extra couple of dollars on the bar.
“So how is life as a French Quarter bartender?” Griffen asked.
“Oh, the usual. I picked up a German tourist who keeps calling me Brunhild and trying to pinch my ass. And I hear that Mitch down in that little dive on Conti got fired… again. Pretty boring on the gossip fare.”
“Well, here’s one for your pot, then. There is supposed to be a convention of Bible thumpers in next week,” Griffen said.
“Good God, no, isn’t that the same weekend we are getting in a bunch of porno types from California?”
“In theory, no, they are just low-budget filmmakers, but that’s the rumor. Expect some real clashes,” Griffen said.
“Pardon me,” she said.
Val walked over to one of the wooden beams running from floor to ceiling in the bar. She quietly put her hands on both sides of it, and knocked her head firmly several times. Dust fell from the ceiling.
“I take it you finally managed to get a night shift?” Griffen said, sipping his drink and trying very hard not to laugh.
“Next Saturday.”
“Kind of what I had figured.”
Valerie glared and picked up his empty glass.
“Jack and Coke, right?” she said, a glint in her eye.
Griffen put the money on the bar for his next drink before she even poured, and left it up to her. She slumped her shoulders slightly and poured him his usual Irish.
“So, how about with you. What life-threatening madness encroaches on your life this hour?” Val said.
“Well, most recently…”
“Excuse me, sir, could you pass the sugar?” the sole customer at the bar asked.
“Sure.”
Griffen absentmindedly passed the sugar to the man. Then did a double take. Between being asked and passing the sugar, the man had changed into someone else.
George smiled blandly at him.
“Thank you. And perhaps the cream?” George said.
“You!”
Val was coming around the bar as she said it. In her hand was the blackjack kept for emergency use only by the bartenders. Griffen was on his feet, moving to intercept, and knew it wouldn’t do any good.
George’s stool was empty.
“Teleporter,” he said from behind the bar, “remember? I thought you dragons were supposed to be quick.”
Val swiveled toward him, but now Griffen was firmly in the way. Unless she wanted to climb over him, George was reasonably safe. At least, from her.
“What are you doing here?” Griffen said.
“You know, I rather like it on this side of the bar. There is a sense of power. I can see why you would be drawn to it, Ms. McCandles,” George said.
“Please come over here so I can wring your damn neck,” Val said.
Griffen waved her off.
“Again, ‘George,’ what are you…?”
“Oh, relax, the both of you. I’m on vacation. I always loved this city during Halloween. Just think of this as a courtesy, so you know I’m not here to cause you trouble.”
“And we are supposed to believe you why?” Valerie said.
“Hmm, does this help?”
George vanished and materialized back on his bar stool. He nonchalantly folded up his newspaper and crossed his hands over his lap. Then he looked Valerie square in the eye and lifted his chin.
“Feel free to hit me if it will make you feel better. I think we’ve already proved that it won’t do much in the way of permanent damage.”
Valerie thought for a moment, then lowered the blackjack to her side. She walked back around to the other side of the bar. Which left Griffen standing there feeling silly. He sat back down in his seat.
“Well, if we are playing things this way, can I buy you something other than coffee?” Griffen asked.
Valerie banged something noisily behind the bar. Griffen flinched.
“No, thank you, alcohol doesn’t affect me the same way it affects you. Caffeine actually works better,” George said.
“You are both getting on my nerves. If you’ve nothing else to say other than ‘Hi, I’m not here to try and kill you,’ then I think you can leave,” Val said.
George nodded slightly and began to stand up. Only to reach into his pocket. Valerie set her hand on the bar, the blackjack still clenched in her fist.
Slowly, carefully, he pulled out a small plain card with nothing but a phone number on it.
“Actually, I also came specifically here to apologize to you. I was hunting Griffen when you got yourself involved. Still, if I had been a gentleman, I would have backed off and waited till you were otherwise occupied,” George said.
“Nice to know you would have waited till I was distracted, then tried to kill my brother,” Valerie said.
Griffen really felt he should get involved. Do something to derail this train wreck. Self-preservation, however, said otherwise. He kept his mouth shut. Forget George; all he would do would be to try to kill him. His sister would destroy him.
“Hmm, interesting perspective,” George said. “In any case, I would make amends.”
“How?” Val asked.
“By asking you on a date,” he said.
“What!?” Griffen blurted before thinking about it.
Val swung the blackjack menacingly at both of them.
“Did you set this up for some dumb reason, Big Brother?” she asked.
“Why would I?!” Griffen said.
“Calm down both of you. This was my own idea, and a wild one at that,” George said.
“Which brings up the question, why on God’s green earth would I go on a date with you? Much less as some apology to me?” Val asked.
“Why, because there is this lovely masked ball that I’m sure you are dying to attend.”
“What masked ball?” she asked.
“Why, the traditional one at the end of the conclave. Where I’m sure you’ll want to keep an eye on your brother surrounded by people in costume who might have a grudge,” George said.
There was a long moment of silence. Valerie stepped toward George and snatched the card from the table. He was just starting to smile when the blackjack swung up and sent him flying backward.
Griffen very carefully kept his eyes on the blackjack as Val turned to him.
“What?” she said. “He said I could and didn’t say there was a time limit.”
“Actually, I pretty much saw that one coming. Feel better?” Griffen said.
“Much,” Val said.
George picked himself up off the floor and brushed himself off. His jaw showed no real sign of just having been crushed by a sap. Still, he made no move to approach the bar again.
“Well then, you have my number. I suppose it’s time to find a less hostile drinking establishment,” he said.
With that, he shifted, leaving Griffen and Valerie looking at a very large, shaggy dog. The dog opened its mouth, tongue lolling, bowed its head to the two, and bolted out of the bar.
“So,” Valerie said, turning her full attention to Griffen, “what masked ball?”
Griffen’s attention was still on the door. His mind focused on the dog that had been George. A very familiar dog.
“Honestly, this is the first I’ve heard of it. Besides, I’m still trying to figure out what George was doing in heels,” he said, absently.
