Dragons Wild (19 page)

“Who’s calling him that?” Jerome pressed. “How did that name get picked?”

Fox Lisa paused in the door of the bedroom and squinched her features into a grimace.

“Oh, com’on, Jerome,” she said. “I know I’m not in the inner circle of things, but it doesn’t take much to figure out there’s something going on down here. To quote what’s his name…Morgan Freeman…in
Batman Begins
, ‘I know there are things you can’t tell me, and I won’t ask. But don’t treat me like I’m stupid.’”

With that she disappeared into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her as promised.

Griffen looked a question at Jerome.

“Uh-huh,” Jerome confirmed. “Definitely dragon blood there. Probably not as much as me, but it’s there. Somehow, though, no one’s gotten around to mentioning it to her. Remember what I said about female dragons?”

There are certain moments in a person’s existence when they realize they have made a mistake and could very well die in the next few seconds.

Griffen had experienced one such moment back in Michigan when he had accepted a challenge to road race with an acquaintance of his in the dead of winter. As they piled into a curve, his car had suddenly lost traction and began to slide sideways toward a thin line of trees with an iced-over river just beyond. Rather than feeling petrified with terror or shouting like people do in the comedy movies, a sudden calm descended over him. He knew he had lost control of the situation, but there was nothing for him to do but watch as the events transpired. In that particular instance, his wheels had suddenly found traction on a patch of gravel and with a surge of power the event was past.

Stepping into the bar’s dimly lit interior and seeing the scene awaiting him, he felt that same calm as he realized that again he had lost control of a situation and could very well die for his mistake.

It had started innocently enough. He had been shooting pool with Maestro at the Irish pub when a small black kid came through the door and looked around. Griffen assumed that it was one of the tap-dancing panhandlers that worked the Quarter and figured the bartender would handle it.

Before the bartender could move, however, the kid made a beeline for Griffen.

“You Mr. Griffen?”

“On my better days,” Griffen said with a smile.

“Huh?” the kid blinked.

“Never mind.” Griffen sighed. “Yes, I’m Grif…Mr. Griffen.”

“Little Joe sent me to find you,” the kid said. “He needs to see you and said to tell you it’s important.”

“When and where?” Griffen said.

“He said the same place you two talked last time…right now.”

Griffen started to reply, but the kid spun on his heel and pushed his way back out into the sunlight without another word, his mission accomplished.

“Sorry, Maestro,” Griffen said, leaning his cue against the wall. “It seems something has come up.”

“You want company?” Maestro said, looking up from his shot.

“Naw. Where I’m going, they aren’t wild about strangers.”

“Suit yourself,” Maestro said and turned his concentration back to the pool table.

The bar was only three or four blocks away, and as Griffen strolled the distance, he wondered idly what Little Joe could want.

Maybe he was being called to demonstrate his poker skills again. Then again, it just might be that Little Joe wanted to introduce him to someone.

As Griffen’s notoriety had grown, he had noticed that more and more people stopped him on the street to introduce him to their friends or family or whoever it was that they were dating. There seemed to be a certain status attached to just knowing him these days.

What was more, he made a point of going out of his way to greet people, rather than staying in one place and making them come to him. As a young white man taking charge of a predominately black group, he wanted to make the impression that he viewed himself as the first among equals rather than a boss man who expected others to run and fetch at his command.

When they had first talked, Griffen had leaned on Little Joe pretty heavy. He didn’t think it would hurt their relationship if he unbent and responded to the summons as a demonstration of friendship and respect.

Two steps into the bar, however, he realized that he had misjudged the situation badly.

Little Joe was at his normal table all right. But sitting with him were two other young black men. They were both decked out in the “home boy” look that movies and television had made popular, with oversized shirts and shorts and bandannas wrapped around their heads. In short, they had “dope dealer” written all over them. But these were the real thing, not some Hollywood pretty boys. Confusing them with their wannabe suburban imitators would be the same as confusing a timber wolf and a toy poodle.

