Dragons Wild

by Robert Asprin

  “I know yah, white boy?”

  “My name is Griffen McCandles,” Griffen said. “I run a couple card games around town. Something has come to my attention, and I thought it would be a good idea if we talked about it. May I sit down?”

  Little Joe shrugged and gestured to the chair across from him. Griffen took the indicated seat, painfully aware that it put his back to the door and the rest of the room. Keeping his concerns from his face, he took a deep breath and began.

  “About a week ago, your little brother, Willie, sat in on one of my games. He had a bad night, and dropped about four hundred dollars.”

  “I heard ’bout that.” Little Joe nodded.

  “It happens,” Griffen said. “Some nights a man wins, some nights he loses. The problem is, I’ve been told that you’ve been talking around, telling people that Willie got taken in a crooked game. I thought I’d take the time to meet you face-to-face and ask if it’s true?”

  Little Joe took another drag on the cigar.

  “Which? If I been talkin ’round, or if the game was crooked?”

  “I guess if you’ve been talking around,” Griffen said. “I already know the game wasn’t crooked. More important, if it’s true, I’d like to know what makes you think the game was crooked. As far as I can tell, you’ve never sat in on one of my games.”

  “All I knows is what Willie told me,” Little Joe said.

  “Uh-huh.” Griffen grimaced. “Tell me, Little Joe, I’ve heard you’re a pretty sharp card player yourself. Have you ever noticed that if someone wins, they’re a great card player. But if they lose, then the game’s crooked or someone was cheating.”

  Little Joe flashed a quick grin.

  “Yeah, you right. Had to fight my way out of the room a couple times when the losers thought my luck was a lil’ too solid.”

  “Well, the fact of the matter,” Griffen said, “is that Willie isn’t that good a card player. He had no business being in that game…way out of league, betting wild against a table of better players. I’m pretty sure you already knew that. You’re a better card player than Willie is.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “I try to keep track of who the better players in town are,” Griffen said. “Besides, it’s obvious just from sitting and talking with you. You give away less in normal conversation than Willie does when he’s playing cards.”

  “So why’d you let him play?” Little Joe said.

  “I suspected he was a weak player, but I wasn’t sure until I actually saw him play,” Griffen said. “One of our regulars brought him in and vouched for him, so there wasn’t much I could do.”

  “So where does that leave us?” Little Joe said.

  “It leaves us with a problem,” Griffen said. “I’d like to convince you that it was an honest game so you’ll quit saying that I run a crooked operation. Right now, though, it’s just my word against your brother’s.”

  Little Joe took another drag on his cigar and leaned back.

  “I’ve heard about you, Griffen,” he said. “Lots of folks say that you’re not someone to get on the wrong side of. That you’ve got some serious muscle covering you, and that you handle yourself pretty good all by your lonesome. What surprises me, and I been listenin’ real close, is that it don’t sound like you’re telling me to shut my mouth or it’ll get shut for me.”

  “As I said, I’d like to convince you,” Griffen said with a smile. “Threatening you would only make it look like I was trying to pull a cover-up.”

  “So, what do you have in mind?” Little Joe said, genuinely curious. “Somehow, I don’t think your plan is to just give Willie his money back.”

  “As a matter of fact, for a while I considered doing exactly that,” Griffen said. “Four hundred just isn’t that much money, and if it could kill a bad rumor, it could be worth it.”

  “But yah changed your mind?” Little Joe smirked.

  “Correct.” Griffen smiled. “Giving the money back would be as much as admitting that we cheated him out of it. I’d be out the money and still have it being talked around that I run a crooked operation. There’s a different solution I’ve come up with.”

  He patted the side of his jacket.

  “I’ve got Willie’s four hundred right here,” he said. “What I propose is that you and I play for it. We both know you’re a better card player than Willie. I figure if I can prove to you that I’m a better card player than you are, it will convince you that Willie lost the money honestly.”

