Disclaimer: Star Wars belongs to George Lucas. I own none of the characters or settings to be found herein.

A/N: This ficlet was inspired by a 'supposedly true' story a friend told me (though my guess is that it's just an urban legend). It's a sequel of sorts to A Temporary Lapse in Judgement.

o0O0o

He awoke with a pounding headache, a searing pain in his back and the sound of female chortling filling his ears.

Groaning, Cad Bane forced his eyes open and saw a slumbering Weequay, an unconscious Patrolian, a snoring Trandoshan and a pair of Racor hide boots.

"Nice tattoo," the owner of the boots said.

"Tattoo?" he murmured, before recalling the events of the previous evening. The annual Assassins, Bounty Hunters and Associated Mercenaries Life Day bash(1)... The requisite celebratory drink (or seventeen)... The stroll through the streets of Nar Shaddaa with three sometimes-colleagues/sometimes-irritants(2)... The sight of the tattoo parlour and Shahan Alama's sudden decision to get the word 'Killer' emblazoned on his arm in some obscure Huttese dialect... Bane's sudden compulsion to go one (or rather ten) better.

"What was it supposed to be?" Aurra asked(3).

"Tale of Two Hunters. Verse thirty-two," he muttered grudgingly. It was a truly inspiration quote about the importance of getting paid well for one's work. However, Aurra's schadenfreud-laced amusement was a clear indication that this was not in fact what he presently had written on his back.

"Appropriate," she said.

"You going to tell me it's a take-away menu or something?"

"Close. It's a menu... of sorts." She laughed again.

"Well?" He snarled, with as much venom as he could muster.

Unperturbed, Aurra sank down on to her knees and proceeded to run cold fingers over the markings that now resided between his shoulder blades. Under other circumstances he might have found this arousing, right now however, he had to suppress the urge to snap her wrist(4).

"As far as I can tell it's a pricelist for the services on offer at Madam Fireflower's House of Pleasures and Delights."

He groaned.

She snorted. "Though I have to say, your rates are very reasonable. I don't think I've ever heard of anybody doing Number Eight on there for less than six-hundred credits before."

"What!" Horrified, he jumped to his feet.

Aurra rolled her eyes. "Relax, Bane. It's the kind you can remove. Alama and Bossk on the other hand..." She smirked in a decidedly evil fashion.

Bane however wasn't paying attention.

Swearing vengeance, he reached for his (now somewhat battered) hat, put on his duster and stalked out into the foetid Nar Shaddaa dawn.

It was one thing to have a list of schutta's tricks on your back. But cut price schutta's tricks? No one did that to Cad Bane and got away with it.

-0-

(1)Let it not be said that the ABH&AM Club was without a sense of (ironic) humour.

(2)The distinction between the two tended to be a matter of timing.

(3)She herself had not been present at the actual tattooing event, having opted to spend her evening engaged in that most ancient and respected of Life Day traditions known as: Having a blazing row with your ex-lover over the most inconsequential matter imaginable(3a).

(3a)And dammit she was right. It had been Senator Expen Dee Bell not Representative Dehd Soohn who'd ordered that hit on the head of MisanthroTech Systems three years ago.

(4)It was amazing how difficult it was to find a top class sniper with no morals and a taste for insanely high risk ventures at short notice.