“He’s an easy mark,” Gran said, staring over his pint at the dark haired humanoid seated alone at a table in the corner of the bar.
“What makes you think he’s got something worth taking?” Pinck responded, as he sprinkled dried talang leaves into his pipe.
“Oh, he’s got something,” Gran said. “I can smell it.”
Gran took a gulp of the frothy green goo that filled his glass, then licked the foam from his thick, purple lips with a forked tongue. Long, greasy blonde hair hung from his oversized head, ending at his broad shoulders. He wore a long black coat, which was draped over his thin frame.
His partner, Pinck, was a short, overweight Pug. A dark-brown vest was the only piece of clothing he wore.
“Yeah, he’s definitely got credits on him,” Gran said. “Serious credits.”
“Why would someone with serious credits’ come in here?” Pinck said.
The Tumbler’s Inn was a den of thieves and nar-do-wells, con men and pickpockets. Located in the southside of Mos Linly, it rarely saw any of the higher-class travellers who occasionally stopped on the hot, arid planet.
“Someone with something to hide,” Gran said, as he inhaled another gulp of goo.
Their mark stood, walked to the bar and dropped a few credits. He nodded at the bartender -- a three hundred pound Tolgan -- and headed for the door.
“Come on,” Gran said, as he stood, never taking his eyes from the mark.
“Gran, I --”
“Now,” the larger alien growled.
Outside, a gentle breeze past through the narrow walkways, carrying with it the stench of poverty and the sounds of distant music from another nighttime establishment. Gran and Pinck kept their heads down, but their eyes turned upwards to watch their mark. The dark-haired human stayed close to the walls, hands in his pockets, head turned downward. The usual stroll of a Mos Linly resident.
The shadows grew thicker as the crooks and their target moved farther away from the busy area of Mos Linly’s southside and into the residential.
Empty streets were lined with dimly light and darkened homes. Lights illuminated the walkways, but most were not operational. The local administration did little more than line its own pockets with profits. Focusing on the “quality of life” issues concerning the city’s poorer residents was not its top priority.
Gran’s arm snapped to stop Pinck in his tracks as their target stopped, bent down and appeared to fix something on his shoe. Gran motioned for them