  Little Joe eyed him narrowly.

  “You’re carrying four hundred dollars in cash? Alone? In a place like this? What makes you think I won’t just take it away from you without bothering to play for it?”

  “That wouldn’t prove much of anything, would it?” Griffen said. “Except maybe that you’re tougher than I am. If I read you right, you’d rather take it away from me with cards. Besides, I never said I was alone.”

  Little Joe’s eyes darted around the room, then he raised an eyebrow.

  “Waiting outside,” Griffen said. “Just in case I read you wrong.”

  Little Joe nodded slowly.

  “I don’t have no four hundred dollars on me,” he said. “If I did, I wouldn’t risk it all in a game against a player I don’t know.”

  “How much do you have?”

  “Lil’ over a hundred.”

  “Fine.” Griffen nodded. “You put up a hundred and I’ll do the same. If you can take my hundred before I take your hundred, I’ll pass you the other three hundred as a bonus.”

  Moving slowly, he pulled a new deck of cards out of his pocket and tossed it on the table.

  “You seem real confident ’bout this,” Little Joe said, not reaching for the cards. “It occurs to me you’re asking me to risk a hundred of my own dollars using your deck.”

  “I don’t think there’s enough light in here to see the marking if it was a rigged deck,” Griffen said drily. “If it will make you feel better, though, we can see if the bartender has a deck, or we can wait while you send someone out to buy a new deck from a place of your choice. It shouldn’t make that much difference, though. I’m going to insist that you do all the dealing. We’ll just take turns calling what the game is.”

  Little Joe frowned.

  “You still seem awfully sure.”

  “I think I’m a better card player than you,” Griffen said with a shrug. “You don’t give away much, but it’s enough for me to beat you.”

  “Then you probably know I’m still thinking it might be a better move for me to just take the money.” Little Joe smiled.

  Several of the others around the bar turned around meaningfully. Though no one actually reached for anything, Griffen could clearly see bulges under coats and shirts. A trained gambler, he knew not to bet that the bulges were cell phones, not guns. Of course, there was what Little Joe had said about his reputation to handle himself.

  Griffen sighed, then reached over and took Little Joe’s cigar from the ashtray. He blew on the glowing end until it was red hot, not flame, just stoking the embers. Then keeping eye contact with his opponent, he slowly ground it out in his own palm.

  “I think you’d be wiser to play cards,” he said.

  It took Griffen less than an hour to win Little Joe’s hundred.

  The two men shook hands when they parted company.

  Twenty-six

  It is surprising, for an area that comes close to worshipping food, just how understocked its average grocery is. True, the physical confines of the Quarter were prohibitive. A massive chain supermarket simply would not fit in one of the refurbished old buildings that were the norm. So small groceries and delis stocked the basics, as well as an erratic supply of specialty goods and ingredients. And, like so many other Quarter businesses, many were open 24/7.

  Valerie had finished her morning jog earlier than usual, and found herself more in the mood to cook up something than stop into one of the early morning restaurants. No, she realized,
it was more than that.

  The run had done very little to relieve her frustrations. She was worried about Griffen, and what had him distracted that he obviously wasn’t up to telling her. Sitting in a restaurant when she was still restless would be torture. But beating a few eggs into submission? Yeah, that could work.

  Unfortunately, that meant she needed to get some eggs. Like so many people visiting and living in the area, her fridge held very little in the way of supplies. A few leftovers, some soda and favorite snacks, and a bottle of good wine, because one never knows when it could come in handy.

  So, she stopped at the local A&P, the closest thing to a proper grocery, just a few doors down from Yo Mama’s. As she approached, she saw some of the average early morning crowd on the street. A drunk passed out in a doorway, a few musicians and street performers resting against a building and sharing a cigarette, and a few shopkeepers in the process of hosing down the sidewalk and opening up their fronts. There always seemed to be more people who hadn’t gone to bed yet than there were early risers.

