Usually it is not practical or often possible for an ordinary person to kick a door in on one go, but Valerie had motivation.
The door slammed open and stayed open. The two strode in, both looking utterly confident. As if they owned the building and anything, or anyone, inside. Mai hung back a few steps, letting Valerie take the lead, but it had been agreed between them that Valerie would not be left without backup. Mai was perhaps enjoying her role as wingman a bit too much.
The place was well-appointed, but empty of personality. All the furniture had to have come with the apartment, laid out with a designer’s touch and not a trace of personal warmth. Likewise the art and decoration. There wasn’t a single sign of the man who lived here. No personal pictures, not a spare book on the table, not even a dish in the sink.
It could have been a show apartment, completely unlived in. For a moment Valerie thought that was just what it was. Then Mai nudged her and brought her attention to a small coffee table.
Sitting on it was a string of pearls, and a bamboo rose.
Valerie picked up a piece of boring statuary, and brought it down on the pearls as hard as she could. The rose splintered and flew through the room as so much shrapnel.
“I always liked violence in women,” a gruff voice said from the doorway.
The man blocked out the doorway, and was not Nathaniel. He had the build of a linebacker, or a very dangerous marine. He had to have been six foot six, with short blond hair and a nasty glint to his eye. Valerie drew herself up to her full height, but she didn’t have his bulk. She rarely felt dwarfed by anyone, and though he wasn’t that much bigger than she was, he managed.
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.”
Fifty-two
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?”
“Another one of our players,” Griffen said. “I think he’s one of the local politicos.”
“I notice you didn’t introduce me,” Valerie said.
“To tell you the truth, I couldn’t recall his name,” Griffen said. “Besides, I noticed that he didn’t bring his escort over to introduce her to us either. Of course, that’s probably because the young lady that’s with him isn’t his wife.”
Valerie choked on her drink, then dabbed at her mouth with her napkin.
“Is everything all right, folks?”
The waiter, a stout, white-haired black gentleman, was hovering at the table.
“I think we’re fine,” Griffen said. “Just a little more coffee and the check, please.”
“I’ll be right back with the coffee, but there’s no check tonight, sir.”
“Excuse me?”
“No, sir, Mr. Griffen,” the waiter said. “There’ll be no check for you tonight or any other night you come in on Amos’s shift. Amos, that’s me, sir.”
“Pleased to meet you, Amos,” Griffen said. “This is my sister, Valerie.”
“I thought that’s who it might be.” Amos smiled. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Valerie.”
“I’m still a little confused, Amos,” Griffen said. “How is it that you know me and why are you comping us this meal?”
“Well, sir, I knew who you were when you walked in tonight. A lot of the folks here in the Quarter know who you are and what you do,” Amos said. “I guess I just know a little more than most. You see, Gris-gris is my sister’s boy, and the whole family is grateful to you for helpin’ him out when he got in that scrape with the po-leece.”
“You’re Gris-gris’s uncle?” Griffen said. “No fooling?”
“No, sir. I wouldn’t joke about a thing like that,” Amos said earnestly. “Gris-gris always was a bit of a wild one, and we’ve always been a little worried for him. It’s a big load off our mind that he’s workin’ with a fine gentleman such as yourself, Mr. Griffen, and seeing a fine lady such as yourself, Ms. Valerie. Anyway, anytime you come in here on my shift, your money’s no good. It’s the least I can do to say thank you.”
“That’s very nice of you, Amos,” Valerie said.
“I appreciate it, Amos,” Griffen said, “but it presents me with a bit of a problem. You see, I really like the turtle soup here, and was planning on coming in more often. The trouble is, if I do that now, with you comping me, I’ll feel like I’m taking advantage of your generosity.”
“Don’t you worry about that none, Mr. Griffen,” Amos said. “You come in here as often as you like. I’d like nothing better than to see you in here every day.”
“All right, all right,” Griffen said, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. “I know when I’m beat. But I insist that if I bring a party in here, I pay for it, not you.”
“We’ll have to see about that.” Amos grinned. “I’ll just get your coffee now.”
Griffen laughed and shook his head as the waiter retreated.
“What do you think about that?” he said.
“I think you’re really getting into this whole dragon thing,” Valerie said, without smiling.
“What do you mean?”
“The whole thing with people catering to you…waving at you and coming up to your table and giving you freebies. You’re really starting to enjoy it.”
