It was podracing night on Coruscant.  The one night of the year where the one trillion residents could typically be counted on to be watching the sports events.  Mostly.  The Coruscant 5000.  The single race of the season that happened on the planet was tonight.  It was only irony that Myles Asher told him to meet him at a sports bar on the night of the race when Garrett told him that he liked all his first meetings to be in public places.  And not just any sports bar.  Ike's.  On any other night, Ike's is simply a five floor mega-bar that hosts every sports fan in this quadrant of the planet, usually dividing the sports by floor.  Their real cash cow, their real money maker, involved the upper class and the politicians willingly letting Ike gouge them for reservations years in advance for the night of the Coruscant 5000.  Ike had one thing that every other bar didn't.  Ike's first floor played host to one of the long turns of the race's urban leg.  The Coruscant 5000.  Live.  Twenty times.  Once for each lap of the endurance race.

Dressed simple, but in a deceptively well cut suit, dark colored with dark green tie, Garrett slid the invitation card he'd recieved from delivery that morning across the bouncer's datapad.  He looked up at the well dressed man as the reader flashed green.  He nodded.  Garrett made his way through the entry to the first floor of what might as well have been a rich man's mansion with the way they'd set the place up for the evening.  Not flashy, but there was some flare.  The decorations were high class, the only things that seemed out of place could be called the bookies that were on each floor taking bets.  For them, their uniform, it was a black tie affair, and they had escorts to either side similarly dressed updating odds on screens behind them.  For a few there were lines.  For a few there was the occasional walk up.  It seemed to happen in phases for each either way.  First floor was rushed for ten minutes, then lull for a half hour.  Fourth floor seemed to be constantly getting hammered.  It was just unpredictable.

Smiling, Garrett made his way up to the third floor, interviews with the different racers, the different maintainence teams were being broadcast over the different screens.  There was even a Jedi in this year's race, mostly for his own amusement, Garrett guessed.  Maintainence teams.  That was one thing that was unique to this race that didn't happen in most other podraces.  Most of them were quick sprints.  This was an endurance race.  Sometimes the podracers had to stop for quick maintainence, refueling, anything quick.  Anyone knowing anything could even tell they used higher quality machinery used in putting them together.  Quickly he made his way up to the third floor, they were meeting at the bar and finding a table from there.  He elbowed his way through the crowd and ordered, "Anchor Watt."  Drinks and food were a part of the price of the reservation tonight.  One of the six bartenders in that bar alone raided the tap behind him, and set a pint of amber ale in front of him.

A rather tall brown haired man set his glass down beside him, "Garrett Mendal?"  Garrett nodded, the man was in a lighter color suit, but still simple, good for the evening, but not too good of a suit for the sports bar.  "That makes me Myles Asher," he held out his hand.  Garrett shook it firmly, and took another sip of his ale.  Myles took a sip of his own, a paler ale, but still an ale.  Garrett might have taken him for a wine drinker, but then he might well be.  It was sports night.  Mixed drinks and beer seemed to be the rule.

"I must admit," Garrett chuckled as he took a drink.  "When I walked in I started wondering who was auditioning for who.  You certainly know how to treat your business partners, even if only potential ones."  He shrugged and chuckled, "About two hundred beers.  I do like the selection.  Might have to come here more often when they're not shut down for the five k."

Myles smiled, taking a sip, "It's not Ruth's, but then, Ruth's doesn't have a view.  This is the only place with a view tonight."

"Is it coincidence that the best places seem to have the simplest names on this planet?"

Myles' turn to chuckle, "Probably not."  He held up his glass.  "To future business."

Garrett tapped the glass, "To future business."  He drank the rest of his ale, and set the empty glass down. "Double Chocolate Stout, large," he told a second bartender as Myles ordered his own drink from another.  "Shall we?" he asked as the bartender set his drink in front of him.  A rather dark beer.  Myles nodded. Once more they elbowed their way through the crowd around the bar.  Once out, the tables were still crowded, but not nearly so crowded as the bars could get during their rushes.  It would get crazy between laps, that was for sure.  Myles led him over to one of the window seats on the third floor, a two person table awaited them, a 'RESERVED' sign in fancy writing sat there.  He slid it out of the way as he sat down.  Garrett sat across from him, slouching almost casually compared to Myles' formality as he did.  He pulled a little electronic device out of a pocket, silver with a black dot in the center.  Pushing the dot, it turned red, he set it between them.  "Electronic eavesdropping is cut off," he told Myles matter of factly.  "If someone can overhear us through the crowd, frankly, they deserve their just rewards."

