Griffen took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly, puffing his cheeks.
“In that case, I guess he’s one of ours,” he said.
“In that case,” Mose said, “there’s an attorney and a bail bondsman we usually use when our people get into trouble. Hang on and I’ll get you their numbers.”
“Actually, Mose,” Griffen said, “let me try something else, first.”
He flipped his cell phone back open, scrolled through his directory, and hit the “send” button.
After four rings, there was a pickup on the other end.
“Yeah?” came a gruff voice.
“Good evening, Detective Harrison,” Griffen said with a smile, even though he knew it couldn’t be seen at the other end. “This is Griffen McCandles.”
There was a brief pause. Mose’s eyebrows went up and Griffen smiled at him.
“Okay, Griffen. What’s up?”
“Something has come up, and I was wondering if you could check into it for me.”
Another pause.
“It seems that one of our people has been picked up by your colleagues,” Griffen said. “He’s known as Gris-gris, but his real name is…”
“Yeah. I know him,” the detective said, cutting in. “What’s the charge?”
“That’s sort of what I was hoping you could check for me,” Griffen said. “According to the information that was passed to me, they haven’t charged him with anything.”
Again, a pause.
“Actually, they can do that,” Harrison said. “Legally, they can hold someone for seventy-two hours for questioning without charging them.”
“I’ve heard that,” Griffen said. “This seems to be a special situation, though. From what I’ve been told, he was picked up because he was walking down the street arm and arm with my sister. Strangely enough, they let her go.”
He could hear a deep sigh at the other end.
“Look, Griffen. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but we don’t do that kind of crap anymore. This town runs on tourist dollars, and that would go away real fast if the cops started hassling every mixed race couple they saw in the Quarter.”
“That’s what I figured,” Griffen said, winking at Mose. “As a matter of fact, the way I heard it, the officer that picked him up was also black.”
“So what’s the problem?” the detective growled. “Am I missing something here?”
“The interesting thing is, the way I hear it, that officer also happens to be the older brother of a girl that Gris-gris was dating before he took up with my sister.”
This time, the pause was lengthy.
“You know, Griffen,” the detective said at last, “you have a bad habit of pushing my buttons. If there’s anything I hate worse than protected gambling operations or the Feds messing around on my turf, it’s cops who abuse the power of their uniforms. Okay, I’ll check into it…and this one’s worth a beer, not a lousy cup of coffee.”
Thirty-eight
The Irish pub had never been so damned noisy before. It wasn’t people noise either. Griffen had yet to live through a Mardi Gras, but had run into some nights when even the slightly out-of-the-way pub had been packed enough that there were no seats available and the press of strangers had pushed him out into the night to find something a bit calmer. So he could have lived with a certain amount of uproar in the form of men and women looking for a good time.
Dogs on the other hand. That was another story.
It was one of the strange customs of New Orleans, particularly the Quarter. Apartments were so small, open spaces so rare, that those with canine companions tended to bring their dogs everywhere. Everywhere. Outside restaurants, groceries, and shops one could often see an animal or two tied up waiting for its owner. Bars, though, bars were notoriously lassie fair, or was that laissez-faire?
There were seven of them in the pub that night. Not only in, but unleashed and running free. As one, they started barking when Griffen walked in. From the incessant yap yap yap of something that looked like it should be at the end of a mop, to the deep rawlf of a Great Dane whose head was easily higher than the pool table. They moved toward him, barking their heads off, as various owners tried to quiet them down. Their shouts, and those of the bartender, were almost enough to drive Griffen back out.
Stubbornly, he ignored them and pushed his way over to where Jerome sat at the bar. The dogs quieted eventually, except for the little mop that followed Griffen the whole way and sat on its haunches as he took a seat. Yap yap without end. Jerome’s eyes were shiny with mirth, and his smirk was broad and annoying.
“What’s so funny?” Griffen said.
“Just thinking that maybe Mose needs to start giving out report cards to his student, Young Dragon,” Jerome said.
“Oh, shut up.”
“And the parrot says, ‘Mine, too, must be the salt water.’”
Jerome’s smirk broadened, and Griffen glared. Those who knew the abominable and obscure joke Jerome was referencing glared as well. A balled up napkin hit him from parts unknown. The little dog kept yapping.
“I didn’t even try anything to set them off,” Griffen said sourly as his drink arrived.
“Ah, but did you try and quiet them?”
“Didn’t occur to me. That racket hit, mainly what I thought of was that it was time for a drink.”
“We need to work on your reflexes more.”
Which was the perfect time for the fight to break out.
Scuffles in the Irish pub were damned rare, and even more uncommon were serious ones. Whatever had triggered this one had started at the back of the pool tables. A shout, the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the screech of chairs as those around responded and rose from their seats. By the time the bartender was out from behind the bar and headed toward the trouble, a man, easily six-five, was pulling a pool cue back. It was clear that he intended to strike his much smaller opponent, and equally clear that the other wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop it.
