“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.
“Sort of,” Nathaniel said. “My family does a fair amount of business here in New Orleans and owns a condo here in the Quarter, which has me in and out of town several times a year. Right now my brother and I are in town for a couple weeks, maybe a month.”
“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.”
“Hmm…can’t say you don’t got a point. And that’s fair. I want to be clear, though. I ain’t.”
“All right, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Still, I was surprised. I thought the rumor mill would have gotten news of a new man in her life to me faster.”
“In case you have forgotten, Grifter, only a few days ago I was dating her. They haven’t been together long enough even for the Quarter gossips.”
Griffen mulled this over, and it worried him. Valerie seemed awful…attached, for so recent an acquaintance. He didn’t have time to think it over as Gris-gris went on.
“Way I figure things, me and your sister had some laughs, I figured we’d have a few more, but if she wants to laugh with someone else, that’s her business.”
“A very good attitude, Gris-gris, though I hear a ‘but’ coming, don’t I?”
“You sure do. I don’t trust that guy. Been around the block a few times, and he sets off all my bells. It’s not just who he’s with, I want you to understand that. It’s him.”
“He seemed nice and polite and, well, harmless to me,” Griffen said.
“Yeah, and my gut tells me that’s because that’s how he wants to seem. It was all just too damn smooth. With your permission, I’m gonna check him out.”
“Gris-gris, you aren’t someone I can order to do or not do something. You don’t need my permission. But if you do, and you really think you need to, you be careful. The last thing I want is you in trouble, and thinking that it was my fault.”
“Com’on, Grifter. You gotta be kidding me. I’m the only one responsible for me, that’s how I like it. Just want to make sure we all know who this guy really is. Besides one smooth damn dude.”
“Some people,” Padre said even as he sank the eight ball, “just have a natural charm.”
Griffen looked at him close, and felt that kernel of worry grow a bit. If nothing else, Nathaniel was the only out of towner who had made an effort to penetrate their group.
Was his little sister dating the George?
Forty
Griffen had to admit to himself, grudgingly, no place was perfect.
The French Quarter had food, music, endless variety. It was damn near impossible to grow bored there. Just the other day he had been wandering to his apartment when fireworks had burst to life above him. Grand, professional displays fired from a barge on the river just a few blocks away. No holiday, no special festival, just one of the countless conventions that decided to light up the night for the whole Quarter.
If festivals and fun grew boring, one could simply sit back and watch the young tourists, or at least the young tourist ladies, sweating away in their tank tops and shorts. As the old joke went, nice scenery in the Quarter, the buildings aren’t bad either. Everyday there was something that tugged at Griffen’s attention, and made him glad that, as bizarre as his life had turned, it had brought him here.
Despite this, Griffen had one vice that this delightfully sinful place didn’t begin to address. It supplied him with constant booze, delightful sights, and excitement both tame and dangerous. Yet, he felt himself yearning for just one thing.
If only the damned place had a decent movie theater within walking distance!
Okay, so it was a petty complaint. He got enough fresh DVDs that if he chose to he could plunk down in his apartment and never leave. Not to mention that the bartenders in his favorite pubs would pass him the remote controls to the TVs there without batting an eye. Still, it wasn’t the same.
Griffen loved movies. His tastes ran to the classics. Old comedies, action movies, musicals. But he would watch anything in a pitch, and had. Some of his favorites were pure camp, and the proper place to see a movie the first time was the theater. Sure he preferred older films, but the experience of the theater, surrounded by others, eating cheap popcorn, and losing oneself in whatever new world the screen presented. It was one of his simplest pleasures.
He had mentioned it to Jerome one day, because he realized being crammed in a dark room with a bunch of strangers wasn’t exactly safe. It would be the perfect opportunity for the George to try something.
Jerome had looked at him for a long time before answering.
“Griffen, as soon as you let his threat dictate whether you do or do not live and enjoy your life…well, I figure by then he might as well just stick a knife in your ribs.”
Griffen had to admit, he had a point. In fact, for Jerome, it was absolutely eloquent.
“All right, then I’m going to call a cab and…”
Griffen trailed off, Jerome had started laughing at him. Hard enough that tears were beading in the corner of his eyes.
“Oh, hell, Grifter! Sure have been down here too long. Tell me when you want to go and I’ll get the Goblin pulled out of storage.”
Oh…yeah.
That was a plus.
Griffen found himself grinning a few days later. It had been too long since he had driven his car. Actually, it had been too long since he had seen his car. Apparently Jerome had found a place outside the Quarter with secure parking, and the equivalent of valet service. They had his spare keys and would just park and lock it at a given time and place. Surprisingly, this was actually cheaper then the garages inside the Quarter.
The Goblin had been parked on the side of the street, waiting for him. Whoever had delivered it had already headed back to their other duties, and Griffen stood for a while just looking over her. The clean lines of the car, the gleaming green. He missed the old Sunbeam Tiger more than he had realized. Sitting there, looking to his eye as eager as he felt.
Maybe the movie could wait after all, a few hours on the road, just tooling around, and a later show. That sounded about right. Sometimes it helped to have a reminder that there was life outside of the Quarter.
He unlocked the door and slipped inside. For a few moments he just sat, hands on the steering wheel, feeling the texture under his fingertips. Maybe movies in the theater wasn’t the only vice that the French Quarter wasn’t quite built to indulge. He sighed happily and slipped the key into the ignition. Turned it.
Nothing.
The smile slowly slid from his face. He turned the key again, absolutely nothing. Not even the engine trying to turn over. Like the starter was broken, disc
onnected, or cut. Griffen took the key out, made sure it was the right one, slipped it in again. For a third time there was no result.
With a grimace he slammed his hand into the dash. Not hard enough to damage his beloved car, but he was just so frustrated. Now instead of a night out, he would have to call a mechanic. He sighed and leaned his head back on the seat. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, as if that could really ease the tension. As he pulled his hand away, though, his eyes caught on something.
There was a small white triangle sticking out of his visor. He hadn’t noticed it. In fact, he doubted it had shown before. It was more like his strike on the dashboard had shaken it just enough to emerge. He reached up, pulled it, and found himself holding the corner of a Knight of Swords tarot card.
Griffen’s mind flashed in an instant, even as his hand reached for the door handle. This didn’t make sense. What skill was involved in this? Cutting an ignition when he was nowhere near the car? Or was there something worse in store? A bomb perhaps, that would have detonated if the turn of a key had worked? And a card he wouldn’t have seen without the impact of his hand…
The door was open just a crack when the crash slammed it shut again.
A beer truck, easily four times the size of the Goblin. It had been parked half a space back, Griffen had noticed it only in passing. Plenty of clearance to back up.
That clearance was closed in half a second, with the roar of the larger engine. It crunched into the back of the Goblin and threw Griffen forward against the dash. Only his awkward position of trying to open the door saved his head from cracking against the steering wheel.
The second crash came a few moments later. The truck backed up enough for another rush. Griffen clung desperately to the steering wheel of his car, not trying to escape, just enduring. If he allowed it, the whiplash from the impacts could have snapped his spine.
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