Robert Asprin's Dragons Run

by Nye, Jody Lynn

  He stood up.

  “Uncle Malcolm, isn’t that . . . ?”

  Malcolm looked astonished. “Indeed it is.”

  Fox Lisa scooted around her friend and reached up to give Griffen a hearty kiss. “Well, hey, there,” she said. “I wondered when you were going to get here! I want you to meet my friend!”

  “Penelope Dunbar. Call me Penny.”

  “Penny’s running for governor,” Fox Lisa said. “She belongs to my shooting club. She’s been looking for campaign workers. I’m running St. Bernard Parish for her. She said she was interested in meeting local business owners, and I told her about you. She said she had heard about you.”

  “In more ways than one,” Penny said. Her alto voice was musical. She shook hands with him. She had a firm grip. “And this must be your uncle.” She took Malcolm’s nerveless fingers in hers.

  “Yes,” Griffen said, belatedly and not a little lamely. “Penny, this is my uncle, Malcolm McCandles.”

  “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Miss Dunbar,” Malcolm said.

  “The pleasure’s all mine, Mr. McCandles. Call me Penny.”

  Fox Lisa looked taken aback and a little disappointed. “You know him already?”

  “Yes,” Penny said, with a million-watt smile. “This is the man who is going to save my life.”

  Ten

  Penny and Malcolm had been at a small table in the corner for hours. Their voices were shielded by the voices of the crowd that had built up in the bar. Neither of them ate anything. Penny smoked two or three cigarettes. She and Malcolm drank cup after cup of black coffee.

  Griffen crumpled his napkin and pushed aside the basket of chicken bones. Fox Lisa held on to her tumbler of Jack Daniel’s and toyed with the last of her french fries.

  “I can’t believe you know her already,” Fox Lisa said for perhaps the eightieth time.

  “I don’t,” Griffen said. “Uncle Malcolm said he was coming to New Orleans to meet her. I have never thought of her as anything except a name on the news until this morning. You know I don’t pay a lot of attention to politics. I’m just too busy.”

  “What about your uncle? What does he have to do with political campaigns?”

  Griffen was all too aware the conversation with Duvallier was off-limits, but he had gotten into a lot of trouble in the past for keeping important information from the people in his life who might be affected by it. “I’m not sure. Maybe he works for her party?”

  “The Economy Party? I thought it was only in five states so far.”

  Griffen thought hard. He loved the debates among his friends in the Irish pub, especially at night over a friendly beverage, but politics was not one of his major interests. He could reel off the full cast of classic MGM movies, but he doubted that, if challenged, he could name his local councilman or both sitting Louisiana senators.

  “I honestly don’t know his connection, but he came here to talk with her.”

  “So what are they talking about?” Fox Lisa asked again. She challenged him with a look. “I’m not gonna let you drop yourself into a situation again, Griffen. Or me. I’m not even rested up from Mardi Gras. I know you’re not. Does it have anything to do with Val? Have you heard from her?”

  “No, and no,” Griffen said. “Look, what if . . . ?” He shot a look toward his uncle and decided to take a chance on making the older McCandles angry. He knew he could trust Fox Lisa with his life, or any secret. “What if I had heard something, about some trouble that might involve Penny?”

  Fox Lisa’s large eyes went round.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Well, what if I had heard something about someone who might want to . . . hurt Penny?”

  Fox Lisa threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, that old thing?”

  “What old thing?”

  “The assassination threats! Sweetheart, this is Louisiana! If a candidate didn’t declare a blood feud against his opponent, you knew you couldn’t take them seriously. It’s nothing. Makes for a good news report. Sometimes I think they call in the threats themselves.” She stopped and studied his face. Her expression became solemn. “You think this one’s not pure bluster, don’t you?”

  “I . . . have reason to believe there’s a legitimate menace.”

  “Who’s behind it?”

  “That I can’t tell you,” Griffen said, firmly. “Not until I’ve talked with Uncle Malcolm. Just . . . in the meantime, can you make sure she doesn’t take any unnecessary chances?”

