Robert Asprin - Dragons Wild

He had even thought to give the bartender forewarning. All it took was a quiet explanation that he was going to be meeting with someone and that it might get a little noisy. The bartender agreed to stay out of it, on the proviso that if it got rough they would take it outside and that Griffen would make good any damages.

The customers were all regulars and wouldn’t need any instructions to keep their distance. It was the Quarter.

Still nervous, Griffen played with his cup of coffee. He had considered having a shot of Irish whiskey, but decided he needed a clear head more than steady nerves.

“So, Jerome,” he said at last, just to break the silence, “what do you think of my plan?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jerome said, watching the door.

“Excuse me?”

“I said it doesn’t matter what I think,” Jerome said. “You and Mose came up with this idea, and now it’s in motion. I’m just here to back you. If it works, it works. If not, we take it from there.”

“I’d still like to know what your opinion is,” Griffen said.

Jerome looked at him levelly, then returned his attention to the door.

“Well, I’ll admit I’m curious as to why you wanted to handle this yourself,” he said. “Would have thought you had more than enough on your plate right now. For that matter, would have thought you’d want to wait a bit and get a feel for things before you plunged in.”

“It seemed like the only logical way to play it,” Griffen said. “Gris-gris trying to pull out just when I’m coming in is too much of a coincidence. I think his problem is with me…and if it is, I’ve got to square things away with him myself. Hiding behind Mose won’t cut it.”

“Well, however it goes, it’s going down,” Jerome said. “Here they come.”

Griffen forced himself to take a slow sip of his coffee as the door opened.

The first one to come in was a huge chocolate-colored black man. Easily six foot six or seven, he had a thick massive body that made Griffen think of Fat Albert in the old cartoon show. He recognized him as the one they call Jumbo who works as a shill and bouncer at one of the strip joints on Bourbon Street. Rumor was that he also picked up a bit of extra money as a strong-arm man and debt collector. Despite his size, he was supposed to be very fast.

Pausing just inside the door, Jumbo swept the place with a slow, steady stare. When his eyes met Griffen’s, they paused and he gave a small nod of recognition. Meaning: We know each other, but I’m working. It’s just a job, nothing personal. Griffen nodded back.

Apparently satisfied, Jumbo opened the door behind him. A small, wiry, ebony black man came in. He was maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, and seemed to vibrate with energy. As he moved, he seemed to throb to the beat of unheard music. Gris-gris.

Jumbo stayed by the door as Gris-gris moved to their table.

“Hey, Jerome,” he said by way of greeting. “This the new guy?”

Jerome nodded.

“Gris-gris. Griffen.”

“Have a seat, Gris-gris,” Griffen said, gesturing to an empty chair at the table. “I thought we should meet and have a little talk.”

“We got nothing to talk about, white boy,” Gris-gris said. “What I got to say, I can say standing up.”

He pulled himself erect and folded his arms across his chest.

“Since I’ve been running my game, I’ve been paying a piece to Mose. I didn’t have to, but he’s been operating down here forever and I figured it was only respectful to acknowledge that. Then I hear he’s bring in some white-bread college boy from up north to take over his operation.”

He unfolded his arms and put his fists on his hips.

“Now, Mose is Mose, but I don’t figure I owe you anything. I’m going to keep my money and keep running my game and I don’t see there’s any way you’re going to change that. You sure ain’t going to do it with talk. That’s all I got to say to you.”

The bar was now dead quiet as everyone concentrated on not looking like they were listening in on the exchange.

Griffen took another sip of his coffee and set the cup down.

“You’re wrong, Gris-gris,” he said. “I didn’t ask you to come here to threaten you in any way. In fact, I just wanted to let you know that I’m your new best friend.”

Gris-gris frowned.

“And just how do you figure that?” he challenged.

“Simple.” Griffen shrugged. “I’m the only thing between you and her.”

As he spoke, Valerie came off her stool at the bar and grabbed Gris-gris with both hands, slamming him against the wall.

“You listen to me, little man,” she hissed, her face close to his. “I don’t give a rat’s ass if you run your game or not or if you pay in a percentage. But if you dis my big brother again…if I hear about you talking trash the way you’ve been doing…I will personally kick your boney ass up one side of Bourbon Street and down the other. Now, do we understand each other?”

She gave him a small shake.

“I said, do you understand?”

“Um…Val?” Griffen said. “He can’t answer if he can’t breathe.”

“He can nod,” she said, not looking around.

Gris-gris managed to vibrate his head up and down.

“Fine,” Valerie said, setting him down. “I knew you’d listen to reason. Hey, Jumbo. How’s it going?”

With that she slid back onto her bar stool and returned to her drink.

Gris-gris straightened his clothes, then looked at Valerie’s back.

She ignored him.

Then he looked at Griffen.

Griffen shrugged and gave a little grimace.

Finally, Gris-gris turned on his heel and left the bar, with Jumbo, deadpan, trailing along after him. As the door closed behind them, the bar talk resumed, a little louder than before.

Griffen exhaled a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“I think that went well,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “I’m about ready for a real drink. How about you?”

“In a minute,” Jerome said. “Did you notice anything unusual happen during that exchange?”

“You saw it, too, huh?” Griffen said. “I was thinking that maybe it was an optical illusion.”

“Um…what did you see?”

“When Val picked Gris-gris up and pinned him against the wall,” Griffen said. “It looked to me like she grew about six or eight inches while she was reading him the riot act. She’s back to normal now, so I thought it was just my eyes playing tricks on me.”

“If so, then my eyes are playing the same tricks,” Jerome said. “But I was talking about the other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“While she was working on Gris-gris and everyone was watching the action, you blew a smoke ring.”

“I what?”

“You blew a smoke ring. A nice round one until the draft blew it apart.”

Griffen looked at him.

“You’re kidding me. Right?”

“Well, while you’re laughing at that, sneak a peek at your right hand.”

Griffen glanced down at his hand that was holding the coffee cup.

At first he thought he was having trouble focusing his eyes, as the image was fading…but his hand, for a few lingering moments, was covered with leathery scales.

Even though it was only supposed to be temporary shelter, Griffen found himself growing increasingly fond of the complex he and Valerie were housed in. He had been puzzled at first by the apparent lack of neighbors, but when he asked, the answer was quite simple.

Mose owned the whole complex. He used the apartments to host the occasional poker game if they didn’t want the lack of privacy that was the downside of using a hotel room. They also served as “perks” for various out of town high rollers, one of the few concessions made to the new competition of the casino. New Orleans wasn’t used to Vegas-style casinos, but with a relatively new Harrah’s literally across Canal Street, the locals had to adapt.