About four, Fox Lisa had discovered he was awake and joined him on the couch. Neither of them got much more sleep. She had to leave early to go to her job. Griffen went back to bed, but his mind kept racing, interspersing the sketches of the parade floats, Vincent Price, and Rose.
The phone rang just about eleven. Griffen groped for it with a hand and muttered a hello into it. At the sound of Jerome's voice, he opened his eyes to a headache and quickly shut them again. His head throbbed whenever he moved his head too quickly. But he had promised Jerome faithfully after the conclave that he would pay more attention to the business. He had kept his word. This was just one of the myriad small problems that he needed to help solve. He had been dressed, shaved, and on his way in fifteen minutes flat.
"Raise you," said Jerome, putting in three chips. He grinned at Griffen. Griffen refused to admit that he was bluffing. Let Jerome try to figure it out. Hopefully, it would cost him a bundle. Griffen held two pairs, twos and threes. It was pretty small, but it would beat even a pair of aces. He might even be able to make a full house. Even if he didn't, he might be able to convince the others to fold. Sadly, he was not there to play for blood.
Ellis and Mike, two white businessmen from Detroit, sat between them. They were executives from the auto industry. The game had been set up to run during the two-hour break the visitors got for lunch. The convention was being held in the function rooms and grand ballroom of the Astor Crowne Plaza, sixteen floors below them. If they were happy, they knew other executives who would like to join a hosted poker game. Jerome was determined to make sure they were happy. Griffen agreed that what they wanted mattered more than another hour's sleep for him. The suite was already rented. Lunch had been ordered in, and a full bar of drinks awaited them.
"I think you have a handful of nothing," Ellis said, with a laugh. He pushed in three chips.
"Pay and see," Jerome said, smiling broadly.
"Well, I have got nothing," Mike said, turning his cards back to Noah, the dealer, a light-skinned African-American in his forties with graying hair and light freckles. Peter put in the three and raised two more. The rest of them concentrated on the hand. It was a hard battle, but Griffen's two pair took the pot. The others emitted the obligatory moan. Noah shuffled and dealt again.
There should have been five players in the game. Two of the three locals they had expected to fill out the table had canceled, citing an important lunch date. The third simply didn't show up. Jerome had phoned Griffen and asked him to sit in. That made four. They were ready to settle for being one short, when a businessman in an Armani suit had happened to catch the eye of one of their spotters at the Marriott and asked if he knew where he could find some action. Marcel had put the man in a cab at his own expense. Peter, a dapper Chinese-American with slicked-up hair that stood six inches high, arrived just before the first hand was dealt. He sat to the right of the dealer, his fingers resting lightly on his downturned cards. Griffen had made a note to pay Marcel back with a bonus for quick thinking and sit down with him for a drink.
Marcel wasn't the only man in his employ who had shown initiative like that. Griffen realized he needed to get to know more of the people who worked for Mose's operation--now his. The wake-up call he'd received after the conclave had brought him around to understand being a responsible boss and member of the community meant more than just making sure payroll went out on time. It also meant recognizing those employees who wanted the business to run better and instituting improvements they suggested. They wanted to be part of a first-class, well-run establishment. He wanted that for them as well as for himself.
The first on his list to appreciate was Jerome. Griffen had sensed some disquiet from Jerome when Mose had installed him as heir apparent over the head of the dragon who had been in the team longer. He certainly knew the job better than Griffen did. There was no reason not to have given Jerome the position except for Griffen's bloodline. He was glad that Jerome seemed like he was starting to relax around the "Young Dragon." He was finally losing the chip off his shoulder he had after Griffen was promoted over him.
"Hey, Grifter, since you were off playing with your parade friends, I interviewed a new caterer," Jerome said. "What do you think of the canapes?"
Griffen ate a meatball from the plate by his elbow. The burst of beef flavor was accented with savory spices he couldn't identify, but enjoyed. "Very good," he said, reaching for another tidbit, a chunk of steamed fish with a green sauce on a rice cracker. It was as tasty as the first. "You should hire them."
