Dragons Wild gm-1

by Robert Asprin

  “Well, it depends on what kind of music you want,” Griffen said. “If you like the old classics like “Basin Street Blues,” Steamboat Willie and his combo are playing just down the street here, in the courtyard across from the hotel’s main lobby. If you want Cajun and zydeco music, then go down a couple blocks across Toulouse to the Steak Pit. Denny T. is playing there tonight, and he’s the best Cajun fiddler I’ve heard in the Quarter. Plays a lot of Doug Kershaw material. On the other hand, if you’d like to try something a little different with more ambiance, Sean Kelly’s on St. Louis between Bourbon and Royal would be my suggestion. Beth Patterson is playing in there tonight, and she always puts on a great show. Some traditional Irish music with a lot of parodies, and her own material. It’s not like anything you’ll hear anywhere else.”

  “I’ll try that. Thanks a million.”

  The man waved and returned to his table.

  “You’re really settling into the Quarter scene, aren’t you, Big Brother,” Valerie said. “Should I ask who that was?”

  “Another one of our players,” Griffen said. “I think he’s one of the local politicos.”

  “I notice you didn’t introduce me,” Valerie said.

  “To tell you the truth, I couldn’t recall his name,” Griffen said. “Besides, I noticed that he didn’t bring his escort over to introduce her to us either. Of course, that’s probably because the young lady that’s with him isn’t his wife.”

  Valerie choked on her drink, then dabbed at her mouth with her napkin.

  “Is everything all right, folks?”

  The waiter, a stout, white-haired black gentleman, was hovering at the table.

  “I think we’re fine,” Griffen said. “Just a little more coffee and the check, please.”

  “I’ll be right back with the coffee, but there’s no check tonight, sir.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “No, sir, Mr. Griffen,” the waiter said. “There’ll be no check for you tonight or any other night you come in on Amos’s shift. Amos, that’s me, sir.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Amos,” Griffen said. “This is my sister, Valerie.”

  “I thought that’s who it might be.” Amos smiled. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Valerie.”

  “I’m still a little confused, Amos,” Griffen said. “How is it that you know me and why are you comping us this meal?”

  “Well, sir, I knew who you were when you walked in tonight. A lot of the folks here in the Quarter know who you are and what you do,” Amos said. “I guess I just know a little more than most. You see, Gris-gris is my sister’s boy, and the whole family is grateful to you for helpin’ him out when he got in that scrape with the po-leece.”

  “You’re Gris-gris’s uncle?” Griffen said. “No fooling?”

  “No, sir. I wouldn’t joke about a thing like that,” Amos said earnestly. “Gris-gris always was a bit of a wild one, and we’ve always been a little worried for him. It’s a big load off our mind that he’s workin’ with a fine gentleman such as yourself, Mr. Griffen, and seeing a fine lady such as yourself, Ms. Valerie. Anyway, anytime you come in here on my shift, your money’s no good. It’s the least I can do to say thank you.”

  “That’s very nice of you, Amos,” Valerie said.

  “I appreciate it, Amos,” Griffen said, “but it presents me with a bit of a problem. You see, I really like the turtle soup here, and was planning on coming in more often. The trouble is, if I do that now, with you comping me, I’ll feel like I’m taking advantage of your generosity.”

  “Don’t you worry about that none, Mr. Griffen,” Amos said. “You come in here as often as you like. I’d like nothing better than to see you in here every day.”

  “All right, all right,” Griffen said, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. “I know when I’m beat. But I insist that if I bring a party in here, I pay for it, not you.”

  “We’ll have to see about that.” Amos grinned. “I’ll just get your coffee now.”

  Griffen laughed and shook his head as the waiter retreated.

  “What do you think about that?” he said.

  “I think you’re really getting into this whole dragon thing,” Valerie said, without smiling.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The whole thing with people catering to you…waving at you and coming up to your table and giving you freebies. You’re really starting to enjoy it.”

  “Hey. It’s all part of the business,” Griffen said. “You know, contacts and cocktails. It’s the same in any business. It’s just a bit more exaggerated here in New Orleans.”

  “And since when did you concern yourself with business?” Valerie shot back.

  Griffen studied her for a moment.

  “Is something bothering you, Little Sister?” he said at last. “You’ve been making little comments like that all through dinner.”

  “Yes…No…I don’t know,” Valerie said, shaking her head. “It’s just that you’ve changed since we got down here. Maybe you can’t see it because it’s happening gradually, but only seeing you every now and then, it’s apparent to me.”

  “Changing like how?”

  “Think back, Big Brother,” she said. “When you were in school, you never thought beyond today. You liked the soft, irresponsible life and only lived for the next card game or woman. Any attempt to get you to take anything seriously would have you running for the horizon. Now look at you. You’re heading up an entire gambling operation, schmoozing with the local bigwigs, and working at setting policy and procedures. That’s a big change no matter how you look at it. The thing is you seem to be enjoying it. You’re taking to it like a duck to water.”

  “So, are you saying this change is a good thing, or a bad thing?” Griffen said thoughtfully.