The big man started to swing. Those closest started to move forward, knowing they would be too late. Griffen and Jerome were on their feet, too far back to do any good, but moving forward like everyone else. And before the man could get any momentum, his arm stopped with such a painful jerk that the entire room heard his shoulder pop.
The room seemed to stop as one, taking in the scene. The big man, turned around, fist raised to strike whoever had grabbed his cue. The sight before him stunned and stopped him just as quickly as it had done everyone else. Holding on to the end of his cue, in a jaw that would have done a horse credit, was the Great Dane. Its tail was wagging.
Later reports, unconfirmed, claimed the dog waggled his eyebrows.
What came next was one of the reasons Griffen enjoyed this pub so much, and why it had so few incidents like this. Both parties in the fight were not locals, but everyone who had rushed forward was. Together, under the guidance of the bartender, the two were pushed outside where they couldn’t damage the bar. The big man in particular got a lot of attention. Outside, shouting erupted as he tried to pick the fight back up, but the momentum of the anger had been broken. It was clear the smaller man wanted no part in more, and the larger was persuaded to head off before police patrolled by and got involved.
Slowly people began to filter back in. Of course, they were talking about the events. Drinks were picked back up, and several people patted the Great Dane, who seemed content to curl up in one corner and receive adoration. Griffen was one of the first back to his seat, and Jerome wasn’t far behind. The little dog sat back in his seat, and began barking. Griffen looked hard at the dog, and it rolled over sticking all four legs in the air and going quiet.
“Not too shabby, Grifter,” Jerome said.
“Thanks.”
“But don’t get cocky. Dogs is easy. They want to make people happy.”
“Thanks for the pep talk. Sheesh.”
The room went quiet again as the smaller man from the fight walked tentatively back
into the bar. Usually, if anything like this happened, all parties were eighty-sixed, or banned, for the night. Repeat offenders, or those who pissed off the bartender too much, were banned forever. The bartender, and most of the bar, gave the man a hard stare. Finally, shyly, he spoke.
“Uh…sorry for the trouble. I’ll leave if you want. Only…” he said.
“What?” The bartender said.
“Before I go, could I buy that dog a drink?”
It was unanimously decided that the rule about eighty-sixing could be waved. Just this once.
“Gots to admit, the man has style,” Jerome said with a grin.
Griffen didn’t say anything, staring into the “water back” for his drink.
“What is it, Grifter?” Jerome said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Well, another one.”
Still silent, Griffen slid his glass of water over to his friend. There was a slice of lime floating in it that hadn’t been there when they had followed the fight. More to the point, it was impaled by a plastic toothpick in the shape of a sword. Needless to say, the Irish pub never used plastic swords with their garnish.
Thirty-nine
Griffen had found that adjusting to his new life had been surprisingly natural. Both his status as a young dragon, and his reeducation and relocation into the French Quarter. All right, his stomach tied up in knots if he thought too hard about having an assassin after him. Or about the possibility of failing those who were coming to depend on him. Still, that later fear started to fade a little more with each incident.
He wasn’t the only one surprised for that matter. Though they kept it largely to themselves, those he encountered, including Jerome and Mose, were continually impressed by the obvious transformations he was experiencing, and dealing with in stride. However, some surprises hit him harder than others, and with the surplus of distractions around him, he had a tendency to forget that his life wasn’t the only one in upheaval.
He was in the Irish pub, playing pool on the back tables. His opponent, Padre, had proved to possess years of serious experience, as well as a knowledge of position play and strategy that kept him well in the lead. Griffen had no problems asking for tips and pointers, nor Padre giving them. Losing gracefully at pool did nothing to hurt his local status. Though every once in a while Gris-gris would look up from the bar and indulge himself in some gentle ribbing. After writing his name on the chalkboard for next game.
Griffen had just tried for a hard slice, and scratched, when he heard the corner doors swing open noisily. One thing he especially liked about the pub: no one left or entered without being heard. The creaky doors on both streets made sure of it. This time, the doors were unnecessary, as the laughter that filtered in identified the newcomer right away.
Griffen had never heard his sister Valerie laugh quite like that before she had met Gris-gris, but now he heard it more and more often, and liked it. It was a throaty, merry laugh full of enjoyment and contentment. Only, Gris-gris was still at the bar, and Valerie was not walking in alone.
Griffen hid his surprise and slowly straightened from the table to look over her companion.
The first thing he noticed was how the man moved. Well no, to be honest the first thing he noticed was that he was a man, and had his hand around Valerie’s waist. The second thing he noticed was how he moved, with a graceful, relaxed stride very similar to Valerie’s own. He was a few inches taller then her, with dark hair styled and combed back.
His clothes, which Griffen found himself noticing more and more in the Quarter, were well tailored to his body. Dark pants and a richly colored shirt with one button too many un-buttoned. If the body language had been any different, one might have thought he was gay, he had that excellent sense of style and materials, but there was no mistaking his preferences as he held the door for Valerie and helped her inside.
