Dragons deal gm-3

by Robert Asprin

  "Hold still!" the man ordered, steadying Griffen on the cloth-covered pedestal before the triple mirrors. He was a burly, middle-aged African-American with a dark, pockmarked complexion and close-cut gray hair. Griffen would never have guessed seeing him on the street that he was a tailor. He looked more like a gym teacher or a trucker. "This isn't personal. I'm not interested in you, all right? I've got a sexy wife and five kids. Hmm. You got long legs. That's good. I got plenty of trousers in your size."

  "He needs three suits," Mai reminded him. "Four might be better." She was curled into a vintage, gray-upholstered chair in the corner of the showroom. The tailor nodded without looking up from his measurements.

  Griffen glanced at himself in the mirror. He looked annoyed. Well, he felt annoyed. "I do have a suit."

  "That thing? Bought off the rack in a drugstore?"

  "A department store!" Griffen protested.

  "In any case, it is not black tie, and you only have the one. It is unsuitable for this occasion. Stand still, and do not cause more trouble."

  Griffen grumbled but obeyed orders. He had been in a formal-wear shop exactly twice in his life, once when his uncle dragged him there to get a suit for his parents' funeral, and early that summer for college graduation. He felt that he had aged hundreds of years since then. He found the racks of black suits oppressive.

  "Isn't it weird that in nature, the male has the colorful plumage and the female usually is drab-colored?" he asked. "The cardinal's bright red, and the female is light brown."

  "You want a bright red tux?" the tailor asked, raising his eyebrows with interest. "I got those. They're in the warehouse. I thought you wanted proper black tie."

  "He does," Mai said.

  "Besides, blue is more my color," Griffen said.

  "Bright blue, peacock blue, royal blue, or powder blue?" the tailor asked.

  "Powder blue would make me look like I was opening for Liberace," Griffen said. "What about royal blue? I'm the king, after all."

  "Black," Mai said. "Don't listen to another thing he says."

  "Gotcha, ma'am," the tailor said.

  Etienne had been right: There were no tuxedos to be found in his size in New Orleans that late in the season. Nor were there any to be had in Metairie.

  "You should have reserved them sooner," Mai had protested after five fruitless visits to other rental shops.

  "I didn't know sooner," Griffen reminded her.

  Baton Rouge was busy with shoppers on the last Saturday before Christmas. Griffen had had to park their rental car a couple of blocks away in a pay lot. He had not had a car of his own since the destruction of his beloved Goblin. Jerome insisted that he didn't really need one in New Orleans, but it had been a personal attack to demolish the vehicle, all the more so since he had been sitting in it at the time. He had always had a car since he could drive one. He loved the freedom of driving, the ability to escape wherever he was and just go somewhere. He loved the rumble of the engine and the feel of the road that vibrated up through the shocks and the springs into the driver's seat. A small part of him demanded that he satisfy that itch and buy another car as soon as he could afford one, but that was going to be a long time in the future. He had withdrawn the remainder of the membership fee for Fafnir, leaving a balance in his account that was only four figures. He knew he still needed five to get through until March. In the meantime, the bronze-colored sedan reminded him of his curtailed freedom. The occasional rental would help in the short term.

  "That's it!" the tailor said. He rose, grunting, to his feet. Griffen climbed down from the pedestal and followed him to the racks. Using a metal pole with a two-fingered hook on the end, the tailor grabbed hangers from the top rack and swung them down into Griffen's arms. "Let's just try these on for size."

  Griffen admired himself in the mirror, turning this way and that. He straightened the satin lapels of the tailored jacket. "I don't look half-bad."

  "You've got a little style," the tailor said. "Let me chalk up these pants, and you're good to go."

  Griffen handed over a deposit of 25 percent against two months' rental of three tuxes plus all of the small accoutrements that went with them, such as cummerbunds, collar stays, and studs. The tailor saw them to the door.

  "Come back in five days. Everything will be ready by then."

  "Now we will go and buy me a gown," Mai said, taking his arm firmly as the bell on the door jingled behind them.

