The door closed and Oman kicked the Rodian on the floor. "Good Greedo's n gravy, what the hell did you do to her in there to get her nipples all in a twist?" Oman demanded of his compadre.
Then he stopped and grinned slyly, "Did you twist her nipples?"
Oman couldn't tell if Kullum was wincing at the memory or at the question but he really wasn't waiting around for an answer, "And who the fuck is this guy?" he asked the janitor but everyone knew that was a rhetorical question because of the black "Z" emblazzoned on the silver square patch and the fact that a certain "Zelezny" was the bigwig in the skybox overlooking the illegal racing venture he and Kullum stumbled across earlier.
The man had started to sweat which added a hint of saltiness to the floral fragrance permeating the domicile. "Being told off by a hooker, that's gotta be a new low!" Oman chastised himself. "What the fuck is she getting all pissy about when the bloody mook has her address on his bloody ID!" he nearly shouted kicking the body again for added emphasis with each progressive word.
He turned to the janitor, his eyes glancing at the name patch for the first time. "So, Drago, is it? Just where are these airducts?"
Before the janitor could answer, his comlink squawked causing the nervous being to jump. In fact, it caused Oman to jump as well.
The janitor's hand had already pulled the comlink out and pressed transmit before he could even think about it. "T-4 here?" he answered hoarsely.
"Drago? You sound like you gotta an Ugnaught stuck in your throat," came a scratchy voice over the com. There was a snicker in the static background. "Anyway, your schedule's been changed."
"What? Why?" came an indignant Drago. He had plans to be at the races over the next few days. In his flare of anger, he forgot about the apartment, the scoundrels, the woman and the dead Rodian.
"Blame Kesser this time," the unexpected reply came back. "DCI wants no unauthorized people in the area."
"What's going on?" Drago demanded, interested. Such gossip spread faster than phage on the crotch of a Daemun.
"Dunno. DCI is keeping things tight. Something about Vinda Corp, though. You should be getting your schedule update soon. Gotta go."
And the comlink went dead.
"Vinda?" Oman's face twisted into a frown. "Sounds like a smelly cheese."
"He is only the richest man in the galaxy," Kullum answered absentmindedly.
"I know who he is. I just don't like his name." He winked over at Kullum, "I hear he's got a real looker of a daughter. Get hitched with her and imagine what you could inherit if her old man kicks the bucket?"
"I hear she's a Jedi?" Drago interjected.
"That just means she's firm and uptight. I mean reeeaaal... uppppp.. and reeaaal....tiiiggghhhtt.." Oman hands made an hour-glass shape in the air..
"Oman," growled Kullum trying to bring the other's focus back to the task at hand.
The other was grinning, clearly warming to the idea. "So uptight," he shivered and then turned to the janitor, "She would be screaming 'Oh Man" all night..."
"OMAN!" Kullum shouted drawing the other's attention back to the present.
"Almost like that," Oman snapped his fingers, pointing to his partner, "But come on, Sport, you don't sound anything like her."
Drago giggled but before Kullum could reply, the woman's door slid back open.
Then he stopped and grinned slyly, "Did you twist her nipples?"
Oman couldn't tell if Kullum was wincing at the memory or at the question but he really wasn't waiting around for an answer, "And who the fuck is this guy?" he asked the janitor but everyone knew that was a rhetorical question because of the black "Z" emblazzoned on the silver square patch and the fact that a certain "Zelezny" was the bigwig in the skybox overlooking the illegal racing venture he and Kullum stumbled across earlier.
The man had started to sweat which added a hint of saltiness to the floral fragrance permeating the domicile. "Being told off by a hooker, that's gotta be a new low!" Oman chastised himself. "What the fuck is she getting all pissy about when the bloody mook has her address on his bloody ID!" he nearly shouted kicking the body again for added emphasis with each progressive word.
He turned to the janitor, his eyes glancing at the name patch for the first time. "So, Drago, is it? Just where are these airducts?"
Before the janitor could answer, his comlink squawked causing the nervous being to jump. In fact, it caused Oman to jump as well.
The janitor's hand had already pulled the comlink out and pressed transmit before he could even think about it. "T-4 here?" he answered hoarsely.
"Drago? You sound like you gotta an Ugnaught stuck in your throat," came a scratchy voice over the com. There was a snicker in the static background. "Anyway, your schedule's been changed."
"What? Why?" came an indignant Drago. He had plans to be at the races over the next few days. In his flare of anger, he forgot about the apartment, the scoundrels, the woman and the dead Rodian.
"Blame Kesser this time," the unexpected reply came back. "DCI wants no unauthorized people in the area."
"What's going on?" Drago demanded, interested. Such gossip spread faster than phage on the crotch of a Daemun.
"Dunno. DCI is keeping things tight. Something about Vinda Corp, though. You should be getting your schedule update soon. Gotta go."
And the comlink went dead.
"Vinda?" Oman's face twisted into a frown. "Sounds like a smelly cheese."
"He is only the richest man in the galaxy," Kullum answered absentmindedly.
"I know who he is. I just don't like his name." He winked over at Kullum, "I hear he's got a real looker of a daughter. Get hitched with her and imagine what you could inherit if her old man kicks the bucket?"
"I hear she's a Jedi?" Drago interjected.
"That just means she's firm and uptight. I mean reeeaaal... uppppp.. and reeaaal....tiiiggghhhtt.." Oman hands made an hour-glass shape in the air..
"Oman," growled Kullum trying to bring the other's focus back to the task at hand.
The other was grinning, clearly warming to the idea. "So uptight," he shivered and then turned to the janitor, "She would be screaming 'Oh Man" all night..."
"OMAN!" Kullum shouted drawing the other's attention back to the present.
"Almost like that," Oman snapped his fingers, pointing to his partner, "But come on, Sport, you don't sound anything like her."
Drago giggled but before Kullum could reply, the woman's door slid back open.
