turned up. If Firketi lets me live, I'll buy you drinks."

Bastra had turned off his vox; his next words came through Feid's earpiece. "I just got word from Phel: the Uvaks have the ship under surveillance. Dee and Pulkka are clear, but they can't get back to the Sunflare, and we might be in trouble if we try it, too."

"Do they know about the Veeka?" she murmured.

"Possibly, but even if they don't, that's not a skifter I want to play right now. You know the city better than I do; what are our options?"

"Hmm." Feid twitched the speeder's controls, throwing it at a downward angle to the right and ploughing through three levels of very displeased Nar Shaddaa traffic. "We need to lose the mynocks first. Spaceport speeder lanes are the best place to blend in, lots of tunnels to break sight lines, and if the Uvaks try anything funny, the traffic security there takes its job seriously."

"Do it."

"You got it, boss."

The stolen maintenance coverall was enough of a disguise that even the spaceport security bought Phel's cover as a tech running standard tests on the system. Having Kate along helped.

Xe adjusted the strength of the carrier signal xe'd hooked into the spaceport's outbound data traffic. The larger data-entity of the spaceport was enough to mask what xe was really doing: altering alert messages about Feid's speeder to match the ident for the Uvak's pursuit vehicle. Bastra had skimmed the other speeder's codes when it got too close, and it gave Phel more than enough to work with.

"Hey you!"

Phel didn't look up. "Busy here, security station's over there if you're lost." Xe pointed with xir thumb down the access corridor.

The high whine of a blaster charging up brought xir head around. A wiry human man and a pale-green Twi'lek woman in Uvak uniform were coming towards xir with purpose.

"You're Bastra's little pet data monkey, aren't you?" the woman snarled.

"Lady, I dunno what you're talking about." Phel spared a quick glance to check that the interference had gone through. The Uvaks were now on the security alert for stealing spice from one of the local cartel warehouses. It would take hours to sort it out. "I'm just doin' my job here-ow!"

The bigger human shoved xir back into the wall; Phel's head hit duracrete hard enough to see stars. "None of that cute shit. I remember you from Corellia."

Despite the spots in xir vision, Phel protested, "I dunno what you're talking about!"

The Twi'lek woman dug the barrel of her blaster under xir jaw, red eyes narrowed. "No, I remember you, too. It seems we're in need of a little hostage exchange. You'll do nicely."

Someone further up the corridor cleared their throat; the three of them looked over to see Pulkka leaning against the wall with her rifle held casually at the ready in one massive fist. "Don't mind me."

It was a small distraction, but enough. Phel flexed xir wrist and jabbed the electric probe rigged up xir sleeve into the woman's side; Kate just outright zapped the human in the ass. Both mercenaries dropped, twitching, and the woman's blaster clattered from her limp fingers.

Xe grinned. "Thanks, Pulkka."

The Whiphid matriarch bared her tusks cheerfully. "We all done here?"

A quick check of the spaceport alerts showed security locking down the Uvaks' hangars. "Yeah, we're done, let's go."

"What do you mean, 'we're done?' We're not done, Toth. Your boys fucked up-"

"I said, we're done." Cavik glared at Garris Shrike - his co-leader of the Uvak Mercenaries for going on three years - and shook his head. "The only person who fucked up today was you."

Garris's thick brows pulled down thunderously and he stood, knocking his chair over. "That two-credit bounty hunter made off with Vanner and you might as well have invited him to just walk in-"

Cavik straightened painfully - the Zabrak woman's knock to his head had left behind a migraine to remember her by - and closed the short distance between them. "Shrike, we're not doing this. You got upset that Vanner pulled one over on you - which," he raised his voice over Garris' objections, "I distinctly remember warning you about. And if you hadn't decided that you really, really wanted to carve our credits - yes, ours, they came out of the company account - back out of his hide, over half of the company wouldn't be in a security lockup right now, under completely falsified charges that Bastra's people had to make up to get us off their backs!"

Garris snarled; his breath was sour and reeked of the cheap whiskey he'd been drinking at the casino. Cavik snorted the stench from his nose and took a step back. "We're done, Garris. When you get tired of jumping on every get-rich-quick scheme and throwing petty, unprofessional tantrums when they blow up in your face, you can talk to me again about working together."

He turned his back on Garris, half-expecting a sucker-punch to the kidneys, and left the lounge. Behind him, Garris belched an ugly laugh.

"You'll be back. You couldn't get your little outfit together without my help, remember? You'll be back!"

Cavik's teeth ground but he kept going until the ship's hatch swished closed behind him. It took effort to stop his hands from shaking - nerves, rage, leftover reaction from being punched-down by a half-pint teenager. It didn't matter. Shrike's drunken errors were losing the company a lot of the respect Cavik had worked so hard to earn them.

In a way, he owed Bastra for the wake-up alarm. He also owed the man a swift punch to the jaw.

What remained of the Uvaks were strewn around the hangar in various states of discomfort. The six who'd been with Shrike at the casino were still coughing from whatever foul mixture Bastra's droid had seasoned the air with; one of them had a concussion from being hit by a drained power pack, and everyone had superficial scrapes and non-lethal blaster burns.

The fact that Bastra had been aiming for non-lethal shots seared Cavik's pride. One human against seven seasoned mercs, and even his backup had only fired to keep everyone ducking. It was insulting.

Bella, pale and still a little shaky, looked up from where she was applying a bacta patch to the burn on her side. Bastra's slicer had a bit of a bite to them after all. "What's the plan, sir?"

That was a good question. Cavik surveyed the ships docked there. The only ones they could properly claim were his and Bella's personal cruisers; everything else had been purchased from the collective funds. A clean break couldn't be tarnished with that sort of grudge.