  Griffen halted. "Wait a minute, this was just supposed to be a trip to rent suits for me."

  Mai pretended to pout, her small lower lip protruding.

  "Fair is fair," she said.

  Griffen knew when not to continue an argument he had already lost. "All right," he said. "Where do you want to look?"

  She reeled off an address. "I'll wait until you get the car."

  "But it's only three blocks from here," Griffen said. "I'll end up parking in the same lot again."

  This time Mai did pout. "These shoes are not good for long walks," she said.

  "Should I carry you?" Griffen asked, playfully, swooping down on her and hoisting her in his arms. "Or are you going to sprout wings and fly?"

  "Ooh!" she said, her eyes sparking just as playfully. "That just cost you a higher tier of designer."

  Mai knew exactly what size she was and what styles looked good on her. But that didn't curtail the number of things she tried on. The clerks in the boutique carried dozens of dresses to the curtained-in dressing room. Griffen sat in the main room, on a dainty chair with an oval back covered in gold satin, listening to her comments as she tried on one gown after another, dismissing them in turn with terse remarks. Griffen shifted uneasily. He felt the chair might collapse under him at any moment. He didn't mind being fair in terms of spending time shopping for her as they had done for him, but being unable to see what was going on left him bored. All the magazines in the carved wooden racks were periodicals as thick as his wrist, but all about fashion, hairstyles, accessories, and other details about which he just did not care. The owner, a narrow-faced woman taller than Griffen, ignored him as if he were another chair. She sailed past him with a brilliant green gown on a hanger and vanished into the draped enclosure.

  "What a lovely figure you have, sweetheart," she exclaimed. "My goodness, look at that! That is just perfect. Turn and let me see the back. Perfect!"

  "Well, not quite perfect," Mai's voice said, thoughtfully, for the tenth or twelfth time. Griffen groaned to himself. "The shade is good, but perhaps it should be lower cut?"

  "Why don't you let your boyfriend see it and find out what he thinks?"

  "Why not?"

  The curtain was thrown back. Griffen almost gasped. Mai came out wearing a bronze-colored satin dress. It revealed a good deal of her modest cleavage, which somehow had been enhanced, nipped in underneath her bosom along her slender waist, then fell in Grecian folds to the floor. When she walked, the skirts parted with a whisper. Her legs from the knees down were revealed at each step. She looked breathtaking.

  "What do you think, Griffen?"

  Griffen swallowed deeply. "Wow," he said. The ladies of the shop smiled indulgently at him. He goggled at her. She was beautiful, but he had never pictured her looking like a 1940s movie goddess.

  Mai walked a few paces and turned to look in the mirror that filled the shop's wall. She tilted her head. "No, I think not. I think the red one was better." She reached around behind her and undid one fastening. The silk dress fell to the floor. The ladies rushed to gather it up.

  "I'll get the red one," the owner said. She disappeared into the dressing room. Mai waited, posed like a mannequin in her underwear. Griffen realized she was wearing a strapless push-up bra and a lace thong. Though he found them stunning and intriguing, their import suddenly dawned on him.

  "You planned to have me take you dress-shopping?" he asked.

  "Of course," she said. "Why else would I have come with you to look for suits?"

  "Well, to keep me from
renting a blue tux," Griffen said.

  She waved a dismissive hand. "I knew you wouldn't end up with that. You are too vain to make yourself a spectacle."

  "Maybe I'm not," he protested.

  She laughed. "Your poker face is too good, but I know you are nervous. Don't be. You are a dozen times the dragon of any of those people." Griffen glanced at the store staff. The women must have thought the reference was just a personal term between them, but Griffen didn't want the word to spread any further than it had.

  The owner came toward Mai with a shimmering bundle of red held out on her arms like a hank of knitting wool. Mai held her hands over her head, and the owner slid the dress onto them. It slithered into place with a seductive hiss. The owner pulled up a zipper under the right arm that promptly became invisible in the seam. The dress fit Mai almost as tautly as her skin. It hung from one shoulder strap, leaving the other bare. The top was gathered over the bosom, but the long ruby skirt was plain. It could have come out of Veronica Lake's wardrobe.