Myles took a sip of his own ale as he looked Garrett up and down, this time more amber than pale.  "You come highly recommended by an associate," he finally said.  He nodded with a very slight smile, "I'm starting to believe what I was told."  Garrett nodded in answer, taking a sip of his own heavier beer.  "The job description is simple.  Retrieval.  Possibly corporal punishment should the oppurtunity arise."

"They stole…" Garrett paused as the tables around them started clapping and cheering as one of the bigger podracing stars was introduced.  "They stole something of yours," Garrett stated more than asked.

Myles nodded, "In a manner of speaking."  Myles paused for a drink as the retaurant cheered again, "I have a hobby in that I collect antiques of various kinds.  Some aren't worth much, only curiousities.  Some, a lot."  He shrugged, "These people were the team I hired to actually dig one up for me."

Garrett smirked, "Aha."  He took a drink, "They never made the handoff to you then."

The voice boomed loudly over the bar's sound system.  Competitors, start your engines.  Cheers erupted from everyone around them on all floors.  Service all but stopped as the bartenders joined in.  No chance of talking to Myles while this was happening, they both pulled out the electronic menues that each table had for each seat.  The screens showed the podracers in their vehicles, floating above a rooftop, waiting for the countdown.  Garrett scrolled down the list.  He went simple, sports bar, just a sandwich and chips.  The host of the race started counting down from ten, every voice in the bar started counting down with her. Ten.  Nine.  Eight.  Seven.  Six.  Five.  Four.  Three.  Two.  One.  Begin!  The sound of the engines took over as they took off, the cheers competing with them.  Non stop, they went on for minutes, even long enough for a droid to bring plates of food out to Myles and Garrett.  Garrett didn't think it possible, but the cheers got louder, the podracers zoomed by the bar in a blur, barely anything to see they were going so fast.  The cheers finally quieted as Garrett took a bite of his sandwich.  The restaurant died to its normal level of crowded conversation, though that would explode again at the next lap.

"Six figures on delivery," Myles told him as he ate.  "Five hundred minimum, maximum depends on the results of the second task.  Expenses will be covered."

Garrett dipped a chip in the sauce that came with the sandwich as he ate, thinking.  "You've been understandably vague, but I've got to ask, with the understanding that I'll take the job should you answer.  What was stolen?"

"That's not something you need to know."

Garrett rolled his eyes as he took another bite of the sandwich.  "It's important, sir.  Is it heavy, is it big, is it explosive, is it chained to one of their wrists?"  He took a drink before he continued the barrage of questions, "Is it something they'll have a watch on or as soon put it in a safe deposit box?  Can they sell it quickly, effecting my timetable?"

Myles took the barrage with a straight face.  Garrett couldn't get a read on him, not someone he'd like to be in a card game with.  Finally, after a few seconds, he relented, slightly, a nod and a small smile forming, "What I will say is that it is a piece of ancient technology, but should be unpowered."

Garrett nodded, taking what he could get.  He ate for a few minutes, considering his next words carefully.  "I respect your privacy, sir.  Let me make that clear.  What you say here, what you tell me, what I find out doing this job for you, nobody else finds out." He nodded for emphasis, Myles nodded in return.  "Here's the catch.  If you want amateur night with me flying blind, the price has gotta go up.  I'll get you what they stole, and make sure they get a bloody nose doing it, but the price is going up."  Myles nodded for him to continue, his fingers circling the top of his glass, a slight whirrr coming from the glass as he did.  He paused again, taking another drink, considering what he was about to ask as he felt a tingle, probably the beer.  What he said could make or break whether he got the job. "I want your original asking price in a bank account up front with another seventy five percent on delivery.  Payment for secondary objctive is your prerogative based on results as you have implied."

"That is a confirmation, then?" Myles asked with the smile of a businessman, like the deal had just been struck, and the way he could like it no less.  It was time for a drink, and he took one.

"Indeed," Garrett said as he pulled a small datapad out of his pocket, mostly indifferent to the smile. A rare negotiation where both sides get what they want, Garrett would get the information or the money, Myles the workhorse.  Everybody was happy.  He tapped the screen a few times, looked at Myles, who had his own datapad out and nodded.  He slid his fingers across the screen toward Myles' datapad.  "Here's a secure contact point for me.  Included is a one-time transfer account.  Depending on what information you send me, or if you use the account at all, I'll know your decision."  He killed off his beer, setting the empty glass down, now feeling a slight buzz from the strong drink.  "I'll at least need your profiles on who you hired for the job by tomorrow."  He picked up the scrambler and turned it off, pocketing it as he stood to leave, "Enjoy the race.  My money is not on the Jedi."