Dragons Deal

by Robert Asprin

  "Well, it's not him, but it feels almost like it has been. He had this tell, he liked to run his first finger around in a little circle on his cards. He'd hold them down like this and move his finger?" Kitty demonstrated, putting her hand on the arm of the couch. Griffen watched her. "He did it when he had a good hand. But there've been three different people since then who do the same thing, especially right before they kicked up a fuss. It sure hasn't been the same guy. I mean, I won't ever forget what he looks like! But that guy from Oklahoma last night who caused all the trouble--he did it, too. And there was a woman, too, who got stinking drunk and talked all kinds of shit until everyone else left. She did it. Maybe they belong to the same club or something?"

  Or maybe, Griffen thought, they were the same man--or dragon--shifting shape to be four different people. He had to trap one of them.

  "Kitty, I don't think you're crazy. I think there is some kind of club or society that is trying to shut us down. When you see that again, no matter what, call me. I want to talk to . . . one of them. Can you do that?"

  She set her small jaw resolutely and squeezed Griffen's hand.

  "I sure will, Griffen. No one is gonna screw up our operation like that. It means a lot to us, how you take care of us. I never had such a good job in my life. I will be damned if I will let some out-of-town assholes break us down."

  Griffen smiled. "I don't appreciate my employees enough," he said. "Keep your eyes open, and tell the other dealers to watch out, too."

  "I promise," Kitty said. "Thanks, Griffen."

  Griffen let her out. They would help him catch Jordan Ma and his squad of Eastern dragons--if he ever had another game to run.

  He called Jerome again. At last the phone rang. "They kept me sequestered, Grifter. Took the battery out of my phone. Kept losing the paperwork. Had to stand before the judge . . . Grifter, it was another dragon. I don't know how many there are."

  "It seems there are fewer than we may think." He told Jerome what Kitty had described to him. Jerome clicked his tongue.

  "So we're dealing with shape-shifters. Experienced ones."

  "Yeah. And this was the worst yet. Just when things were picking up, thanks to the town being full for Mardi Gras. We were both too busy to be there. If one of us had been able to drop in, we'd have known we had a dragon on our hands."

  "Yeah, and you know why that is?"

  Griffen knew it before he said it. "No, Jer!"

  Jerome was inexorable, and Griffen knew he deserved it. "Yes, Grifter. Your pal Peter. He knew you were gonna be completely occupied this evening, and I bet you told him I would be hanging out with my marching buddies then, too."

  Griffen's heart sank, but he couldn't deny it. "Sounds like you were right all along."

  "There is no satisfaction in 'I told you so,' man. You're the big dragon, and this is your operation. He probably didn't cause any other trouble until now."

  "Well, they have succeeded in taking us down. Harrison said I couldn't run any more games, or he will bust me. I can't take a chance on going to jail. The parade's just a few days away."

  "Uh-uh," Jerome said. "What you need, my friend, is plausible deniability. You don't know a damned thing. In fact, you are not going to hear from me about anything. It will be just like the old days. You know I told you to keep closer to the business? Well, now I want you to back off and not be involved. You have too much to do as Mardi Gras king. Mind that business. We'll get this done. No cop is going to shut us down. You go and have a good time."

  Griffen smiled for the first time in hours.

  Forty-five

  Now Griffen really began to feel like Nathan Detroit. In case the NOPD had managed to put a tap on his phone, he fielded all calls asking to join a game with an apology. He kept Peter Sing at arm's length.

  "I'm sorry. There isn't anything going for the foreseeable future, Peter. All of my people are tied up with . . . Mardi Gras obligations. I hope we can resume normal operations soon."

  "That is a pity," Peter said. "I have really enjoyed our games." The voice on the other end of the line sounded genuinely disappointed. Griffen felt a pang. He really liked the other man, but now that he was convinced of his perfidy, he had to protect himself. "I will come and see you march."

  Harrison kept the heat on him. Vice rousted his known runners in the hotels, but they couldn't be around all the time. Griffen went about his business, hoping Jerome could keep ahead of them. He hoped once Mardi Gras was over, they could build up the operation again, but who knew how long it would be before they could stop the Eastern dragons, if they could stop them?

