"Well, my friend, it is all a matter of deflection and suggestion."
	I stepped into an empty alleyway, motioning for my companions to follow.
	"You see, unless you have the twelve eyes of a Vuvrian, most people can only focus on one thing at a time. So the way to take something off a mark is to tell them you are going to take something else."
	"Ridiculous," said Solo.
	"No?" I replied. "I'm going to take your belt buckle."
	"Over my dead body you will." said Solo, bristling.
	"No, no, nothing so extreme. But I am going to steal the buckle nonetheless. Say, that is a mighty fine jacket you have there." And at that I stepped in and began to finger the fabric of Han Solo's jacket. "And where did you get that shirt?"
	I moved my right hand across his chest and shoulders, touching and talking, my eyes never leaving his. It irritated him, I could tell, but half his attention was on the hand that was doing the poking and prodding while the other half was protecting the belt buckle, because that was what he though I was after. He kept slapping my fingers away, and I kept smiling and moving them.
	Then with my left hand, I held up something else.
	"Look here. Is this your blaster?" I asked.
	"Hey!" shouted Solo. "Give that back."
	"Hrrrr hrrrr hrrrr," laughed Chewie in his Wookie way.
	"But how did you do that?" asked Mahjo. "Weren't you going after his belt buckle?"
	"No, the blaster was my target all along," I said. "But by giving Solo something else to worry about, and distracting him more with my slightly-too-familiar compliments about his tailoring, and my poking and prodding, he could not notice when I eased his blaster out, and tah-dah-it's mine.

- Chapter 4, Page 76-78