They'd need to build up again. Maybe as privateers: a stable contract would give them the startup capital to build a new fleet and some steady work. He'd have to ply his contacts, but the last two-and-some years had given them enough to go on.

They could manage.

"Let the others know that we're leaving. Anyone who's coming needs to talk to me or you within the hour." He met her eyes and she nodded, looking grim.

"What about the ones in lockup?"

Cavik turned on his heel and headed for his speeder. "I have the evidence we need to get them out. Get your ship prepped to fly, and we'll see how much loyalty is worth these days."

Obi-Wan hadn't planned on mentioning the Uvaks' interference when they finally delivered an incredibly cooperative Vanner to Firketi's tower on Deneba, but Vanner himself mentioned it and suggested the bounty hunter's team had earned a bonus. Knowing Vanner was probably intending to pull something and come back later to claim Obi-Wan owed him, Obi-Wan had demurred and told the truth: that it was just part of the job.

The Nikto cartel boss had asked him to remain; Obi-Wan, Feid and Deesix found themselves being led to a comfortable meeting room with cushioned chairs and an inviting sideboard. Dee confirmed the refreshments hadn't been tampered with, and they settled in to wait.

Firketi rejoined them a half hour later. [[I know you turned down a bonus, Captain, but you've at least earned something extra for dealing with that.]] He placed a bottle of Corellian brandy on the table between them and took a seat with a wry grin. [[Consider that Vanner won't be able to claim that on your non-existent tab.]]

Feid raised her eyebrows at him; Obi-Wan tilted his head to the side in response and reached forward to claim the bottle. "You know my tastes, I see."

[[I like to know who I'm hiring, Captain.]] The cartel boss brushed an imaginary crease from the leg of his expensive suit as he leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. [[In your case, I think you could stand to push your clients a bit more. You're far too modest, and it's going to get you taken advantage of someday.]]

Feid chuckled. "Free advice from the head of the Ivory Talon?"

[[Oh, it's not free.]] He bared his fangs cheerfully. [[I have another job, if you're interested. Another live take, although if someone put her out of my misery, I wouldn't drop the reward too much. Likely not as cooperative as Vanner, you'd have to really work for it.]]

Obi-Wan made a show of studying the way the green liquor in his glass caught the amber lights in the room. "I'm listening."

Firketi tapped a button on the table in front of him; the holoprojector in the middle lit up to display a dossier and a cycling series of holoportraits gleaned from security cameras at eye-level. [[Sairel Draa. She's trying to poach my freighter pilots and contract haulers for her own employers, and arranging for them to be attacked if they refuse. One of my best ended up in bacta for a month because of her.]] His yellow eyes narrowed at the holo, and a quiet rage crackled against Obi-Wan's senses. [[I have questions for her, but it's nothing I couldn't also find out from, say, a data-dump of her ship's computer logs. You understand?]]

From the corner of Obi-Wan's vision, Feid's fingers twitched. He nodded slightly: he recognised the name alright. "Is there a time limit on this?"

"Nobata." Firketi shook his head. [[But unlike last time, I don't have information on her whereabouts. You'll need to do the legwork yourself.]]

"The usual rate applies?"

The Talon boss shrugged. [[Normally I would offer a slightly higher fee for the difficulty, but as your second pointed out, advice is rarely free.]] He was teasing about Feid's comment, but also serious. Twenty thousand peggat was still reasonable. Obi-Wan nodded in understanding.

Feid spoke up. "Is there any… preferred condition you'd like her delivered in?"

This time, the bared fangs had a grim cast. [[Capable of answering questions, although if you get a good data dump from her systems, I can forgive the loss.]]

He received an agreeable nod from Feid and a head-tilt from Dee; Firketi chuckled.

[[You ask the droid's opinion?]]

Obi-Wan offered a bland smile. "I find its probability calculations to be largely accurate and invaluable in our work." Trying to explain that the droid had as much say in how much danger Obi-Wan dragged it into as the rest of his crew usually received blank stares and offensive questions; they had long since stopped trying to explain things.

[[I saw the footage from the casino. Where do you get a droid that capable?]]

He chuckled. "You play cards with the right people in the right place." Obi-Wan drained off his glass and set it on the table with a decisive click. "We accept your terms, Firketi."

[[Excellent! And maybe someday I can entice you into a game of sabacc, Captain Bastra,]] the other man said with a grin as he shook first Obi-Wan and then Feid's hands.

"That would be entertaining, although I'm not sure I could afford an ante on your level," he replied neutrally. It was a bad idea to push the boundary between employer and contract, anyway, particularly when the employer represented a criminal element.

Obi-Wan commed Phel with the new bounty details once they were in the speeder and on their way home. As he signed off, Feid said, "This is the same sleemo cheeka that got us shot at on Bespin."

"Unless there's another Sairel Draa who has the same working style."

Dee made a thoughtful noise. "That was almost four years ago?"

"Yeah," Feid growled. "Booster is still having trouble picking up the pieces after that."

He blinked. "What, still?"

She shook her head. "You know Booster, he won't take charity from anyone. He's smuggling supplies through blockades right now."

That was news. "Blockades? Where?"

Feid kept her eyes on the traffic. "The Trade Federation has been tossing their weight around more. Last month they were strong-arming Sharlissia for exclusive access on the Trade Corridor through Kabal. Now it's Gesmar Industrial on Lannik. They had a shipping deal with the Commerce Guild, but the Guild has been raising the shipping rates and Gesmar can't afford it, so the Trade Federation is trying to buy them out."

