Despite his apparent nonchalance, Harry knew exactly where he was going. In fact, he had known since before he left the ship. His information had come in the form of a warning from one of the ship’s porters.
“Goin’ to Lorelei, huh?” the man said as they were talking one night. “Let me tell you, brother, you keep yourself out of a place there called the Starlight Lounge. Hear? Bad enough to lose your money at those places where they smile and call you `sir’ while they rake in your chips. There’s bad folks hang out at the Starlight. More trouble than the likes of us can afford.”
Casual pressure had yielded no more details, as the man was apparently passing along hearsay rather than firsthand experience. Still, it told Harry what he needed to know.
The Starlight Lounge itself looked harmless enough as Harry parked his cycle in front and pushed through the door. If anything, it seemed to be several cuts above the average neighborhood bar. Rather than being disappointed, he was heartened by the place’s appearance. It was only in the holo-movies that criminal hangouts looked like an opium den in a bad cartoon strip. In real life, those who successfully worked the nonlegal side of the street had money and preferred to do their drinking and eating in fairly upscale surroundings.
“Gimme a draft,” he said, sliding onto a stool at the bar.
The bartender hesitated, running an appraising eye over Harry’s clothes until the Legionnaire-in-disguise produced a thick wad of bills from his pocket, peeled one off, and tossed it casually on the bar. The bill was of sufficiently high denomination that it would have been noticeable most places in the galaxy, but this was Lorelei, where gamblers often preferred to make their wagers in cash, and the barman barely gave it a glance before going off to fetch his drink.