  Fox Lisa patted her purse. Griffen remembered she had a loaded gun in it that she knew how to use. “We’re both packing. I won’t say Penny’s a better shot than me, because she’s not—but she isn’t afraid to pull the trigger. And she’s a brown belt. I’ve seen her throw some pretty big men across the room. That’s how she keeps in shape. She’s also got a head of security on her campaign staff. Maurice is a bouncer at a club near the Superdome. You want me to give him a heads-up?”

  “This . . . might not be that kind of attack. I don’t know what it might be or how to counter it. Not yet, anyway.”

  Fox Lisa nodded solemnly. “Griffen, I’ll do everything I can to help her. She’ll make a great governor. I believe in her. If that means blasting the shit out of some werewolf, it would be my pleasure.”

  Griffen shrugged. “When I know anything I can tell you, I will. You know that.”

  Fox Lisa grinned. “I don’t mind. I stopped thinking I knew everything about the time I turned thirteen.”

  “Hey, Grifter!”

  Griffen turned to see Jerome sidle into the pub. He was a tall, muscular, African-American who had been Griffen’s best friend in college and was his second-in-command running the gambling operation. Griffen waited until Jerome picked up a chilled glass of beer from the bartender, then shoved a chair out from their table with his foot.

  “Hi, Jer. How’d the games go?”

  “No problem.” Jerome glanced around. He caught Malcolm’s eye and nodded to him. Malcolm nodded back. Penny Dunbar shot a curious glance his way, then returned to the conversation. Griffen watched this silent exchange with interest. It shouldn’t have surprised him by then that Jerome knew Malcolm McCandles. Griffen was all too aware how many people had been watching him as he grew up. A prophecy about a powerful young dragon had come to be centered on him. Whether it was true or not, the focus of a lot of dragons was on Griffen. He would really have appreciated having it confirmed, so he could get on with his life, but that was unlikely. Instead, he had to settle for picking up clues and nuances where he could. “Any news about Val?”

  “Nothing. Gris-gris called to ask me the same thing. It’ll be a couple more days before they let him out, and he’s jumping to start looking around as soon as he can.”

  “He really should not rush a belly wound,” Jerome said. “But trying to keep Gris-gris down is like trying to stuff bees back into a hive.”

  “I know.” Griffen frowned.

  Jerome nudged him with the back of his hand. “Don’t worry, Grifter. I’m sure Val’s fine. I’ve got some ears and eyes looking for her, too. Hey, here’s tonight’s takings. We did okay. Doughboy asked me for a loan.” He mentioned a runner who also helped with the catering arrangements. The nickname referred to his wide belly and high voice. “He’s got child support to pay. I made a note of the amount. He never asks, so I made an executive decision.”

  He slid an envelope under Griffen’s hand. Griffen slid it off the table and into a pocket.

  “You know more about this business than I do,” Griffen said. “If you think this isn’t the beginning of a trend, I respect your judgment.”

  “He’s as honest as anybody. He just got caught with empty pockets. It could happen to anyone.” Jer lifted his chin toward the other table. “Anything I can help out with on this?”

  “I don’t know yet,”
Griffen said. He explained what he could. Jerome’s face went blank as he listened, as if he was psyching out fellow players at a poker table. “I hope it’s nothing.”

  “Rumors like that get started all the time.”

  “I’ve heard something . . . more substantial,” Griffen said. “It’s more than rumor, but I think less than fact.”

  Jerome nodded. “You can count on me, when I have time.”

  “Thanks, Jer,” Fox Lisa said.

  Griffen gave him a wry look. “If that’s an obvious warning not to waste all my own time on it, I already know that.”

  Jerome put his hand on his chest. “Who, me? You’re the big boss man. You make the rules.”

  “If I want other people to follow them, I had better do it, too. I get that.”

  Fox Lisa looked at her watch. “It’s late. I better get Penny out of here. She has an interview on television tomorrow morning. They want us there about six thirty.”

