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ivory inlaid blaster, Mister Haque
echoed his partner's unsettled tone. "Well."

With that, Mister Zlash set the man on the ground, sheathed his razor,
and dusted off his almost-victim's coat with two mammoth hands. "You of course
know what this means, don't you, Mister Haque?"

A reticent nod accompanied the much smaller assassin's response. "I am
afraid I do."

Mister Zlash stared down into the terrified eyes of his prey. "It would
seem my partner and I owe you an apology, Mr. Chistor. We have done you a
disservice, and for that, we offer our sincerest regrets."

The shorter hunter moved gracefully around to his partner's left side and
smiled sadly. "We assure you, we are typically more professional than this.
Work in the galaxy is becoming very complex, and we allowed our eagerness at
getting a lucrative Coruscant contract to get the better of us."

Reaching into his blast vest, the only article of clothing on his chest,
Mister Zlash pulled out a mangled blaster pistol and handed it back to the
stunned bureaucrat. "We will, of course, pay for damages, both to this fine
weapon and the speeder we unfortunately had to eviscerate during our pursuit."

"Undoubtedly." Mister Haque returned a small communicator, still smoking
from the sword strike that rendered it useless only a few minutes before. "We
will also let the matter of the bruises sustained by myself during our
previous struggle go without incident. You have quite a left hook, Mr.
Chistor; few of our victims ever make contact, much less draw blood. Well
done, sir."

Mister Zlash dropped one of his hammerlike hands down onto Barnab
Chistor's shoulder, reminding the man suddenly of every part of
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