Griffen did not think they were here to play cards. Not unless the games they were used to sitting in on included having automatic pistols sitting on the table next to their hands.

Then, too, there was the table full of look-alikes in the corner, with an additional three sets of eyes boring into him.

He thought back to what Jerome had told him about shape-shifting and deliberately fought back his rising panic. He really didn’t know if he was bulletproof, but would just as soon not find out today. Somehow he knew that if he startled this group by going into an involuntary shape-shift, they’d shoot first and not bother about asking questions.

There was nothing for Griffen to do but stay relaxed and try to bluff it through. Maybe the wheels would catch a patch of dry gravel.

“Little Joe,” he said by way of greeting as he approached the table. “I heard you wanted to see me?”

“Griffen.” Little Joe nodded back. “Got a couple folks here who want to meet you. This is TeeBo and Patches. They’re brothers.”

From the family resemblance, Griffen assumed the two really were brothers. What was surprising, however, was how young they were. TeeBo was about Griffen’s age, while Patches was a good half dozen years younger.

He nodded politely at each of them in acknowledgment of the introductions.

“TeeBo. Patches,” he said. “Is there something I can do for you gentlemen?”

“You can keep yo’ white-ass nose outta our business…” the younger man began, but his brother cut him off.

“Patches!” TeeBo said. “Remember I’m gonna handle this.”

He continued to stare at Griffen.

“Little Joe here tells me that you’re a reasonable man who likes to talk things out if there’s a problem,” he said finally. “So let’s talk.”

“Do we have a problem?” Griffen said.

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” TeeBo said. “I’ve been told that you won’t let your people deal our product. That true?”

“I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed,” Griffen said.

“I have?” TeeBo seemed genuinely surprised.

“Well, only partially informed,” Griffen said. “I’m not telling them not to handle your product, as you call it. I’m telling them not to handle anyone’s product. At least, not while they’re working for me. If they want to deal, fine. I can’t stop them. But not while they’re on my payroll.”

TeeBo leaned back in his chair and cocked his head to one side.

“So you ain’t doing this to give someone else an exclusive with your crew,” he said. “Maybe like someone named T.J.?”

“Never even heard of the man,” Griffen said.

“See. I told you,” Little Joe said.

“Shut up,” TeeBo said. “I’m talking to Mr. Griffen here. I wants to hear about it from him.”

“He’s lying.” Patches put in. “Everybody’s heard of T.J.!”

“I’ve only been in town a couple of months,” Griffen said. “To be honest, I never heard of you two until just now when we were introduced. We travel in different circles. All I’m interested in is learning Mose’s gambling operation.”

“So what you got against dope?” TeeBo said. “You want us to cut you in or somethin’?”

“I’m not wild about it personally,” Griffen said. “But that’s not the point. I’m not stupid enough to try to stop it or to waste a lot of time and energy trying to save people from themselves. I only brought in this new policy when it started to interfere with my operation.”

“How you figure that?” TeeBo said.

“Do you know an old gentleman named Reggie?” Griffen said.

“Oh, yeah. I heard ’bout that,” TeeBo said. “He worked for you?”

“Only part-time as a stringer,” Griffen said. “But working for me isn’t what got him killed.”

“So it’s like that, huh,” TeeBo said.

“I hear that you’re fireproof,” Patches said. “Are you bulletproof, too?”

“I really don’t know,” Griffen said. “Am I about to find out?”

“Shut yo’ mouth, Patches,” TeeBo said. “You might learn something.”

He turned his attention back to Griffen.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” he said, “what’s that you’re wearing around your neck?”

Griffen reached up and fingered the beads.

“This?” he said. “It’s a charm someone gave me.”

“Someone
gave
you that?” TeeBo said.

“A woman named Rose,” Griffen said. “Why? Do you know her?”

“Heard of her,” TeeBo said. “Mr. Griffen, you get those before or after your little trip?”

