Dragons Luck

“Just to keep things simple, let’s pretend we’ve all done things like this before,” he said with a smile. “Now I do a lot of work away from my home base. Over the years, I’ve developed a method for finding . . . shall we say, special help when I’m in a strange town. Back home, part of what I do is to provide certain of my clients with various types of illegal substances. If I need help, what I do is call home to my regular supplier. He in turn contacts one of the handlers in the area I’m in and arranges a meet, which is why we’re talking now.”

He leaned back in his seat.

“If anything goes wrong at that meet, both my supplier and his local contact will be upset because they’re getting a piece of the action. The local man is particularly upset because he’s guaranteed the people I’m meeting, and if they get cute, he ends up looking bad. Maybe with a new enemy he doesn’t want.”

He paused for a moment for that to sink in before continuing.

“It might interest you to know that our local contact is impressed enough with my supplier that he offered to provide the needed help for free. I turned him down because I believe in paying people top dollar when they do me a favor. Just remember, though, whatever price we agree on is definitely going to mean more money for you than if I had taken him up on his offer. Now then, shall we get down to talking business?”

Again, there was a moment of silence.

“The price depends on the job,” the passenger said at last, a little sulkily. “We’d have to charge extra to go after someone here in the Quarter. The cops don’t like it ’cause it scares the tourists.”

“I expected that,” Flynn said. “I am thinking about the Quarter, but the target’s a local. It could be explained as a grudge fight instead of random violence.”

“That still could be a problem,” the passenger said, gaining confidence as the negotiations progressed. “That ups the chance that he knows us or that we might be seen by someone who knows us. Seems like everybody knows everybody down here.”

“Maybe,” Flynn said. “But he’s only been down here a couple of months. He’s probably not as well connected as the longtime residents.”

“We’ll see,” the passenger said, judiciously. “This guy got a name?”

“He’s a young kid, early twenties, just out of college,” Flynn said. “Like I said, he only moved down here a few months ago. Name of McCandles.”

In a sudden move, the driver pulled over to the curb and stopped the vehicle.

The passenger turned in his seat to stare directly at Flynn.

“McCandles?” he said. “Are you talkin’ about Griffen McCandles?”

“That’s right,” Flynn said. “Why? Do you know him?”

“Get out of my car.”

The statement was made with such finality that Flynn was startled.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem is that either you don’t know who you’re talkin’ about, or you’re some kind of special dumb,” the passenger said, shaking his head. “Well, we ain’t dumb, and there’s no way we’re goin’ after Griffen McCandles. That man is protected big-time . . . and I don’t just mean the cops. Word is he has supernatural help. If TeeBo knew who you had in mind, there’s no way he would have even had us talk to you. Now get out of my car, and I mean now. You want to go after Griffen McCandles, I don’t even want to be seen talkin’ to you. Now get out.”

Standing on the sidewalk again, Flynn watched the car drive off. If the McCandles boy had built that much of a reputation in just a few months, then maybe George wasn’t exaggerating when he described the young dragon as “formidable.”

One thing was certain, though. If Flynn was going to continue with his plan, he couldn’t rely on local contacts. He’d have to try another tactic. Maybe import someone.

Six

It was the silence that first caught Griffen’s attention. A bar is never completely quiet, a French Quarter bar least of all. The Irish pub was no different. Still, a sudden drop in the constant background noise caught and held his attention.

He couldn’t immediately track the source of the change. People were still chatting. The music, never Irish, still played. A couple pretended to shoot pool on the back table between their flirting. All this flashed before his attention, then he looked down. Looked down, and saw the dogs.

There were three of them. A high number for the pub, but he had seen worse. Griffen had gotten used to the fact that dog owners in the Quarter tended to take their animals everywhere. Sometimes, when a particularly yappy bunch came in, it annoyed the hell out of him. Usually not, though. The sounds of puppies at play had become “normal” to him. Part of the background noise that made a happy bar.

These three had been doing their part. Running from patron to patron, looking for attention. Wrestling with each other over a bone one of the chefs had brought for them when she got off shift. It had been the sudden stop in their antics that had caught Griffen’s attention. All three now sat in a line in front of one of the entrances. Sat, and stared.