Robert Asprin's Dragons Run

by Nye, Jody Lynn

  “Well, I’m going to be voting for Penny Dunbar,” she said. She posed prettily in the doorway, waiting for the poll taker to recognize her.

  The man leaned toward her, grinning, his eyes leering out from under the brim of his cap.

  “You sure she gonna live to election day?” he asked.

  Penny recoiled backward. The man’s face looked as though a car tire had crossed it, leaving tread marks where the nose should have been and a mouthful of broken teeth. She choked with fear. But just as quickly, fierce indignation rose beneath it. She reached toward the man’s throat with one hand.

  “And just what do you mean, saying something like that?” she demanded, but to a blank wall.

  In that split second, the man had retreated a dozen feet up the hallway, too fast for an ordinary man to move. Penny rushed out after him. He outdistanced her easily. The fire-escape door banged closed in her face. She hoisted the pistol in one hand and flung the door open.

  Except that he wasn’t going down the stairs. He stepped out of the shadow of the recessed apartment door ten feet away and smiled at her. Her heart pounded in her chest. She spun and squatted into a square stance, the gun pointing at him. He tipped a salute to her with a finger broken into a Z shape.

  “Y’all keep in mind what I said, heah?” he said. “Have y’self a good night, now.”

  Twenty-six

  Duvallier sat in the skybox and contemplated the open-air stage in the well-lit middle of the Superdome. That Penny Dunbar was a fine-looking woman. Spirited, too. He was enjoying the game mightily. She’d taken the last few attacks in her stride, no problem. This one ought to be ready halfway through her speech. He sat back in the elegant, padded armchair and put his thumbs behind his suspenders.

  The arena, a modern white puffball of a building, its brilliant green Astroturf surface covered with a protective fitted floor, had filled up with people and equipment long before the debate was scheduled to begin. Nine of the declared candidates were present, including the two frontrunners, Bobby Jindal and Kathleen Blanco. Their supporters, who must be numbering in the thousands, Duvallier estimated, waved banners and ribbons. The others, like Penny Dunbar, had fewer prospective voters present, but they all wore expressions that said they were the only people there who mattered. The multicolored seats in the stands were, for once, filled to capacity. Duvallier watched with interest as devices like small construction cranes trundled through the mass of humanity. Two or three technicians, mostly men, rode each device on tractor saddles, operating cameras and sound equipment that fed a central control room somewhere he could not see. A couple rolled around the perimeter of the arena, but most of them were right in the heart of the crowd, pointing straight at the main stage. He also spotted men with cumbersome cameras on their shoulders racing back and forth between the moderator’s table and the stage like squirrels trying to find the best nuts. It was quite a performance. Duvallier was enjoying it. He liked to see how things were done.

  “I don’t see how she stays in the race,” Albert Sandusky said, sitting beside him. That man had a voice like a bad conscience, always haranguing. Duvallier snapped out of his pleasant reverie. “You must not be doing enough to deter her.”

  “You bother me enough, I won’t be able to keep track of what I’ve got goin’ on in here,” Duvallier said, letting a little of his temper show. “I ain’t got to be here to make this work, son. ’Fact, sometimes it makes my people a little nervous if I’m around, know what I mean?”

  By the look on his face, Albert Sandusky knew exactly what he meant, but he was determined to watch Duvallier oversee the trip wires being planted in Penny Dunbar’s path. Those weren’t nothin’ to brag about. Just another little reminder or two that there were forces out there that didn’t want her goin’ a step further in her political career than she already had. Tough girl, though. Big, strong men had died of fright facing what he’d sent her way. Duvallier was halfway inclined to let her go on and win, yes, win. He could make that happen. It’d take a little more effort than getting her to lose, but it might be worthwhile. He’d certainly enjoy seeing Albert’s reactions. And maybe it would provoke Sandusky’s reluctant partners into showing up and having a conversation with Duvallier at last. Duvallier didn’t like the disrespect that the lack of such a visit showed.

  At five minutes before eight o’clock, the nine candidates filed out onto the stage and took their places at matching podiums, probably brought over from Tulane University, only a few blocks from the enormous sports arena.