  Around one in the morning Thursday night at the Irish bar, Griffen's phone rang. He pulled away from his discussion with Bone over the quality of movie remakes.

  "Griffen, it's Kitty. One of them is here, one of the guys from the club. This isn't the one who draws circles, but one of the gang who blinks. I think this guy is gay. He's acting just like the other gay guy who brought down a game. He makes comments. He scares me."

  Griffen's heart started pounding.

  "Just keep it going exactly as you would with any other group, Kitty," Griffen said. Another exemplary employee. He was going to have to institute some kind of reward system. If he ever got things back to normal, that was. He excused himself and called Jerome on the way over. If Harrison busted him now, it was all over, so this was his best and only chance to take one of them down.

  "Sorry I'm late," he said, dragging another chair up to the table.

  "Grifter!" cheered Jacomo Bernucci, a businessman from Baltimore.

  "Jock, good to see you," Griffen said, shaking his hand. Good. One player he absolutely didn't have to worry about being the mole. The others, though not as familiar as Jock Bernucci, had been in town at least once before during Griffen's tenure as "head dragon." Lacey was the wife of a politician in Grand Cayman. Her family owned part of the power company, the telephone company, and almost all of the main Internet service provider in the islands. Oliver Stanton was blue blood from the East Coast, but in Hollywood he was a well-known character actor with a profile like Burt Lancaster's. Only the fourth was a stranger. He seemed ordinary: tall, blond hair turning white, hairline creeping upward, strong chin and straight brows; from all appearances a niceish guy in his fifties. Kitty shook her head at Griffen's interrogatory glance. So he had not started making a fuss yet but had made some comments. The other players didn't seem as relaxed as they usually were. The newcomer was the cause of the tension.

  Once Griffen arrived, he subsided, but they both recognized another dragon. Griffen pretended not to notice. The other dragon relaxed a little. There were a lot of people with a little dragon blood around. Perhaps Griffen did not understand the significance.

  He put all the money he had in his wallet in front of Kitty, $320, most of it borrowed from Val in the bar. Kitty counted out the chips.

  "Are you planning to clean the rest of us out, Griffen?" Oliver asked, with a practiced wry expression.

  "It's a good exercise for me," Griffen said. "If I can't play for at least an hour on this much money, then I had better find another job."

  They laughed. He was short-stacked compared with the others, but it didn't take him long to double up and double again. He kept a deliberate eye on the blond man. He thought Kitty was probably wrong about his being gay. When one took shape-changing into account, the effeminate movements were probably just that. The mystery guest was a woman.

  He, or she, tended to tuck his cards underneath his right wrist, leaving the right hand free to play with the stacks of chips. He leaned on the left wrist. The dragon did blink a lot when he, or she, had a good hand. Griffen started reading the signs and began to chip away at those stacks.

  "Are you picking on me, Griffen?" the dragon asked.

  "Me?" Griffen said, blandly. "Just playing a little poker."

  It would take a lot of guts to go ahead and spike the game, but Griffen assumed that the Eastern dragons knew how much risk he and the oth
ers were taking to have set it up. He had to be prepared to cause trouble and call the police. Griffen merely had to beat him to it. It needed to be a hand that the other dragon was prepared to lose.

  It didn't take long. Griffen palmed a card from the deck and kept it hidden until the other dragon glared at Jock Bernucci, who had just won a hand with king-jack of spades.

  "You are cheating," he said. Griffen felt his heart speed up. Here it came.

  "What?"

  The other turned over his cards. "I, too, have the jack of spades. So you had an extra one in there? Hoping that none of us would notice an extra card in the deck? What kind of game is this? I thought it was honest!"

  "I am honest!" Jock exclaimed. "Griffen!"

  "Don't worry, Jock," Griffen said. "He's the one who is cheating. Look at this." He reached across the table and wrenched the other dragon's wrist up, scattering chips, and slipped the other card out. "He's got one he was saving for a rainy day, too. Look at that, another jack of spades." He hoped the illusion would hold. It didn't have to be good for long.