"Already did. They're our go-to guys now when the hotels don't supply room service," Jerome said. "I checked out about twenty places. These were the best."
"Nice pick," Griffen said, pretending to doff a hat. "You have my respect."
"Hear, hear," said Mike. "Great eats."
"Stop passing the shit, man," Jerome said, though he looked pleased.
"Not shit," Griffen said, his expression severe. "Only one problem."
Jerome looked concerned. "What?"
"There might not be enough food. I'm going to eat about five pounds of this stuff!"
"So will I," said Peter, munching on another bite-sized morsel. "What do you call these things with the cheese and shrimp?"
"I don't name 'em, man. I just eat 'em." Jerome called for the caterer's assistant to refill everyone's plate.
It was funny. Griffen had come to understand he didn't really know Jerome at all. How Mose did without him those long months when Jerome was up at college with him in Ann Arbor, he didn't know. He seemed to be able to juggle dozens of knives in the air all at once. Reserving suites, arranging players who would find one another's company pleasurable, hiring caterers as well as all the other people they used were only a few of the jobs he handled. He once asked if Mose knew all that Jerome did for them.
" 'Course he did!" Jerome had said, scornfully. "It's his operation!"
Touche, Griffen thought. He had to lose his own ignorance, to be worth the people who worked for him.
"Play cards!" Ellis said. "We've only got an hour."
Griffen sat back at his ease to survey the others. He prepared to look for weaknesses in play and tells. He was amused to see they were all doing the same. Griffen couldn't take total advantage in this game. It was to benefit them, not him. He already took a piece of the gate, the percentage that came from the buy-in. He had to remember that and not play for blood. A little extra to cover his Mardi Gras expenses would be nice.
"Hey, I know you," Mike said to Peter. "I saw you on the World Poker Roundup! You made it to the final table four years ago."
Now Griffen turned to stare. The Asian man smiled modestly.
"Yes, I did," he said. "I did not win, though."
"You still took home a big purse. Over 350k, if I recall."
"That's right."
Jerome clapped his hands. "Well, we've got us a celebrity."
"Welcome," Griffen said. "It's an honor to have you at one of my games."
"Your games?" the man echoed.
"I'm Griffen McCandles. This is my operation. Thought I'd deal myself in today."
"Oh!" Peter seemed taken aback. "Well, it's a pleasure for me, then, too. This is a very nice arrangement you have. Five hundred."
He threw in his chips, and the game went on.
Griffen was curious to watch a professional at work. Peter had very neat movements, no wasted energy. His expression, when he was not chatting with the others, became a friendly grin. It was disarming, but Griffen knew better than to believe the surface appearance. He could sense dragon blood in Peter and wondered if he knew he had it.
At the hour, Noah dumped the current deck and smiled at the players. "Five minutes' break, please, gentlemen," he said.
"Hey, so what's it like playing cards for a living?" Mike asked Peter, as they got up to stretch.
Griffen went to load up on snacks from the chafing dishes on the caterer's table. He liked the suites in the Omni. Unlike some of the chains,
the paintings weren't bolted to the wall, or the lamps to the desk. Hospitality meant not treating your guests like potential thieves, even though it meant that the ones who were took your towels home with them.
"Hey, man," Jerome said, appearing at his elbow. "Thanks for helpin' out."
"Happy to do it," Griffen said. "You handle so much. It's the least I can do. Any more flak from that game?"
They both knew what he meant. The cheating scandal. It still rankled with both of them. Jerome shook his head.
"No one's called it in to the police. Luis started talkin' about it at another game. The dealer had to ask him privately to knock it off, but you know how that guy loves to tell stories. No peep out of Len and Marion, but maybe they want to lie low."
"I can hardly believe that they would cheat," Griffen said, feeling at a loss. "Those two have been coming down here for years. I've played with him. He's cagey, but he's straight as they come. Almost pathologically honest. Mose said last time they were here they forgot to give one dealer a tip. They sent a money order from Toronto."
