Robert Asprin - Dragons Wild

Mai, a doll compared to either of them, was more used to it, so took a step forward and spoke first.

“Was that in, or to?”

The man ignored her and took a step forward, still blocking the main exit entirely.

“I had wanted to be sitting in the chair waiting for you. Maybe with the curtains drawn and a single lamp for back light. But Brother wanted you to find his little gift first. He always was too soft.”

“Brother? Nathaniel?” Valerie said.

“Yes. You may call me Thor.”

“Or you could call him what his mama named him. Theodore,” Mai said.

The big man, Theodore, turned his head to glare at Mai. The expression made it quite clear that graphic and nasty and not particularly imaginative things were happening to her in his head. She didn’t blanch, or appear to react at all, but just glared back. After a time he turned back to Valerie.

“If the Asian slag says anything about my ma again, I toss you both out of the window,” he said.

“What do you want?” Valerie said.

“What I want doesn’t matter. Not in any of this. Ma said to watch Brother’s back, I watched his back. And he still gives me shit for jumping the gun with your other boyfriend. The little card runner. Not that it matters.”

“What did you do to Gris-gris?”

Valerie took a step forward, anger starting to boil back. Theodore, or Thor, looked marginally impressed. Or maybe just pleased.

“Damn, Brother had you under good. Didn’t even hear about Gristle or whatever you call him getting a bit of steel between the ribs. Don’t worry, babe, he lived.”

“Get to the damn point,” Valerie said.

“I was, before you interrupted me. Despite all that, I’m still watching Brother’s back. Now this was his game, top to bottom, I just was here in case things get rough. Maybe another game starts now, maybe not. Up to Ma and the others. I could give a shit. But if you try anything, anything at all, you can bet it won’t be touchy-feely glamour and expensive dates next time.”

“I don’t care how tough you are, threatening me is not a good idea right now,” Valerie said.

“I’m not threatening, I’m telling. You don’t want to find out my idea of a date, babe. This mess is done. If you try to come back at us, you or yours, then me and mine are going to roll over and bury you.”

He turned and left, just like that. Didn’t even bother to close the door behind him. Valerie took a step forward, and stopped. She didn’t see the point, didn’t see what it would accomplish. Mai looked her over and sighed.

“So? Scotch and ice cream was it?” Mai said.

“Emphasis on the scotch.”

Valerie was still staring at the door.

“You know, that family is really starting to piss me off,” she said, and strode out the door.

Mai nodded, cast one last glance to the smashed pearls, and followed.

As Thor left the condo, he failed to notice the two figures standing in the shadows across the street. With no apparent haste, he sauntered leisurely toward Bourbon Street.

“That’s him,” Gris-gris said. “That’s the dude.”

“He’s all yours,” Griffen said. “You might want to use this. I’ve got a hunch he has tough skin.”

He passed a large pocket knife to Gris-gris, who quickly thumbed the blade open. The blade caught the light, and showed a series of deep serrations along the cutting edge.

Gris-gris took a step in pursuit, then paused.

“How did you know?” he said.

“Once Nathaniel showed his true colors, I remembered that he had mentioned he and his brother were staying at the family condo,” Griffen said. “I thought that Valerie had caved in a bit too easily, so I hung around outside our complex and tagged along when they left. Called you on my cell phone so we could hook up along the way, and here we are. Maybe it was a long shot, but we are into gambling, after all.”

“Are you sure this won’t cause trouble with Nathaniel’s family?” Gris-gris said, still hesitating.

“After what they did to you and Val, I don’t really much care,” Griffen said coldly. “Just don’t mess him up too bad. I think they’re about to blow town and wouldn’t want that delayed by a stay in the hospital. Oh, and don’t mention this to the girls. Let’s keep it between the two of us.”

After everything that had happened, Griffen felt obliged to take Valerie out to a nice dinner. If nothing else, he felt they both deserved a relaxed evening in each other’s company.

Tonight, their restaurant of choice was the Desire Oyster Bar in the Royal Sonesta Hotel on Bourbon Street. While he normally avoided Bourbon Street except for listening to specific groups, he had developed a taste for the turtle soup they served at the Desire. That coupled with half a roast beef po’boy sandwich made for a very satisfying, filling meal.

As they were reaching the end of their meal, Griffen noticed an Asian gentleman and two young white men being seated at a table a short distance away. He specifically did not make eye contact or wave a greeting, but the Asian spotted him and nodded in smiling acknowledgment. Griffen nodded back.

“Who is that?” Valerie said.

“He’s a player from one of our games,” Griffen said. “He’s a really nice guy. A chef who relocated here from Atlanta and opened his own restaurant over on Decatur.”

“I notice you waited until he nodded to you before you nodded back.”

“I figure it’s basic manners,” Griffen said. “I don’t know who he’s with or why they’re here, but it could be awkward. If I waved at him, he’d either have to explain that he knows me from an illegal card game, or make up a fast story on the spot. If he faked it, they might stop me for conversation at a later point. Since I wouldn’t know what he told them, I could easily mess things up for him. It’s easier to let him acknowledge the acquaintance first.”

“I see,” Valerie said thoughtfully.

A well-dressed black man approached their table.

“Excuse me. It’s Mr. McCandles, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.” Griffen said, rising and shaking the offered hand. “Only I prefer ‘Griffen’ in informal situations.”

“Griffen it is.” The man smiled. “Sorry to interrupt your meal, but I was hoping you could do me a small favor.”

“It depends on the favor.” Griffen smiled back.

“Nothing illegal, I assure you,” the man said with a laugh. “You see, I don’t get to spend much time in the Quarter lately, and the young lady I’m with this evening wants to hear some real New Orleans music. I was hoping you could recommend someplace.”

“Well, it depends on what kind of music you want,” Griffen said. “If you like the old classics like “Basin Street Blues,” Steamboat Willie and his combo are playing just down the street here, in the courtyard across from the hotel’s main lobby. If you want Cajun and zydeco music, then go down a couple blocks across Toulouse to the Steak Pit. Denny T. is playing there tonight, and he’s the best Cajun fiddler I’ve heard in the Quarter. Plays a lot of Doug Kershaw material. On the other hand, if you’d like to try something a little different with more ambiance, Sean Kelly’s on St. Louis between Bourbon and Royal would be my suggestion. Beth Patterson is playing in there tonight, and she always puts on a great show. Some traditional Irish music with a lot of parodies, and her own material. It’s not like anything you’ll hear anywhere else.”

“I’ll try that. Thanks a million.”

The man waved and returned to his table.

“You’re really settling into the Quarter scene, aren’t you, Big Brother,” Valerie said. “Should I ask who that was?”