"The fact you don't deny it will be enough for most." Johansen showed brief distaste, swallowed the rest of his drink, and rose. "I can't wish you luck, since that'd mean wishing someone else dead. But I can wish it for your clan, and I do."
Nevan rose to bow. "I will pass your wishes, and word of your repayment, to the Lowrie. Go in peace, Captain Johansen--and please accept my wishes for your well-being. Whatever you think of me or my profession--" most Imperials were as dubious of field agents as they were of assassins--"I want only the best for the Empire and its officers."
"Sandemans don't lie, so I accept that," Johansen said. Then, grudgingly, "Thank you, warrior." With that he left, abruptly.
Nevan allowed himself a small smile, then went to get more chocolate milk. Not too promising so far, but he hadn't been here long, either.
Perhaps half an hour after he returned to his table, another man approached, this one in an expensive suit. "Vance DarLowrie?"
"Yes." Nevan recognized the type; a businesser who'd made enemies and wanted either protection or one of them eliminated. "I am not available at the moment."
"You have other employment?"
"That's none of your concern."
The businesser sat. "It is if your target is Kiyoshi Owajima, as I've heard. I have reason to want him . . . out of the picture."
"Oh?" Nevan remained noncommittal, but allowed himself to show a trace of interest. "I understand he's an Imperial officer--a dangerous target. Killing him would earn the death penalty or life imprisonment--death, if done simply for pay. That's a foolish risk, when there are any number of almost riskless targets around."