Jerome pressed his lips together. "I know, man. It's got to be the other one, the one who kicked up the fuss. Jordan Ma, I think his name was. I don't know how it happened. He must have noticed the missing card stuck under Marion's arm and made capital out of it. Kitty, the dealer, is too new. She's freaked out being in the middle of that. I'm gonna ride herd on her for the next few times. She won't have to deal for that man again. We have a couple of experienced dealers who can handle accusations of cheating or horseplay."
"Maybe I'll bring everyone together for a seminar," Griffen said. "We have to keep our reputation straight. It's all that we've got." A painful memory struck him. "Speaking of that, I had to let Jimmy McGill go."
"I thought that boy looked too furtive," Jerome said. "What was with him?"
"He was dealing cocaine for Tee-Bo on the side. I told him when he started that I don't allow a sideline in drugs anywhere in our operation. I gave Tee-Bo a call. He didn't know that Jimmy was working for us, either. I called Jimmy in and told him to choose which employer he wanted to stick with."
Jerome shook his head. "He gave you a sob story, didn't he? Grifter, you can't be soft on them, or they'll just walk on you!"
"I wasn't," Griffen said, feeling terrible about it all over again. "He claimed it was all a lie. I knew it wasn't. It was the second time I had caught him. I gave him another chance after he begged me to keep him. This time I fired him. I don't think Jimmy's going to be working for either of us again."
"You didn't have a choice, head dragon," Jerome said, gently punching him in the arm. "You got to do what's right and keep things straight."
Reputation was everything in the Quarter, where so many deals were sealed with a handshake. Griffen had vowed to be honest with everyone. He didn't want illegal drugs associated with his games. He had made it clear to all the employees in the operation from day one, and to everyone he had hired since he started. He knew what it had been like not all that long ago. Mose had turned a blind eye to the junk. Maybe there were other land mines that Griffen hadn't found yet. This would be strictly a gambling operation. There was plenty of money for everyone in that alone. If they wanted to do something even more illegal, Griffen wanted no part of it.
"Hey, if you have a few more games for me to sit in on, I'll play," Griffen said, as Noah called them back. "Mardi Gras is going to run me dry on capital."
"You're not supposed to be takin' profit directly from our clients," Jerome said dryly. "But I think a lot of them would be thrilled to have the big man sit in on a game. Just don't take 'em for too much."
"Me?" Griffen asked, planting a hand on his chest. Trying to keep the innocent expression on his face made them both laugh.
They returned to the table. The dealer, Noah, did a fancy shuffle on the new deck of cards. "What's your pleasure, gentlemen?"
"Texas hold 'em," said Peter. Griffen didn't groan, though he felt like it. The man seemed to pick up on his displeasure anyhow. He peered at Griffen apologetically. "You don't like hold 'em?"
"I'm old-fashioned about poker," Griffen said, startled. No wonder the guy was a professional. He could read minds. "I like the old games, even five-card stud."
"More possibilities of a working hand with hold 'em," Peter Sing said.
"Statistically, you are right," Griffen agreed. "I didn't mean to denigrate your choice. You are the guest. And you've had a lot more experience than I have. I only played in college before I came here."
"No offense taken. It's natural you have a preference. But," he said, appealing to the businessmen from Detroit, "it's my game. Shall we play?"
"Oh, yeah!" said Ellis, grinning.
Noah produced a white plastic button two inches across and put it in front of Peter. "Ten-dollar bets, blinds one hundred and two hundred."
The table anted up, and Noah dealt.
It seemed seconds later when Ellis looked at his watch and nudged his colleague. "Got to go back. Damm it. Wish we could stay."
"Me, too," Mike said. "I'd like to have had a chance to get back some of my stake." He grinned at Peter. "But it was worth it to have had a chance to play with a real pro. Too cool. Listening to tabulations of sales figures and projections for next year is just not going to cut it. Probably fall asleep during the presentations."
