Robert Asprin - Dragons Wild

The eyes finally focused and the man gave him a long stare. Griffen stared back. At last, the man gave a small nod as if something had been confirmed to him.

“Detective Harrison,” he said. “Vice.”

Griffen had not had that much experience dealing with the police. If anything, he avoided them like the plague. While he generally respected them for doing a job he wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole, it always made him a bit uneasy to be around anyone who held automatic authority over him.

Perhaps if he hadn’t just been watching a movie involving Allied POWs outwitting their German captors, he would have reacted differently. As it was, he felt an overwhelming impulse to give this man a hard time.

“I repeat: Is there something I can help you with?”

“You’re Griffen McCandles,” the detective said, ignoring the question. “Word is that you’re taking over for Mose.”

“Mose who?” Griffen said, deadpan.

Harrison stared at him for a moment, then heaved a big sigh.

“Look, kid,” he said. “I ain’t wired or trying to trick you. Don’t worry, and don’t try to be cute. Just to keep things straight, let me fill in a few pieces for you.”

He leaned back in his seat.

“Mose’s games…the operation you’re slated to take over…it’s protected. Not a grift or payoff, at least not much. I figure some palms are greased somewhere, but mostly he’s protected ’cause a lot of the powers that be who run this city also sit in on his games. The word is that we’re supposed to leave them be, just in case some politicos get caught in a raid. We couldn’t spring them without letting everyone else go and that shit would be too embarrassing to tolerate. For them, and for me…us. What I’m tryin’ to say is, I’m not tryin’ to trip you up or trick you into self-incrimination.”

“Okay,” Griffen said. “But I still don’t know what you’re talking to me for.”

Harrison’s eyes closed slowly, and when they opened again they were flat and expressionless.

“I just thought it would be nice if we met face-to-face,” he said. “Clear the air, so to speak. Also, if you struck me as solid, I thought I’d ask a favor of you.”

Griffen shrugged.

“I suppose…if it’s within reason.”

The detective leaned forward and gave a humorless grin.

“You’re new in town, Griffen. Still getting used to the way we do things down here. All I’d ask is that you don’t make it too hard for us to turn a blind eye to your doings.”

“Like how, specifically?”

“Oh, nothing much. Don’t be too loud and open with illegal games that should be secret. Keep a lid on things much as anyone can around here. And if you should happen to end up with a body at one of your games, could you drag it outside or maybe even break up the game before you call the cops? That way we don’t have to ignore what’s going on around it. It’s a little thing, but we’d appreciate it.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Griffen said.

“Good. Glad we understand each other.”

The detective started to slide out of the booth.

“Is there any chance you could do me a favor in return?”

The policeman froze, then slowly turned his head to stare.

“ You want me to do you a favor?” he said slowly.

“Nothing big.” Griffen shrugged. “Obviously you can say ‘no’ if you don’t want to do it.”

The detective sank back into his seat and twitched his fingers in a “give it to me” gesture.

“Like you said, Detective, I’m just a kid. I’m still learning how things work.” Griffen hesitated a second. “One of the things I’ve heard, though, is that the police don’t like the Feds messing in local affairs. Is that right?”

“Keep talking,” Harrison said.

“Well, I’ve picked up a rumor that I’ve been targeted by someone in Homeland Security. A guy by the name of Stoner. Word is that he’s looking for me and might use his federal clout to have law enforcement across the country help him find out where I am and what I’m doing.”

The detective leaned back and cocked his head.

“Exactly what have you done to earn that kind of heat?”

“I really don’t know, sir,” Griffen said as sincerely as he could manage. “I just graduated from college about a month ago. Other than running a few card games while I was in school to pick up some pocket money, and this thing I am doing now with Mose, I can’t think of a single thing that would warrant that kind of attention. That’s part of what makes me nervous.”

Not as nervous as the George made him, but at least it was clear that Stoner and George were unconnected. Their styles seemed far too different.

“Again,” Griffen continued, “I’ve never experienced it, but I’ve heard that once the Feds get a bee in their bonnet about someone, it’s hard to get them to let go. One version I’ve heard is that Stoner might try to say I should be watched for suspected terrorist involvement.”

“Terrorist?” Harrison snorted. “Yeah. Suddenly since 9/11 every penny-ante pissant they want to mess with gets the terrorist label slapped on. But a terrorist poker game. I’ll admit, that’s a new one.”

He stared at Griffen for a long minute, then got to his feet.

“All right, McCandles,” he said. “I’ll keep an ear open. Just don’t get in the habit of asking for favors. Got it?”

“Got it,” Griffen said. “Thanks, Detective.”

“Don’t mention it,” Harrison grunted. “Please!”

“You did what ?”

“I asked him for a favor,” Griffen said into his cell phone.

“Detective Harrison? Harry the cop?” Jerome’s voice came back to him over the phone. “I should have warned you about him, Grifter. If there are three cops in the entire city of New Orleans who hate our operation and having to lay off it, they’d all be him. Finding a way to bust us up would make his entire incarnation.”

“I don’t know,” Griffen said casually, smiling as he did it. “He seemed reasonable enough to me.”

“Detective Harrison? Are we talking about the same guy? Big white biker-type dude? Looks like a circus bear gone bad?”

“That’s him.”

“Maybe you’d better tell me about this conversation from the top.”

Griffen complied, starting with Harrison sitting down at his booth and ending with his request about Stoner.

When he was finished, there was a long moment’s silence.

“That might do it,” Jerome said at last. “If there’s anything Harrison hates more than our protected gambling operation, it’s having Feds come traipsing around what he considers to be his private turf. Particularly if they don’t bother to check in first.”

“Yeah, and somehow I didn’t think our first meeting was the right time to ask his thoughts on the possibility of a professional killer named George being on my trail.”

“Yeah, why don’t you wait till the second date for that sort of thing, Grifter. Or, ya know, maybe never would be a better idea.”

“Probably right. So, you think he’ll do it?” Griffen said.

“Fifty-fifty chance,” Jerome said. “If nothing else, it might give him something to focus on except us for a while. All in all, I don’t see a downside to this.”

“Just thought you should know,” Griffen said.

“Yeah. Grifter? Remember when we were talking about luck and instinct?”

“Yeah?”

“I’d say you’re giving them both a real workout.”

Griffen was shooting pool at the Irish pub as he waited for Fox Lisa to get off work. He had never been much of a pool shooter in college, but had started taking the game up since arriving in New Orleans. Much of the social life in the Quarter revolved around the clubs, and one of the main pastimes and subjects of conversation was pool.