Dragons Wild

Thirty-two

“I’m telling you, Jerome, I’m even less thrilled about going to a funeral now.”

“Hey, at least it’s not yours,” Jerome said.

“Yet,” Griffen said, neither one of them had much humor in his voice.

They had gotten together as planned to pick out a suit for Griffen. A cheerless chore nowhere near as interesting as their last shopping excursion. His mind kept going back to the fall, and how easily it could have been much, much worse.

Of course, Griffen’s mood wasn’t improved by the ache in his ribs. Mose had checked him out, and declared nothing broken. They still protested every time he lifted his right arm too high. He winced as he tried on a somber jacket.

“Sure I can’t help you with that?” Jerome said.

“Yes.”

Griffen waved him off stubbornly and shrugged the jacket on. They were more or less alone, having told the salesperson they didn’t need assistance. Griffen wanted freedom to talk.

“You can help me understand about Reggie. How he died and why you and Mose seem to be treating this as business as usual.”

“Can’t really treat it as anything else. It’s the drug gangs,” Jerome said. “Most murders are within family or friends when someone gets drunk or mad and goes for a gun or a knife. The so-called ‘killer’ is usually still sitting there when the cops come. It’s the drug gangs that are pushing the murder rate so high in this town.”

“Wait a minute,” Griffen said. “Are you saying that Reggie was part of a drug gang?”

“No. Nothing like that,” Jerome said with a half laugh. “He sold a little pot and coke on the side is all. Dude was just stopping by his supplier to replenish his stock and got caught in the cross fire is all.”

“That’s all?” Griffen said, a vague note of hysteria creeping into his voice. “You make it sound like it’s an everyday occurrence.”

“It is.” Jerome shrugged. “There are a couple areas of town that are combat zones for all intents and purposes. That’s where most of the nondomestic killings happen. The gangs have been fighting it out for who supplies what sections of town, and when the shooting starts, they don’t care much who’s in the way.”

“Why doesn’t somebody do something about it?”

“Like what?” Jerome said. “As long as there are folks taking drugs for kicks or to try to make themselves feel better about their lives, there are going to be people making money off selling the shit to them. When there’s a lot of money involved, they’re going to fight over who gets how much. You kill off or lock up one bunch, and someone else will be there to step into the vacuum.”

“It just doesn’t seem right, is all,” Griffen said, almost to himself.

“Right or not, that’s the way things are,” Jerome said firmly. “Welcome to the real world, Young Dragon. You can’t save everyone, especially not from themselves. The most we can do is try to take care of our own…and in this case that means showing up at the funeral to pay our respects.”

“Well, at least from what I hear your funerals down here are livelier than in other cities.” Griffen sighed.

“Don’t believe all the hype, Grifter,” Jerome said. “Not all funerals down here are jazz funerals with second lines. Most of them are as sad and depressing as funerals anywhere.”

The funeral had been as low-key and sad as Jerome had predicted. There were no colorful brass bands or people dancing with parasols and handkerchiefs on the way back from the cemetery. Just long-faced people who spoke in low tones and cried from time to time.

The crowd was mostly black, but there was a fair spattering of whites and Latinos in the gathering. Griffen supposed that they were people from the hotel where Reggie had worked, but never got a chance to converse with any of them to confirm or deny his assumption.

He had tried to hang back in the group, but Mose had taken him by the arm and brought him forward to meet Reggie’s family. They all seemed to know who he was, and were genuinely pleased to meet him in person, effusive in their gratitude for his attendance.

Afterward, he and Jerome accompanied Mose back to the latter’s residence for drinks and conversation.

“This may not be the right time to bring it up,” Griffen said, contemplating his glass, “but there’s something I want to discuss with both of you.”

“And what would that be, Young Dragon?” Mose said, leaning back in his easy chair.

“I want to implement a new policy in our organization,” Griffen said. “I want to set a rule that people can either work for us or deal dope, but not both.”

Mose and Jerome exchanged glances.

“I don’t know, Grifter,” Jerome said carefully. “We don’t pay our spotters enough for them to live on. I’m not sure it’s fair to cut them off from a source of income.”

“I don’t care,” Griffen said firmly. “They’re already getting paid by the hotels and clubs they work for. If that’s not enough combined with what we pay them, there are other ways of making money in this town without selling dope on the side.”

“You’ve been down on dope ever since you got down here,” Mose said. “There’s no way you’re going to get people to stop using it.”

“I know that,” Griffen said. “I’m not trying to reform the world or even the town.”

He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts.

“I don’t get the whole drug thing,” he admitted. “I’ve never used them myself, and I don’t understand what the attraction is that draws people to them. Fine. There are lots of things that people do that I don’t understand or take part in. People are different, and differences make the world go ’round. But this drug thing…”

He hesitated again, then shook his head.

“Aside from the fact that drugs are illegal and dangerous, from what Jerome says there are people getting killed over them. I can’t stop it, but I don’t want to contribute to it either. Gambling I don’t mind, but I don’t want to be the head of a group of dope dealers, even if it’s only a sideline. More specifically, I don’t want to go to any more funerals for our people, meet their families and watch them cry, because they were dealing dope on the side. Maybe it’s selfish of me, but that’s the way I feel.”

Jerome looked at Mose, who scratched his head, then ran his hand over his face.

“All right, Young Dragon,” he said at last. “If you feel that strongly about it, we’ll give it a try. We’ll put the word out and give our people a week to make up their minds. One thing you should remember, though. After the fall the other day, it’s definitely the George on your tail. Can’t think of anyone else, including most other dragons, who could have done that to you without you even seeing their face. I’d think that was trouble enough without your looking for some more by stirring up the locals with a no-drug policy.”