Robert Asprin - Dragons Wild

Though she hadn’t quite fallen in love with New Orleans as her brother had, she had succumbed to many of the local habits. People watching, for example. She found it fascinating the types of people attracted to the area, day or night, and spent just as much attention on the endlessly changing stream of tourists as she did the more stable performers. Whether it be families weighed down by too many children far too young to enjoy the Quarter at night, or well-dressed professionals on a break from their various conferences, or even the expensively but slovenly decked out retirees just off the cruise ships, each brought their own style, and their own amusement. And that was without the eclectic mix of locals who sauntered across the Square or down Decatur Street. They nodded to and tipped the performers just as often as the tourists, and knew just how lucky they were to get such a display of humanity anytime they should choose to indulge.

After she had finished with her breakfast, she decided to take a leisurely stroll down Decatur Street. Unlike the tight, channel-like feel of Bourbon, Decatur was split into two lanes to accommodate greater vehicle traffic. Both sides were lined with shops and restaurants, with bars being less common and the Bourbon Street–style strip club nonexistent. Valerie found hours could pass just window shopping the countless shops, which ranged from the tacky T-shirt shops to upscale clothing and jewelry merchants. She usually found many things she wanted, though limited herself to a rare purchase. Shopping was a spectator sport for her.

On the way back, she decide to browse through the many galleries on Royal Street. Again, shops ranged wildly, and not just between paintings and sculptures. There was a cluttered hole-in-the-wall poster gallery a few doors down from a high-class place that seemed to have nothing but Dr. Seuss art. Valerie didn’t even pause while walking past the famous “blue dog” gallery. There were some things about New Orleans that she just never would understand.

Of course, above every shop and tucked away in every crevice were houses and apartments for the many living in the Quarter. Valerie stopped, amused, watching a man struggle to pull a couch through a doorway that seemed much too small. What’s worse, the couch was white, and the man working alone kept scraping it against the slightly grimy door frame or the ground. Valerie shook her head and smiled, then silently crept up and took the other end of the couch. When he hauled, she lifted, and the couch passed through like magic.

“Hey, thanks! Whoa.”

The man had looked up, and caught sight of his assistant. His jaw hung open just slightly, and Valerie fought the urge to reach up and push it closed. Instead she replied, with just a bit of teasing in her voice.

“Now isn’t the time to ‘whoa,’ you’ve still got to get it to your apartment door.”

“And upstairs. Three floors,” he said with a sigh.

Like most apartments, there was actually a bit of a walk from the street door to the separate entrances. And the buildings were renowned for spiral staircases of dubious stability. Valerie smiled and cocked her head.

“Well, going to ask for help?”

“Hell, no. I’m going to ask you up to my place for a drink,” he said.

“At two in the afternoon?”

“Hey, it’s the Quarter. But, oh, woe is me, there seems to be a nasty old couch in your way.”

“Ha! Now you are back to the woe again. Well, I suppose I’m far too stubborn to let a couch stand between me and a free drink.”

“Great.”

The man jumped onto the couch, lying back and grinning up at her.

“Third floor, second door on the left please,” he said, and pretended to close his eyes and go to sleep.

Despite the narrow alleyway, Valerie managed to turn the couch enough to dump him on the ground.

“The operative word was ‘help,’” she said.

“It was worth a try.” The man laughed. “By the way, the name’s Kid Blue. I play guitar on Bourbon Street.”

“You’re a street entertainer?” Valerie said, shaking the offered hand.

“Pul-eeese,” Kid Blue said, drawing himself up haughtily. “I play in one of the clubs. I’m with a band. And you?”

“Oh. My name’s Valerie. Valerie McCandles,” she responded.

“I meant what do you do?” the man said. “What pays your bills?”

“Nothing,” Valerie said softly.

Until just now when she vocalized it, she hadn’t realized how discontented she was with that situation.

Griffen had a new resolve as he sauntered down the Moonwalk. He had been sitting around bars and card games too long. It was time for him to get back in shape. Well, get into shape, as he had never been that athletically inclined.

Valerie had always been the fitness freak of the family and, since moving to New Orleans, had taken to getting up mornings to jog along the Moonwalk before the midday heat set in. The other day, however, she had mentioned that she had discovered that someone was teaching a fencing class upstairs at Yo Mama’s Bar and Grill on various weekdays. Since the upstairs was only open to the public Thursday through Saturday nights, the owner was letting them use the space for free.

That alone had caught Griffen’s attention, as he had done a bit of fencing with a local club while he was at school. He had a wry picture in his mind of him and the George, or at least him versus a knight in full armor, going sword to sword. Of course, nothing like that would happen in real life, even as odd as his “real” life was.

What really piqued his interest, though, was when she mentioned the teacher’s name was Maestro. Griffen was pretty sure it was the same guy that Bone had introduced him to the night he first met Fox Lisa. After all, how many people in the Quarter could there be that went by the name of Maestro.

Joining his class would accomplish two things. First, it would give Griffen some much needed exercise, and second, it would give him a chance to learn a little more about Maestro.

Of course, he would have to get in shape first. (Guys getting in shape before joining an exercise class was not unlike the thing women do when they clean up before the maid comes.) Maybe a bit of power walking and light jogging to increase his stamina and lung capacity.

That was enough to set him up for today’s errand…a shopping trip through the Riverwalk, the small shopping center along the river just outside the Quarter. After all, if he was going to start exercising, he would need some athletic shoes…and maybe a warm-up outfit or two.

It was late morning, earlier than he usually was out and about, but late enough for there to be a fair amount of activity along the Moonwalk. The street musicians were out in force, working the inevitable crowds of tourists who were getting an early start on their day’s itinerary. The breeze off the river was doing a nice job of holding the ovenlike heat of midday at bay, and a light, high cloud cover kept the sun from being blinding. All in all, a beautiful day, and Griffen enjoyed the relaxed ambiance as he made his leisurely way along.

His reverie was interrupted when his cell phone rang. The caller ID showed an unknown caller, but that wasn’t unusual. Since passing his phone number to Gris-gris, he had gotten several calls from strangers, often setting meetings to ask about joining some satellite card game to his network.

Flipping the phone open, he held it to his ear while casually looking around.

“Griffen,” he said into the receiver.

“Mr. McCandles,” a male voice said. “I think it’s time we talked. I’d like to clear the air between us.”

“And you are…?”

“This is Jason Stoner. I believe you’ve heard of me.”