His reverie was interrupted when his cell phone rang. The caller ID showed an unknown caller, but that wasn’t unusual. Since passing his phone number to Gris-gris, he had gotten several calls from strangers, often setting meetings to ask about joining some satellite card game to his network.
Flipping the phone open, he held it to his ear while casually looking around.
“Griffen,” he said into the receiver.
“Mr. McCandles,” a male voice said. “I think it’s time we talked. I’d like to clear the air between us.”
“And you are…?”
“This is Jason Stoner. I believe you’ve heard of me.”
It took a moment for the name to register. Stoner. The man with Homeland Security that was supposed to be hunting for Griffen.
“So talk,” Griffen said. “You have my undivided attention.”
“I was thinking more of a face-to-face sit-down,” Stoner said.
Griffen thought for a moment. He really didn’t want to be alone with this man. Still, his curiosity was piqued.
“That might take a while to arrange,” he said. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to meet somewhere in public.”
“My thoughts precisely,” Stoner said. “How about that bench just ahead of you…say, in two minutes?”
Startled, Griffen looked around, trying to see in all directions at once. There didn’t seem to be anyone in the crowd paying particular attention to him, but it was obvious he was being watched.
“How will I know you?” he said, stalling for time.
There was no answer. Glancing at his phone, Griffen realized Stoner had broken the connection.
Replacing the cell phone on his hip, he stared at the indicated bench, looked around again, then slowly walked over to it and opted to stand rather than sit.
Pedestrians continued to stream by in groups of two to six, with an occasional jogger mixed in for variety. Nothing there that seemed particularly threatening or ominous.
There were people leaning on the railing watching the river traffic, a couple of tired looking women herding a group of shrieking children from a day-care center, and a trio of sailors in uniform taking pictures of each other, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to Griffen.
Then a man sat down on the bench. There was nothing noteworthy about him. He was dressed tourist casual, opting for the polo shirt and light slacks rather than a T-shirt and shorts, and even had a small shopping bag that he carried in one hand. Griffen wouldn’t have looked at him twice if he wasn’t expecting to meet someone. Still, there was something about him…
Suddenly, Griffen realized what was wrong. The man was sitting absolutely motionless.
If one watched closely, most people were constantly in motion…even when supposedly at rest. They would fidget and look around, or shift their position slightly, or fiddle with their clothes, but they were always moving. To a card player, these were “tells” about a person’s thoughts or mood, to be noted and studied.
This man just sat, muscles relaxed, eyes unfocused.
Steeling himself mentally, Griffen also took a seat on the bench.
“I assure you, Mr. McCandles, your misgivings are unwarranted,” the man said. “I mean you no harm. That’s why I wanted to have this conversation.”
“Mr. Stoner?” Griffen said.
The man turned his head and looked at Griffen directly.
“That is correct,” he said. “It has come to my attention that you are laboring under certain misconceptions regarding our relationship.”
“I wasn’t aware that we had a relationship,” Griffen said. The stilted, formal speech patterns Stoner used were contagious. “I have, however, heard that you might be looking for me. Something about dragons.”
Stoner smiled slightly, then his mouth returned to its normal, neutral position.
“Something about dragons,” he said. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it. What have you heard, exactly?”
Griffen took a deep breath.
“Well, sir, I’ve heard that you are one of, if not the, most powerful dragons operating on this continent. I’ve also been told that, now that I’m coming into my secondary powers, I could be seen as an ally or a threat. Specifically, they say that you’ll either try to recruit me or kill me. Since I’m brand-new at this dragon thing, hearing something like that tends to make me nervous.”
“Understandable,” Stoner said, giving the smallest of nods. “Well, Griffen—May I call you Griffen?—I’m here to give you my personal assurance that I currently have no plans to pursue either of those options.”
Griffen considered that for a few moments.
“Forgive me, sir, but could you elaborate on that? I can’t help but notice the careful use of the word ‘currently’ in what you’re saying.”
“Very well,” Stoner said. “My main focus is on international events…things that could create a threat to this country. If my information is correct, your current activity centers around running a small, local gaming operation. That is of no interest to me at all. Also, as you mention, you are still extremely new to…as you put it…the dragon game, I can see no point in recruiting you until you have developed considerably beyond where you are now…say, in twenty or thirty years. That is the situation as I see it currently. Should either of those conditions change, if you increase the scope of your operation or if your development takes a sudden surge forward, I would have to reconsider my position. If not, I see no reason for us to have any dealings with each other. Is that clear?”
“Crystal,” Griffen said.
“Well then,” Stoner said, starting to rise, “if there’s nothing else to discuss…”
“Um…since you’re here, sir,” Griffen said hastily, “might I ask you a few questions? I mean, I’m new to all this and it would be a big help.”
Stoner glanced at his watch, then sat down again.
“Very well,” he said. “What do you want to know?”
“Well, first of all,” Griffen said, “if you weren’t looking for me, how did you find me? I find it hard to believe you just happened to be here.”
