Dragons Wild

“Whatever.” Hank waved. “And we’re getting off the subject here. I want to hear why Mose is thinking of retiring, and I don’t think it’s just because he’s getting old.”

“Seems to me that’s Mose’s business, not ours,” the politician put in.

“That’s right,” the restaurant owner said. “We play here because Mose runs an honest game and we trust his judgment about who he lets play. I don’t think we should start questioning his judgment if he wants to step down, much less who he chooses for his successor.”

“Gentlemen, please,” Mose said. “Mr. Goodman has a right to ask any question he wants, just like I’ve got a right not to give any answers I don’t want. In this case, I don’t mind answering him.”

He took a small sip of his drink before continuing.

“I’ve been running these games for a long time now. And I mean a LONG time. That’s gotten me kind of set in my ways. You know, thinking, ‘It’s always been good doing it this way before, so why change?’ The trouble is, the world moves on. Maybe the old way isn’t as good as it could be. Maybe it needs new blood like Jerome or Griffen here with new ideas to bring some changes in. Just as an example, you know I don’t like Texas Hold ’Em, but it’s all the rage now. They got tournaments and television shows on it now, not to mention books and magazines. Maybe it’s time to give it a try.”

“So why bring this kid in?” Goodman said, jerking a thumb at Griffen. “I mean, he’s a hell of a poker player, but Jerome’s been around these games for a long time. Why bring in some outsider?”

“As a matter of fact, Mr. Goodman,” Jerome said from the sofa where he was watching television with the sound turned off, “I was the one who recommended Griffen. I’ve been playing cards with him for years and have gotten to know him pretty well. I think he can help our network in ways I can’t.”

“Like how?” Goodman pressed. “By bringing in Texas Hold ’Em? I don’t happen to like that game myself. If I wanted to play Texas Hold ’Em, I’d go to the casino.”

“For the record, sir, I don’t care for it either,” Griffen said. “If we were going to try it, my first thought would be not to bring it into these games, but to set up some separate games on a trial basis.”

“So what other kind of changes are you thinking of?” the businessman said, speaking directly to Griffen for the first time.

“Frankly, sir, I don’t know,” Griffen said easily. “As you pointed out, I’m still very new to this setup. I’ve got a lot to learn and consider before I’d even start to think about changing anything.”

“One thing you might be interested in,” Jerome said. “Griffen’s only been with us for a few weeks. Mostly, I’ve been introducing him around and showing him how we do things. In that time, we’ve had no fewer than eight independent games contact us and ask to join our network. That’s more than we had join in the last year. What’s more, the ones I’ve talked to make it clear that they’re doing it because they want to work with Griffen. I think that says something.”

“There. You see, Goodman?” the politician said. “Mose knows what he’s doing. Hell, if they were selling stock, I’d buy some.”

Mose caught Griffen’s eye and winked.

Twenty-two

Griffen had wholeheartedly adopted the nocturnal schedule of a Quarter rat, but Valerie lacked her brother’s tastes and habits. More and more she found herself embracing the Quarter by day.

At first, it had been morning jogs on the Moonwalk to keep her active and in shape. She was used to an active lifestyle, and it felt good to get her heart rate up and pounding with some simple aerobic exercise. Of course, night or day, there were always temptations to be found.

Naturally, after such healthy and worthwhile endeavors, she deserved a healthy bit of indulgence. As often as not, she ended up breakfasting at the Cafe Du Monde. The inexpensive and delicious beignets, buried under their mountains of powdered sugar, sent a rush through her at least as enjoyable as the endorphins her run produced.

She sat as she always did, right beside the rails marking the boundaries of the open-air cafe. Though it meant occasionally being hassled by tourists and panhandlers, it provided her a splendid view of Jackson Square. Already, as a lazy Sunday morning flowed over the Quarter, the Square was full of life. As she sipped her hot chocolate, another indulgence more satisfying then the strong coffee preferred by most of the cafe’s regulars, she leaned back in her chair and watched as the street entertainers plied their arts for the scattered groups of ever-present tourists.