  “I don’t know yet,” Valerie said with a grimace. “The jury is still out on that one. It’s good to see you enjoying yourself. On the other hand, we already know you’re in the crosshairs. Actually, we both are. The weather may be cooling down a bit, but I’ve got a feeling things are going to get hot for us.”

  Griffen considered what his sister had said for several moments, then rose from his seat, tossing some money on the table for a tip.

  “Hate to eat and run, Little Sister,” he said, “but I think I need to have a chat with Mose. Maybe catch up with you later.”

  “She’s right, Young Dragon,” Mose said with a smile. “Of course you’ve changed. You’ve had ideas and opinions ever since you got here. The difference is, now you’re doing more telling than asking.”

  Griffen frowned.

  “That makes me sound pretty pushy and arrogant,” he said.

  “No. That makes you sound confident,” Mose said. “It makes you sound like a dragon.”

  He leaned forward in his chair.

  “Look at all you’ve learned and done in a little over two months,” he said earnestly. “You’ve got a good handle on our operation. You’ve handled a couple of potentially nasty situations pretty much by yourself. You’ve even made some changes in policies that have been in place for decades. Everybody in the crew looks to you for leadership…and a lot of folks outside the crew as well. For a new dragon, fresh out of the box, you’re doing yourself proud. If I had any doubts about turning the leadership over to you, they’re long gone.”

  “I guess.” Griffen sighed. “Say, Mose. About the whole thing with taking over the leadership. How long do you figure it will be before I’m ready for that?”

  Mose threw back his head and laughed.

  “Young Dragon,” he said, “you haven’t been paying attention. It’s already happened. I just said that everyone is looking to you for leadership, and that includes me. For all intents and purposes, you are the dragon of this crew.”

  Fifty-three

  Griffen was still thinking about what Mose had said as he unlocked the front gate and let himself into the complex courtyard. Behind him, the now familiar sounds of the city faded. The clip-clop of a passing carriage bei
ng the loudest as he shut the gate.

  It was true that he was pretty much running the gambling operation now. But did that really make him the local dragon? He had nowhere near Mose’s experience or wisdom. More important, on many levels he knew he lacked the confidence and his abilities to truly be a leader. The head honcho.

  Suddenly, the lights in the courtyard, those fake gas lamps New Orleans was famous for, went out.

  Griffen stopped in his tracks. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he had relaxed his now habitual scan for trouble or tension. This, however, was too blatant to ignore.

  The courtyard was not completely dark. There was a bit of ambient light from the street, and a little coming from between the curtains of his upstairs apartment where he usually kept a light on in the living room, even when he was out. There was also one gas lamp on a post still lit, creating a ten-foot pool of light.

  A figure stepped out of the shadows in the courtyard and into that pool of light and stood there, waiting. It was a short, slightly built man. It took a moment, but Griffen finally recognized him as the man who had been in the fight at the Irish pub the night someone had slipped the lime slice into his water back.

  “Mr. McCandles? I believe we have some unfinished business.”

  “And you would be the George,” he said, keeping his voice level.

  The man bowed slightly.

  “So you have heard of me. I was starting to wonder there for a while.”

  “Is this it, then?” Griffen said. “The showdown at high noon?”

  “Considering the hours you keep, I felt that the wee hours of the morning would be more appropriate,” the George said. “But basically, you’re correct. This is it.”

  Griffen began walking along one of the paths between the flower beds, more to be doing something and to hide his nervousness than anything else. The George watched him, turning slowly to match his progress but not leaving his pool of light. There was something about the way that he watched; a tilt of his head, or the shine of his eye, or perhaps just his stance that made Griffen’s stomach knot. This man was a predator.

  “Before we start, do you mind my asking a question?” he said. “Are you out to kill me, or just to test my powers? We never have been able to figure that one.”

  “Does it really matter?” the George said.

  The George made a gesture, a wave of his hand that struck Griffen as a bit too theatrical. Especially under the circumstances. Beneath the predator lurked a showman, and a cocky one at that.

  The lone lamp flickered and blinked out.

  “It does to me,” Griffen said, trying to adjust his night vision to the new darkness. “I’ve never killed anyone, so I’d like to know if I’m fighting for my life, or just to defend myself.”

  “In either case, you’ll be defending yourself,” the George said. “If it eases your mind, though, I don’t think you can kill me.”

  The voice had shifted locations, now coming from the shadows behind Griffen. The move had occurred far too fast and silently to be natural.

  “How—” Griffen said without thinking, then caught himself. Now was not the time to admit ignorance. Too close to weakness.

  “How do you think?” the George said.

  The voice was at yet another place, closer, but not close enough for Griffen to find him in the darkness. The George chuckled, enjoying the chance to taunt Griffen directly. Griffen drew himself up, mind working quickly.

  “Teleportation,” Griffen said. “Very impressive.”

  “Over short distances,” the voice replied from a different pool of darkness. “It takes up a lot of my energy, so I don’t do it often. Though it did allow me to push you down the stairs and get myself in a position to see your face as you landed. It’s the simple things one enjoys.”

  Again the voice shifted.

  “I just wanted you to realize what you’re up against. I can also see in the dark better than you.”

  Griffen fought back a surge of panic.

