Bo Grizzleback's Arc

Chapter 6 of 8

Trader night came fast. Bo set the crystal skull decanter under a single lamp at the end of the bar and lined the room with Fiora's regulars along the walls. Aiden stood beside him in a clean shirt, sunglasses pushed up on his forehead, ready to pour the first taste he'd been promised. The blue liquid caught the light like a lit fuse. Traders filed in from the landing pad in coats still dusted with grit. The trouble started before the second round. A tall trader in a green coat laughed too loud and called the batch a paint job. He waved a small vial of blue liquid over his head and told the room he'd bought the same stuff two docks over for half the price. Behind him, a woman in a dust jacket, the same one Fiora had dragged in two days back, poured her vial into a shot glass and offered it around. Bo saw the play. They were seeding fakes into the room so no trader could tell his batch from theirs. He had no stamp, no label, nothing on the decanter that said the pour was his. "Bro, that's our girl," Aiden said, low. "They're gonna walk out selling ghost bottles with your name on them." Bo reached for the decanter. He had eight pods left and one filled skull, and any trader who bought a fake tonight would tell every dock the blue batch was a scam. The door opened. Fat Tony strolled in wearing a flowered shirt and sandals, a folded paper in one paw. He climbed onto a stool and tapped the bar twice. "Easy now, easy. Before anybody drink anything, mi have a small ting to read." He unfolded the paper and held it up. It was a supply contract, signed and dated three weeks back, granting Fat Tony a registered stake in any product distilled using his pressure rig. At the bottom sat Bo's signature, clean and clear. "So the blue batch, it come through my rig, and it carry my mark. Any bottle without the mark, it not the real ting." He pulled a small stamp from his pocket and pressed a wax seal onto the base of the decanter. The green coat lowered his vial. The woman in the dust jacket set hers down and walked out. Aiden grabbed Bo's arm. "Bro, when did you sign that?" Bo stared at the paper. He remembered the night with the rig, a stack of forms, Tony saying it was for insurance. Fat Tony leaned in and smiled. "Relax, Grizzleback. Mi save your night. But the paper real, and the stake real. We partners now, on the blue." He clapped Bo on the shoulder and turned to pour. The fakes were dead. The batch was Bo's, stamped and safe. And half of every bottle from here on belonged to Fat Tony.