“Hey. It’s all part of the business,” Griffen said. “You know, contacts and cocktails. It’s the same in any business. It’s just a bit more exaggerated here in New Orleans.”
“And since when did you concern yourself with business?” Valerie shot back.
Griffen studied her for a moment.
“Is something bothering you, Little Sister?” he said at last. “You’ve been making little comments like that all through dinner.”
“Yes…No…I don’t know,” Valerie said, shaking her head. “It’s just that you’ve changed since we got down here. Maybe you can’t see it because it’s happening gradually, but only seeing you every now and then, it’s apparent to me.”
“Changing like how?”
“Think back, Big Brother,” she said. “When you were in school, you never thought beyond today. You liked the soft, irresponsible life and only lived for the next card game or woman. Any attempt to get you to take anything seriously would have you running for the horizon. Now look at you. You’re heading up an entire gambling operation, schmoozing with the local bigwigs, and working at setting policy and procedures. That’s a big change no matter how you look at it. The thing is you seem to be enjoying it. You’re taking to it like a duck to water.”
“So, are you saying this change is a good thing, or a bad thing?” Griffen said thoughtfully.
“I don’t know yet,” Valerie said with a grimace. “The jury is still out on that one. It’s good to see you enjoying yourself. On the other hand, we already know you’re in the crosshairs. Actually, we both are. The weather may be cooling down a bit, but I’ve got a feeling things are going to get hot for us.”
Griffen considered what his sister had said for several moments, then rose from his seat, tossing some money on the table for a tip.
“Hate to eat and run, Little Sister,” he said, “but I think I need to have a chat with Mose. Maybe catch up with you later.”
“She’s right, Young Dragon,” Mose said with a smile. “Of course you’ve changed. You’ve had ideas and opinions ever since you got here. The difference is, now you’re doing more telling than asking.”
Griffen frowned.
“That makes me sound pretty pushy and arrogant,” he said.
“No. That makes you sound confident,” Mose said. “It makes you sound like a dragon.”
He leaned forward in his chair.
“Look at all you’ve learned and done in a little over two months,” he said earnestly. “You’ve got a good handle on our operation. You’ve handled a couple of potentially nasty situations pretty much by yourself. You’ve even made some changes in policies that have been in place for decades. Everybody in the crew looks to you for leadership…and a lot of folks outside the crew as well. For a new dragon, fresh out of the box, you’re doing yourself proud. If I had any doubts about turning the leadership over to you, they’re long gone.”
“I guess.” Griffen sighed. “Say, Mose. About the whole thing with taking over the leadership. How long do you figure it will be before I’m ready for that?”
Mose threw back his head and laughed.
“Young Dragon,” he said, “you haven’t been paying attention. It’s already happened. I just said that everyone is looking to you for leadership, and that inclu
des me. For all intents and purposes, you are the dragon of this crew.”
Fifty-three
Griffen was still thinking about what Mose had said as he unlocked the front gate and let himself into the complex courtyard. Behind him, the now familiar sounds of the city faded. The clip-clop of a passing carriage being the loudest as he shut the gate.
It was true that he was pretty much running the gambling operation now. But did that really make him the local dragon? He had nowhere near Mose’s experience or wisdom. More important, on many levels he knew he lacked the confidence and his abilities to truly be a leader. The head honcho.
Suddenly, the lights in the courtyard, those fake gas lamps New Orleans was famous for, went out.
Griffen stopped in his tracks. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he had relaxed his now habitual scan for trouble or tension. This, however, was too blatant to ignore.
The courtyard was not completely dark. There was a bit of ambient light from the street, and a little coming from between the curtains of his upstairs apartment where he usually kept a light on in the living room, even when he was out. There was also one gas lamp on a post still lit, creating a ten-foot pool of light.
A figure stepped out of the shadows in the courtyard and into that pool of light and stood there, waiting. It was a short, slightly built man. It took a moment, but Griffen finally recognized him as the man who had been in the fight at the Irish pub the night someone had slipped the lime slice into his water back.
“Mr. McCandles? I believe we have some unfinished business.”
“And you would be the George,” he said, keeping his voice level.
The man bowed slightly.
“So you have heard of me. I was starting to wonder there for a while.”
“Is this it, then?” Griffen said. “The showdown at high noon?”
“Considering the hours you keep, I felt that the wee hours of the morning would be more appropriate,” the George said. “But basically, you’re correct. This is it.”
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