  She was just about to enter the store when she caught the rank smell of too many cocktails and not enough bathing. She started to turn abruptly, but before she could finish found a hand palming her rump. Valerie stiffened, letting out a hiss that was as much rage as shock, and finished her turn.

  “Hey, baaaaby.”

  The man before her was dressed in filthy jeans and a shirt that seemed more a collection of stains than actual cloth. His matted hair and almost black fingernails would have suggested he was homeless, but his shoes and watch were both high quality. All this was a secondary observation to Valerie. First was the fact that even facing him he was trying to maintain his balance and his grip on her behind.

  Valerie grabbed the man’s wrist and jerked hard enough to fling him into the wall. He stumbled and cracked his face against the brick, long scratches embedding in his cheek. Whirling, back to the wall and braced, he jerked out a knife that even Valerie knew was substandard. A little pocket knife that probably couldn’t open an envelope.

  “I am not your baby,” she said.

  “Bitch, I kill you for that!”

  “Baby, no. Bitch. I can do that.”

  She reached out as if to grab the knife, and he slashed at her hand. While he was focused solely on the weapon, she took a half step forward, and slammed her other foot into his crotch. He sank to the ground, eyes shut and groaning. She ripped the knife out of his hand blade first, reversed it, and pressed it under his nose. His eyes popped wide again.

  Which was, of course, when two police officers stepped out of the A&P with a bag of groceries.

  “Now, there’s something you don’t see every day,” one said, looking at the man on the ground with Valerie standing over him with a knife.

  “Miss, could you drop the blade! Now!” said the other, one hand resting on the butt of his gun.

  Valerie did as she was told, and stepped away from him. The man gratefully shut his eyes again and rolled into a ball. The police stepped forward, guns still in holsters but clearly ready to clear the leather.

  “Whoa, whoa. You best be holdin’ it.”

  The officers and Valerie glanced to the side, and one of the street performers had stood up and was striding across the street to join them. He was a tall, thin man with very dark skin and very white clothes. Bleached so well they practically shone. The police saw his approach, and actually relaxed marginally. One nodded his way.

  “Slim, you see what happened?” the officer said.

  “Sure did. Dude saw Ms. Valerie here looking all fine in her workout clothes and then forgot everything he ever did know about manners. When she reminded him, he thought he would cut her for the trouble.”

  The two officers looked from Slim to the man and woman. Valerie, tall, attractive, and in sweat-stained but otherwise clean apparel. The other, filthy, dirty, and obviously still drunk. They nodded to each other and relaxed more fully.

  “Ma’am, do you want us to run him in? The little weasel might try to push for assault, but I doubt it.”

  Valerie caught Slim’s shake of a head out of the corner of her eye.

  “No, that’s all right. I got mine in,” she said.

  “That you surely did.”

  The officers shared a grin, and picked up their forgotten groceries. Valerie and Slim watched them head around the corner and out of sight.

  “Thanks, Ms. Valerie. I knows this idiot, and the last thing he needs is more trouble with the po-leece. We both owe you,” Slim said.

  “You’re welcome, but how come you seem to know me so well?”

  “Ah, well, to answer that…”

  Slim bent down and picked up the knife, looking over it with an expression of disgust. He shrugged, and pressed it against the downed man’s belly. The drunk gave a pathetic squeak, and tried to curl tighter into himself.

  “You open your eyes right now!” Slim said. “Right now, I say. Good. You think you seen some tourist babe fresh from the hotel and you’d have some fun. Right? Well, I gots news for you, son. This here is Griffen McCandles’s sister you tried pawing.”

  The man’s eyes shot wider still as he looked from Slim to Valerie. He tried to blubber an apology, but his words still would not come. Slim nodded and straightened up, and without looking chucked the knife squarely into the nearest trash can.

