Private A Partnership Between Us

[Congen Rintenne]

Miann wiped down the sticky counter, shaking her head at how sideways her last run had turned out. She was still a little shaken, her ribs aching with every breath, but she was lucky to even be alive. Her eyes flicked up as the doors to the Rampaging Rancor hissed open, letting in the muggy swamp air along with a group of Black Sun enforcers.

They walked in armed to the teeth, their chest plates bearing the black sun emblem. In the corner booths, her regular patrons froze. A few of the spice-addled bums immediately started trying to crawl away toward the back exit, desperate not to get caught in whatever was about to go down.

Miann wasn't sure why the syndicate's heavy hitters were paying her dive a visit, but she knew it wasn't for the booze.

"Place is closed," she said, her tone dry as she tossed her rag over her shoulder. She rested her hand beneath the counter, letting her fingers touch the grip of her heavy blaster.

"Unless you're here to settle the tab your lieutenant left last week." The lead enforcer didn't laugh at such a poorly timed statement, but she figured it was worth a try. He kicked a chair out of his way and let his hand rest on his sidearm, scanning the empty cantina before looking straight at her.

"We aren't here for the booze, barkeep. And you aren't closing until we get what we came for." Miann didn't flinch, though she quietly clicked the safety off under the counter. Black Sun didn't send an armed squad like this just to collect protection money, and she needed to figure out what they wanted before things got ugly.
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[Kharvok Kast]

Balanacca rested his heavy elbows on the sticky tabletop, releasing a series of low rumbles that shook the empty shot glasses. From the harness strapped to his chest, C9-TL's damaged speaker crackled with static.

"And when the Nexu charged, the Champion seized the beast's jaw, snapping it clean. It's unfortunate that the arena's power grid failed at that moment, cutting off the video feed." The two spice-heads seated across the booth offered quick, insincere nods, their eyes flicking toward the massive fur-covered arms positioned just two feet from their drinks.

The tale was nonsense. Bal had bought the dried Nexu tail from a scrapper three weeks earlier, but spinning the fabricated legend kept the crowd engaged and stopped them from asking the kind of real questions he preferred to avoid. A loud hiss at the front doors cut the story short as a wave of muggy swamp air swept in, carrying four Black Sun enforcers in heavy armor.

Bal stayed seated, head lowered, eyes tracking them through the glass as they approached the counter. His thumb brushed instinctively over the rusted iron cuff locked around his right wrist. The Syndicate meant trouble as he still owed them for a botched cargo drop back on Nar Shaddaa.

The back door sat directly behind his booth. Gathering his gear and slipping out would take five seconds, and they would never notice. Yet something held him in place. He watched one enforcer kick a chair aside and knew the situation was about to turn violent.

Bal glanced up just enough to catch the barkeep. Miann Kinea leaned heavily on her right hip, taking tiny, shallow breaths to spare her ribs, her shoulder tense where one hand stayed hidden beneath the wood. She was preparing to draw on four armored men.
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[Congen Rintenne]

The lead enforcer took two steps forward, his boots making quite a sound against the floorboards. "We're looking for a Wookiee," he said, his rough voice cutting through the silence of the room. "Big target. Owes the syndicate money for a bad drop, and word is he's been laying low around here." Miann didn't break eye contact with the leader, but her vision shifted just enough to track the back corner of the room.

Sitting alone in a booth near the exit was the massive, fur-covered form of the Wookiee Balanacca. She'd seen him around Trigalis a few times over the last couple of weeks. Never paid him much mind, just another oversized drifter passing through, buying cheap drinks and keeping to himself.

Now, seeing him sitting back there while four armed Black Sun goons searched the place, the pieces clicked into place. A knot tightened in her stomach. Black Sun usually didn't bother her dive, but having a syndicate hit squad turn her cantina into a warzone was bad for business.

If a firefight broke out, her booths would get shredded, her counter would take blasters, and her already miserable profits would evaporate. The Rampaging Rancor was a dump, but it was her dump, and she needed it running if she was going to keep paying her bills.

"A Wookiee?" Miann asked, her voice remaining flat but steady. "Do I look like a safari guide to you? Furs don't usually hang out in a swamp unless they're lost, and I don't keep track of who wanders in and out of here." The lead enforcer narrowed his eyes, clearly unimpressed by her response.

He took another step closer, his hand tightening on the butt of his sidearm. "Don't play stupid, barkeep. We know he's on the planet, and this is the only dive within three blocks of the docks." Miann kept her hand firmly on the heavy blaster beneath the counter, her thumb resting on the cold metal trigger. She knew if they found him here, her business was as good as wrecked.
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[Kharvok Kast]

Bal remained still, listening to the heavy clatter of the enforcer's boots against the floorboards. Up front, Miann stayed silent regarding his whereabouts, despite how easy it would have been to point him out to the squad. Such silence for a stranger was a rare thing in his line of work, and while he respected the gesture, he had to be realistic.

Miann Kinea was standing there with cracked ribs, holding a blaster beneath the counter against four armored men. If the Black Sun pushed her any further, she would have no choice but to give him up to save her bar and her life, and expecting her to take a blaster bolt for his debt was foolish.

As if reading his thoughts, C9-TL gave a soft, internal click against his chest. The droid lowered its speaker, vibrating a quiet whir directly against Bal's collarbone. "Four targets with heavy sidearms," C9-TL whispered, static buzzing through the line. "Intervention is illogical. The rear door is still clear."

Bal didn't answer, his eyes shifting from the back exit toward the bar. Slipping out now meant the Black Sun would search the booths the second they realized she was stonewalling them, only to find his half-empty glass, realize she had lied, and take it out on her.

His broad palms pressed flat against the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white beneath his fur. He hated the Black Sun, but leaving a barkeep to take the hit for his own unpaid tab was worse. Decision made, Bal grabbed the strap of his canvas gear roll and slid out of the booth.

His seven-foot frame straightened into the low ceiling light, the iron shackles around his ankles clinking against the wooden floorboards as he stepped into the center aisle and dropped the heavy bag onto an open table with a dull thud.
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