Bo Grizzleback's Arc

Chapter 4 of 8

Word travels fast in a small town. By the next morning Bo had three strangers loitering near his back door, and a kid on a bike who kept pedaling past the alley like he was casing the place. Aiden showed up with two coffees and set one on the counter next to the skull decanter. "Bro. Somebody's been running their mouth. Half the Cantina was asking about your blue stuff last night." Bo looked at the decanter under the pendant light. One liter of blue glow, eight pods locked in a drawer, and trader night three days out. He couldn't guard the bar and set up his stall at the market at the same time. Aiden snapped his fingers. "Fiora. She runs that gym like a barracks, bro. She'll know what to do." Bo grabbed his hat. They walked over together and found her wiping down a rack of weights. Bo laid it out plain. Somebody wanted his batch. He needed eyes on the decanter until the traders paid for it. Fiora didn't blink. She squared up, arms crossed, and grinned like he'd offered her a fight. "Grizzleback, listen up. You don't defend a position by sitting on it. You control the ground." She jabbed a finger at him. "Trader night, I'm on you. Two of my regulars on the perimeter. Anybody reaches for that bottle, they pull back a stump. Copy?" Bo nodded. Aiden gave her a slow clap. She told them to move the setup early. Get to the bazaar before the crowd, pick a stall with sightlines, and make the decanter visible from every angle. Hide nothing. A thief hits what he can grab in the dark, not what's lit up under a hundred eyes. They loaded the decanter into a padded case and walked it to the Moon Bazaar an hour before opening. The purple glass threw color across the white floor. Bo set the skull on a small riser under a lamp. The blue caught the light and pulled every passing vendor's head around. Aiden set out cards with the price. Bo kept one hand near the case. He felt exposed and stupid until a shadow filled the aisle behind him. Fiora, in a black shirt and cargo pants, sunglasses pushed up on her head. Two lean regulars flanked the stall six feet out, pretending to browse rugs. "Eyes up, Grizzleback. You brew. I'll handle the rest." She planted herself at the corner of the table and didn't move for the next four hours. Two men circled twice and drifted off. A third reached and pulled his hand back when Fiora leaned in. By closing, the decanter still sat under the lamp, untouched. Bo carried it home in the case with Fiora walking point. The batch was safe. But now he had one bottle, a guard detail, and traders arriving in three days who would want more than a single pour.