  "What do you think of this one?" Mai asked.

  "I like it," Griffen said. He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. The bare side invited him to kiss it, so he did.

  "Hmm," she said, smiling at him in the mirror. "I think I like it, too." She reached down for the white tag hanging from the zipper pull, and turned it toward him. "Shouldn't you pay for this, Your Majesty? I am, after all, one of your maids in waiting."

  Griffen gulped again. "I . . . can't," he admitted at last. "I'm going to be tight until after March."

  Mai looked displeased, but she flicked a hand. "Never mind. I have plenty of money. Daddy still gives me an allowance, as long as I stay out of his hair."

  "No," Griffen said. "I'll pay for it." He did some calculation in his head. "It just means I'll have to buy dresses for Val and Fox Lisa, too."

  Mai raised an eyebrow. "Val might take your head off if you offer. She is getting very independent about making her own way in the world. Now, I don't mind if gentlemen buy me fine things."

  "It's not just that," Griffen said. They both knew that Val was still upset about the bodyguards he had following her. But the guys, who were happy to help Ms. Valerie stay safe, were convinced, first of all, that they would not have to do more than clean up if there was a problem, maybe moving the bodies to a place where they could bleed to death in peace, and second, that he was right about other watchers being interested in her whereabouts. "I'll have to offer, anyhow. And Fox Lisa was excited to be in the court, but right now she's only working part-time." She wouldn't admit it, but it would be tough for her to make rent if she had to buy a dress on top of the other fees.

  Mardi Gras was expensive. But Fox Lisa took the yearly festival in her stride. She was thrilled about everything, and insisted it was an honor to pay the three thousand dollars Fafnir demanded for her role as maid. They supplied her costumes, masks, all her throws, and her ball ticket. Griffen was relieved there was ONE expense he was not expected to cover. A dress for her was okay with him.

  "Very well," Mai said. "I will pay for my own dress, but you will take me for a very expensive dinner. And you will pay for that."

  "Yes, ma'am," he said.

  Griffen gestured to the waiter to pour more wine for Mai. He stayed with a single whisky, so he would be sober enough to drive home. If he lost another car, this time it would not be his fault. She lifted the glass to him behind the crystal candlesticks. He toasted her back.

  "Thank you for joining me today," he said.

  "A pleasure," she said, taking a sip. "How is the business? I have scarcely heard a word from you lately. Normally, you have many stories to tell. I think it is both amusing and ambitious the way you are bringing backroom poker to such high standards."

  Griffen made a face at her. "That was one backhanded compliment," he said. "I haven't really wanted to tell anyone about the problems we've been having this week." He told her about the cheating scandal. "This man, an Asian-American guy I haven't seen before, was adamant that two of our regulars had held back a card and screwed up the game on purpose. The victims are very straight. I would trust either of them to hold on to a hundred thousand dollars for me and never think of even borrowing from it for themselves. No way they could have been cheating."

  "You think he was responsible?"

  "I hate to think so," Griffen admitted. "But there are ways to rig a game for other players. I could do it. It's tricky to set up, but it can be done. The whole thing was just a big pain in the ass. Everyone went away mad. Then, in another game, there was a woman--also Asian-American, now that I think about it--Jerome never saw her before, accused the dealer of stacking the deck. The dealer is furious. We had to talk him out of quitting. Another mess. And now I've got this guy who seems perfectly nice, but Jer doesn't like him. I sat in on a late-night game with him yesterday. I just don't feel what Jerome feels. Peter is just too nice. No one is that nice all the time except Mister Rogers. He even loses like a gentleman. Funny, but he's Asian, too."

  Mai's internal antennae went up. She didn't like Jerome, who had her number but was not in a position to fight her, but the facts suggested an unseen concurrence of events that she did not like. Griffen picked up on her concerned expression and looked alarmed.

  "I'm not picking on these people just because of their background," he insisted. "I'm just telling you about the trouble we've had this week. It's just a coincidence that they were all Asian-Americans."

  "No, no." She waved away the suggestion. "I would never think that of you. No. That isn't what I thought at all."