"How do you even block off hyperlane access? That's ridiculous." He squinted against the wind, bearing Nar Shaddaa's particular perfume of methane, starship fuel, and petrochemical smoke. The air always carried a touch of grittiness that coated the skin after a while.

Dee snorted from the rear seat. "Not every sentient is confident enough to skip the established entry and exit coordinates. Even the Trade Federation doesn't flirt with gravity wells like you do."

"I keep telling you, flirting puts them off their guard," Obi-Wan said with a grin. Feid muttered something he couldn't make out over the wind, shaking her head. The droid mimicked the way Obi-Wan rolled his eyes while wearing his helmet, which was frightfully endearing. He chuckled, but it died quickly. "It's all about credits. Last I heard, both the Trade Federation and the Commerce Guild were challenging the Republic's hyperlane tax rates. If they have exclusive rights over a planet's exports, the export tax is pointless. But import taxes still hit them unless they hold both ends of the line."

"So they're trying to build a monopoly," the droid said.

"Basically. I'm sorry that Booster's been caught up in that." He sighed. "Maybe we should pay him a visit anyway, once this job's done."

"That'll be fun," Feid grinned. "He'll probably throw a bottle at you. And then ask for your personal hyperspace calculations."

"He's welcome to them." Obi-Wan eyed the approaching spaceport thoughtfully. The air around it was still swarming with flashing security lights from the earlier altercation with the Uvaks. "Will you need help fitting the speeder in once we get back? I need to check in with Maz."

Shaking her head, Feid guided the speeder past the temporary security checkpoint. "We can sort it out while you talk about evil cubes."

Obi-Wan had been correct in guessing the old pirate would be less than thrilled with him bringing Adas' holocron to Takodana, but she'd agreed with Ulic that something like that wouldn't allow itself to be forgotten.

It also wouldn't stop at sitting peacefully in a box. Until they could acquire the materials to contain it, Ulic had volunteered to remain behind, in Maz's secure office, and use what power he had to shield the thing. Acquiring that much solid cortosis plating was expensive; getting a blank kyber crystal to energise the containment field even more so. Obi-Wan knew with absolute certainty that the Jedha Guardians wouldn't donate a crystal to the cause, and had made use of Maz's contacts on Christophsis.

It was less than optimal: the holocron would taint the crystal over time and the containment would fail. Maz was probably right in that what they really needed was access to the same Rakata technology that had been used to create the holocron in the first place: nothing else would ever have more than a temporary effect. Given the reports of the last contacts with such places, and the fact that the majority had been sealed by Republic exploration teams for reasons such as cyber-corruption, cognitive subsumption, and artifact retains malicious sentience, Obi-Wan really was not eager to investigate.

Maz assured him that the holocron was, for lack of a better turn of phrase, behaving itself. Ulic wasn't able to transmit through the comm, but Maz passed on the message that the Sith spirit found the experience less than pleasant and that he hoped Obi-Wan wasn't doing anything he wouldn't do.

He wrapped up the call and opened the door from his quarters, to find his way blocked by Zohli.

His daughter braced her hands on her hips, just above the blasters Pulkka had given her, and gave him a level stare, her ears swiveled flat. "I want to actually do something this time, At'tha."

Obi-Wan mimicked Zoh's pose, tilting his head slightly. "Are you sure about that?"

Her green eyes narrowed. "I've been watching and helping for a year-"

"Not quite a year."

"- whatever, and I know how you like to manage these things. Phel said Draa always has bodyguards, you'll need more backup to get to her."

He let the smallest smile leak onto his face. "You think so?"

She nodded firmly. "You'll need to separate her from her guards somehow. I can help with that."

Obi-Wan studied Zoh for a long moment; if anything, she merely looked more stubborn, rather than wilting. Oh, she definitely reminds me of a particular young Jedi initiate I used to see in the mirror. He grinned and pulled her into a hug she returned tightly. "I think we can work you into the plan. Let's go see what Phel and Kate have dug up."

#Your teeth are not intended for masticating plastoid, Phel. You are doing me a concern.#

Phel glanced at xir stylus in bemusement. "Sorry, Kate. You know how I get distracted."

The droid twisted her dome. #Might I recommend a raw tuber instead? You might find more nutritional value.#

Xe pulled a face and tapped in a new command. "Gross, have you tasted a raw one?"

#It is doubtful that plastoid is any more flavourful.#

"Plastoid doesn't have flavour," xe muttered absently around the stylus. Finding info on Sairel Draa had been disturbingly easy - the woman maintained an extensive HoloNet profile which had clearly been painstakingly scrubbed with credits.

But there was always a dust trail. The trick was to not get caught following it.

Most slicers designed scripts that bounced their signature through various exchanges every few seconds. They were good for keeping the slicer's identity and actual access point hidden, but if a target had their own script set up to notify them when their information was being searched for, they would quickly recognise slicer fingerprints. One night after a run with the Revenants, Phel and Jinkins had sat down with their datapads and a pile of stims, and in fifty-six hours they had crafted an algorithm that slipped into the host databank and passively scanned the base binary code in random clumps before sifting out the keywords and attached files. It demanded an immense amount of storage space, temporarily, but Bastra had kindly used some of the leftover profits from the Krayn takedown to purchase a personal databank from a private host company on Ord Varee.

And then they'd passed out in the corner for a day.

Now Phel sent xir and Jinkins' creation into the Independent Haulers and Trade Association databank with a focus on scheduling and schedule changes. Headhunting was strongly frowned upon in the Republic and in some systems could be considered criminal; what Draa was doing would never be in the official records in plain speech. She was head of their Acquisitions department, which was vague enough to get a pass, but her travel plans and absences would be in their system somewhere. It was just a matter of following the digital footprints.

