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Shamefully, I got a new sense of confidence in my criminal cosplay. "Now that I’m dressed properly for the occasion, where are you taking me next?"
"There’s a bar down the street. I know the guy who runs it. Let’s see what he’s been up to since I've been away."
Chapter Six
KLINN
Iwasn’t sure whathappened to Faye back there. It looked like she had some kind of physiological reaction to all the noise and activity going on in Malecor. Maybe it was just another way humans reacted when they were in a new place.
Poor Faye. She kept trying to hide her face from me even now as we walked to the bar. I told her she had no reason to be embarrassed. Tough situations happened to the best of people, and she was pretty high up there by my estimation. Either way, I planned to stick by her side. If she got uncomfortable again, I'd be there to lend a hand. I meant what I said when I told her she wasn't alone, even if she wanted to pretend like she could handle everything by herself.
The space hub buzzed with activity as we stepped into the crowded bar. The sugar-sweet boozy scent of Malecor’s own locally produced rum soaked through the air. I listened to the hum of conversation in various alien languages, some I recognized. The dimly lit establishment was a melting pot of interstellar trade and a hotspot for those with shady connections.
We found a secluded corner table. I watched Faye as her instincts kicked in. She scanned the room, her eyes catching the subtle signs of criminal activity and interstellar trade. Peculiar energy signatures emitted from concealed devices, discreet exchanges of small packages, and hushed conversations in the shadows—all indications of a thriving underworld.
I couldn’t resist leaning closer to her. I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial tone. "Welcome to the seedier side of life, Detective Madison. Remember, the best sources are often found in the shadows."
She hooded her eyes at me to show just what she thought of my humor before her attention turned towards the bar. There, a burly bartender with two sets of arms served drinks to a rowdy group. She then caught sight of the bar’s owner Quixar, a bald Javorian with a bushy beard that flared over his short-sleeve shirt. He stood off to the side and watched people walk down the street while he had a smoke.
She nudged me. "Is he your friend?"
"I don’t know." I was having fun trying to learn how she picked the bar owner out from the rest of the herd so quickly. "Tell me why you think he is."
"It’s not hard. Everyone here is wearing long sleeves or a jacket because they came from outside. His short sleeves and the way he’s taking up space shows he’s comfortable in his surroundings, like he practically lives here. His shoes are clean and polished, so he cares about his appearance. Or he wants to seem well-connected, at least."
Her powers of observation in this dark and dirty little hole in the wall impressed me. "Ah, the owner of the joint. A classic choice to interview."
"So that means I was right? Let’s go talk to him."
I got up first as we made our way to Quixar. I took my time, making sure to walk a little slower as though I polished off a few shots of Malecor bay rum first. Walking fast and with purpose around here drew too much attention.
It was years since I stepped inside this place, and back in those days, I was sure I singlehandedly kept the rum production in business. I got thrown out on my ass a few times, too. Would Quixar remember me?
The scar-faced owner glanced up as I approached. He finished his puff of cigarette before flicking the stub in an ashtray. "Klinn Ustrar. Didn’t think I'd see your air-sucking self on this side of Xaxos again."
"Quixar Drexel. How the universe brings surprises." I performed the elaborate handshake we came up with years ago. "It’s been a minute. How’s the establishment treating you?"