Griffen blinked, both at the “mister” and the reference. He shouldn’t have been surprised considering how rumor spread in the Quarter.

“You heard about that?” Griffen said.

“Yeah, word is, someone’s real mad wit you.”

Another surprise. Griffen realized that the George could use a rumor mill as yet another way to taunt. Or even as a weapon.

“After.”

TeeBo nodded as if that had been what he expected.

“You see what I’m talkin ’bout, Patches?” he said to his brother.

“Well, lookee here!”

A middle-aged black man in a suit had just come through the front door. Following in his wake were four young athletic looking blacks. What was notable about them was that they were all wearing long trench coats despite the heat outside.

“I had my suspicions, but now I know,” the man continued.

Tension danced through the room like chain lightning.

“Chill out, T.J.,” TeeBo said. “You just think you know. We had our suspicions, too. That’s why we’re here.”

“So you’re telling me he’s not cutting me out to deal with you?” T.J. said.

“He’s cutting us all out,” TeeBo said. “We thought he was makin’ a deal with you, but he told us he never even heard of you.”

“Bullshit,” T.J. said. “Everybody’s heard of T.J.!”

“Well, he’s not dealing with us and he’s not dealing with you,” TeeBo said. “He says he’s making his people choose between working for him or dealing because of what happened to Reggie.”

“That a fact?” T.J. said. “And you believe him?”

“That’s right,” TeeBo said. “You want to know why? Ease over here and take a look at what he’s wearing around his neck.”

T.J. glanced at his men and gave a quick jerk of his head. They moved sideways, fanning out along the bar to give them a clear line of sight, and fire, to both the brothers and the table of their supporters. Then he sauntered casually up to Griffen and peered at the beads…then jerked suddenly erect as if he had seen a snake.

“Is that for real?” he said to TeeBo.

“He says that Rose gave it to him,” TeeBo said. “He’s a white boy only been in town a couple months. I don’t see him making up a story like that.”

“If he is or if he’s lying, he’s too stupid or too bold to be afraid of anything we might run at him,” T.J. said, stepping back.

“That’s the way I read it,” TeeBo said.

The two men looked at each other, then nodded.

“Mr. Griffen,” TeeBo said. “I thank you for taking the time to clarify the situation. Now, if you’ll excuse us, T.J. and I have a few matters to discuss in light of this new information.”

Griffen took this as a dismissal, and, nodding respectfully to the principals, headed out at what he hoped was a dignified pace.

He had caught a gravel patch…again!

The air never seemed sweeter nor the colors as bright and reassuring. Even the glare and the heat were welcome.

Valerie had started her morning with another sweet breakfast at Cafe Du Monde. This time, she was a bit too distracted to properly appreciate her surroundings, though she couldn’t think of anything that could quite block it out completely.

Some of the artists and the performers Valerie had grown used to seeing. Others seemed to alternate, or just appear randomly. Calliope music filtered over from the river, and blended oddly but somehow appropriately with a bagpipe player on the corner of the Square. A man on stilts was juggling and pacing, while a woman with six small poodles circled the Square again and again. Valerie wasn’t quite sure whether the woman was a local, or a tourist, but she couldn’t help noticing her hairdo matched that of her dogs.

What distracted Valerie from her meal and the events around her were a small notebook and a folded newspaper. It was a local publication, distributed free in bars and coffeehouses, and it was currently folded to the jobs section. She had decided to take herself out of her worries.

If Griffen wanted to keep her in the dark, she would find something else to occupy her time. The notebook held numbers of want ads Valerie had noticed throughout the Quarter, as well as a few she had been passed by locals. She mulled over the list, unsure of what, if anything, she planned to do about it, and sipped the last of her hot chocolate.

The waiter was just clearing away her plate when new movement caught her eye. A man came around the far corner of the Square. It wasn’t his mere appearance that caught her eye, though he moved with a certain amount of casual grace that she found herself admiring.