Xe yawned and got up to get more caff.

"Come on, honey, hand it over." Roz gestured patiently until the small human boy gave her the pen he'd filched from her desk, a guilty look pinking his ears. Not many documents required hand-signing, but there were a few legal matters that required a non-digital signature.

The pens were definitely not meant to be used in altering cheap sabacc decks.

"There are ways to cheat in this game, Boba, honey, but changing the suits by hand is too obvious." Jango's kid - she fondly thought of him as her nephew - had picked up the rules of the game with alacrity and was already trying to bend them. It brought a proud tear to her eye.

"But you won't let me look at the skitter," he complained with an adorable pout. Roz chuckled and wiped a streak of jelly from his cheek with her napkin.

"That's skifter, honey, and I know you want to take it apart to see how it works. But they're expensive things and won't go back together that easy." She didn't mention that the ones she had had been confiscated by bouncers in Outland's casinos. The three-year old wouldn't understand, anyway.

An alert pinged from her desk, and Roz patted Boba on the head. "Be right back, honey, gotta do adult things."

The comm was from one of the slicers she kept on payroll. Roz accepted and said, "What've you got for me, Ghent?"

"Follow-up on Rugar An-Gen, ma'am." The human woman sounded smug. "He's good, but we're better. He's run off to Ki'an Tol Station, Aparo sector. An-Gen is using the cover identity 'Mils Robie' and is meeting a contact there in six days. I'll send you the full collation file once Hian finishes compiling."

Roz grinned. "I knew you kids could do it." An-Gen had chosen to ditch the cartel he'd worked with for the past decade in favour of a better contract; unfortunately, the Bith slicer had decided to sweeten the deal by swiping a ton of valuable information from the cartel's databanks. His former boss wanted both it and him back before any copies could be made.

She shook her head as she signed off. You'd think a cartel employee would know better than to double-cross the very deadly people in charge, but someone always seemed to think they were the exception.

Jango was going to have his work cut out for him at Ki'an Tol. Poncy, pretentious place where traders who didn't have license to operate in the Corporate Sector tried to raise their station. The kid was just gonna love it.

Her pen was missing again. "Boba."

The holos always misrepresented bounty hunting: the bounty hunters always walked right up to their targets in broad daylight, usually in a disturbingly public place, asked them to surrender, then the exciting firefight would happen where the main character was made to look like the biggest badass this side of the Maw.

Probably because nobody wanted to think about the fact that most hunters took their targets when they were off their guard and least expecting it, in a place where the hunter wouldn't have to risk the target getting killed. The reality was much more frightening. If the hero was able to defend themself, the bounty hunter had already karked it.

Right on the edge of the Corporate Sector, Ki'an Tol Station was primarily mercantile: plenty of fancy cantinas for lunch meetings between traders, and a broad concourse full of wholesale outlets for people who could afford to drop a year's standard wages on a single decorative lamp. It was a hunter's nightmare: bustling and busy, and the only people wearing visible armour were station security. Troublemakers were put on the first shuttle outbound, no exceptions; even a guild license wasn't accepted. The only area that might be considered 'lower levels' was the residential quarter where station staff lived with their families. Nobody could be bribed or paid off to turn a blind eye, and in full beskar'gam, Jango drew too much attention.

"What's your business here, Mando?"

The security officers were the well-trained types who took their work seriously. Trying not to sigh, Jango replied, "I'm seeking employment."

One of the officers snorted. The woman who'd accosted him gave him a look-over from head to toe. "You're not the type our clientele usually hire, Mando. You'd have better luck on Kessel."

Translation: Get off our station. Jango tilted his head. "Time was, Mandalorian bodyguards were considered the ultimate display of prosperity."

The third officer shook his head with a disdainful sniff. "Maybe a few centuries ago. You're just directionless thugs, now."

And whose fault was that, Jango? His fists clenched until the leather creaked. There'd be time for self-recriminations later. "Are you asking me to behave myself, or are you asking me to leave?"

The first officer blinked as if she hadn't expected the question. "If you have something less… crude to wear, you may seek a client. I doubt you'll get anywhere, but stranger things have happened."

Jango squinted at her. She was absolutely serious, and if he hadn't already had his fill with the wannabe-Corporate Sector nonsense, it would have been funny. "Not with me. Is there a tailor on the station?"

Being measured for clothes - not something off a rack, but custom-fitted - was one of the more invasive and humiliating experiences of his life. He didn't have to do this. On the other hand, in order to secure An-Gen's stolen data and bring the man back alive, he didn't have much choice. If it wasn't for the availability of armorweave fabric - at additional cost, of course - he would have felt more protected walking around arse naked.

At least the tailor droids took his request to be able to conceal his weapons in stride - they offered a set of clothing they assured him was popular among professional bodyguards in the Corporate Sector. The final product - a high-collared draped shirt, oddly baggy trousers that hugged his legs from the knee down, boots with a subtle armoured toe cap and instep, and an offensively ostentatious, braid-covered jacket that looked tight but offered surprising flexibility - was nice enough to not get him looked at twice, and was capable of hiding the majority of his tools. Fashion that pretended to a martial aspect always irritated him. The dark shades of blue and grey kept him from standing out too much, but he still felt vulnerable without his buy'ce. It couldn't be helped: he'd just have to be smart about ducking if it came to that.

He took the mess back to his ship to change.

The next time he passed a clutch of security, they barely gave him a glance. It made casing the promenade significantly easier, despite the crawling feeling between Jango's shoulderblades.