“There was an inquiry submitted to our offices by the local police,” Stoner said. “They wanted to know if Homeland Security in general or I specifically had any interest in you and if so, why. That gave me a pretty good idea of where you were. Once I had that, it was easy, with my resources, to find out what you were doing and what your habits were.”
Griffen was too good a poker player to let anything show on his face, but inwardly he cursed himself. His clever plan to use Harrison to run an official check for him had backfired. If Stoner had really been hunting for him, that could have been disastrous. As it was…
“So, you’ve been having me watched?” he said carefully.
Stoner smiled slightly.
“Don’t misunderstand me, Griffen,” he said. “Just because I mean you no harm does not mean I’m totally disinterested. A dragon is still a dragon.”
“Does that mean you’re going to continue having me watched?”
“I’ll be keeping casual surveillance on you,” Stoner said. “Again, more curiosity than anything else. In my position, it’s relatively easy to add a few more names to the list of those we’re keeping tabs on.”
“What about before,” Griffen said.
“Excuse me?”
“Was my name on the list before I reached New Orleans?”
Stoner sighed.
“If you’re referring to that incident on the expressway, that was regrettable. The attack, such as it was, was spontaneous. Certainly not ordered by me or anyone reporting to me. Your movements were to be noted and reported. Nothing more. Be assured that the officer who leaked the information to some of his friends has been dealt with severely.”
Something in the tone of Stoner’s voice reminded Griffen that this was not a man to be taken lightly…as if he needed reminding.
It also made him reconsider exactly what Stoner’s concept of “not
having dealings with each other” might consist of.
“One more question, Mr. Stoner,” he said. “Are you aware of a person known as George?”
“The George?” Stoner said, cocking his head to one side. “That old myth? I’ve heard of him, but never felt the need to run down the truth of the matter or look into hiring him. I have my own organization with a carefully audited budget. It more than suffices for my needs. Why do you ask?”
“Just something I heard,” Griffen said negligently. “No one down here seems to know much about him. I thought maybe with your resources you might have more information.”
“Nothing I’d consider reliable,” Stoner said, getting to his feet. “If you’re sincerely trying to keep a low profile, Griffen, I’d recommend you leave that subject alone. Asking too many questions could draw unwanted attention.”
Griffen was having a Peanut Butter Burger at Yo Mama’s when Harrison slid into his booth.
“Hey, Griffen,” he said. “You owe me a cup of coffee.”
His poker reflexes came to his rescue, and instead of showing his true feelings, Griffen managed to keep a straight face.
“Really?” he said, raising his eyebrows slightly. “How so?”
“I got good news for you,” the detective said. “One of the computer whizzes down at the department ran a check for me on that rumor you asked me about. Near as he can tell, Homeland Security doesn’t have a flippin’ clue who you are. No interest in you at all. That piece of information will cost you a cup of coffee, since that’s what I gave him for the favor.”
Griffen smiled.
“As John Arbuckle would say…” he said.
“Excuse me?” Harrison frowned.
“It’s from an old television coffee ad,” Griffen explained. “The whole quote is ‘As John Arbuckle would say, you gets what you pay for.’”
The detective frowned some more, then shook his head.
“I don’t get it.”
“They were pushing an expensive blend of coffee,” Griffen said. “Their point was that you can get cheaper coffee, but it will be just that…cheaper coffee.”
“Which means…”
“I’ll buy you your cup of coffee,” Griffen said, “but we’re both being overcharged for that information.”
“You’re saying there’s something wrong with what I was told?” Harrison said.
“Let’s just say I have additional information and let it go at that,” Griffen said with a shrug.
“Let’s not,” the detective growled. “What have you got and where did you get it?”
“You first,” Griffen said. “How do you suppose your computer whiz went about checking the rumor out?”
“Do I look like a computer geek?” Harrison said. “If I knew how to do that stuff, I wouldn’t have had to ask someone else to check it out for me. I guess he checked some database or other online. How should I know?”
“Uh-huh,” Griffen said. “Well, I think my source is a little more accurate than that.”
“And just what would that source be, Mr. Been-in-Town-Less-Than-Two-Months?”
“I spoke directly with Stoner,” Griffen said levelly. “You know, the guy with Homeland Security?”
Harrison sat back in his seat and cocked his head.
“I don’t get it,” he said at last. “If you knew this guy Stoner well enough to pick up the phone and call him, what did you need me for?”
“I didn’t say that I knew him,” Griffen said. “And I didn’t call him on the phone.”
The detective frowned and blinked.
“Then how…”
“I talked to him face-to-face, after he stopped me on the Moonwalk and introduced himself.”
“The Moonwalk?” Harrison said. “He was here? In New Orleans?”
“That’s right,” Griffen said. “Oh, and you’ll like this part. When I asked him how he found me, he said that someone from the NOPD had sent an inquiry about me to his offices. Said it made it easy for him to know where to look.”
Harrison’s face fell as the full impact of the information registered.
“Shit, I’m sorry, Griffen. Never occurred to me my computer man would be so blatant. I should have warned him to be more careful.”
Griffen shrugged with a carelessness he didn’t feel.
“What’s done is done,” he said. “What’s interesting is that Stoner said the same thing your man did…that he wasn’t interested in me and there was nothing to worry about.”