The real attention getter was the horde of small girls scurrying around him. Over a dozen girls, all dressed in navy blue skirts and starched white blouses, the oldest of whom couldn’t have been more than ten. They clamored and giggled around him, a sea of smiling faces, tugging at his pant legs and otherwise scrabbling for his attention. Pant legs that Valerie noticed were extremely well tailored, as was his dark red shirt with a rubylike sheen.

Behind the group, dressed in full nun habit, was the obvious watcher of the little horde. She stood back and shook her head, face holding a look of barely concealed amusement.

The man turned and threw his hands up, making a fierce face and bellowing. All with the predictable results of sending the giggling girls scattering all around him, not in the least bit afraid. One of the braver ones tugged on his pant leg again, and Valerie leaned forward a bit watching his reaction.

He rolled his head and presumably his eyes to the sky, flung his hands out to the side, and made a magician’s pass with them. Suddenly in one hand, he held a bamboo rose of the type that get made and sold on the street all over the Quarter. The girl shrieked and clapped her hands, and he bent low and handed it to her, blowing kisses into the air by her cheeks. She turned, clutching her prize, and fled, the rest of the pack chasing after her.

The nun gave him a glare, shaking her finger and not really meaning either, and strode off to try and return some order to the group. Valerie couldn’t help but to give off a full, throaty laugh.

At the sound, even though he was across the street, his back stiffened and he turned on his heel, eyes searching. There was no way for Valerie to hide that she was watching, but she didn’t bother. Something about the way he moved, and now he moved toward her like a man with a purpose, captivated her eye. She noticed the well-muscled build of his shoulders, and the well-styled line of his hair, and the way people moved out of the way for him. He strode across the street, apparently ignoring the passing cars, and stopped a few steps from the rail separating the cafe from the street.

“Do it again,” he said in a voice that was soft but compelling, even through the early morning hustle and bustle.

“Do what, precisely?” Valerie said a little cooly.

“Precisely? That wonderful, rich laugh that cuts through the world and was worth more applause then a hundred little girls.”

“Oh, that.” Valerie tried for dismissive, but could feel a flush creeping up her neck. She covered it well. “Perform for little girls a lot do you?”

“Ah, well, I used to give out candy, but for some reason the words ‘want some candy, little girl’ set off all kinds of people these days.”

She smiled at him, and gave him points for picking up her tone, and rolling with it.

“Well, if you want a laugh from me, I don’t think another fake rose will do it.”

“Ah, but for the lady, the real thing is a must.”

And just like that he was holding a red rose, stem trimmed off but petals bright and fresh. He held it out for her, not letting his eyes break contact.

“What do you do, stuff them up your sleeves before you go out just in case you need a handy pick-up bit?”

“I think I’ve got pearls up my other sleeve if you’d rather,” he said.

At that she did laugh. She couldn’t help it.

“You try giving me pearls in the first fifteen minutes of a relationship, and I’m going to start looking for your sexual predator file.”

“Then the relationship is already started? Oh, goody.”

“You don’t go half fast do you? And no one says goody,” Valerie said.

“I thought joy and rapture might be pushing things a bit,” he said.

Valerie was used to strong come-ons, and dealing with them, but more and more she was becoming interested. Seeming to pick up on it, he straightened and tossed the rose over his shoulder.

“Not pearls or roses then. Dinner perhaps? Name the place and time and I shall be there.”

“You haven’t even asked my name, or offered yours.”

“Which line would you prefer? A rose by any other name, or something along the lines of Dulcinea. As for mine, I’m Nathaniel.”

“Nathaniel what?”

“Oh, Mother won’t tell us, just in case we should ever try to track down Father.”

“Ha! Oh, you won’t get to evade that easily for long Nathaniel.”

“Quite right, but you must come to dinner if you want to try for more.” Nathaniel grinned.

He pulled a business card out of his left pocket and flipped it onto the table casually. He had yet to close the final distance, and he still didn’t. Instead he turned and walked back toward the Square, without a backward glance.

Valerie thought for a moment and pocketed the card.