Alex agreed that in this very moment, things could simply not be better then their were right now. It was safe to say, that there existed no greater pleasure in the whole of the Galaxy, than savouring the taste of a twenty-two hundred thousand credit bottle of Corellian scotch. Well, that's what Alex thought, and who was anyone else to complain?
However, at this point, Alex hadn't even opened the bottle, it just stood motionless taunting him on his table.He wasn't all too sure what exactly stopping him from indulging his pleasures in such a good investment. Upon reflection, that probably had something to do with the part where said scotch was bought from money in which he had acquired from means that were, well, would get a man shot, no matter his position.
Another man would probably gulp that up, when you were in such a position as Alex is, your days are very much numbered. Why not make your last few days, good days?
And then he saw him, across the bar trying to be nondescript and out of the way. He was good at doing that, to anyone one else, he was just another patron at a high-end establishment, but to Alex he stood out like a sore thumb. He was the reason that Alex was here, damn him and his ways, because of this son of a bitch, Alex had went from an Imperialist to the heart, to a man who sells classified documents to the Republic, in exchange for credits, which he then inturn spends on scotch, that he won't drink.
'Now the fun begins', he thought to himself, 'how many more deaths will I cause today?' It wasn't a question he could answer, and that was good, he didn't want to know.
"I'd offer you a glass," said Alex, as his handler sat next to him. "But I can't find it in myself to be kind to you, so you'll have to do without."