Hello. Welcome back to Quark's Bar, Grill, Casino, and Holoresort. Can I get you the usual?
Have you seen Security Chief Odo? Oh, no reason. He was in here earlier, questioning me about those poor Bajoran vedics. I told him, I'm just the middleman. How am I to know if a crate of vedic robes was infested with Klingon fire-spider eggs?
I see you find that story amusing. That's nothing. You should hear what Morn told me the other day.
Do you remember the Vulcan merchant who was hanging around here last week? Funny guy, even for a Vulcan.
Funny how? Well, for once thing, he frequented my bar. Used to leave with someone every night, too, and almost always a different species. He inquired about people's health a lot, too; not normal stuff like, "I hope your spacedust allergy is clearing up." More like, "Do you frequently overimbibe Katerian whiskey?" But he was a paying customer and never bothered anyone except his object of affection of the night, so I served him his soft drinks and let him and his consenting adult do whatever. You don't get far in this business if you pass judgment on every oddball who comes into your establishment.
Anyway, a week later, the Vulcan leaves the station, but not before asking me if I could hold onto a shipment of supply parts for him until his business partner showed up to pick them up. I charged the Vulcan my usual storage fee, plus a small honorarium for allowing someone else to pick it up.
Then Odo shows up here asking me questions. Had I met the Vulcan merchant, when did I talk with him last, what did we talk about, that sort of thing. I told Odo the truth, and he makes me leave my bar during happy hour to go down to the cargo hold. Odo has me open up the Vulcan's crate, and what do we find in there? Jars and jars with people's names on them, like a Starfleet officer who had gone AWOL, a Bajoran prostitute whose friends had reported her missing, the list goes on. And what's in em? Cryogenically frozen organs.