The detective’s eyes narrowed.
“He came all the way to New Orleans to tell you that personally?”
“Not only that,” Griffen said, “he had my cell phone number and knew enough to catch me on the Moonwalk at eleven o’clock in the morning. Do I need to tell you that’s not my normal prowl pattern?”
“The bastard was having you watched before he approached you,” Harrison said flatly. “He had a surveillance operation in my city and didn’t even have the courtesy to let us in on it…even after we asked.”
“Not ‘had,’ Harrison. ‘Has.’ He told me flat out that they were going to be keeping tabs on me ‘just out of curiosity.’ Isn’t that cute?”
“‘Cute’ doesn’t start to cover it,” the detective said, sliding out of the booth. “Keep your coffee, Griffen. If anything, I figure I owe you a couple for fingering you. In the meantime, we’ll just see what we can do about this ‘casual’ surveillance team the Feds are running on my turf.”
Twenty-four
It was a beautiful evening as they emerged from Irene’s. Griffen had resisted coming out, as he was still uneasy about the idea of Stoner’s men shadowing him, but the others had insisted and, in afterthought, he had to admit that it had been one of the most pleasant evenings in his memories.
Irene’s was a small neighborhood restaurant frequented mostly by locals and a few tourists willing to wander off the beaten track, and it had a family-run feel to it. The decor was nothing to brag about, but the food had been excellent and reasonably priced.
There were only four of them, Griffen, Jerome, Valerie, and Fox Lisa, but the conversation had been easy and as enjoyable as the food. Griffen had been surprised at the range of subjects they had touched on, from books to Broadway theater, to food, to music, to the inevitable gossip of who was doing what to who in the Quarter. By now he was used to Jerome and Fox Lisa holding their own on an amazing number of topics, but Valerie had surprised him by her knowledge and depth of perception. He realized now how seldom he had actually sat down and talked with his own sister.
They lingered over coffee and dessert of bananas Foster, a flaming ice cream concoction that he had never heard of before but had just become one of his favorites. He was informed that it had been invented right here in the Quarter at Brennan’s. Their waiter, overhearing their discussion, commented, “That’s right. They invented it at Brennan’s, and we perfected it here.” That earned him a round of applause from the diners and an extra large tip.
A rare cold front had come through while they were dining, and, while it was still warm by Griffen’s standards, they walked out of the restaurant into a light fog that thickened slowly as they made their way down Chartres Street to Jackson Square. Despite the hour and the chilly damp, the Jackson Square street entertainers were still working. A hammer dulcimer player was working a small audience, flanked by several tables with tarot readers.
“That reminds me, Big Brother,” Valerie said, glancing at the readers, “did you ever find out anything about that tarot card that got slipped under your door back in Detroit?”
Involuntarily, Griffen and Jerome glanced at each other.
“Nothing definite,” Griffen said with forced casualness. “I’m still looking into it.”
Valerie had caught the glance between Griffen and Jerome, and cocked a suspicious eyebrow at her brother. Warnings about female dragons aside, Griffen still agreed with Jerome’s and Mose’s earlier advice. Sometimes ignorance was bliss. It certainly would keep
Valerie from rushing toward danger.
“I still can’t believe how good the food was at Irene’s,” Griffen said, trying desperately to change the subject. “A little place like that.”
“You’ve got to get out more, Grifter,” Jerome told him, picking up on the cue. “I shouldn’t have told you about phoning out for food. You’ve been living on ho-hum junk food just like you used to up in Ann Arbor. New Orleans is a prime dining town. It’s almost impossible to get a bad meal unless you’re stupid enough to eat a Lucky Dog. Places that don’t have good food and big helpings don’t last long down here.”
A figure emerged from the fog, shuffling toward them. The reminder of the George still fresh in his mind, Griffen eyed it suspiciously for a moment, then recognized it. It was one of the street people who seemed to exist by begging money from tourists. The hair was so short and the face so wrinkled that, with its body wrapped in a shapeless jacket, for a while he had been unable to tell if it was a man or a woman. He had always brushed off advances in the past and got ready to do it again.
“Is that you, Mr. Jerome?” the figure said. “Praise Jesus. I was hopin’ to see you tonight.”
“How you doing, Babe,” Jerome said, coming to a stop. “You liking this cold weather we’ve got now?”
“Oh, I love it,” the beggar said. “Mr. Jerome, can you help me out a little? I just need another seventy-five cents to get into the shelter tonight.”
Her voice took on a slight whine, and she glanced around as she spoke. The police did not take kindly to beggars who bothered tourists in the Quarter.
“Sure, Babe,” Jerome said, passing her a bill. Griffen caught sight of the corner of the bill, and it was a five. “But you watch out for yourself now. Hear? There are folks out that will take that away from you if you give ’em half a chance.”
“Praise Jesus. Thank you, Mr. Jerome,” the lady said, backing away with a smile. “You have a nice night now. You and all your friends there.”
The fog swallowed her up as though she had never been there.
“Why do you do that, Jerome?” Griffen said.
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