"Don't get cute," Huxley growled. "You know as well as I do that Karrde's got a sector clearinghouse over on Gonmore. They'll have all the credits there we need."
He dug into a pocket and produced a hold-out blaster. "You're going to call and tell them to bring it to us," he said, leveling the weapon at her face across the table. "Half a million. Now."
"Really." Casually, keeping her hands visible, Mara turned her head to look behind her. Most of the cantina's nonsmuggler patrons had already made a quiet exit, she noted, or else had gathered into groups on either side of the confrontation, staying well out of the potential lines of fire. Of more immediate concern was the group of about twenty humans and aliens who had spread themselves out in a semicircle directly behind her, all of them with weapons trained on her back.
All of them also showing varying degrees of wariness, she noted with a certain malicious amusement. Her reputation had apparently preceded her. "You throw an interesting party, Huxley," she said, turning back to face the smuggler chief. "But you don't really think you're equipped to deal with a Jedi, do you?"
Huxley smiled. A very evil smile. A surprisingly evil smile, actually, given the circumstances. "Matter of fact, yeah, I do." He raised his voice. "Bats?"
There was a brief pause. Mara reached out with the Force, but all she could sense was a sudden heightened anticipation from the crowd.
Then, from across the room ahead and to her right came the creak of machinery. A section of floor in a poorly lit area at the far end of the bar began to rise ponderously toward the ceiling, revealing an open-sided keg lift coming up from the storage cellar below. As it rose, something metallic came into view, its