“Fifty Thousand Dollars.”
The words oozed from Rayfe Tassk’s mouth as a grin spread across his swarthy, mustachioed face. He pushed a translucent plastoid sheet through the holo-adverts swirling across the tabletop toward the being seated opposite.
Skeks Sudzdozyn grasped the sheet in long, blue fingers and scanned it with bulbous, unblinking red eyes.
“What’s a dollar?” he asked.
