Dragons Wild

Eighteen

Despite all the warnings and promises he had received about the rumor mill in the Quarter, Griffen was startled with how far and fast the word of his encounter with Gris-gris had spread. Even though the confrontation had occurred in the midafternoon, by the time midnight rolled around, he had been stopped or approached no less than a dozen times by people who had heard about it.

“Griffen! What’s this I hear about you tossing four guys out of the Irish pub this afternoon?”

“Hey, my man! Been hearing talk about how you got in the face of a bunch of bruisers today.”

“Here. This one’s on me. Heard about how you stepped in and settled a brawl at the pub.”

The accounts varied, and none of them were correct. The story being spread was that Griffen had either been in a fight or settled a fight with three to six guys bigger than he was. When he tried to clarify that (a) there had only been two people on the other side, (b) one of the opposition had done nothing but watch, (c) he himself had not been directly involved, and (d) no punches had been thrown and the altercation was nothing more serious than raised voices, he was greeted with exaggerated winks and declarations of, “Yeah. That’s always the best way to handle it.”

The pattern continued the next day as Jerome was walking him around the Quarter, introducing him to the various spotters and runners who were involved with the gambling network. It seemed that three out of four or four out of five of the people he met had already heard of him. What’s more, they all made a point of expressing their approval and support as well as telling him how much they were looking forward to working with him.

After a while, this inflated notoriety began to annoy him, and eventually generated a seed of worry in his mind. Eventually, he expressed his concern to Jerome.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jerome said with a wave of his hand. “It never hurts to have a reputation for being a bit of a badass, even if the facts get garbled a bit. It’s not like you’re bragging it up yourself.”

“But it was Valerie that actually braced him.”

“So? You think Gris-gris is gonna say anything about that?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

Jerome laughed.

“For the same reason Jumbo didn’t step in when it all went down. It would look bad all around if it came out that he got backed off by a girl, and even worse if Jumbo had to help him.”

“But isn’t he going to come back at me over this?”

“Not much chance of that,” Jerome said. “That would make it seem bigger and more important than it already is. Besides, unless I read him wrong, he’s more than a little bit afraid of your sister.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. To tell the truth, I’m a little spooked by her myself. That’s one impressive mama you’ve got there…and remember what I told you about female dragons. You really don’t want to get them stirred up.”

They walked on in silence for a few moments, then Jerome cocked his head.

“Tell me one thing, Grifter,” he said. “If you didn’t know how Gris-gris and Jumbo would react, why did you set it so it would be Valerie who’d do the talkin’?”

“I don’t know,” Griffen admitted. “From what Mose was saying, it sounded like Gris-gris had a problem with me. I figured it would be better to play it from the angle of his disrespect than making an issue of the money…and that bracing him for respect would sound better coming from someone else, like Valerie. I really hadn’t thought about the whole male/female aspect of it. Call it instinct and good luck.”

“Well, any gambler needs good luck,” Jerome said, resuming his walk. “Just keep listening to your instincts. So far they’re the best thing you have going for you.”

Jerome’s words stayed with Griffen, and he gave them considerable food for thought. He had always been good at reading people and situations…something he was now being told was part of his dragon heritage. Now that he was consciously thinking about it, however, his senses and observations seemed heightened to a new level.

Now, whenever he walked down the street or sat down in a bar or restaurant, he was aware of who was looking at him and who wasn’t. More particularly, of those who looked at him, he was building a sense of who was friendly, who was curious, who was neutral, and who seemed to be harboring some kind of hostility.

For the most part, the tourists and conventioneers barely glanced at him, if that. Of the locals, whether if was due to his new found notoriety or simply the fact that more and more people were recognizing him as a Quarter regular, he found an increasing percentage noting his presence and tracking his movements with the casual attention a veld full of antelope will give to a strolling lion.

It was both unsettling and exhilarating at the same time. Back up north when he walked across the campus, he had been all but invisible, his passing noticed by only a scattered handful of acquaintances. Here in the Quarter, while the transients were oblivious to his presence, he was being watched by the locals as a power to be reckoned with.

One night, he was walking Fox Lisa back to her apartment. She had called him from her bartending job and suggested that he pick her up when she got off work so they could spend some time together, and he had complied.

It was a weekday night, so the side streets were virtually deserted except for a few single pedestrians either making their way home or to a late-night club for a nightcap. The weather was pleasant, if warm, and he enjoyed her company as she clung to his arm and chatted about the problems that had arisen on her shift, obviously decompressing now that she was off duty.

All at once, the night felt wrong.

There was nothing tangible or specific that had changed, but he suddenly realized he was feeling edgy and a bit tense, as if there was static electricity dancing just above his skin.

A month ago he would have shrugged it off as a mood swing. Now, however, he surreptitiously swept the street ahead with his eyes.

Nothing in particular caught his attention, but the feeling persisted.

Leaning down slightly to kiss the top of her head, he glanced behind them.

One guy walking alone on the far side of the street about a half block back. No feeling of threat there.

He looked ahead again.

There was a man standing in the shadows twenty feet ahead, partially hidden by the cement steps running up to an apartment door. It looked like he was tying his shoelace, but it seemed to be taking him a long time to do it.

