“. . . and I’ve been telling you for months that it’s the only way to keep the riff-raff from draining away all your practice time,” he shot back angrily. “Remember, your name’s supposed to be the Great Skeeve, not the Red Cross. You don’t do charity.”
Now we were on familiar ground. Unlike the disguise thing, this was one argument I never tired of.
“I’m not talking about charity,” I said. “I’m talking about a fair fee for services rendered.”
“Fair fee?” my partner laughed, rolling his eyes. “You mean like that deal you cut with Watzisname? Did he ever tell you about that one, Tananda? We catch a silly bird for this Deveel, see, and my partner charges him a flat fee. Not a percentage, mind you, a flat fee. And how much of a flat fee? A hundred gold pieces? A thousand. No. TEN. Ten lousy gold pieces. And half an hour later the Deveel sells his ‘poor little bird’ for over a hundred thousand. Nice to know we don’t do charity, isn’t it?”
“C’mon, Aahz,” I argued, writhing inside. “That was only five minutes’ work. How was I supposed to know the silly bird was on the endangered species list? Even you thought it was a good deal until we heard what the final sale was. Besides, if I had held out for a percentage and the Deveel had been legit and never sold the thing, we wouldn’t have even gotten ten gold pieces out of it.”
“I never heard the details from your side,” Tananda said, “but what I picked up on the streets was that everybody at the Bazaar was really impressed. Most folks think that it’s a master-stroke of PR for the hottest magician at the Bazaar to help bring a rarity to the public for a mere fraction of his normal fees. It shows he’s something other than a cold-hearted businessman . . . that he really cares about people.”