An-Gen had rented quarters on the station. In theory, that would be the best place to catch him - finding the room number had been alarmingly easy. In practice, the security around the residential section was if anything higher than around the promenade, and getting an unwilling or unconscious Bith back to the docking ring would be nearly impossible. Security in the docking ring could be diverted, at least. It was looking increasingly like he would have to wait for An-Gen to meet with his contact.

Their meeting place was one of the nicer tapcafes on the third level, well-lit in gold against the neon-tinged shadows of the promenade. They had doormen outside for the sake of appearances; they were not official station security, and carried disruptors instead of blasters. It was all so pretty and civilised, it set Jango's teeth on edge.

He turned a corner, thinking longingly of his helmet and its HoloNet uplink, and froze. Was that...?

It was; he was sure of it. As subtly as possible, Jango tailed the man, watching from the corner of his eye as the human made his own exploration of the station's public spaces. He couldn't help but feel somewhat envious of the other man's apparent ease in the upper-class environment and the understated but definitely expensive robes he wore; if he hadn't recognized his face, Jango would have thought him another merchant or maybe a lower-level bureaucrat. The subtle gold emblems embroidered into the sleeves of the man's robe were tickling his memory.

The man paused and answered his comlink without a flicker in his politely mild expression, but Jango got the distinct impression that something had changed. The other hunter turned and retraced his steps smoothly, his silken sleeve brushing Jango's as he passed.

You've been made, son. What are you going to do about it? Jango clenched his teeth and turned away from the menu he'd been pretending to study outside one of the overpriced restaurants. Several meters ahead of him, the station lights gleamed like molten gold off the loose fall of copper hair as the man entered one of the access corridors to the residential lifts.

Those corridors were quiet and rarely patrolled: a good place for a confrontation. Biting the inside of his lip, Jango followed, fingers brushing the grip of his concealed blaster.

He neared the gap between two of the lifts, prepared to enter the one that opened at his approach, and pulled a quickstep to the side, pressing the business end of his Westar to the other man's head.

Jango glared. "You again."

Bastra smirked. "Hello there."

"What are you doing here?"

He shrugged as if he didn't have a blaster pointed at him. "The same as you, I'm guessing. You can put that away, we're not interested in fighting."

"We?"

Loose copper hair flowing over his shoulder, Bastra nodded past him at the security camera in the ceiling on the opposite side of the lobby; when Jango squinted at it, the small activity lights beside the lens winked cheekily. "We don't have much time before security notices the loop. Join me for a drink?"

Jango eyed him with suspicion. Dark makeup lined his eyes like some core-world courtier; together with the scar across his face, it gave him a rakish look. The grey-green silk robes were definitely not cheap, and the wrapped silver tunic underneath hung loose enough to flash a smattering of copper chest hair. The gold accents twanged harder in his memory. "Nice outfit."

"Thank you. It was a gift from Duchess Kryze," Bastra said mildly.

New fucking Mandalorians. Of fucking course. He growled, "Get your knife out of my balls and we can talk."

Bastra's smirk widened and he raised the inactive vibroblade he'd been holding against the inside of Jango's thigh. "Just making sure you asked questions first." The blade disappeared into the folds of the robe; Jango hesitated a moment more before putting his blaster away. He nearly pulled it again when Bastra looped a beringed hand around Jango's bicep as if being escorted and guided him back the way they'd come.

"Let go," he hissed quietly through a brittle smile.

"When in the Corporate Sector, follow the rules of civility," the other chided. His own smile was politician-fake. "There's a tapcaf with a blind spot. This way."

They didn't exchange another word until Bastra had them tucked into a corner table with drinks neither of them planned to finish. The other man studied Jango for a moment. "You look incredibly uncomfortable in that getup, you know."

Jango scowled at him. Bastra winked. "I was only going to say it suits you and you should relax a little."

"Cute."

"I try to be." Bastra mimed sipping his drink and ran his warm, callused right hand over Jango's where it rested on the table; the hair on the back of Jango's neck prickled in fury. "Who are you here for?"

Through clenched teeth, Jango gritted, "Rugar An-Gen. You?"

Copper brows arched in surprise. "Sairel Draa. I'm guessing we were hired by the same people."

It made sense: sending only one hunter after both targets almost guaranteed something would go wrong. With an effort, Jango left his hand where it was under Bastra's and took just the barest taste from his own glass. "Hunters' code says not to interfere in a fellow hunter's contract."

Sharp blue eyes glittered at him in the dim lighting. "I'm not suggesting interference, I'm suggesting cooperation. We have a plan in the works. As it is, it stands to cause problems for you, but it can be modified."

"I suppose you'd want credit on my take."

"Would you want credit on mine?"

Jango snorted; Bastra's eyebrow arched and he glanced away. "Then you know my answer."

Jango followed Bastra's gaze to a pair of traders in expensive robes with a droid- no. That was Bastra's B1 unit. The Whiphid loomed aggressively at a hawker who got too close to her Zygerrian companion, and Jango felt his eyebrows spike his hairline. "You're joking."

"The plan was for my daughter to confront our target and draw most of her bodyguards away so the rest of us could apprehend her with minimal conflict. We can work you into the plan; if Zoh goes after your target instead, it will give ours incentive to keep him close." Bastra's expression was playful, but his tone held something closer to a request for consensus.

Jango's eyes dropped to what had, at first glance, appeared to be a tattoo starting behind Bastra's left ear and disappearing beneath the collar of his green silk robe. At close range, it was clearly makeup, and he could see the glued-on patch of a subvocal mic beneath a streak of dark blue. The other man gave a funny smile and tapped behind his left ear to indicate the presence of a comm unit. "I have a spare if you want in."

