"Why is that?" Pel wondered aloud, his irritation growing. "You make a habit of double-crossing people?" He was too pissed off to be impressed by Golo's excellent command of a human dialect.
"My word is my bond," Golo assured him. "But there are many who dislike quarians. They think we are nothing but scavengers and thieves."
That's because you are, Pel thought to himself. "I was going to follow you back to your apartment," the quarian continued. "And then make face–to– face contact with you there."
"Instead you drew a weapon on me."
"Only for self-defense," Golo objected. "When you ran I knew I had been spotted. I was afraid you would try to kill me."
"I still might," Pel replied, but it was an empty threat. Cerberus needed the quarian alive.
Golo must have sensed he was out of danger, because he turned his back on Pel and retrieved his weapon from the ground.
"We can go to your home and continue our business in private," the quarian offered, securing his pistol somewhere inside the folds of his clothes.
"No," Pel replied. "Somewhere public. I don't want you to know where I'm staying." You'll probably come back later and rob me blind.
Golo shrugged indifferently. "I know a place not far from here."
The quarian took him to a local gambling hall located in the district. A heavily armed krogan standing at the door nodded slightly as they entered. The sign above his head said "Fortune's Den" in many languages, though Pel doubted anyone ever got rich in this place.