  Each of the luxury skyboxes had been furnished with a gigantic television set built into the wall. The one to Duvallier’s right came to life at that moment with a blare of sound. Sandusky leaped for the silver-gray remote control and brought the volume down to a reasonable level. The whole Superdome was wired for sound, and pictures, which were brought right to one’s easy chair. Duvallier had a superb close-up view of the candidates, one at a time and in groups, from several different camera angles.

  The men were, except for hair and skin color, fairly indistinguishable from one another. Every one of them had on a dark blue suit with gray pinstripes, and a red tie. The two women wore two-piece suits like those Miss Callaway fancied, with a pale blouse underneath and a bow tied at the neck. Mrs. Blanco was an attractive woman, but she didn’t shine like Miss Dunbar. Penny drew the eye. If beauty were the sole characteristic for success, she’d have won the race.

  They had all had their faces made up for the cameras. A few had the grace to look embarrassed about it. Their managers and assistants bustled around, filling their water glasses, brushing imaginary flecks off the shoulders of their coats, handing them updated copies of their position papers. Sandusky’s employer didn’t seem unduly nervous. His manager, a fresh-faced, café-au-lait African-American man of about thirty, leaned in to murmur in his ear, pointing out lines on the papers in his hand.

  “I been following your man in the newspapers,” Duvallier said, lighting his cigar. Without Miss Callaway present, he felt free to indulge in tobacco. He blew a stream of fragrant smoke toward the ceiling. “Smart fellow, Congressman Benson. I remember when his daddy held the same post. Like it’s been passed down in the family. Little on the dull side, ain’t he?”

  Sandusky’s mouth dropped open in shock. “I’ve never told you his name, Mr. Duvallier!”

  Reginaud shook his head.

  “You didn’t have to, son. I’m no fool. I guessed a long time ago. He’s not one of the leaders, but he seems a little too plain. He has to get past Miss Dunbar’s popularity to gather a large enough base to go all the way. None of the others need a face to step on as much as he does.”

  “Oh,” Sandusky said. If a man could be said to look crestfallen, he did. “Please don’t approach him, Mr. Duvallier. I implore you.”

  “I know, I’m your secret weapon. But when all this is over, I want to meet the man.”

  “I’ll . . . make sure of that.”

  “You be sure you do.” Duvallier said. He settled back to watch.

  A distinguished man, a local celebrity with a great following in popular media, stepped forward to run the debate. Duvallier had seen him in the newspapers and on television now and again. The fellow ran a cooking show and an outdoor show as well as hosting news programs. Duvallier liked his folksy personality.

  “Candidates, ladies and gentlemen, and members of the press,” the moderator said, with a genial smile to each. His voice echoed out over the heads of the thousands of people standing around the stage. “Good evening. I’m proud to be able to present this gathering of highly qualified and intelligent people. These are your candidates for the office of governor of the great state of Louisiana.” As he reeled off the names, each candidate gave a dignified nod. “Welcome and thanks to you all for being here. Now, I’ll start out the first question with you, Lieutenant Governor Blanco. About environmental protection, it has been said that you d
on’t support . . .”

  Behind Penny Dunbar, Duvallier could see her manager, a lovely white-haired woman with some curves to her, and, he was delighted to observe, Griffen McCandles. Duvallier had received some more pleading notes from Malcolm McCandles. He had ignored them all, in spite of Miss Callaway’s insistence. Making dragons sweat was good fun. He was about to do it again.

  Sandusky fidgeted, but Duvallier relaxed. The psychological moment hadn’t come yet. This was going to be a long process. He was in no hurry. He had nothing ahead of him but time.

  The environment was too easy a subject. Each of the candidates wanted to be seen to be doing the most he or she could for it. No disagreement there except where the budget should be spent first. Duvallier could not have given a barrel of piss for any of their opinions, but to the moderator, who was an outdoorsman, it was catnip. He beat the subject half to death before someone made him call for a station break. The hot lights powered down slightly.

