Two Idiots and a Deathwish

[Kuzuru]

Mallory kept a tight grip on his phone. Thieves were about as common as people, perhaps even a little more so in Coruscant. So his prosthetic hand kept an iron grip on his phone while he tapped out a message with his free one. Occasionally he’d glance up for a moment to make sure he wasn’t walking into any poles or anything. Charlie walked behind him, scanning the crowd as he often did. When you stand almost a foot taller than the average person you’re expected to be a sort of lookout. He puffed on his cigar and said, “you might as well be wearing a sign.”

Mallory either ignored him or plain didn’t hear him.

“I said,” Charlie said, “you might as well be wearing a sign.”

The shorter one sighed, finished his text, and pocketed his phone. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. Bright lights assaulted his eyes while the scent of sweat mixed with exotic foodstuffs crinkled his nose. Mallory glanced over his shoulder and bit the bait.

“What are you talking about?”

“When you got your phone in your face like that you might as well be wearing a sign that says ‘big effing target’.”

“That’s why I got you,” Mal responded, “‘sides I can’t just ignore Mindy now can I?”

“Yes,” Charles answered, “you can, look over there.”

The two stopped walking and Mallory turned his gaze to follow his companion’s finger. It lead him to wall plastered with various flyers and advertisements. Slivers of brick peaked out from beneath countless sheets of paper. Everything from prostitution to job offers to missing pets were laid bare for the world to see. It took him a moment to absorb everything but once he did he knew exactly what Charlie wanted him to notice. He shook his head and kept walking, or rather he tried to. Charlie grabbed his companion’s shoulder and held him in place.

“No, no, no,” Mallory said, bucking his shoulder and knocking away Charlie’s mitt, “no way in hell, we’re not here to go burn our money at a goddamned racetrack.”

“This ain’t just any ol’ race, it ain’t, this is the F-Zero Series,” he said, stepping closer to the worn flyer advertising that day’s race, “look at these odds, twenty to one on some up and comer, you can’t beat that.”

“That’s awful odds Charlie, twenty to one is horrible.”

“Yeah, but think of the payout.”

“No.”

Charlie reached into his coat and held up a thin plastic card between his forefingers. Mallory’s heart fluttered and he reached into his pocket. He removed his wallet and checked its contents and sighed. Charles smiled.

“Give it back,” Mallory demanded.

“Sure thing friend-O,” Charlie said, took a drag of his cigar, and added, “right after we go make ourselves a little bet.”

“No.”

“Wasn’t asking for your permission, I wasn’t, ‘sides looks like Ol’ Charlie is the one with the money, so Ol’ Charlie is the one that makes the decisions here.”

“You jackass, we ain’t here to throw our money away on fucking twenty to goddamned one odds,” Mallory said and grabbed at Charlie’s wrist, “we came here to get food and that’s what we’re going to do.”

Charles said nothing. Their eyes locked and then drifted down towards Mal’s grip. The larger man reached out and grabbed Mallory’s shirt collar and pulled him in close. An acrid cloud of smoke escaped from Charlie’s nostrils and puffed against Mallory’s face. 

“I don’t know about you, but I ain’t about to spend the rest of my miserable life running errands and getting groceries for some bloodthirsty psychopath, now I’m gonna go down to the racetrack and have me a little fun,” he said and pushed Mallory away, “you can join me if you want, but either way I’m going to spend some money for a chance to not be Kuzu’s little errand boy.”

Mallory rubbed his collarbone and sighed. He shook his hand and threw his hands up in the air. “Fine,” he said, “whatever, just don’t come complaining to me when we don’t have money for food.”

The racetrack was much like the rest of Tier 4, cramped, loud, and littered with ads. The two bounty hunters pushed their way through all manner of people, humans, orcs, trolls, robots, and all manner of obscure and exotic beings. After warning his companion to not spend all of their money Mallory set off to find them seats. Charlie made his way to the teller counter and placed his bet. One-thousand credits on Stargaze Smoker at twenty-to-one odds. The teller, a young trendy looking girl, raised her eyebrows, took his money, and handed back a ticket. Charlie smiled, thanked her, pocketed the ticket, and set out to find Mallory.

“How much did you put down?” Mallory asked, damn near shouting to be heard over the din of the crowd.
Charles sat down next to him and answered, “one-thousand credits on number eighteen.”

Mal’s eyes widened. He flipped through the pages of the day’s programming and found their race. “You put how much on number eighteen?” he asked, knowing what the answer was.

“One-thousand.”

“Fuck,” Mallory said, deflating in his seat, “you know those odds are worse than a coin flip, a lot worse?”

“Yeah, that’s what makes them exciting.”