Two Idiots and a Deathwish

[Kuzuru]

“What do you mean you don’t tip?” Mallory asked.

Charles groaned and reached for the inner pocket of his trench coat. His thick and calloused fingers removed a long and fat cigar. With his free hand he flicked open his zippo lighter and ignited the tip of the stogie. It was a smooth and mellow hit with a hint of cherry flavoring. Mallory raised an eyebrow and asked his question once again. Charles exhaled a cloud of acrid smoke, which hung heavy over the remains of their lunch. “I don’t tip,” Charles answered, his voice was low and aggressive, like a diesel engine.

“Well yeah, but why?” his companion asked, throwing his hands out in disbelief.

Around them the rest of the diner pulsed with life. They were in the heart of Coruscant were even a smoky hole-in-wall diner was bustling with business. It was a melting pot of creatures, humans, and other alien beings. Gang-bangers mixed with suburbanites. Tourists who had delved deeper than they were prepared for sat guarded and uneasy. This cluttered chaos was where the two bounty hunters felt at home. Their server, who was a young human girl, sashayed past their table and dropped off their bill.

“Why do I need to tip her for doing her job?” Charles proposed.

“How else is she supposed to make a living?”

“Get a different job,” Charles answered, took another drag of his cigar, and added, “at any rate it ain’t my problem, it isn’t.”

Mallory rolled his eyes and grabbed their bill. He tapped his finger against that table as he performed some mental arithmetic to calculate how much they both needed to tip. After a few seconds he produced a few credits from his wallet and sat them, along with the bill, on the edge of the table. “Alright,” he said,”pony up five credits.”

“For what?”

“For a tip jackass,” Mal said and pointed a finger at his partner, “I’m not going to let you weasel out of this.”

Charles growled and released another cloud of cherry-flavored smoke. He shifted the cigar around in his mouth. “I said,” Charlie leaned closer to Mallory, “I don’t tip.” The two locked eyes for a full minute. This wasn’t the first time they had this conversation, and it more than likely wouldn’t be the last time. Mallory sighed. There was no arguing with the man He tossed a few more credits onto the table and stood up. “Whatever Charlie,” Mal said and nodded towards the door, “let’s get going, we’ve got a job to do.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Charles said and took one last drag from his cigar. He flicked the ash off into a half-empty glass of water and then extinguished it by mashing the end against the table. Then, while Mal had his back turned, he pocketed the credits intended as a tip. 

Outside the duo squinted as they were bombarded with bright flashing advertisements. It was like stepping onto the set of the world’s most aggressive commercial. Coruscant’s fourth tier was less of a place to live and more like a massive marketplace. Street vendors and shady market booths littered the streets. Nothing was sacred here. Drugs, guns, and sex were sold openly on the streets of tier four. If one had the cash, and a loose set of morals, they could buy just about anything.