Wally wasn't quite sure what he was expecting. A dim, low-ceilinged subterranean vault, maybe, the air choked with rancid smoke and evaporating sweat.
It wasn't like that at all. In front of Wally was a wide, neatly-arranged hall that looked strange and furry. Then Wally's eyes adjusted and he saw that the floors were actually carpeted, and the walls were hung with some kind of beige felt. In the stainless antiseptic world of metal corridors all space pirates lived in, such a sight raised instant suspicion. It looked a lot like the walls were going moldy.
They also deadened the noise in the room, so that it seemed deathly quiet. And this was also strange, because the room was packed. Tables were arrayed before them in neat rectangular formations, six seats to a table, and every one was full. On some tables games of cards were being played; one group of tables in the corner seemed to have a sort of Bingo game going. Most of the people Wally could see looked on the far side of forty, though there were a few youngsters here and there. Needless to say, they were all male. The general atmosphere was one of laid-back calm and merriment. Or it would have been, except that the doors had just opened on two strange pirates, and every pair of eyes in the place were focussed on them.
Wally swallowed, rooted to the spot. He saw Guybrush take a step forward, and shuffled hesitantly behind him. The whole room watched.
"That's the way," said Guybrush encouragingly, whispering so the sound didn't carry. "Just show a little respect, look a little overawed, and they'll be satisfied."
Wally didn't have to put in any effort on that front. Soon heads started to turn, the noise level rose again, and they were forgotten. Wally risked a look left and right. Just about everybody had a drink in front of them, but there was no food. Waiters plodded slowly through the tables, not worried about speed, holding enormous pitchers of synthathol. Someone at a table made a joke, and the man next to him poured his synthathol over his head. Everyone laughed.
Wally shrugged, and looked back at where they were headed. The far side of the room was one long bar, with maybe thirty stools. Here, at last, there were some spare seats.
Guybrush nodded to the left. "See that guy wiith the orange hair? He's our contact."
There were a couple of spare seats nearby. Guybrush took the one next to the orange-haired guy, Wally taking the next. The barman came over and took their orders. Soon, Wally found himself staring down into a mug of synthathol. Guybrush was conducting a low-pitched conversation with the orange-haired guy and Wally felt very much out of place.
"And the next number is... 22!"
"Bingo!"
"Congratulations! What prize would you like, sir?"
"I'd love the INVITATION!"
"He wants the INVITATION! Give him a big hand, folks!"
Wally looked to his left. The man next to him was similarly quiet, a mug of synthathol in one bleach-pale hand. Wally decided to strike up a conversation. "So, uh, where are you from?" he said.
The man looked at him strangely. "Do I know you?"
The guy next to him suddenly poked his head around and glared at Wally. "'Ere, what you bothering me mate for?" he growled. He had a lumpy, misshappen head, like a lump of playdoh left in an oven. His left eye bulged from its socket, the other was covered by an eyepatch. Hair grew on odd spots - like the ridge of his nose, and over his ears. But for all his deformity, there was an awful suggestion of muscle beneath.
"Well, I wasn't trying to," said Wally lamely.
The ugly-faced man suddenly grabbed his shoulder. "Listen here, mate, if you don't want to end up face down-"
But he didn't get any further, because at that moment the doors opened.
It was like a Pavlovian reaction. Every face in the room turned toward the doors. The drinkers at their tables. The Bingo players. Even the ugly-faced man. Guybrush turned toward them too, a mug in one hand, smiling at a joke the orange-haired man had just told.
There were two men standing in the doorway. They wore black jumpsuits and held blasters in each hand. "Guybrush Threepwood?" called the larger of the two.
Guybrush paused, his mug of synthathol raised to his lips, and raised an eyebrow questioningly.
Without another word, the larger man raised his blaster and shot him.