  Griffen was not stupid. He made the connection immediately. "You do think there's something in it. Can these three events have anything to do with the Eastern dragons? I thought they were letting me alone for a while."

  "I do not know," Mai said honestly. Could there be something more than coincidence? She needed to find out. "I doubt it, Griffen. They did plan to leave you alone." Except for her machinations, of course.

  "And on top of that, Harrison is still busting my ass over the murder," Griffen added woefully.

  "Murder?"

  He leaned close to the candles so the waitress couldn't hear. "One of my dealers was strangled. An Eastern dragon named Jesse Lee. He came over from their operation. He said he wasn't getting the advancements he deserved. He'd been with me for three months. I don't know what happened. Harrison has no leads and no witnesses, but he's sure I'm holding out on him."

  Mai was outraged. An Eastern dragon, murdered? That meant someone from one of the families. Who else but they--or the George--would know how to kill a dragon? Her temper flared. The two candles between them responded. Their flames flared high. People turned to look. She controlled herself, and the flames shrank to normal size. She grabbed Griffen's hand. "Tell Harrison you will help him in any way."

  "Of course I will," Griffen said. "Did you know Jesse?"

  "No," she said. "But I should have."

  They finished their dinner over trivial small talk. Mai was quiet and thoughtful as they drove back to the hotel.

  "Should I come up?" Griffen asked, as he popped the trunk for the bell captain to retrieve Mai's red silk dress in its plastic bags.

  "I think I will go up by myself," she said. She leaned over to kiss him. "Thank you for a lovely day."

  "Thank you," he said, looking puzzled. Mai stalked to the elevator and punched the button for her floor. She had a lot of thinking to do.

  Nineteen

  At 3:43 Sunday morning, the door to the luxury suite slammed open. Jordan Ma leaped to his feet. All night long, he had felt a questing power seeking him, so he did not undress or go to bed. He had sat still in the leather armchair in the darkened sitting room, waiting. Whoever it was grew closer and closer over the course of the hours. At last, he recognized that the seeker had firmed his location. Target acquired and locked, he thought. It would be useful to know whether a friend or foe sought him, but it was simpler to wait and find out. He was not without defen
ses. It was unlikely to be Griffen McCandles, who was far stronger than he, but unschooled, and anyone else in the city was a manageable threat.

  A small, slim figure stood silhouetted by the hall lights in the rectangle of the door frame. She stalked in. No dragon of her blood needed lights to locate him, just as he did not require them to see and identify her.

  "Well, well, Mai," he said. "Welcome, Princess-who-is-not."

  She did not startle. The slamming-open of the door was for effect, not to surprise. She knew he would be alert.

  "What are you doing here?" she demanded. In the dark, he saw not the human lineaments of her face but a flickering mask of power that would identify her no matter what shape she wore.

  "Since ten o'clock, I have been waiting for you," he said.

  "No! I mean, what are you doing in New Orleans?"

  "The concerns of the elders are my concerns," Jordan said. "As they should have been yours."

  "They are my concerns!" Mai said. The conversation was not going as she intended it to. She tightened her hands into fists. She had crossed paths with Jordan Ma before, several times. He was insufferable and proud, but clever. He had gone to a lot of trouble to make the elders think that he was more valuable than he was. She did not want him interfering in her mission. She must take control of the situation and keep it.

  It had taken her hours to scan the city and find him. Of course, he occupied a luxury suite in a fancy hotel. To her annoyance, it was not far from her own hotel. He was aware of her search. She knew that would be likely. She hated that he seemed amused by her.

  "What do you want?" he asked, sounding almost bored. "I would like to go to bed, soon. Not with you, of course."

  "Are you responsible for the death of an Eastern dragon? One of our own kind?"

  "I assume you mean the traitor to our cause," Jordan said. The shadow of his face was drawn into an expression of scorn. "Jesse Lee was warned."

  "He was a child! He had promise."

  "But not for us. Once he removed himself from the clan, he was on his own, a ronin, as the Japanese humans call it. He knew the risks. He chose his fate."