With a wave to his sister, Griffen set aside his pool cue and took a step forward. He didn’t have time for another step; she had crossed the distance with a fast, light step and scooped him up into a crushing bear hug. He caught a glance of his pool partner as he was swept up, but Padre was already smiling and sitting back with his drink, the game on hold. The man who had come in with Valerie followed in her wake, standing to the side with a slightly amused expression at her exuberant greeting.
“Val! Air would be nice,” Griffen said and pushed on her shoulders.
She laughed, not the same laugh she had used before, and set him back on his feet.
“You are such a wimp sometimes, Big Brother.”
She grinned in a way that made Griffen think she was about to ruffle his hair, so he took a protective step to the side and offered his hand to her friend.
“Hi. Griffen McCandles, long-suffering brother to this overgrown Valkyrie.”
“A pleasure. Nathaniel. I was all prepared to be jealous over that greeting, but the brother part changed my mind. Besides, I am just not sure that my spine is up to it.”
He took Griffen’s hand and shook it with an easy grip. His voice was like his grip and posture, smooth and un-forced, with just a touch of rolling accents that caught the listener’s attention.
“Hmm, am I surrounded by fragile things then? Will everyone break so easy? It is to sigh,” Valerie said.
“Absolutely. We are but paper tigers to you. You shall just have to get used to it,” Nathaniel said, and Griffen couldn’t help notice the smile the two shared.
“Can I get you two a drink?” Griffen said, but Nathaniel waved him off.
“Oh, by no means. First round is on me.”
He turned and strode off to the bar, leaving brother and sister more or less alone.
“You’re scowling, Big Brother.” Valerie nudged his ribs gently. He would have bruises tomorrow.
“I am not; he seems very…nice.”
“Don’t you believe it. He was giving a nun all sorts of problems when we met.” She made sure her voice carried, and Nathaniel turned around with a mock grimace.
“I did no such thing, and you shouldn’t spread stories. Mr. McCandles here is liable to take exception to my attentions to his sister.”
“Griffen please, and I’d love to hear this story.”
“He was seducing young girls away from the church,” Valerie said.
“I was being followed by a herd of ragamuffins who could barely read See Spot Run,” Nathaniel said.
He walked back with a drink for Valerie and gin for himself. A plastic cup or “party hat” was set next to Griffen’s drink, a marker of a drink already bought.
“Minors! Pedophile. And he offered them illicit treats for following him.”
“Such nasty talk from so lovely a lady. You really will be the death of my reputation.” Nathaniel was still smiling, and if anything the shine in Valerie’s eye was increasing as they bantered back and forth. Griffen managed a quick glance at Gris-gris, but found he had disappeared.
“Deny it if you can.”
“I do. Since when does a bamboo rose count as an illicit treat? I told you, they won’t let me give out candy anymore. Besides, it would have taken eight of them to make one of you, what are you worried about.”
“Is that a comment about my weight?”
“Oh, no! Someone save me. Griffen, how do you manage to appease your sister?”
“When she wants you trapped? You are on your own. If you manage the trick, tell me how it’s done.”
“Neither of you is to give the other one pointers. It would be cheating,” Valerie said.
She sipped her drink and Griffen tried very hard not to notice that she held it with her left hand, and that her right was under the table.
Gris-gris had come out of the bathroom and had settled into a far corner of the bar with his drink. Valerie seemed not to have noticed him at all, which was odd for her, but all her attention seemed to be on Nathaniel. Griffen shrugged; maybe they had had a falling out.
“Are you a local, Nathaniel?” Griffen said, trying to make conversation.
“And what business is that?” Griffen said.
“Liquidation mostly. And yourself?”
“I do as little as possible; life seems to work so much better that way.”
Griffen had yet to figure out just what to tell the average person about his occupation. Somehow, running an illicit gambling ring just didn’t strike him as proper conversation.
As the three talked, Griffen found himself liking Nathaniel more and more. He really didn’t seem anything special, but he certainly seemed to hold the attention. The conversation was easy and amusing, for all parties, and Griffen found his initial tension easing away from him with every sentence. Besides, Valerie truly seemed to be enjoying his company. Still, something kept nagging at the edge of his attention. A faint kernel of worry that wouldn’t go away.
After their drink, the couple left. Valerie explained that she only stopped in to introduce the two of them before taking Nathaniel to dinner. That started off another bit of banter over who was taking who to dinner. They were still at it, with Nathaniel looking like the eventual winner, as the door closed behind them. Griffen shook his head, and finished his drink, walking back over to the pool table where Padre was already chalking his cue. After another few moments, Gris-gris got up and joined them.
“Hey, Grifter, got a minute?”
“Of course, Gris-gris.”
“Grifter, I strike you as a jealous sort?”
“Well, to be honest…” Griffen paused and thought it over very carefully. “I don’t know you well enough, Gris-gris. You could be. How we first met and all, yes, that was a form of jealousy among other things. But that was a long time ago, relatively speaking. So I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
Dragons Wild Page 22
