Salem smiled at Jocun, "Let me know. Either way, it's been a pleasure doing business." He stood, "I'm sorry to run so soon, but I have a couple of other things I need to take care of." With a nod, he picked up his cloak, moved towards an empty booth, and sat down.
Al, seeing Salem moving away from the general crowd, rose and half-walked, half-skipped over to Salem's booth, sliding into the seat beside him. Salem rolled his eyes as he slid aside to make room.
"So, what's the deal with you and McScarypants over there," Al asked, with a slight nod towards Rathien. "I've managed to piece together that you're not dead, but I can't see how. Did you kiss and make up?"
Salem laughed, "Not exactly, though we did come closer than you'd think." He trailed off, rummaging through his wadded cloak, trying to avoid getting too much blood on his hands.
My blood, he reminded himself. He hadn't even seen the injury, but for there to be this much blood inside the cloak, it must have been severe.
"To both death and kisses," he muttered, pulling his hand from another cloak pocket and wiping his blood-covered knuckles on a napkin.
Al raised an eyebrow and laughed in surprise. He then leaned in, lowering his voice, and switched to the Atazin galactic language, "Seriously, what happened?"
Salem also lowered his voice and switched languages. There didn't seem to be anyone in listening range, but old habits die hard, and one could never be too careful. "I injected him with nanites. They'll melt his brains if my vitals stop."
Al blinked in surprise, then smirked at Salem, "You told him that? Was that your plan all along?"
Salem shrugged sheepishly, then finally gave up on looking for whatever he was trying to find in his cloak and pulled his archaic communicator from the cloak pocket- a cylindrical device just long enough to not be fully covered by his closed fist, resembling an old earth microphone. "I think it may be time to make a phone call," he said, grinning at Al.