The man with the cockscomb hair was the big winner, having taken about a quarter of the money on the table. Griffen was next, having made a little less than 20 percent on his investment. He was fairly happy. You couldn't get that from the stock market. The businessmen had both lost money.
"Sorry you didn't do as well as you hoped," Griffen said.
Ellis was gracious. "Not to a couple of players like you. It was an education."
"We'll definitely get our buddies in," Mike promised. "Perhaps a room like this, with double tables? Mr. Sing, will you come?"
"Sure," Peter said. "I'm in town for a few more days."
"That's fantastic!" The men were enchanted. "Thanks again, guys. It was great."
"Thank you, gentlemen," Griffen said. "Looking forward to seeing you back again."
"Count on it!" Mike exclaimed.
After giving a generous tip to the dealer and the server, they headed for the elevator.
"Got two games going this evening," Jerome said, as they got up. "Put your phone on vibrate in case I need you."
"Not after eight, Jer. Having dinner with Harrison. I'd prefer not to be interrupted. I know you'll be able to handle anything that comes along."
Jerome nodded. "No problem. A little PR?"
"Fence-mending," Griffen said. "Good job, Noah." He gave the man a tip, too.
"Thanks, Mr. Griffen. It was a good game. Fun to watch you play."
Jerome turned to offer Peter a hand. "Thanks for sitting in, Peter. Hope you had a good time."
"Thank you," Peter said, slapping them both on the back.
"It was too short. I would have walked away with all your money if I had the time."
"Yeah," said Griffen. "You are welcome anytime. We'd love to have you sit in."
"Hey, Grifter . . . ?" Jerome began, a pinched look on his face.
"Just a moment. Here's my cell phone," Griffen said, jotting it down on a piece of paper. "Call me when you're free."
Peter produced a card from his pocket. "This is my number. Please call me when you have arranged more games."
The Eastern dragon grinned at them as he left the suite. He waited until he was alone in the elevator before he brought out his cell phone and pushed a speed-dial number.
"Yes, it's me. Better than you would ever dream." He grinned at the phone. "And you told me it was a liability that I played in that televised tournament."
Twelve
Griffen was nervous as he checked himself out in the mirror. He wore a dark blue matte silk shirt and a new pair of black wool trousers. He wanted to make a good impression, but not show off. Humble but honest was the name of the game. As a sly
old sage had once said, sincerity was the key. If you can fake that, you've got it made. Griffen had been overcautious in telling Harrison what he needed to know to do his job, and the vice detective had let him have both barrels when he discovered how much Griffen was holding back. Griffen was concerned, and rightly so, that the human detective would freak out if he knew the whole truth, but it turned out for the wrong reasons. Harrison really wanted to know what he was dealing with. A homicidal fairy was not all that different in the damage he could do from a methhead on a toot. As a result, Harrison had been on his case. There were no breaks in Jesse Lee's murder. Harrison blamed him for that. Knowing that the victim was a dragon made it Griffen's fault. Griffen understood the logic. He felt the same way. If Griffen hadn't been a dragon, Jesse Lee might not have been killed even if he had come to work for him. The Eastern dragons saw it as the first chip off their power base.
What Griffen didn't like was that Harrison was letting his guys in vice hassle the dealers and spotters just a little, just to remind him how he had erred. Griffen thought they were both being punished enough because an innocent man had been killed. He had to make peace with Harrison. They really could help one another.
Griffen took the long way to the restaurant, stopping off at Tower Records. He browsed through the "Musicals" section of the DVDs. He had had a yen lately to watch Guys and Dolls. He was developing a keen sympathy for Nathan Detroit's problem of keeping one step ahead of the cops but still maintaining the Oldest Established Permanent Floating Crap Game in New York. His players were counting on him. His employees were counting on him. And now, so were the people in the Krewe of Fafnir. Griffen felt he ought to own his own copy of the movie so he could refer to it from time to time. It'd be nice to think he could handle himself with the same style and aplomb as Frank Sinatra.
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