  Griffen stood up and pulled back her chair.

  “I’ll drive you home. I have Brenda’s car.”

  She smiled up at him.

  “Thanks, but I have one of the cars from the campaign. A Lincoln.”

  Griffen raised his eyebrows. “I’m impressed.”

  Fox Lisa tossed her red ponytail. “Maybe if you’re good, I’ll take you for a ride in it sometime. This is the real thing, Griffen. Penny’s a good bet to make the nomination. All kinds of people are throwing money at us. Do you think that’s why Penny’s being threatened?”

  “It’s got to be power, hate, or fear,” Griffen said. He knew he was hedging. “Those are the classic reasons.”

  “Penny is the nicest person! I can’t imagine who could be so mean!”

  “Neither could I,” Griffen said. “Do you want me to walk you out?”

  “No need.” Fox Lisa pulled his head down and kissed him soundly on the lips. “I’m warned. That’s all you needed to do. You delegate. Not everything has to be you.”

  She sidled up to Penny and whispered in her ear. Penny nodded. Fox Lisa slipped out into the night. Penny waited until she was out of sight and beckoned him over. Griffen slid into an empty chair at their table.

  “That was very diplomatic of you,” she said, a glint in her eyes.

  “What was?” Griffen asked.

  “You managed to tell her to watch out for me without telling her more than she needed to know. I’m grateful.”

  “Happy to help,” Griffen said.

  Penny smiled. “I’m so happy to hear you say that! Because I am going to need all the help I can get in the coming months. Can I speak to you sometime tomorrow afternoon? I want to make use of your special skills.”

  Griffen enjoyed flattery as much as anyone else he knew, but it sounded to him like the run-up to a favor. A large favor. “May I ask what it is you need?”

  Penny put a hand on his arm. “Let’s not talk about it tonight. I am absolutely talked out. Malcolm, thank you. Will you tell our other friends I am grateful for all their support?”

  “Of course,” Griffen’s uncle said. “I am to assure you that they are all in this for the long term.”

  Penny smiled. “So am I,” she said. She leaned back and blew a smoke ring. “No matter what. I don’t plan to let anything get in my way.”

  A car horn honked.

  “There’s my ride.” She smiled. “So very nice to meet you both.”

  Griffen and Malcolm stood as Penny shouldered her gold-brocaded designer purse and went out into the night. Griffen thought her walk was halfway between a stride and a sashay, sexy but with power. They sat down. Malcolm looked toward the other table and gestured subtly. Jerome joined them.

  “Malcolm.”

  “Jerome.”

  Griffen looked from one to the other. There was some history there, but it was obvious neither one was planning to enlighten him then.

  “What do you think of her?” Malcolm asked them.

  Griffen eyed his uncle. “Why didn’t you tell me she was a dragon, too?”

  Malcolm looked sour. “How did you know?”

  “I’m starting to get a feel for when someone has dragon blood,” Griffen said. “But the real giveaway was when she blew a smoke ring just now without taking a puff of her cigarette first.”

  Malcolm’s eyes were hooded. “Then she meant you to know. It is not common knowledge outside certain circles.”

  “Does D— Does he know?”

  From outside, a car horn started honking frantically. The roar of a powerful engine all but drowned it out. Griffen was on his feet before he knew it. He ran outside, Jerome and the rest of the bar on his heels. He was just in time to see a city garbage truck heading the wrong way down Toulouse straight toward a black sedan. He got one glimpse of Fox Lisa behind the wheel of the car, her face bleached white by the truck’s headlights. She turned her head to look back over her shoulder. The car leaped backward with a refined roar, but the truck continued to bear down on it. Fox Lisa couldn’t back away swiftly enough. Griffen dashed to catch up with the truck.

  “Hey!” he yelled, trying to attract the driver’s attention. “Stop!”

  CRASH! The truck piled into the car, crushing the hood. The windshield burst, spraying chips of glass all over the street.

  Griffen ran toward the car. He glanced behind him at the pale, shocked faces lit by the streetlamp.

