Navarre had selected a table on the upper deck. Over looking the main floor, his figured this would keep him separated from the crowds hustle and bustle below. "May I bring you something else, Sir?" The waitress of the small lounge asked politely. "A case of this vintage blood wine to go." Navarre glanced up with a sly smile. "Your stock is very well aged." "We don't get many Klingons here." She giggled. "And I have never met anyone else who had a liking for it." "You're going to pay the price now, Bishop!" And angry voice erupted behind Navarre. "I said we would meet again!" "I'll speak to the manager." The waitress smiled. "I'm sure he would be delighted though." "I appreciate that." Navarre drew a deep breath. "Thank you." "I know most of the freight jockeys that pass through here." She continued pleasantly. "Just passing through or business?" "Just killin time." Navarre responded, trying not to stared at her nearly exposed breasts. "I am one of those freight jockeys you spoke of, but new to this area." "Listen. Max. There was no choice; it was either one container or all of them and the ship. I did what I could. You know that." "Excuses! You know what that container cost me in profits? A lot! Certainly more than your worth!" "Always get this interesting?" Navarre glanced over his shoulder. His trained eye took in the situation in a flash. "Oh. Dear." The Waitress sat her tray on the table. "We're going to need security."