"You carry a spare microcomm set? Those aren't cheap."

"They're more expensive if they get removed during a fight," Bastra replied. Above the teasing smile his eyes were hard. "I take the lives of my crew seriously."

As it should be. The repeated interference in his work was really getting under Jango's skin, but he could respect the man for that, and for his willingness to cooperate. "How much help would you want dealing with your target, once you get them isolated?"

"Hopefully none. There are several of us, and only one of you. If you need help dealing with An-Gen, just say so." That damned smirk was back. "No charge."

Jango squinted at Bastra over his glass, barely letting the sharp liquid touch his lips. His original plan was in tatters, no thanks to station security, and he could work around that, but… having backup would be nice. Particularly backup who had a slicer monitoring the security systems. Especially in this stuffy, self-absorbed place where people who couldn't afford the rents were shipped off on the first coreward shuttle without recourse.

"Alright, Bastra." He leveled a finger at the other man. "Just once."

Bastra replaced his right hand with his left, slipping the small case of a microcomm into his palm. "As needed. I'll want that back, if possible."

As soon as the earpiece was in, voices came through.

"...the Bith?" said a dreadfully young voice, slightly distorted from being subvocalised. Jango mentally reviewed the dossier Roz had put together on the group after the incident on Outland. Bastra's girl had been underage at the time, and unidentified.

"Right," Bastra said. "Everything else stays the same. How are you feeling about it, sweetheart?" Across the table, Bastra gave him a flirtatious grin. Jango scowled and tucked the throat mic under the edge of his collar.

There was a long pause. Jango spared a glance in the direction of the other group on the other side of the promenade; the Whiphid briefly rested a hand on the girl's shoulder. She took a steadying breath. "I can do this."

"Remember if things go bad, we can get you out," another voice said. It lacked the depth of a Whiphid's throat; Jango guessed that would be Feid or Phel.

"I know." Another quiet sigh.

Jango snuck a glance at Bastra; the man had a fond smile that softened his features as he listened to his adopted kid prepare for her first real work.

Bastra caught him looking and the wicked grin returned. "Let's take a walk."

Pretending to be a cartel agent was easy. Zohli hated that it was easy: it made her recall every lesson in comportment she'd had to learn on Zygerria, her parents' disappointment in her posture and lack of grace.

At'tha had been gentle about it and had hugged her when the memories became too much. "Don't think of it as applying those lessons to yourself, Zoh. Think of it as pretending to be your teachers. It's a mask, not the real you."

She raised her chin a fraction higher and reminded herself that even though they had offered to change the plan, she had insisted she could handle it.

She could. She could do this.

Pulkka and Deesix were right behind her, acting as personal bodyguards. At'tha and Feid had altered some of his nice things from Mandalore into a beautiful set of robes that made Zohli feel like a princess in a fable, wrapped in sea-green and deep blue silk. With the wide belt hugging her securely around the ribs, it was easy to stand with her shoulders back. She was nearly her full height now, and with a bit of pale setting powder around her eyes and the tips of her ears, she looked a decade older.

She could do this.

At'tha and the other bounty hunter, Fett, were at a table near the entrance, pretending to play a game involving rectangular holographic tiles. Fett's expression might have been set in stone; At'tha was saying something with that teasing look on his face that he used when he was flirting to throw someone off-guard. Poor Fett. Zohli hid a smile behind her fan as she passed their table, biting her lip until the grin leveled out again.

Sairel Draa was a willowy humanoid woman who might have been pretty without that expression of regal disdain she regarded everyone with; she was dressed in a massive, fluffy, iridescent gown that puffed and trailed in the slightest air current. It looked so ridiculous it must have cost a fortune. Rugar An-Gen was a portly Bith - well, portly for a Bith - dressed more sedately, with the attitude of someone who thought he knew better than everyone else. Their bodyguards - six of them - were mostly Niktos picked for their intimidating horns and towering physiques. There was one human who was dressed like a common aide, and the sixth was a Twi'lek woman whose decorative costume hid armour and a number of weapons, according to Fett.

Zohli made a show of circling the room once before approaching their table. The four Niktos loomed over her, nearly twice her height, and she swallowed.

"You can do this, sweetheart," At'tha whispered in her ear.

It's a mask. Pretend to be your parents. What would Mother have done? Zohli let her chin tick upwards another notch and glared down her nose at the Bith slicer, ignoring the bodyguards.

"An-Gen. We have a lot to talk about, young man." She channeled every note of her mother's lofty, proprietary tone into it and fluttered her fan in front of her chest, deliberately keeping her eyes from straying over to Draa. "We're so very disappointed that you chose to betray our trust. Were we not paying you well enough already?"

The slicer blanched. "I-"

"And you are?" Draa interrupted with a sneer.

"Oh!" Zohli gave her the sweetest, fakest smile she could manage. "Arunel Tan. Ivory Talon. You must be Miss Draa." The muscles in the older woman's jaw clenched although her expression didn't change. "I'm afraid we can't simply let you take him, my dear. Dear Rugar has access to far too much sensitive data for us to let him go so easily. I'm sure you understand."

It took every bit of Zohli's self-control to maintain her careless expression. Draa's smile showed teeth. "Far too well, my dear. How much would you estimate his information is worth?"

"Keep staring at her, trust Dee and Pulkka," At'tha whispered. It sounded like he and Fett were moving.

"Oh," Zoh bared her canines, tipped with fake gold caps. "His life, most assuredly." She snapped her fan closed; four sedative-tipped needles hidden inside the decorative panels shot out and speared the Bith in the chest. The sedative wouldn't knock him out, but it would slow him down. He screeched, a high-pitched sound that had everyone except the one human bodyguard wincing in pain.