  “Get the driver!” he shouted.

  Malcolm leaped up onto the step beside the driver’s door. With a powerful wrench, he tore it open.

  “There’s no one in it!”

  Griffen had no time to concern himself with the mystery. The car was bent into a rough W, with the hood mashed almost vertical. He tugged at the passenger door of the Lincoln. It was bent so much it couldn’t open. Penny and Fox Lisa, their laps draped with deflated air bags, hammered at the handles, trying to escape. Griffen pulled at the back door. It popped open. He leaned in and grabbed Penny’s hand.

  “Unbuckle your belt,” he ordered. She clicked it open. When it retracted, Griffen pulled her over the seatback and thrust her outside, into the arms of the waiting crowd. Jerome was there. He picked her up and carried her to the sidewalk. “Fox Lisa, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. Her voice trembled. She undid her own belt and climbed over the seat by herself. She ran around the rear of the car to Penny and threw her arms around her. “You okay, darlin’?”

  Penny looked shaken, but she stood tall, pushing both Fox Lisa and Jerome away. “I’m fine.”

  She regained her composure so swiftly, Griffen was astonished, until he saw pocket cameras appearing by the dozen in the hands of the crowd. Flashes popped off, making him wince, but he stiffened his expression into one of open concern.

  Malcolm appeared at their side. He took Penny by the arm.

  “You may need medical attention,” he said. “This way.”

  “Yes. I’m all right!” she called to the onlookers.

  Fire trucks crowded onto Toulouse from Rampart Street behind a city police car. Firefighters in heavy rubber coats surrounded the two vehicles and prepared to pull them apart. An ambulance siren wailed and clucked. The revolving lights splashed on Burgundy, and a couple of uniformed paramedics came jogging around the corner with a stretcher on wheels between them.

  “Anyone hurt?”

  “No,” Griffen said.

  “Yes,” called a man’s voice near the bar. “This guy’s unconscious.”

  “Go,” Malcolm whispered to him.

  Griffen followed the paramedics through the wall of people to a spot just a few yards beyond the Irish pub. On the narrow sidewalk, a heavyset black man in green city coveralls lay on his back, eyes squeezed closed, an expression of horror on his face.

  The medics knelt on either side of the patient. The elder, a tan-skinn
ed beanpole of thirty or forty, pulled back the black man’s eyelids and felt for a pulse in his neck.

  “Got a flutter,” he said. “Rapid but steady. Skin’s cool.”

  The younger, a black woman in her twenties, applied a stethoscope to his chest.

  “Shallow breaths,” she said. Together, she and her companion rolled him onto the stretcher and pulled him toward the waiting ambulance.

  Griffen ran alongside. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Can’t tell yet. Are you a relative?”

  “No. I was in the bar over there when the crash happened.”

  The beanpole eyed the mass of twisted metal.

  “He must have been thrown clear, or he might have jumped for it when the truck went out of control. We’ll know more after we get him to the hospital and get him stabilized.”

  A couple of tow trucks attached themselves to the now-separated wrecks and prepared to haul them away. Griffen looked around for Fox Lisa and Penny.

  “Miss Dunbar is over there holding a press conference on road safety,” Malcolm said, suddenly at his side. “We need to talk.”

  “Do you think that was . . . him?” Griffen asked.

  “I don’t know,” Malcolm said, looking worried. “But we must go on the assumption that it was one of his . . . efforts. We need to discuss safety measures.”

  Eleven

  “I think it’s fairly clear that was only an attempt at intimidation,” Malcolm said, tenting his fingertips together in an armchair in his suite at the Sheraton. Griffen sat on the couch, feeling bleary. He was short on sleep. Jerome sat beside him, turning an empty glass around and around in his long fingers. The police had taken statements from everyone before letting them go. Penny was reluctant to tear herself away from the knot of reporters that had gathered to take notes and video the crash scene for the morning news, but a large-boned woman with a cloud of white hair and a no-nonsense attitude arrived to bundle her into a taxi.