Hoshi sat in the back seat with Jon and Trip while Malcolm rode up front with the driver on the way to town. The man they had coerced into driving them refused to tell his name.

"No way," he said when she asked. "The last thing I need is for Poltorn to find out who helped you. You don't sound like you're from around here, and for all I know, you could be trying to move in on his territory."

Hoshi settled back on the long bench seat, irritated that her accent wasn't perfect. Clearly there were variations in how the langauge was spoken in different places on this world, just as those who spoke English on Earth had different accents. It was bad luck that their mission was in a region where the accent varied from what she had learned.

The Hadian kept glancing over his shoulder at her. At one point when his attention was on the road, she whispered to Jon, "We ought to make this look convincing," and put Jon's hand on her knee.

Jon gave her a look that was half apologetic and half playful, and removed his hand from her knee. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he pulled her closer with a jerk.

At Hoshi's soft grunt of surprise, Trip, seated on Jon's other side, looked over. He raised an eyebrow, but when he opened his mouth to speak, Hoshi cut him off with a shake of her head. If he started talking, the driver would know for sure they were phonies. Of the three men, Trip had the worst Hadian accent due to his Southern drawl. Not that Trip knew much of the language, but he had learned some common phrases.

Trip wasn't totally squelched. Leaning over, he whispered in Jon's ear, "Next time I want to be the boss."


They were dropped off in front of a nondescript building. A narrow three-story structure, it was hemmed in by a clothing store on one side and a pawn shop on the other. There was a small sign engraved with the words "The One Shot" in Hadian over the entrance. The One Shot had no windows, and there was only a small slide panel at eye level in the door.

Hoshi turned back to the driver, who was visibly less nervous now that his unwanted passengers were out of the vehicle. "You're sure we'll find Poltorn here?" she asked.

"It's where he does business," the man said as he revved the engine. Before she could ask anything more, he put the vehicle in gear and sped off, squealing the tires in his haste to get away from them.

"You knock on the door," Jon told her, adjusting the hat on his head. "We'll be right behind you."

Gathering the shawl around her shoulders, she went to the door, raised her hand, and knocked. The group exchanged glances as they waited.

"Knock again," Jon said when, after a minute, there was no response.

As she raised her hand to comply, the panel slid open abruptly, startling her. A pair of bloodshot brown eyes glared out at her. "Yeah?"

"We would like to see Poltorn," she said.

"He ain't here. Come back later. Besides, we ain't open yet," he said, and closed the panel.

Before Jon could tell her to, Hoshi knocked again, this time with more force. The panel snapped open again.

"I told you to get lost!" the man barked.

"We can't. I mean, we just got into town. We'd rather wait inside, if that's all right."

"Why should I let you in?" he countered.

"My boss wants to make a deal with Poltorn. Can't we come in and wait?"

Hoshi batted her eyelashes at him as he considered. His eyes raked over her, shifted to look at the others, and came back to her.

"OK, but no funny stuff," he said.

The panel slammed shut again but Hoshi could hear the sound of locks being undone. The door opened and the man, wearing dark pants, a white shirt, and a long apron, stood to one side.

Malcolm was suddenly beside her, holding out his arm to prevent her from entering. He took a few cautious steps inside and looked around. Then he turned and gestured for the rest to enter.

Jon was next, followed by Hoshi and Trip. As her eyes adjusted to the low lighting, she could make out small round tables covered in white tablecloths and an impressive wooden bar running the length of the room. A small stage was at the rear. Except for some stylistic differences in the furnishings, the room could have been an upscale speakeasy in the United States on Earth, circa 1930. Her description of the planet as being right out of the gangster era was closer to the mark than she had realized.

The man moved off toward a door next to the stage.

Hoshi called after him. "When can we see Poltorn?"

"Later," he threw over his shoulder as he continued walking away.

"Looks like we'll have to wait," Jon said quietly, taking a seat at one of the tables after the man exited the room.

Hoshi sat down next to Jon and put her purse on the table. Trip pulled a chair over from another table to join them. Malcolm remained standing, his attention divided between the two doors.

"I don't like this," Malcolm said.

"I don't like it, either," Jon said, "but we've got to contact Poltorn. He's the most likely person to know if Williams has been found."

Trip leaned back, took off his hat, and loosened the neck of his shirt. "Least he coulda done was offer us some refreshment while we're waitin'," he said with a disgruntled scowl. "I'm pretty thirsty."

"Me, too," said Hoshi, looking up from massaging her tired feet to see Jon watching her.

"Better keep your shoes on," he said with a slight grin.

"Wouldn't it be in character for you to rub her feet?" Trip asked.

"You guys!" Hoshi put her shoes back on, stood, and walked around behind the bar. "If I'm going to be a gangster's moll, I'm pouring myself a drink. Want one, boss?"

"Hey, what about me?" Trip asked.

"You're the hired help. Get your own."

Trip got to his feet and joined her. Picking a bottle at random, he poured himself a stiff shot. Hoshi, meanwhile, put two glasses on the bar, splashed a little alcohol in each, and topped them off with water.

As she carried the drinks back to the table, Jon asked, "What kind of alcohol did you put in there?"

"I have no idea," she said as she sat down, "but the bottle had a pretty label."