Then Pulkka's arm swept her back out of the way of a nasty vibroblade one of the Nikto guards had pulled.

Around the room, patrons shrieked and ducked for cover.

Temporarily covered by the Whiphid matriarch's armoured bulk, Zoh pulled her disruptor from its concealment in the front of her wide belt. "Well, we got their attention," she hissed into the comm. "Now what?"

Hunkered down in an access tube with a series of interlinked datapads plugged into a port in the wall, Phel squinted at the multiple holocam feeds. Draa and An-Gen were being pushed back by their human guard and one of the Niktos, leaving three Nikto bruisers and what Fett had identified as a professional assassin facing Pulkka, Dee, and Zohli. An-Gen was starting to stumble as he tried to dislodge the needles.

Pulkka, playing up the Enraged Whiphid act, bellowed and scooped the guard who'd swung at Zoh into a sleeper hold. Muscles bulged under her robe as she squeezed. The blade dropped from his hand and he flailed in panic.

Xe bit xir lip. "Bastra, you gotta flank 'em, get 'em moving."

"On it."

One feed showed Draa and her closest two guards flinching from a sudden stun shot that caught their assassin in the back. The Twi'lek woman slumped over a chair and rolled limply to the floor, and one of the Nikto guards yelled for the others to get Draa out.

"Good shot, boss."

Another camera angle showed Bastra, disruptor hidden away in his robe again, hiding around the curve of the bar as Draa's guards split up. Two of them started pushing Draa and An-Gen toward the exit; the remaining two had their blasters out and laying down suppression fire. Shots plinked harmlessly off Deesix's carapace as the droid raised its left arm; a pair of sleeper darts from Bastra's borrowed vambrace took one of the guards down; the other dropped to Zoh's disruptor shot under Pulkka's arm.

Bastra was already moving; he did something that made his appearance blur and vanish as he vaulted the bar and followed their targets out.

Station security were quick to respond to the bartender's alert, storming up the corridor on the left. Obi-Wan ducked and rolled to the far side of the walkway, pulling the Force around him like a cloak. Draa, An-Gen, and their remaining two bodyguards hurried the opposite direction.

"They're moving, Phel."

"Got them heading toward service lift Resh-nine. An-Gen is slowing them down."

Jango and Feid's voices on the line confirmed they were en route to intercept. Obi-Wan ducked into the closest lift lobby just as Phel whispered, "Confirming they're heading to the docking bay, but I think I've been spotted in the system. Gotta move, sorry."

"Go deal with An-Gen's quarters, Phel, we've got this." Leaning back against the wall, Obi-Wan heaved a couple breaths and pulled out an elastic to pull his hair back out of the way. "Pulkka, status?"

"Security's questioning Zohli. She's a sobbing mess, it's beautiful. They don't know what to do."

"Excellent. Keep us informed if they don't fall for it."

The lift door hissed open on the sounds of a fight further down. Obi-Wan pulled his disruptor and broke into a run.

As soon as Bastra had started circling the bar, Jango had gone to meet Feid at the docking ring. The team's slicer had whispered the location of Draa's ship in their ears, and by the time their targets were heading for the lifts, the two of them were already holed up and waiting.

The golden-skinned Zabrak woman squinted at him. "You better behave yourself, Fett."

He bristled. "I'm not the one you ought to be worrying about. What's up with your boss?"

She shrugged. "He's just like that. Don't take it personally."

That made him scowl, although he couldn't say why. He didn't have time to say more as the lift opened, revealing Sairel Draa cowering behind the remaining Nikto guard, who had a proper blaster in hand, followed by the human guard who was supporting a sagging Rugar An-Gen over his shoulder.

Jango's stun shot caught the Nikto center mass and dropped him in a pile of ugly; Feid's shot sent the human and Bith sprawling into the wall. Composure shattered, Draa shrieked and fled down the docking ring. Jango was about to follow when Feid caught his shoulder. "The boss has her. Let's get your prize trussed up and gone before Security gets here."

Bastra came sauntering cheerfully up the corridor as they were finishing up, his unconscious target draped over his shoulders like she weighed nothing. "Bag please, Feid."

The front of his loose shirt gaped as he lowered Draa to the floor, revealing freckled collarbones along with the chest hair. Jango coughed and turned back to verifying his target's identity. A whistle echoed down the corridor, and he glanced up to see a golden-yellow astromech droid bumbling up the corridor. "That yours?"

"Kate. Find anything?" Bastra seemed to understand what the droid whistled back at him. "Good to hear. Draa's ship is through the gate here. Would you see if you can access the computer systems?" He finished stuffing Draa's ridiculous fluffy gown into the containment bag and caught Jango's eye. "Phel got some things out of An-Gen's quarters for you."

Giving the other man a narrow glare, Jango asked, "Sure they didn't make a copy for themself?"

The Zabrak woman gave him a disgusted look. "What end would that serve, Fett? We're being paid by Talon, too."

Giving him a considering look, Bastra just shook his head. "You really don't trust easily, do you."

Jango put the microcomm back in its case and handed it over. "Hard lessons. You trust too lightly."

The other man's eyes went flinty for just a moment. "I never do anything lightly, Fett."

"Yeah?" He snorted. "Coulda fooled me."

The smirk came back and he hoisted Draa up onto his shoulder. "That's the point."

The lift opened to reveal the team's skinny, gap-toothed human slicer. They offered Jango a bag weighed down with datadisks. "That's everything I could find. Need a hand moving him?"

