The hustling crowds surrounding the view-screens and viewing windows gazing upon the Hood Asteroid Field caught the eye of the gambler. Daredevils and death-wishers would take their ships out there onto the track, one-on-one, and would wager their own survival for a healthy injection of credits into their accounts. Either that, or credits streaming out to pay for the medical operations needed to stitch their arm back on after they ricochet off a nearby asteroid. Well, hopefully nothing worse than that anyway. That's just being optimistic.
Taking the glass of Hitter with him, Goldman approached the back of the crowd to get a good view of a nearby viewing screen. On the camera shone the faces and stats of two pilots, one Starblazer-flying trader escort and a bounty hunter in a Sea Serpent. The Starblazer's youth beamed through her posture. She was nervous, you could smell it through the screen. And yet, she seemed reasonably assured. Like something was telling her she'd be alright and there was nothing to worry about.
The Sea Serpent on the other hand, seemed to be goading the audience. Everyone could see it, he was the clear favourite. He'd fought bounties through mine fields, asteroid belts, exploding outposts and amongst enemy weapons platforms. A looping racetrack? Against a Starblazer?
"Alright, Lady Luck. Heads, I put two million on Beauty. Tails, it's on the Beast."
He tossed the coin above his head; it swirled almost gracefully on its axis, before coming to rest in his palm. The gates of Buckingham Palace stared right back at him.
"Aw, what? Where's Carina's head? C'mon..."
Taking his attention outside himself for a second, Goldman quickly noted that he was publically negotiating with a coin. One guy shot a disturbing glance at the coin-bearer, then turned to his nearby friend, pointed at the crazed individual, and shook his head.
Ignoring the offensive brigand, Goldman picked the one-way conversation back up again.
"But that's obvious! The guy's against a frikkin' civvie! C'mon, at least make it INTERESTING, I mean, she's a looker, she looks available, she's probably going to di-Hey, watch your step, mate."
A well-dressed man had seemingly strayed into Goldman, distracted by the bustle. His attire could certainly rival Goldman's for "Hood's Fashionista of the Night", yet he didn't seem like he'd gone for the smart-casual look just to impress. Hell, it arguably wasn't even casual. It was like the guy'd turned up for a business meeting or something.
Goldman brushed down his shoulder, chuckled quietly to himself and quickly turned round to check the bar. A moment later, and Goldman had caught the bartender's eye. He didn't even need to say a word; he only pointed to the face of the hunter on the screen and Abe was writing it on a wager-slip.
"Not your kind of racer, Casino. She bossing you around again?"
Goldman sighed. "Ain't she always?"