  The candidates gulped water and had sweat patted off their brows by their solicitous staffers. Only a minute or so went by before the action started all over again. The assistants scooted back to their places, and the debate resumed.

  The outdoorsman, deprived of his pet subject, got onto the topic of public education. Jindal trotted out his views, which he presented pretty well, about paving the way for improvements in primary schools across the state. The others didn’t have much to add to the topic that was any more interesting. Duvallier watched the lights in supporters’ eyes go out as the candidates started citing results from educational programs that they backed. It just couldn’t be good for the television ratings to have them all quoting statistics. But mavericks were already breaking away from the crowd, speaking out of turn. One after another, the candidates interrupted each other, challenged one another on figures and grade-point averages. Penny Dunbar waded into the fray on this one, cutting off Congressman Benson. He looked peeved.

  Sandusky let out a wordless exclamation.

  “Are you going to let her get away with that?”

  Duvallier smiled. “Still not the right moment.”

  This subject was best for Blanco, who as lieutenant governor had been involved in updating the school system, but she had some challengers.

  Another break, to sell some more soap. Anyone could tell that the outdoorsman wasn’t keen to break into the third topic on the agenda, law enforcement. This was Penny Dunbar’s pet pony.

  The moderator knew it and wanted her to speak toward the end. He kept holding her off with a stern finger, but Penny didn’t take that kind of admonition seriously.

  “Madam Lieutenant Governor, I think you’re wrong about those figures!” Penny said, cutting off Mrs. Blanco in midsentence.

  “I think if you’ll let me get to the end of my remarks,” the other woman said, with an aggrieved expression.

  “Well, if you’re basing your whole remarks on a fallacy, maybe you ought to rethink them.”

  “Representative!” the moderator said. “Please let the lieutenant governor finish.” As Penny started to open her mouth again, he spoke first. “Please!”

  “My dear sir, I can’t stay silent when my honored opponent is getting everything so wrong!”

  The moderator remained genial. “Well, Representative, if you’d just hold your fire until the end, I know all of us want to hear your views.”

  Duvallier grinned. He very much doubted whether anyone wanted her to pick their arguments apart, but he was looking forward to her trying.

  She was fidgeting like a racehorse waiting for the starting gun. Before the words, “Representative Dunbar?” were out of the moderator’s mouth, she was off.

  “You all know my record on supporting law enforcement,” she said. She brandished a handful of papers. “I have the latest documentation on the result of bills on crime prevention passed from laws I sponsored in the state legislature. A drop in crimes against property of over thirteen percent! A drop in crimes against people down by seven!”

  Congressman Benson cleared his throat. “It would be a fine thing to attribute the reduction to bills, but don’t you think the fine people of law enforcement . . . ?”

  Penny turned a smug look on him and returned her gaze to the cameras.

  “Distinguished ladies and gentlemen, the safety of the people of the state of Louisiana is my very nearest and dearest concern,” she began. She raised her arms, and her body began to sway gently.

  Faster than you could say “leading economic indicators,” the other candidates were in trouble.

  Duvallier had not been born in time to see either of the ladies named Marie Laveau, but he’d heard from his own grandfather that the elder of the two voodoo queens could do a dance that would make people go out of their heads. Benson ought to have been afraid of Penny Dunbar, not just because of her dragon blood but because she had learned how to charm mankind without having to resort to her other natural gifts. Both together were a powerful combination.

  Penny started that movement from her ankles upward. It was subtle but powerful. Before too long, every man in the arena was focused on her. Not on what she was saying, though the honeyed words melted into their ears and convinced them they were wise and profound, but the movement. It was something so primal that they couldn’t have described what it was that made them pay attention so closely. She had them, had them all. Mrs. Blanco, four down from her on the stand looked puzzled, but the men were rapt. Penny’s voice droned on, almost a hypnotic accompaniment to her dance. She spouted off facts and figures lyrically, like the words of a song. The men nodded, their faces blank. Her image was all that they could absorb.

  Time to interfere. Duvallier spoke to the air. “Miss Daphne, honey, is Mr. Suskind in place?”

  The ghostly voice of his late cousin wafted in the air like stale mist.