Jango hit the control to activate the containment bag's repulsorlift. "Nope." He pursed his lips and nodded reluctantly with a sigh. "I appreciate it." He glanced at Bastra, who for once wasn't grinning at him. "You saved me some trouble."

"N'entye, Vhett," Bastra said quietly. He waved the slicer through into Draa's hangar. "It's just a job."

Security had determined that Zohli hadn't started the fight - the tiny air-gun needles from her fan weren't visible at all in the holocam footage - and had escorted her, Pulkka and Dee back to their hangar. Zoh had left the tears turned on the whole time, wailing about being attacked unjustly.

It was fortunate none of the guards were from a species with a keen scent of smell; Pulkka could scent Zoh's deception on her. She reassured the officers that they would be fine and that they need not linger for the lady's benefit. As soon as they departed, Zoh collapsed on the couch in giggles, hysterical from adrenaline and relief. When the others finally got back after copying Draa's computer system, the girl flung herself off the ramp into Bastra's arms with a cheer. He caught her, grinning, and swung her around.

"You did such a good job, sweetheart!" He planted a kiss on her cheek.

Pulkka grinned and shook her head at them as she helped haul the incapacitated target into the ship. "She'll be wired all night."

"Oh, I know." Bastra hugged Zohli tightly. She laughed and hugged him back, burying her face in the shoulder of his robe.

Only Pulkka had been aware of how truly concerned for the girl's safety Bastra had been. He'd put a confident face on for Zohli's sake, but the parental worry had been a perpetual cloud for hours.

It made Pulkka smile at how close their family had grown.

Jango bent to catch his son as the three-year old barreled into his legs, forcing a smile.

"Buir! You're home!"

"That's right, ad'ika. Look at this; I got you something." He pulled a box out of his pocket. "I need to have a word with Auntie Roz, Boba. You go open that."

Boba tugged at the sides of the box, frowning. "How?"

Jango's grin became real for a moment and he winked conspiratorially. "There's a trick to it. See if you can figure it out without my help." The boy pouted for a moment but started prodding at the different coloured fibreplast panels on the sides. Jango's smile faded as he turned and headed for the apartment's kitchen, where Roz was seated at the table working.

She glanced up and frowned at him. "I've seen happier faces over a losing hand of sabacc, honey. What happened?"

He sat down heavily. The chairs turned on their mounts, and he idly rocked from side to side, burning off some extra energy. After a moment of tense silence, which he spent staring at the polished surface of the table and trying to reorganize his thoughts, Roz asked, "You did get him, didn't you? Or is my network wrong?"

"Oh. Yeah," he said dismissively. "Bastra was there."

Roz's face scrunched up for a moment. "Bastra? Oh!" She grinned. "The human kid with the droid. What about him?"

Jango explained what had happened. From the living room, he heard Boba's triumphant cheer as the boy got the puzzle box open; a moment later his son ran in, waving the pair of fibreplast snubfighters Jango had hidden inside.

"Auntie Roz! Look what buir got me!" He pushed a button on the bottom of one and it produced a credible impression of an active sublight engine.

Roz chuckled. "That's great, honey! What do you say to your buir?" She mispronounced the word, but she was trying.

The little boy's face screwed up for a moment in concentration before he said carefully, "Ni gedeteya par dinui, buir?"

Jango's eyebrows went up in surprise. Roz bared her tusks at him in amusement. "I found an educational holoseries called Verd'ika on one of the Keldabe public access channels. He's been watching it every day."

He grinned, delighted. "That's very well done, Bob'ika. Ni ijaat dinui. Have you learned ijaat yet?"

"Um." His little face lit up and Jango felt the stress of the job start to melt. "Honor?"

"That's right. It's my honor to give you the present."

Boba hugged him and ran back out into the living room, waving the toy ships in a pretend dogfight. Jango felt a lopsided grin settle on his face and didn't bother to hide it as he turned back to Roz. The Toydarian fixer was smiling fondly.

"He's a good kid, Jango."

"He really is."

"So Bastra was after Draa for Ivory Talon, huh?" She pulled up the file she'd built on the man and added a note. "Interesting way of handling it; definitely not your style, which helped you, believe it or not. Officially, Ki'an Tol claims it was a minor disagreement that escalated temporarily. Unofficially, they've been trying to figure out who was behind it because a lot of their station holocams are showing absolutely nothing from key locations."

Jango nodded. "Their slicer, with an astromech for support."

"Someone contacted me asking for information on your current contract. Of course I said I have a confidentiality agreement," she added with a grin. "You should work with this kid more often."

He bristled, lip pulling back in a snarl. "Absolutely not."

Roz arched a brow at him. "Hmm. And why not?"

"He's too flashy. It's unprofessional. Inefficient." Unbidden, Jango remembered the man's ridiculous outfit, copper hair hanging loose past his shoulders. "He treats it like some sort of… espionage game, instead of a serious career."

His friend hummed, poking information he couldn't read from his angle. "Not every bounty hunter goes straight for the throat, honey. Everyone has their strengths, you know. If he used to be a Jedi, he'll be accustomed to using people's expectations against them. Nobody from Ki'an Tol has asked for information on Bastra or any of his crew: despite the mess they made, they went unnoticed." She looked at him, her expression deceptively mild. "You're blushing, honey."

"Humans can blush for more than one reason, you know," he said, glaring.

"Uh huh." She typed something else and paused. "So by human standards, is he cute?"

Jango pushed back from the table, rolling his eyes in disgust. "You're so predictable sometimes, Roz. I'm going to go spend some time with my boy."

Roz watched him go with a knowing little smirk. "You do that, honey."