Dragons Wild

Both stood perhaps a hundred feet apart and half-visible in the shadows of the badly lit back of the college-town motel. The sounds of traffic and a dog baying a few blocks away seemed to get louder. Then it happened.

For the first time, Griffen understood what was meant by a fight or flight reaction. The need to do something screamed inside him. The man, thing, dragon, or whatever it was, had seemed to be bigger and taller now. Without knowing it, he took a step back.

Then it hit him. If he was a dragon, there would never be a better time to become one. Which only left one urgent question. How did you change into a dragon?

He tried willing himself to change. Nothing happened.

So Griffen decided he would command himself to change, complete with a sweeping arm gesture. No dragon.

Risking closing his eyes for a moment, Griffen tried to picture himself as a dragon. “Be the dragon, be the dragon,” he intoned mentally, but all he got was the image of Chevy Chase in Caddy Shack intoning, “Be the ball.”

Frustration led to anger. Okay, if he was going to get mashed by a massive supernatural monster in the back of a motel, he might as well go down fighting. He felt rage rise inside him. It seemed to take hold and his vision blurred. Everything was out of focus, and the sidewalk seemed to recede. He reached for the wall and steadied himself while desperately trying to see what his attacker was.

A car came around in the lot. The headlights speared brightly across the sidewalk and the man disappeared around the corner of the building. Then the lights swung away as the car pulled into a space.

Griffen slumped against the wall and discovered he was nauseous. After two tries the key worked in his door. Minutes later the shaking stopped and Griffen risked a look out the door. The parking lot was pleasantly empty.

Tired as he was, Griffen was far too wound up now to sleep. The surge of adrenaline from his mysterious encounter had left him feeling shaken and wired up. After checking one more time to make sure the coast was clear, he made his way into the motel’s lobby bar and settled in for a short drink and a long think.

Valerie was right, of course. It didn’t matter if Uncle Malcolm was crazy or sane about the whole dragon thing. If there were people out there who believed it and were ready to act on it, then he and Valerie had little choice but to take it seriously as well. The only trouble was, he didn’t have the vaguest clue as to what he should do next.

With school behind him, he had gambled heavily on getting a job with his uncle Malcolm only to have that crumble completely. Now he was homeless, adrift with all his worldly possessions in two suitcases, in what was left of his car. What was more, now he had Valerie in tow.

Hooking up with his sister completed the only agenda he had when he blew out of Michigan. Short of throwing a dart at a map, he had no idea of where they should go from here.

“Yo! Bartender! A Jack and Coke for me and another Irish for my man here!”

The familiar voice pulled Griffen out of his reverie and he craned his neck around to view the figure striding toward his table.

“Jerome?” he said. “Man! What are you doing here?”

The lean, dark man held up one finger signaling for Griffen to wait a moment as he detoured by the bar to gather up their drinks. As always, Jerome was stylishly dressed, with a tan sports coat worn over a cream-colored shirt with dark brown slacks that set off his coffee-colored skin to perfection. No matter what situation they were in when they ran across each other, Jerome always made Griffen feel underdressed.

Fast on the heels of his recognition, however, Griffen felt a sudden stab of suspicion. What was Jerome doing here?

They were passing friends on campus. Mostly, their relationship had grown from Jerome serving as his on-campus bookie on the rare occasions that he bet on football or other spectator sports. They gained a mutual respect for each other over the poker tables, as Jerome was one of the few that could hold his own against Griffen even when he was trying his hardest. None of this would help to explain what Jerome was doing here, hundreds of miles from their mutual stomping grounds.

“Here you go, Grifter,” Jerome said, setting a fresh Irish down next to the half-finished one already on the table and pulling up a chair. “Nice to know someone else who always drinks the same thing. Simplifies things.”

“Thanks, Jer,” Griffen said, forcing a casualness he didn’t feel. “I sure didn’t expect to see you here. What brings you to these parts?”

“Lookin’ for you, of course.” His friend smiled, leaning back. “Fortunately or not, you aren’t hard to find. We need to talk, my friend.”

Griffen’s head was spinning, and he held up a restraining hand.

“Slow up a minute, bro,” he said. “I’ve been driving all night and so I’m a little slow. Why are you looking for me, and what do you mean I’m not hard to find?”