Dragons Luck gm-2

by Robert Asprin

  “I don’t like the idea of the cops poking around the conclave,” Tail said with a grimace.

  “I’ll wager we’ve all had to deal with the cops at one time or another.” Margie shrugged. “No reason this time around should be any different.”

  “Lot o’ differences.” Kane spoke up. “For one ting, dere are a lot of us dat have gathered in this here place. Too many maybe. Means de little tings dat make us different and we could normally cover on our own get blown up, dey get exaggerated. How many here you trust to not slip up, keep traps shut ’bout every little ting?”

  “There’s also the minor detail that we’ve got a body that is being tied directly to us,” Lowell put in. “I myself don’t like the bit about him being staked through the heart.”

  “See? I’m not the only one who’s worried,” Tail said triumphantly.

  “I’m not saying that there’s nothing to worry about,” Margie said, raising her hands defensively. “I just think we’d be better off spending our time getting our stories straight instead of just sitting around and fretting. For example, what are we going to say about Slim and Griffen? That’s the main reason they’re coming around, isn’t it?”

  “I think I can handle that, since I was there,” Lowell said.

  “I’ll just tell them the truth. That there were some harsh words tossed back and forth, but nothing beyond that. Nothing to kill anyone over. What’s more, McCandles didn’t even show up until it was almost over. If anything, there was more bad blood between me and Slim than between Slim and McCandles.”

  “Bad blood. Good one dat, vamp,” Kane said with a wink.

  “Not sure you should say such a thing to a cop now. Wit how Slim was killed and all.”

  “Why not?” Lowell said. “They don’t know I’m a vampire. To them, I’m just another attendee of a weird convention. All of us are.”

  “So you sayin’ we cover for him?” Kane said.

  “I’m not covering for him. I’m just going to tell them what happened,” Lowell said. “Besides, I don’t think he did it.”

  “Because he said so?” Margie said.

  “Because I don’t see where he’d have any reason to,” Lowell corrected. “If anything, quite the opposite. He’s been knocking himself out trying to run this conclave. Why would he do anything to disrupt it or to draw unwanted attention to it?”

  “I’ll have to go along with that,” Tail agreed. “He rubs me the wrong way, but he’s also doing right by us. We all expect certain things from dragons; Griffen has turned at least some of my ideas around.”

  “That’s certainly true for us changelings,” Tink said. “He always has time to talk with us and make us feel welcome. This whole thing with Slim, it’s almost as if whoever did it wanted Griffen to look bad.”

  A silence fell over the group as they looked at each other.

  “Why? Seems a powerful strong way to wrong someone,” Kane said softly.

  “Someone already said it.” Tail frowned. “To mess up the conclave.”

  “Maybe by setting up one of the groups, like, say, us vampires, to appear to be disruptive influences, if not killers,” said Lowell. “By the way, Tail, we really didn’t send you that cake from the Three Dog Bakery.”

  “I think the real question,” Margie said, “is not ‘why?’ but ‘who?’ Who would want to see the conclave fail at Griffen’s expense?”

  “What about a dragon?” Tail said, darkly.

  “What is it wit you ’n’ dragons? You got a serious mad on for a reason?” Kane grimaced.

  “No. Wait a minute,” Lowell said. “Tail might have a point there.”

  “How do you figure that?” Tink asked.

  “Think about it,” the vampire said. “Remember all the things we’ve heard about dragons, and how ruthless and power-hungry they are. This is the first time we’ve had a dragon at one of our conclaves, and we all like, or at least respect, McCandles. That’s got to have some kind of impact on other dragons. They may see it as degrading.”

  “Or as an opportunity to do Griffen some dirt,” Tink said. “Anything that happened could get blamed on his being involved with the conclave.”

  “Slow down here. Let’s not get carried away,” Margie said. “All of this is just speculation. We don’t know that Slim’s death was anything except random violence. We sure can’t point the finger at any one person or group without some kind of proof.”

  “Well, there’s nothing stopping us from doing a little investigating on our own,” Lowell said.

  “Reality check?” Margie said, raising her hand. “Exactly what do yo think we can do that the regular police can’t?”

  “Lots of things.” The vampire smiled. “How about it, Tail? Is there anything you or yours could do to help track down the killer?”

  “Not de way it work, Batman,” the shape-shifter growled. “We’re not bloodhounds. Even if’n we were, got any idea how many damn tourists passed by de scene of de crime by now? Worse’n a needle in a haystack, dat job.”

  “We might be able to help with that,” Tink said. “One of the things we changelings are good at is finding things.”

  “And that helps us how?” Margie said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Well, one of us… Tammy, you remember her… is particularly good at detecting supernaturals. If she could locate some that aren’t involved with the conclave, and one of them turned out to have a grudge against Griffen, we just might have found our killer.”

  “That’s pretty thin,” Lowell said. “And we’ve only got, what, maybe thirty-six hours to do it in? Besides, from what I recall of that little scene at the poker game, I’m not sure Tammy will be all that eager to do a favor for McCandles.”

  “You don’t know Tammy,” Tink said. “She’s probably cooled down by now. Besides, it will give her a chance to gain his thanks, if not admiration.”

