"His name would be Chalnarc," Crimson declared, his face unreadable behind his Modified XE combat helm. He hadn't reached for his weapons, but he carried himself like a man who had survived because he could draw them faster than his adversaries. The Bargonian paused, black eyes boring into the Bounty Hunter until it set down the drinks and plates it had been holding, disarmingly. It muttered an acquiescence. As it lowered its arms below the counter it began to speak, before Dirk placed a hand over the harnass at his shoulder, unlatching apart of his breastplate to reveal an armored compartment. When it opened, a timer was set on a diminutive, square device. Wires stretched from it into his Fenoplate cuirass. 

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Crimson said, causing the Xenos to freeze. "Put your limbs on the counter, mutant. All of them."   

By the look on the Bargonian's face, he had caught him just in time before the thing had alerted whatever counted out here as a security force via a button behind the counter. Dirk continued, his voice low and threatening. 

"I don't need to explain to you that this is a uranium detonator. If I don't get what I want, or if say, my heart stops beating, half of this shithole you call home will be lost in a flash of hellfire. The other half won't be so safe, either." He warned, his voice as steady as bedrock. Of course, he was lying. The device was a uranium detonator but he had disabled it, rewiring it to make the timer only appear set at 5 seconds. "You're going to get Chalnarc out here, alone. If I see anyone with him. I don't give a fuck if it's a waiter or one of those dancing girls. I will kill everyone here and myself... Do you understand or do I need to speak slower? I hear you Bargonians speak fluent moron."

He spoke with such soft menace that no one without modified hearing or psychic abilities could hear him over the din of the festivities. The many-limbed bartender croaked both angrily and anxiously, but it nodded. One of its hands slowly reached over to a small Voxphone behind him, picking it up and dialing a number. Mere seconds later, the thing warbled in its own tongue. Dirk knew by the tone in its voice it wasn't betraying him. Now he need only wait for Chalnarc to walk in here. He was likely in the VIP section with his fellow cronies and his boss. 

The intel he had received told him there were ten ARKs in this town, though they could hardly be called ARKs, as most were prized top rated security-for-hire, praised for their loyalty and precision in tactical firefights. Everything he had heard about Chalnarc and the crew he ran with was they were up-jumped thugs. Ex-military, yes. But they were lazy, and merely lauded over the poor townsfolk and other, lower thugs that did their dirty work. Whoeever their boss was ruled over this town like a warlord. If Dirk was lucky, he'd bag Chalnarc during the mosh of the music and take him out too quick for anyone to follow.