  “Why, yes, Reginaud, he most surely is. He’s enjoyin’ the show. Always did like a spirited debate.”

  Sandusky’s eyes went as wide as saucers. Reginaud grinned at him.

  “You didn’t really believe until this minute, now, did you?” he said. “What I look like, you could have had some of those Hollywood makeup men and special effects, too. But unless you think I snuck some of that electronic equipment into your own skybox overnight, you’re just gonna have to take that step into the unknown. Daphne, darlin’, get his attention. He’s workin’ for me today. He can watch television at the mortuary later.”

  “Now, Reginaud, you know he don’t stay around that mortuary!” Daphne said, shocked. “Those days are over! It’s not like it was in the old days. There’s no one for him to meet. The nice people don’t get brought there anymore.”

  Duvallier waved a hand. “Time’s wastin’, Daphne. Please boot Mr. Suskind in the behind.”

  “Oh, Reginaud!” She sounded exasperated at his crude remark, but the chill presence receded. Sandusky gulped.

  “Suskind?”

  “Oh, well, he weren’t from my neck of the woods, but he obliges once in a while. Can’t keep a good man down, no matter how much earth you pile on top of him.” Duvallier grinned. “Now, keep an eye on our little girl up there.”

  Twenty-seven

  Griffen stood at the back of the stage, his arms folded. Fox Lisa, beside him in a chestnut brown suit that made her red hair glow, radiated hurt. Penny had brushed both of them off the morning after the Bad Beth concert. Griffen’s demands for an explanation as to why Penny hadn’t been in the office when Fox Lisa had made the trip to do some work with her were ignored with extreme prejudice. Over the course of the next several days, Fox Lisa had yet to get an apology or any kind of acknowledgment that there had been some kind of misunderstanding. Penny’s sweetly sarcastic tone made Griffen want to throttle her or walk out the door. At least, once she was in front of the cameras, she wasn’t irritating either of them.

  “I hope someone does throw a whamm
y on her,” Fox Lisa grumbled, her arms folded around a clipboard she clutched to her chest. She stood rigid, refusing to acknowledge anyone else from the campaign. The hot lights shining at them from the foot of the stage made them both sweat and squint against the glare. Griffen felt the back of his long-sleeved silk shirt sticking to his back. “I will buy him a drink.”

  Fox Lisa had been so upset that night that when she finally had arrived at Griffen’s apartment, he had had to spend hours consoling her instead of coaxing her into some mutual fun. Griffen blamed Penny for ruining his love life as well as the end of the concert. Fox Lisa was despondent, wondering over and over again if Penny had decided her input just wasn’t worth her while and had left rather than wait for her. Griffen could not tell her what had happened at Yo Mama’s. Penny knew he had kept the interplay to himself and kept shooting glances at him that were mockingly seductive. She knew anyone who saw them would misinterpret the expressions. Winston had imported a fresh set of indignant glares that he used on both Griffen and Fox Lisa. In the days since the slight, Fox Lisa had moved on from blaming her own shortcomings to cold anger. From long experience, Griffen knew that mood was much more dangerous. He wished he didn’t have to be there.

  He had promised his uncle to stay with the campaign until Malcolm could relieve him. It was beginning to look as if Penny’s fears were groundless. She was manipulating all of them. Griffen was getting tired of dancing to other people’s tunes.

  Horsie, in the thankless role of apologist for her candidate, caught Griffen’s eye and offered him yet another friendly grin.

  “I thought she was there,” she whispered. “I swear to God. She called me on her cell phone. I’m so sorry, honey. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “You can’t,” Griffen pointed out. “It has to come from Penny.”

  Horsie opened her eyes wide.

  “Oh, but she’s so busy. Don’t mention it to her. She must have been somewhere else working and just flaked on that. It happens. Please, honey. This is a make-or-break event for her. Don’t back out on us now.” Horsie smiled, hoping to mend the situation. It didn’t work. Fox Lisa’s trust was broken. Griffen was relieved, but he was sorry her idealism had taken a hit. Horsie retreated, looking rueful.