  Jock gawked at him. He sprang to his feet. "Stand up, jerkface. Stand up and let me take you to pieces." The other dragon jumped back, alarmed, tipping over his chair.

  Griffen rose and put his hands between the two of them.

  "What just happened, Griffen?" Kitty asked.

  "He cheated," Griffen said. "He had some spare cards in his sleeve. Nice of him to accuse Jock when it was him."

  "I . . . I never noticed," Kitty said. "I'm ashamed."

  Griffen kept his eyes on the other dragon, who looked as if he wanted to dive for the door. Griffen had to be ready to prevent an escape. "Don't be. He's one of the best there is. I've heard of him from . . . back East."

  "Atlantic City?" Lacey asked.

  "Uh, yeah. Atlantic City. Atlantic City Steve they call him. Very tough player, but dishonest as hell."

  "Atlantic City Steve? That's a really dumb nickname."

  "You think Minnesota Fats is complimentary?"

  "Well, no, but it was descriptive."

  Griffen kept his eyes leveled on the tall blond man. The other dragon glared at him. "I'm sorry, folks, but I think it'd be better if we call it a night. I need to handle this. Steve and I have to have a little talk. Thanks for coming. Kitty, count them out, please."

  The other players departed. Kitty lingered for a moment, but Griffen chased her off. "You did great," he assured her.

  When the door closed behind her, he looked at the other dragon. "Take it easy. We're going to be here for a while. Why not drop the disguise. I'm curious to see the face of my enemy."

  The tall blond male seemed to collapse in on himself. Griffen had watched shape-shifters of other species, but except for Val had never watched another dragon change. The body shrank at the shoulders and grew slightly at the chest. He was right: It was a woman, a short one with frizzy brown hair, dark, almond-shaped eyes, and a blunt nose. She stood rigid on the other side of the table.

  "You can't keep me here," she said.

  "I sure can. Now, call the others."

  "What if I won't?"

  Griffen knew his poker face was the best around. He just looked at her.

  She faced him down but grew more and more uncomfortable as the silence prolonged. Griffen sat down in a chair, blocking escape through either the window or the door. He blew a smoke ring, slowly, insouciantly.

  Finally, she took out her cell phone.

  Forty-six

  Griffen kept his eyes fixed on the woman until a knock came at the door. "It's open!" he called.

  Three men sidled cautiously into the room. Jordan Ma, whom Mai had warned him about, the old man called Pack, who had challenged Mr. Stearn a few weeks back, and Peter Sing. Griffen was disappointed but not surprised.

  "I knew you were one of them."

  Peter looked regretful. "I'm sorry. I came to like you. But business is business."

  "The same goes for me," Griffen said.

  "Rebecca, are you all right?" Jordan Ma asked the woman, who began to back away when they came in. She opened large, resentful eyes to him.

  "No! He has kept me here for ages! You try holding it after six wine spritzers!" She turned and fled for the bathroom.

  Griffen gestured to the other chairs. "Sit down. We still have a lot of refreshments. Can I pour you a drink? I'm Griffen McCandles, but you already know that. Won't you introduce me to your friends?"

  When Jordan didn't speak, Peter said, "This is Winston Long, and that was Rebecca Tan."

  "How do you do?" Griffen asked.

  "Not bad for an old man," Winston said, amiably. "Call me Pack." Rebecca returned and plumped down in a chair but didn't say a word.

  "Why are we here?" Jordan Ma asked, but he sat down and signed to the others to do the same. Griffen made himself a whisky and water and took the seat opposite Jordan.

  "You came here to take down my operation. Naturally, I don't want you to."

  "I do not mean in New Orleans. Why are we here in this room at this time of night?"

  Griffen lounged back in his chair and studied the other dragon. "You have been trying to take me down for months. Why?"

  "You have something we want."

  "Good. And you have something I want."

  "And what is that?"

  "Your absence," Griffen said, toying with a stack of chips on the table. "I am finding it difficult to run my operation with you people causing trouble. I don't want you in this city. I challenge all of you to a single game of poker, any game, any rules, winner take all. You can put up whatever you have against what I have."

  "And what is that?"

