Dirk had been in worse places. Barku's Teeth was a moderately successful dive that served anyone from thugs to businessmen to line workers ending their day at the hab block. Small scripts of bright text generated at the corner of his visor, analyzing the potential weaponry of every passerby that stumbled or sauntered across the floor. The smell of nox-sticks and alcohol permeated the dank air of the cantina, Dirk caring too little to seal off his helm's access to outside air. He heard the gasps and guffaws coming from the table over, where Jocasta marveled a crowd of nobodies on her exploits at the resort.

The armored bounty hunter glanced their way every so often, but otherwise ignored the spectacle. He was content with his liquor and the peace the deafening music brought. He wished he could say he got lost in the drink and the revelry, but Dirk never let his guard down. His gloved hand in easy reach of one of his DMX blasters. Before him, a blue-skinned Zerulian dancer gyrated against a table as men threw credit chips at her-half naked form while a table over two burly Hexanagallions grappled in an arm wrestling competition as men screamed for their chosen xenos to win. 

To the right, a brawl suddenly broke out. Three four-eyed Xiclon's got in a scrap with two humans and an aquatic Falmorian, which spread to the table over when they capsized a game-table. The fighting was so fierce and the screaming so loud, Dirk could hear them even without modifying his helm to suppress other audio. In the din, someone drew an electro-baton, blue lightning crackling amongst the dark silhouettes of the bodies and flying in an arc that seared the eye. Dirk found the fight far more interesting than Jocasta's story, even if she was admittedly nice to look at. He lifted his visor up to the cusp of his nose and sipped his drink, and his entertainment was interrupted when a handsomely dressed man approached out of the crowd, taking a seat in front of Dirk even as the bouncers streamed by them and rushed to the fight. 

Dirk didn't need his visor to tell him the man was unarmed. He moved both too casual and too skittish all at once, his smart suit too tight to hide anything above a quill-gun, and he seemed entirely uncomfortable being in such a locale. His hair was shaved on its left side and swept to fall over his pate on his right. On his right hand, two steel marks were embedded into his skin to signify both an allegiance to a space-trade guild and to provide a means of exchanging currency through a neural link.   

"Are you, by chance, the acclaimed bounty hunter Dirk Crimson?" He asked with a posh accent. Dirk had a sense it wasn't the accent he grew up with, but one he had grown acclimated to from long hours practice. When Dirk didn't answer immediately, the man's eyes traveled to the table opposite them. "And I assume that is the spitfire, Jocasta Ap'Gwyn." 

"I don't take freelance contracts any longer. I have an agreement with the guild." Dirk said. 

"Would you friend have such scruples?" He pressured, but did not move to engage her. Dirk wasn't interested in playing games, and whoever this man was, he had no idea just how close Dirk was to gunning him down here and now for interrupting his night. After a long silence, the newcomer drew in a breath and continued. "That's too bad. We were prepared to pay you two million credits to find and kill a low-life vagabond. And another two when you return with proof of his demise. If half the things I've heard about you is true, it should be a walk on the parsec for you." 

"Who are you?" 

The man gave a tight lipped smile. "I am Bohemond Valgrayne, and I represent the interests of Phyraelon Deadstar. Have you heard of him?" 

Dirk had. He was allegedly the head of a conglomerate of illicit goods, including but not limited to the trafficking of weapons, drugs, counterfeit identification chips, and even people. Evidently no one had ever seen his face, and some wondered if he even existed. The conglomerate operated in three systems and was rumored to have infiltrated varying levels of eighteen planetary governments. All of it was hearsay, but Dirk had known enough people who had made dealings with the Phyraelon Conglomerate to know there was at least some truth to it. That also meant that if he accepted a contract, it would be very discreet. Perhaps he could take a job from this man, even if technically it was not allowed per the rules. Dirk had enough sway with Volkovax to have the massive xenos forgive him, regardless. 

Dirk touched a small receiver on his wrist, which caused Jocasta's datascreen to grind against her hip, indicating she wrap it up and join him.