  Panic doesn’t solve anything, and it can get you killed.

  Mose’s words came to him as if the old man were in the courtyard with them. He forced himself to remain calm and to focus on analyzing the situation.

  The George had picked the time and place for the confrontation, and was using the darkness both to conceal his location and to unnerve his opponent. Well, he wasn’t the only low-light specialist around.

  Griffen let his own mind flow out, seeking for the feral cats that frequented the courtyard. He couldn’t see through their eyes, but could gain some awareness through them. And cats are aware of everything. He made contact, and reached out a gentle probe.

  Uh-huh.

  He turned his back on the direction the voice had last come from and spoke directly to a spot some fifteen feet away.

  “You may be right,” he said. “Somehow, though, I expected something a bit more to the point than a game of hide-and-seek.”

  There was a pause, then all the courtesy lights came back on, revealing the George precisely where Griffen had anticipated.

  “If you will,” the George said with a shrug. His lips curled slightly, displeased with being so easily called out. “I’ve always had a weakness for the dramatic, and was a huge fan of film noir when it first came out.”

  “That’s a neat trick with the lights, I’ll admit,” Griffen said, stepping into a clear space. “Is that another power, or do you have a mechanical gimmick?”

  “It’s a power,” the George said, circling slightly to maintain the distance between them.

  Yet, Griffen felt, he was also stalking him. The man moved liquidly, much like a cat himself. Though one larger and more dangerous then the feral cats of the courtyard. The whole time he maintained eye contact, and his lips curled in slightly mocking amusement.

  “Like the teleporting, it’s only good over short distances and uses up a lot of my energy.”

  “Feel free to drain as much of your energy as you want,” Griffen said. “I’ve always liked special effects.”

  “Don’t worry. I have more than enough energy for the task at hand.”

  The speed with which he moved was absolutely shocking. This wasn’t teleportation, just pure physical quickness. Griffen raised his hand to ward off the blow he saw coming, but it was a feint. The George’s other hand cracked in a backhand slap that rocked Griffen’s head back and sent him staggering back.

  “My,” the George said, fifteen feet away again in an eye blink. He was rubbing his hand with a faint wince. “You are tougher then most of those I encounter. I’m mildly impressed.”

  Griffen steadied himself, but he could taste blood in his mouth. A tiny trickle slipped from the corner of his lips, and the George nodded. Satisfied.

  “First blood to me. Feel free to try a return blow.”

  “And if I refuse to play your game?”

  “Why, then this will grow tiresome quickly, and my temper will grow short.”

  But Griffen hadn’t waited for him to answer. He reached out, and the George turned about at the snarling yowl of two scarred old tomcats that leaped through the air at his face.

  His eyes widened, a mistake. Claws raked at his cheek, drawing blood, before he could knock the beasts aside. They landed heavily, and crouched back, hissing at him.

  He hissed back, and they cowered more.

  Griffen tried to make use of the distraction, rushing the George and swinging a blow at him. Again with greased quickness the George moved away, foot catching Griffen lightly on the ankle and dodging. Griffen stumbled, but not much and the George stepped away, bringing the gap between the two men wide again. Griffen brought himself back around as the George postured.

  “Oh, very good, second blood and quite unexpected. Really, boy, I’ve known dragons three times your age who hadn’t done so much.”

  “What are you, anyway?” Griffen said, fishing for information, and searching for tactics. The cats were no longer responding; they were closed off to him. “Other t
han an enforcer for hire, that is.”

  “From where I stand, he’s dead meat,” Valerie declared loudly, emerging from the door of her apartment wearing a loose-fitting sweat suit. Her eyes shone with rage.

  “Stay out of this, woman!” the George ordered, not taking his eyes from Griffen.

  “Not a chance,” Valerie said, starting forward. “That’s my brother you’re smacking around.”

  As she moved, she began to grow visibly until she was nearly half again her normal height. The sweat suit, first loose, now strained against her proportions.

  “I warn you,” the George snarled. “You are not strong enough for this contest.”

  Valerie came to a stop ten feet from the George.

  “You’re probably right.” She smiled. “That’s why I brought a friend.”

  From behind her back she produced the shotgun Gris-gris had given her. At her new size, it almost looked like a toy in her hand. Still, its roar was deafening in the silent courtyard as she fired it point-blank at the George.

  The man was blown from his feet and went sprawling into one of the flower beds.

  “Heard the cats. I’ve told you before, Big Brother,” Valerie called, “you worry way too much about fighting fair.”

  “Val! Don’t…” Griffen called, but he was too late.

  The George was on his feet standing behind Valerie. Grabbing the back of her sweat suit, he pivoted and threw her five feet into a wall. He snatched and wrenched the shotgun from her hand even as she flew. She rebounded and lay in a boneless heap on the pavement of the courtyard.

  Griffen’s vision began to blur. He could feel his skin tightening and his muscles shift as blood pounded in his ears. He didn’t need to look to know his arms now had scales.

  “She’ll be all right,” the George said, tossing the weapon away dismissively and turning back to his main target. “I don’t hurt bystanders. She’ll be bruised when she wakes up, but…”