  “And if it doesn’t work, we’re no worse off than before,” Tail pointed out. “Let’s do it.”

  Forty-seven

  Griffen wasn’t sure what to expect from the conclave the morning after Slim’s death. He had made calls to the various speakers and leaders the night before, after talking with his own inner circle, Jerome, Val, and Mai. He had almost called Mose, but the old dragon’s distant attitude lately made Griffen hesitate. The advice from the others would have to be enough.

  The conclave was already winding down. Today the scheduling was light, and tomorrow there wasn’t anything serious at all before the big masquerade ball. It seemed they were used to everyone wanting to have time to rest up before the real party. Griffen had been assured that the speakers could handle most of the workload that day if he needed to deal with more important matters.

  Which was exactly the problem. Griffen wasn’t sure where his priorities should be. The loss of Slim had him mixed up emotionally, but he had been engaged as moderator. A moderator who didn’t know which meetings during the “light” day were actually important. The weight of the tragedy and the weight of his inexperience were combining into something truly crushing.

  So he was going in a bit early, to gauge everyone’s reactions and feelings after having a night for the news to make the rounds and settle into everyone’s mind. Then he would decide how best to use his energies. He tried not to think about what Slim would want him to do. Slim, who had been one of his biggest supporters as moderator until the unfortunate incident with Lowell.

  As Griffen walked into the hotel lobby, he saw he wasn’t the only one getting an early start. He wasn’t sure which surprised him more, Harrison sitting in one of the low chairs in the lobby or the two uniformed police standing some distance behind. The last thing Griffen would have expected from the scruffy vice detective was obvious flaunting of what he was, but the uniforms didn’t seem to have any other purpose.

  Harrison was leaning in toward a young woman, someone associated with Gada and the magic types if Griffen remembered right. Harrison was talking low, but the girl kept glancing around nervously, afr
aid of who might see her and what they might think. Of course her back was to the door, so that she could see the two uniformed officers, and Harrison could see anyone who came in.

  He looked up at Griffen, and the lines of his face deepened as he scowled. A few more words to the girl, and she craned her head back, eyes wide and startled. She muttered something back and quickly rose and scurried out of the lobby.

  Harrison stood, and the two uniforms stepped up to flank him.

  “This needs to be in private,” Harrison said.

  He turned and didn’t bother looking back. Griffen hesitated only a moment before following him, the two uniforms falling in behind him. Harrison went into one of the conference rooms set up for the conclave itself. Once Griffen had entered as well, the door was closed by one of the officers, leaving the two men alone.

  “Detective Harrison, I ju—”

  Harrison grabbed Griffen by his shirt, cutting him off. Griffen was surprised by the strength of the man who jerked him around and slammed him facedown onto the conference table in the center of the room. Griffen had to concentrate hard to keep down his body’s ever-growing reactions to danger. The last thing he needed was for Harrison to see scales.

  By the time he was sure he wasn’t going to slip, he felt the metal of a handcuff bite into his wrist.

  “Griffen McCandles, you have the right to remain silent. Something you seem to be very good at, you little shit.”

  “Detective.”

  “Shut up! You held out on me. I thought we were square, McCandles. You seemed to get the rules. You do not jerk me around.”

  Griffen let his other arm be pulled back, hands securely cuffed behind his back. He didn’t know if he could actually break a pair of handcuffs, but he was willing to give it a try.

  “Not only do I find you know exactly what Slim has been involved in, because of you being the frickin’ ringleader here, but I hear you and he been going sideways at each other. And I have no less than three local street performers willing to witness that you were looking for him before he was killed. You know how badly you got to screw up in this town for people to talk to the police?”

  “I didn’t kill Slim,” Griffen said.

  “You are the number-one suspect, and you are going in for obstruction and withholding. And I should break your teeth in. You are never getting another favor out of me or any of my boys, McCandles.”

  “Why is this even your case? I thought you were vice.”

  “I know the vic, I know the suspect, and it’s my beat. It may not be my case, but they will understand me wanting to get at you first.”

  “With all the jurisdictional nonsense I hear in this town? I find that very hard to believe,” Griffen said.

  Harrison grunted, and Griffen was hauled back again. A heavy hand pushed him down into a chair, which wrenched his wrists. Idly, Griffen wondered if a dragon claw could pick a lock, if he knew how to control his shape changing that well… or knew how to pick a lock.

  Harrison moved into the chair at the opposite end of the table. There were no bright lights in Griffen’s eyes, no two-way mirror along one wall, but he knew an interrogation scene when he saw one. Except Harrison was definitely bad cop, with no good cop in sight.

  “So maybe I called in a favor,” Harrison said. “Just so I could hear it from you, why you lied to me, or why you killed Slim.”

  “I didn’t lie… I just decided to wait till a better opportunity to talk to you. And I didn’t—”

  “Kill Slim,” Harrison interrupted. “Yeah, and you know, I almost believe that. So tell me, what is this collection of whack jobs you’ve got going on, and what’s your connection?”