  "What did you come for?" Griffen countered.

  "Your fiefdom here," Jordan Ma said.

  "Then that's it," Griffen said. "I will play you for everything you have against what I have. If I win, then you butt out and don't come back. Never. If you win, then I will pack up and move back to . . . well, maybe not Ann Arbor, but somewhere."

  "Somewhere not in the Eastern dragons' command," Winston Long said.

  "Fine," Griffen said. "You give me a list, and I'll avoid them. If I lose. Which I doubt. What I do after that is none of your business. This is what you are here for, now. Play or don't. I'll take you down one by one. I know who each of you is now."

  "What about your sister?" Jordan Ma asked.

  "She's independent," Griffen said, casually. "I'm the one you're worried about. So play me. My share is worth exactly what all four of yours are together. Everything you have against everything I have."

  "Who the hell are you, Sky Masterson?"

  Griffen smiled. "Up until now I would have thought of myself more as Nathan Detroit, but if you want to play me for what I have, then I guess I've graduated to Sky. That is my proposition. If you don't think it's worth your while, then why have you spent months here in disguise trying to undermine my business? This is your chance to take the whole thing in one game, winner take all. If you know anything about me, you know my word is good. I will walk away. You will win. If you can."

  It was a dare. Griffen could feel the excitement in the air.

  Peter grinned at him. "I love it," he said. "This is the final table to end all tournaments. There has never been a larger prize."

  "Who will deal?" Winston asked. "I don't trust your humans or any of your feeble dragon hybrids."

  "Mai," Griffen said.

  The four Eastern dragons looked startled. Rebecca tapped the table.

  "Why her? She is one of us."

  "Because I don't trust her," Griffen said. "But maybe you do."

  "No," Peter said. "None of us trust her."

  "That's perfect," Jordan said. "I agree." The others nodded.

  Griffen hit her speed-dial number on his cell phone. Mai answered, sounding irritable.

  "Griffen? It's after three. Why are you calling so late?"

  Griffen explained what was going on. "I need you to deal poker for a private party," he said. "A few ol
d friends. Jordan Ma and some of his associates."

  "Jordan! Where are you?" she demanded.

  "In your hotel, on the fifteenth floor." He gave her the number of the suite.

  "I will be there in five minutes."

  It took six. She hurried in through the door and stopped short when she saw the others. She let out a hiss like a snake. Jordan Ma smiled. The others merely looked perturbed. Griffen could tell they had some kind of history. Someday, he might be able to persuade it out of Mai.

  "We will use our own chips." Jordan said.

  Griffen frowned. "What's wrong with mine?"

  "Ours is our stake." He nodded to Peter, who took a heavy leather bag from under his coat and poured the contents out in the center of the table. Hundreds of metal disks clinked, cascaded, tinkled to the felted top. Their color was pure, brilliant yellow.

  Griffen's eyes popped at the sight. "Are these . . . solid gold?"

  "It is commonplace among the Eastern families to hold hard assets," Mai said, waving a dismissive hand. "Very showy, but it is just money."

  "Each of our chips is worth eight hundred dollars," Jordan said. "We have approximately a thousand of them. Is that what you think you are worth?"

  Griffen resumed his casual pose. "No, but you will never have enough gold to cover that. I'll play for what petty amount you have."

  "I will need coffee," Mai said.

  Griffen waited while she brewed a pot, then accepted a cup. He needed a clear head. He had to prepare himself for the game of the century--of his life.

  Griffen helped Mai set up the table. A basket of new decks of cards stood nearly full. She stripped the first one and shuffled it deftly. She flipped half the deck with the edge of one card and flipped it back again.

  Griffen watched her, trying to let the rhythm take his mind off the flips his stomach was doing. He was scared. His entire livelihood was on the line. He didn't want to leave New Orleans and the life he had built there, but no other offer could prompt agreement from these very powerful and inexorable personalities. He was scared, but also angry. The latter was by far the more important emotion if he didn't let it overwhelm him. Channel that, he told himself. Be cool. Think of every trick you have ever known. Know that what you are doing is important. He stretched out his arms, intertwined his fingers, and cracked his knuckles.