Robert Asprin - Dragons Wild

“Just something I heard,” Griffen said negligently. “No one down here seems to know much about him. I thought maybe with your resources you might have more information.”

“Nothing I’d consider reliable,” Stoner said, getting to his feet. “If you’re sincerely trying to keep a low profile, Griffen, I’d recommend you leave that subject alone. Asking too many questions could draw unwanted attention.”

Griffen was having a Peanut Butter Burger at Yo Mama’s when Harrison slid into his booth.

“Hey, Griffen,” he said. “You owe me a cup of coffee.”

His poker reflexes came to his rescue, and instead of showing his true feelings, Griffen managed to keep a straight face.

“Really?” he said, raising his eyebrows slightly. “How so?”

“I got good news for you,” the detective said. “One of the computer whizzes down at the department ran a check for me on that rumor you asked me about. Near as he can tell, Homeland Security doesn’t have a flippin’ clue who you are. No interest in you at all. That piece of information will cost you a cup of coffee, since that’s what I gave him for the favor.”

Griffen smiled.

“As John Arbuckle would say…” he said.

“Excuse me?” Harrison frowned.

“It’s from an old television coffee ad,” Griffen explained. “The whole quote is ‘As John Arbuckle would say, you gets what you pay for.’”

The detective frowned some more, then shook his head.

“I don’t get it.”

“They were pushing an expensive blend of coffee,” Griffen said. “Their point was that you can get cheaper coffee, but it will be just that…cheaper coffee.”

“Which means…”

“I’ll buy you your cup of coffee,” Griffen said, “but we’re both being overcharged for that information.”

“You’re saying there’s something wrong with what I was told?” Harrison said.

“Let’s just say I have additional information and let it go at that,” Griffen said with a shrug.

“Let’s not,” the detective growled. “What have you got and where did you get it?”

“You first,” Griffen said. “How do you suppose your computer whiz went about checking the rumor out?”

“Do I look like a computer geek?” Harrison said. “If I knew how to do that stuff, I wouldn’t have had to ask someone else to check it out for me. I guess he checked some database or other online. How should I know?”

“Uh-huh,” Griffen said. “Well, I think my source is a little more accurate than that.”

“And just what would that source be, Mr. Been-in-Town-Less-Than-Two-Months?”

“I spoke directly with Stoner,” Griffen said levelly. “You know, the guy with Homeland Security?”

Harrison sat back in his seat and cocked his head.

“I don’t get it,” he said at last. “If you knew this guy Stoner well enough to pick up the phone and call him, what did you need me for?”

“I didn’t say that I knew him,” Griffen said. “And I didn’t call him on the phone.”

The detective frowned and blinked.

“Then how…”

“I talked to him face-to-face, after he stopped me on the Moonwalk and introduced himself.”

“The Moonwalk?” Harrison said. “He was here? In New Orleans?”

“That’s right,” Griffen said. “Oh, and you’ll like this part. When I asked him how he found me, he said that someone from the NOPD had sent an inquiry about me to his offices. Said it made it easy for him to know where to look.”

Harrison’s face fell as the full impact of the information registered.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Griffen. Never occurred to me my computer man would be so blatant. I should have warned him to be more careful.”

Griffen shrugged with a carelessness he didn’t feel.

“What’s done is done,” he said. “What’s interesting is that Stoner said the same thing your man did…that he wasn’t interested in me and there was nothing to worry about.”

The detective’s eyes narrowed.

“He came all the way to New Orleans to tell you that personally?”

“Not only that,” Griffen said, “he had my cell phone number and knew enough to catch me on the Moonwalk at eleven o’clock in the morning. Do I need to tell you that’s not my normal prowl pattern?”

“The bastard was having you watched before he approached you,” Harrison said flatly. “He had a surveillance operation in my city and didn’t even have the courtesy to let us in on it…even after we asked.”

“Not ‘had,’ Harrison. ‘Has.’ He told me flat out that they were going to be keeping tabs on me ‘just out of curiosity.’ Isn’t that cute?”

“‘Cute’ doesn’t start to cover it,” the detective said, sliding out of the booth. “Keep your coffee, Griffen. If anything, I figure I owe you a couple for fingering you. In the meantime, we’ll just see what we can do about this ‘casual’ surveillance team the Feds are running on my turf.”

It was a beautiful evening as they emerged from Irene’s. Griffen had resisted coming out, as he was still uneasy about the idea of Stoner’s men shadowing him, but the others had insisted and, in afterthought, he had to admit that it had been one of the most pleasant evenings in his memories.

Irene’s was a small neighborhood restaurant frequented mostly by locals and a few tourists willing to wander off the beaten track, and it had a family-run feel to it. The decor was nothing to brag about, but the food had been excellent and reasonably priced.

There were only four of them, Griffen, Jerome, Valerie, and Fox Lisa, but the conversation had been easy and as enjoyable as the food. Griffen had been surprised at the range of subjects they had touched on, from books to Broadway theater, to food, to music, to the inevitable gossip of who was doing what to who in the Quarter. By now he was used to Jerome and Fox Lisa holding their own on an amazing number of topics, but Valerie had surprised him by her knowledge and depth of perception. He realized now how seldom he had actually sat down and talked with his own sister.

They lingered over coffee and dessert of bananas Foster, a flaming ice cream concoction that he had never heard of before but had just become one of his favorites. He was informed that it had been invented right here in the Quarter at Brennan’s. Their waiter, overhearing their discussion, commented, “That’s right. They invented it at Brennan’s, and we perfected it here.” That earned him a round of applause from the diners and an extra large tip.

A rare cold front had come through while they were dining, and, while it was still warm by Griffen’s standards, they walked out of the restaurant into a light fog that thickened slowly as they made their way down Chartres Street to Jackson Square. Despite the hour and the chilly damp, the Jackson Square street entertainers were still working. A hammer dulcimer player was working a small audience, flanked by several tables with tarot readers.

“That reminds me, Big Brother,” Valerie said, glancing at the readers, “did you ever find out anything about that tarot card that got slipped under your door back in Detroit?”

Involuntarily, Griffen and Jerome glanced at each other.

“Nothing definite,” Griffen said with forced casualness. “I’m still looking into it.”

Valerie had caught the glance between Griffen and Jerome, and cocked a suspicious eyebrow at her brother. Warnings about female dragons aside, Griffen still agreed with Jerome’s and Mose’s earlier advice. Sometimes ignorance was bliss. It certainly would keep Valerie from rushing toward danger.

“I still can’t believe how good the food was at Irene’s,” Griffen said, trying desperately to change the subject. “A little place like that.”