“Naw. Jumbo’s working door tonight on Bourbon,” Gris-gris said. “He’ll patch me up. Bouncers keep a pretty good first-aid kit on hand all the time.”
“At least let me walk you there,” Griffen said.
Gris-gris flashed a smile.
“That’d just be embarrassing,” he said. “Like I say, the dude shouldn’t have been able to walk up on me that way. The fewer that know about it, the better I like it. Just help me up and I’ll be on my way.”
Griffen thought as he watched Gris-gris walk away, no more unsteady on his feet than half the drunks in the Quarter.
What exactly was going on?
From what he had heard of the George, it wasn’t like him to threaten, much less injure a bystander. What was more, the comment about Valerie would make no sense.
He had met Nathaniel, the guy Valerie was currently dating, but Gris-gris had seen him as well and would have recognized him. Was she seeing someone else? Was it just another jealous clash, or was there something deeper involved. Because she kept a low profile, Griffen tended to forget that she was a coming-of-age dragon, too. Maybe there were others not as inclined to forget.
He realized something else as well. He wasn’t spooked by what was happening anymore. Instead, he was getting mad.
Wednesday was pool-league night and the Irish pub was crowded when they rolled in. Jerome was trying unsuccessfully to explain to Griffen about the Saints.
“I know it’s crazy,” he said. “But that’s the way it is. However lousy their last season was, the fans still hang in there and follow them. I am; last year was one of their worst seasons ever, and people are still lining up to buy season tickets.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Griffen said. “I mean, if it’s basically the same team and the same coaching staff, won’t the fans bail out on them?”
“The publicity people always manage to cook up some line, and everybody eats it up. The starting quarterback, Aaron Brooks, had an injured shoulder during the final games of last season and gave a piss-poor performance. The fans wanted him replaced, but Haslett insists that now that his shoulder is better, he’ll be his old self again. People believe it because they want to believe.”
Griffen shrugged.
“If you say so.”
“You’ve just been spoiled cheering for the Wolverines.” Jerome laughed, elbowing his way to a spot at the bar. “It’s always easy to cheer for a team that’s a perennial winner. It takes a special kind of fan to keep cheering for a team that usually ends up in the bottom third of the division.”
The bartender set their usual drinks in front of them.
“These are on the lady at the table by the door.”
They craned their necks around for a look, then turned quickly back to the bar.
There was a moment’s silence, then Griffen spoke.
“Didn’t you tell me something about how the locals here in the Quarter will never give you away to an outsider?”
“That’s the way it usually is,” Jerome said softly. He beckoned the bartender over. “What did you tell her… exactly?”
“I didn’t tell her anything,” the bartender said. “She came in an hour ago and ordered a white wine, then said that when Griffen came in, she’d buy the first round for him and anyone he was with. I assumed she was someone you knew. Why? Is something wrong?”
“Oh, we know her all right,” Griffen said. “I just didn’t expect to see her here.”
He glanced over at the table again, and made eye contact this time. The woman waved gaily and beckoned him over.
He gathered up his drink.
“Well,” he sighed, “I might as well find out what she wants.”
He picked his way through the crowd, pausing for a moment to let someone complete their shot on the pool table, then pulled up a chair at the woman’s table.
“Long time, no see, Mai,” he said. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Watching them shoot pool,” Mai said easily. “Some of these shooters are really good. You got a piece of this action?”
“It’s a pool league,” Griffen said. “They’re shooting for trophies…and you haven’t answered the question. What are you doing here? Don’t try to kid me that you came all the way to New Orleans to watch the locals shoot pool.”
Mai cocked her head like a bird and looked at him.
“Isn’t it obvious?” she said. “I came down here to see you.”
“Right,” Griffen said with a grimace. “Just like old times. If I recall correctly, though, the last time we saw each other you walked out on me in the middle of dinner.”
“Sorry about that,” Mai said, wrinkling her nose. “I had to report in that you not only had been brought on board with your dragon heritage, but that you suspected that I knew more about dragons than I had let on.”
“So now you admit it,” Griffen said.
“Of course.” She shrugged. “Now that you’ve had some time to get used to the idea and to settle in down here, I thought I’d drop in and say ‘Hi.’”
“That’s all? Just say ‘Hi’?” Griffen pressed.
“Don’t be silly,” Mai said. “I’m supposed to do what I was doing before. Keep an eye on you for the Eastern dragons…like Jerome was doing for Mose.”
“I see,” Griffen said. “And now that I know you know, and you know I know you know, I’m supposed to just ignore all that and let you hang around as a self-admitted spy?”
Mai reached across the table and took hold of his hand.
“Don’t be like that, lover,” she said. “That’s only what the Eastern dragons think I’m doing. I’ve got my own agenda this time around.”
“And what would that be?”
She sighed and pursed her lips.
“Well, I was going to work up to this slowly,” she said, “but since you’ve asked I might as well cut to the chase. In a nutshell, there’s a faction of the Eastern dragons, specifically the young ones, who want to throw their support behind you. I’m here as their spokesperson to approach you and see if we can work something out.”
Griffen leaned back in his chair and stared at her. Suddenly, the noise of the pool matches seemed far away.
“I…I don’t know what to say, Mai,” he managed at last. “That’s something that had never even occurred to me. I’d have to hear a lot more about what it entailed before I could even start thinking about it.”
“Of course,” Mai said. “In the meantime, though, I have a present for you. Call it a token of goodwill.”
She rummaged in her purse for a moment, then produced a small notebook, which she shoved across the table to Griffen.
“You know how Asians love to gamble?” she said. “Well, here’s a list of local Asians who run various gambling concerns. After I talked to them, they all want to sign on with your organization.”
Griffen blinked at her.
“What exactly are they expecting from me?”
“Just to be included in your network,” she said. “They want to use your spotters to steer tourists into their games…and maybe get included in the police protection you’ve set up. In return, you get a percentage of their action.”
Griffen felt a quick spike of greed. If Mai’s offer was legitimate, then not only would it mean some major