The setup didn’t seem to match the way Mose described the George operating, but he figured it was better to be safe than sorry.

He kissed the top of Lisa’s head again and murmured in her ear.

“Don’t like the looks of the guy ahead, there. Be ready to get behind me.”

With that he straightened again and continued walking, casually putting his hand on the knife in his pants pocket.

Angling their path so it slanted closer to the curb, he stopped about eight feet short of the man in question and made as if to kiss Lisa on the lips.

The man came out of the shadows and started toward them, one hand hidden in his pocket.

Griffen moved a step forward, steering Lisa behind him with his left hand.

“Can we do something for you?” he called while the man was still six feet away.

The man continued toward them.

“I was wondering if you could…”

“Hold it right there!”

Griffen realized with a start that Fox Lisa was beside him, a small, black, automatic pistol in her hand leveled at the man in front of them.

The man froze in his tracks.

“Let’s see your other hand…and it better come out empty.”

The man slowly removed his hand from his pocket and held it empty at shoulder height.

“I don’t want no trouble,” he said. Soothingly.

“You got him?”

The call came from the far side of the street. Griffen glanced back and recognized the man who had been walking behind them as one of the two men who had been shooting pool in the Irish pub when he and Jerome had met with Gris-gris.

“I got him,” Lisa called back. “Make sure he’s alone.”

The shadower waved and moved on ahead.

The man under the gun hadn’t moved, but he kept glancing nervously down the street behind him and muttering softly to himself.

Fox Lisa took two steps forward, her weapon still leveled, and jerked her head toward Griffen.

“I want you to take a long look at this man,” she instructed. “Do you know who he is?”

The man stared at Griffen and shook his head.

“This is Griffen McCandles,” she said, drawing the name out for emphasis. “You may have heard of him. He’ll be taking over Mose’s business.”

The man stared harder at Griffen and said something that sounded apologetic.

“Remember him and tell your friends they can save themselves a load of trouble if they walk wide around him. Understand me?”

“Yes’m.”

“All right. Get moving and don’t let us see you again tonight.”

The man turned and sprinted away down the street.

“That was a good call,” Lisa said as she returned her automatic to the pocket in the back of the fanny pack she was wearing. “Most people wouldn’t have spotted…What?”

Griffen continued staring at her.

She cocked her head and frowned.

“Is something wrong, lover?”

“You’re carrying a gun,” he said.

“Yeah. So? Sometimes it comes in handy…like tonight.”

“It’s just…I’ve never known anyone who carried a gun before.”

“That’s right. I keep forgetting you’re from up north.” She flashed him a quick grin. “Well, you’re in the South now, and a lot of people carry. It’s even worse over in Texas.”

“Isn’t that illegal or something?” Griffen managed at last.

Again the grin.

“So’s gambling, but we do it anyway. No. Seriously. It’s not that hard to get a concealed weapons permit here in New Orleans. Especially if you live in the Quarter and have to go out at night. Of course, being a girl helps. Anyway, all you have to do is take a class and get certified so they know you won’t shoot anyone including yourself accidentally. Other than that, the only big rule is that you can’t carry in a bar.”

“But you…”

“Think a minute, lover. How often have you seen me peel off my fanny pack as I walked into a bar and asked them to hold it behind the counter for me?”

Griffen realized it was almost a habitual routine for her.

“I thought you were just doing that because it was like a purse to you and you didn’t want to have to keep watching it all the time.”

“That, too,” Lisa said. “Still, it keeps me within the rules. Any other questions?”

Griffen nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “Who was the other guy?”

“Who? The one I ran off?”

“No. I meant the guy on the other side of the street,” Griffen said. “The one that was hanging back until the action started. He called to be certain you had things in hand.”

“Oh. That guy.”

“Uh-huh. You seemed to know each other.”

“Yes, we do.”

“Let me try to make this easier for you,” Griffen said. “Unless I’m mistaken, he was shooting pool on the back table at the Irish pub the afternoon Jerome and I met with Gris-gris. Am I right?”

“Well, yes.”

“Let me take this one step further. Am I being body-guarded? Did Jerome or Mose hire you and the others to cover me?”

“Not really hire, even though I have done that kind of work for pickup money sometimes. It was more like Jerome asked for a favor. He asked me and a few others to try and keep an eye on you while you were getting used to the city.”

She cocked her head and narrowed one eye. Griffen seemed hesitant.

“Don’t even go there, lover. Not if we’re going to stay friends.”

“What?”

“I’m betting your next question was going to be whether or not Jerome asked me to go to bed with you. That’s dangerously close to calling me a working girl. I’ll go ahead and tell you so you won’t have to ask. The subject never came up. All he asked was that I keep an eye on you, and I can do that without sleeping with you. Clear?”

Griffen winced inwardly at her assumption, but didn’t think the truth of what he had thought would be very comforting—a gun against someone who professionally killed dragons didn’t seem a fair match. He really didn’t want to risk his lover, bodyguard or not, against a true killer.

“Crystal clear,” he said.

“Fine. Anything else?”

Griffen thought for a moment.

“Okay,” he said. “What do you know about dragons?”

“Dragons?” Lisa said frowning. “What does that have to do with anything?”

He smiled and gathered her arm in his again.

“Just curious,” he said.