  “That should take care of things. Good morning to you, Ms. Valerie.” Slim nodded and sauntered away, and Valerie stood watching him go. A mixture of emotions warred through her, holding her in her spot. By the time he was gone, her eyes had narrowed dangerously. She started to leave, turned back, and kicked the man once more in the stomach, then stomped off.

  The other performers cheered from their perch across the street.

  Twenty-seven

  Once in a while, everyone needs advice.

  Valerie found herself pacing back and forth in Mose’s living room, which wasn’t really large enough for her stride. After about four steps, she had to turn and start back the other way. Mose watched her progress and leaned back in his chair, seemingly completely relaxed. It was a good act, considering her nervous energy had him practically twitching. Being in tight quarters with an agitated female dragon was something he had learned from long experience to avoid. He was thinking that he either needed to calm her down or jump out the window and seek cover.

  “What am I doing here?” Valerie said.

  “Well, not to put too fine a point on it, but I was about to ask the same thing,” Mose said.

  She waved off his comment with an impatient gesture.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean here, Mose. I meant here!”

  “Thank you for clearing that up.”

  Valerie drew her self up sharply, but saw his twinkling eyes and the laughter lines on his face start to deepen. With an exasperated sigh she folded herself into a chair. Sitting stiff backed and wire tight, she seemed to tower over Mose’s relaxed form. Her expression, however, had relaxed marginally, and she clasped her hands in her lap to keep them from fidgeting.

  “I’m not making much sense am I?”

  “Well now, I wouldn’t go that far. Let me take a guess.”

  Mose steepled his fingers and looked over Valerie closely. She didn’t realize some of the changes that showed in her. Her strength and natural confidence had grown, as had her pride. Though she hadn’t changed dress habits as drastically as her brother, what she wore began to cling to her differently as she began to hold herself differently. More noticeably, though, she had a new light burning in her eye, that even with Mose’s long experience he couldn’t quite place.

  He looked over her long enough, that she felt like getting up and pacing again. Finally he opened his hands wide and spoke.

  “You meant here as in New Orleans. Big Brother Dragon has been changing and growing and coming into his own, and you’re wondering where yours is. Feeling restless.”

  “More like useless. I came down here to protect Grifter, even if he th
inks it was his idea to protect me.”

  “And you’ve been doing a fine job at it by my reckoning.”

  In a flash she was up on her feet again and Mose fought a reaction to wince. She tried to pace, gave up on it, and contented herself to lean against the back of the chair. Her hands gripped it so hard it creaked, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “Fine! How do you figure fine! I haven’t done a single thing, and he’s got his other protectors now.”

  “Jealous?”

  Mose braced himself, but it was a necessary risk. Instead of another outburst, Valerie looked shocked, and with the shock came serious consideration. She sighed and leaned more against the chair, folding her elbows under her to brace herself.

  “Oh, hell, I can’t be. It’s good that he’s got things working so well. It’s only; I don’t seem to have a place in it right now. Grifter doesn’t even realize that we are seeing each other less and less each week, and he doesn’t even think to ask what I’ve been up to in between.”

  “Which brings up a damn fine question. What have you been up to? More to the point, what got you so agitated that you found yourself at my door?”

  “Er…”

  “Are you blushing?”

  “No! Of course not.”

  She turned away from him, and as a gentleman, Mose discreetly looked out the window. After several moments passed, she spoke again. This time her voice was softer than he had ever heard from her, and more than a little lost.

  “Let’s just say I’m not used to being saved in my brother’s name. It should be the other way around.”

  “Ah. Now you are being a silly little girl.”

  “WHAT!?”

  Now she really did tower over Mose, seeming to have swelled several inches. Her already well-defined muscles strained in tension, and Mose had to quell his imagination. For just an instant, it had felt much warmer in the room. As if a blast of heat had come out of her mouth with the exclamation.

  “I’m sorry, did I say ‘little girl’? That was wrong of me.”

  Mose watched carefully as she seemed to deflate, and carefully kept his tone mild and bland.