She waited until Jon took a sip and, seeing no adverse reaction, cautiously tasted her drink. Not too bad, if you liked oily booze. Next time she'd get just water -- this wasn't going to quench her thirst. It was relaxing, however; she felt her tense muscles begin to loosen after only a few sips.

Malcolm came closer to the table. Keeping his voice low, he said, "If I were running a place like this, I'd have some kind of monitoring device. They're probably listening to everything we say." Glancing warily at the door by the stage, he added, "They'll know we're not talking in their language."

"Let's just hope they buy the 'speaking in a secret code' story," Jon said. "Remember -- if you or Trip have to talk to me, Hoshi, or each other, use English. Otherwise, don't say anything."

The stage door Malcolm was watching opened. The man who had let them into The One Shot came out, followed by a short, muscular individual.

The first man, who Hoshi decided was a bartender, went behind the bar and took in the slight disarray of the bottles. He looked over at them and, spying their drinks, said, "Hey! You're paying for that!"

Hoshi exchanged a glance with Trip and reached for her purse. Opening it, she dug around inside and came up with some Hadian paper money they had made -- counterfeited, if truth be told -- aboard Enterprise. T'Pol had assured them it would pass scrutiny, but Hoshi was still anxious about it. She handed a wad to Trip, who took it over to the bartender.

The man was taken aback by the amount of currency Trip pressed into his hand. "How much you plan on drinking?" he asked curiously.

Trip shrugged, returned to the table to put his hat back on, and then took up a position standing a short distance behind Jon.

The other man had stopped a few feet away, equidistant from the table and Malcolm. He deliberately looked at each of the men, dismissing Malcolm almost immediately to let his eyes slide over to Trip, then finally gazing with interest at Jon. "You the boss of this gang?" he asked.

Hoshi knew Jon probably didn't understand the actual words, so she gave Jon a barely perceptible nod, and he in turn gave the man an affirmative dip of his head.

"Who are you and what do you want with Poltorn?" the man asked.

Jon looked to Hoshi, who cleared her throat delicately. She stood up and faced the man, who only came up to her nose. Despite his lack of stature, he seemed sure of himself and not the least intimidated by the three strange men or the one strange woman looming over him. She understood the psychological advantage height could give a person in a confrontational situation, and it wasn't often she got to tower over someone. Unfortunately, this person didn't seem bothered by it.

"He's Jon," she said, assuming an air of confidence and looking down her nose at the man. He looked like a toad, she thought. "He has an offer for Poltorn."

The man shifted his gaze to her, pausing for a moment before lifting his eyes from her chest to her face. "And who are you, sweet thing?" he asked with a sneer.

"I'm his," she retorted, jerking her head toward Jon but giving him a coquettish smile, causing the man to smirk at her mixed message.

"How come you're doing all the talking?"

Hoshi released a theatrical sigh, as if having to explain something she'd explained many times before. "Jon has a speech impediment. He's rather...sensitive about it. So I speak for him. You direct your questions to him, not me, but I'll answer."

With a sense of relief, she walked away from the repulsive man. She moved with a seductive swagger to stand beside Jon, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Jon reached up, placed a hand over hers, and gave her a decidedly possessive look before turning his attention back to the Hadian.

Whoa! thought Hoshi as Jon looked away from her. He was certainly getting into his role. Those had been bedroom eyes if she had ever seen them.

Mentally shaking herself, she concentrated on the situation at hand. It wouldn't do to get distracted. She remembered Jon's advice not to seem too anxious to make a deal, so she let the silence stretch out as she waited for the Hadian to say something.

The man kept his own counsel for some time, staring at Jon. Finally, after flicking his eyes once at Trip and Malcolm, he came the rest of the way to the table and sat down across from Jon. Raising his hand, he snapped his fingers. The bartender came over, set a glass on the table, and poured a hefty portion of liquor into it. The short man reached out and took the bottle, placing it on the table, too.

As the bartender retreated, the man finally spoke. "You tell me what kind of deal you have in mind, and I'll tell Poltorn."

Hoshi and Jon had gone over as many scenarios for such a conversation as they could think of, but she knew he could understand only a few words of what the man was saying. It was up to her to decide which direction the conversation should take.

"First, he wants to know your name," she said.

"Galarn."

"He wants to know your exact position with Poltorn."

"Poltorn's my boss. I'm his right-hand man." Galarn paused to take a drink. After a long swallow, he looked at Hoshi and said, "I know everything Poltorn does. And I speak for him. Sort of like you do for...um...Jon, was that his name?"

"Don't look at me, look at Jon," she said harshly, and Malcolm backed her up, taking a step toward Galarn. She noticed Malcolm's action and was gratified. She knew he probably only had a vague idea of what was being said and was reacting instead to the tone of her voice.

Galarn frowned at Malcolm, then stared at Jon. "OK, if that's how you want to play it. What's your deal?"

Jon squeezed Hoshi's hand twice quickly, but not hard enough for anyone else to notice. It was one of the prearranged signals they had worked out. "We're interested in buying something Poltorn may have acquired."

"And what might that be?"

Hoshi glanced down at Jon, asking with her eyes for him to trust her. Focusing on Galarn once more, she said, "A man who has been more surgically altered than anyone has been before."