  “Honestly, I didn’t help organize it. I just got asked to come in as a neutral party. Kind of keep the peace. That’s the only reason me and Slim had a problem. He was causing a little trouble, and I had a word with him, it wasn’t any more than that.”

  “Well, that can be an awful lot. And you didn’t tell me who these people are.”

  Griffen looked at him levelly.

  “You really don’t want to know, Detective. Trust me.”

  Harrison looked back.

  “The last thing I am going to do right now is trust you… but I might agree with you on that.”

  Harrison stood and walked over to Griffen. A few moments later the handcuffs were back in his pocket.

  “There is no evidence, no sign of you on the body. No murder weapon. And witnesses who talked to me… might not be so willing to talk to whoever gets the case. But, McCandles, this is your mess, and you got a group of people, suspects, who are skipping town in a couple of days.”

  Harrison opened the door. The uniforms were gone. Griffen wondered if they had been there just for him.

  “You have till the end of your little convention here to get me some answers I can use. Or I am dragging you, and every last one of them, in on whatever charges I can cook up. And then I find out… everything.”

  The door closed behind him, and Griffen sat in the chair, rubbing his wrists and trying to figure out if he was more or less confused than he’d been earlier thas morning. A soft knock came from the door, which opened a crack. Jay poked his head in tentatively.

  “We are ready to start the first meeting, if you are done with the room, Griffen,” he said.

  “Sure, sure,” Griffen said absently.

  “Are you busy, or will you be sitting in?” Jay asked.

  “I, uh… I’ll sit in.”

  Jay nodded approvingly. He opened the door fully and in walked several of the conclave members. Griffen barely paid attention as they all found their seats, clumped into their cliques and groups.

  The changelings gathered close to him, and after a few more distracted seconds, Griffen realized they were looking at him. Especially Robin and Hobb, their eyes wide and eager.

  “Yes?” Griffen asked.

  “Well, uh, we wanted to know, since you are still leading the meetings,” Robin began, hesitantly.

  “Are we still going to have our pre-Halloween ghost tour?” Hobb asked.

  “Pleeeease,” several of the changelings said at once, eager as puppies.

  Griffen found himself smiling.

  It was all about priorities.

  Forty-eight

  No matter what type of tourist you are, the Quarter has something for you.

  Beautiful scenery for the shutterbugs, endless stores of all ranges of quality for the shopaholics, bars and clubs for the party animals, exotic and local cuisine for the gourmands, museums and galleries for the hoi polloi. Even clowns making balloon animals for the children. Though if you really want to experience the Quarter, it’s always best to leave the kiddies at home.

  For the most part Griffen had sampled all the various facets of the tourist-milking machine that is the French Quarter. He reveled in the low and the high. He even occasionally poked his head in the countless T-shirt shops to see if there was anything clever. Except for the tours. For all his months there, he hadn’t been on a single tour. It just wasn’t something that the locals tended to do, and it wasn’t something that had any particular draw for him.

  That was before he found himself made a moderator. With everything that was going on at the conclave, Griffen felt driven to try to keep things together. He was holding the bag, but that didn’t mean he was going to choose the easy route and drop it.

  One of the activities that had been planned was a group excursion with the Haunted History Tour. Again, Griffen knew very little about the tours themselves though he had seen them around. Groups of fifteen to thirty tourists would gather around a storyteller as he spoke of the Quarter’s sordid past. Most of it was made-up; if one listened to rumor, it was invented on the spot. A really bored tour guide could be the worst, or best, thing that a tourist might encounter.

  One of Estella’s people had offered to give the tour, but Griffen politely declined. Not only did he want the conclave members to have a “normal” Quarter experience, he was hop
ing that most of them would keep their eccentricities in check with a normal tour guide.

  Hoping, not expecting.

  This was actually the most mingling he had seen among the various groups in the conclave. It was hard to form little cliques when you were all clustering around a single storyteller. Also, it was mostly followers, not leaders. Drake, Robin, and Hobb were there, but not Tink. Several of the voodoo practitioners had attended, but Estella was busy. Even Lowell was absent, though a few of his vampires lurked at the edges.

  The garou were absent entirely, as were the higher shape-shifters. True to his word, Tail had invited the female shifter from the demonstration to dinner. Griffen had suggested the Desire Oyster Bar, and had a discreet word with Amos, one of the waiters there. He had convinced Amos not only to let him pick up the tab, but to be sure not to tell that he had done it. A small miracle in itself. As far as the couple were concerned, it was on the house.

  Of the animal-control people, only Johansson had attended. Griffen gave him an uncomfortable glance when he saw the man approaching the gathering tour group. Johansson saw the look and walked up to Griffen directly.

  “I want you to know,” he said without preamble, “Margie and me, we don’t blame you. This was his town, and he should have known the risks better than anyone.”

  With that he turned away from Griffen and joined the tour group. Griffen let him; after all, what more could be said?

  As the tour actually got started, Griffen more or less tuned out the guide. History really wasn’t his passion. Yet another reason he had avoided the tours in the past. He wasn’t really paying attention till after their first stop, when one of the changelings spoke up.

  “What do you mean we don’t get to go inside?” Drake said.