Dragons Wild

“Yeah, and my gut tells me that’s because that’s how he wants to seem. It was all just too damn smooth. With your permission, I’m gonna check him out.”

“Gris-gris, you aren’t someone I can order to do or not do something. You don’t need my permission. But if you do, and you really think you need to, you be careful. The last thing I want is you in trouble, and thinking that it was my fault.”

“Com’on, Grifter. You gotta be kidding me. I’m the only one responsible for me, that’s how I like it. Just want to make sure we all know who this guy really is. Besides one smooth damn dude.”

“Some people,” Padre said even as he sank the eight ball, “just have a natural charm.”

Griffen looked at him close, and felt that kernel of worry grow a bit. If nothing else, Nathaniel was the only out of towner who had made an effort to penetrate their group.

Was his little sister dating the George?

Forty

Griffen had to admit to himself, grudgingly, no place was perfect.

The French Quarter had food, music, endless variety. It was damn near impossible to grow bored there. Just the other day he had been wandering to his apartment when fireworks had burst to life above him. Grand, professional displays fired from a barge on the river just a few blocks away. No holiday, no special festival, just one of the countless conventions that decided to light up the night for the whole Quarter.

If festivals and fun grew boring, one could simply sit back and watch the young tourists, or at least the young tourist ladies, sweating away in their tank tops and shorts. As the old joke went, nice scenery in the Quarter, the buildings aren’t bad either. Everyday there was something that tugged at Griffen’s attention, and made him glad that, as bizarre as his life had turned, it had brought him here.

Despite this, Griffen had one vice that this delightfully sinful place didn’t begin to address. It supplied him with constant booze, delightful sights, and excitement both tame and dangerous. Yet, he felt himself yearning for just one thing.

If only the damned place had a decent movie theater within walking distance!

Okay, so it was a petty complaint. He got enough fresh DVDs that if he chose to he could plunk down in his apartment and never leave. Not to mention that the bartenders in his favorite pubs would pass him the remote controls to the TVs there without batting an eye. Still, it wasn’t the same.

Griffen loved movies. His tastes ran to the classics. Old comedies, action movies, musicals. But he would watch anything in a pitch, and had. Some of his favorites were pure camp, and the proper place to see a movie the first time was the theater. Sure he preferred older films, but the experience of the theater, surrounded by others, eating cheap popcorn, and losing oneself in whatever new world the screen presented. It was one of his simplest pleasures.

He had mentioned it to Jerome one day, because he realized being crammed in a dark room with a bunch of strangers wasn’t exactly safe. It would be the perfect opportunity for the George to try something.

Jerome had looked at him for a long time before answering.

“Griffen, as soon as you let his threat dictate whether you do or do not live and enjoy your life…well, I figure by then he might as well just stick a knife in your ribs.”

Griffen had to admit, he had a point. In fact, for Jerome, it was absolutely eloquent.

“All right, then I’m going to call a cab and…”

Griffen trailed off, Jerome had started laughing at him. Hard enough that tears were beading in the corner of his eyes.

“Oh, hell, Grifter! Sure have been down here too long. Tell me when you want to go and I’ll get the Goblin pulled out of storage.”

Oh…yeah.

That was a plus.

Griffen found himself grinning a few days later. It had been too long since he had driven his car. Actually, it had been too long since he had seen his car. Apparently Jerome had found a place outside the Quarter with secure parking, and the equivalent of valet service. They had his spare keys and would just park and lock it at a given time and place. Surprisingly, this was actually cheaper then the garages inside the Quarter.

The Goblin had been parked on the side of the street, waiting for him. Whoever had delivered it had already headed back to their other duties, and Griffen stood for a while just looking over her. The clean lines of the car, the gleaming green. He missed the old Sunbeam Tiger more than he had realized. Sitting there, looking to his eye as eager as he felt.

Maybe the movie could wait after all, a few hours on the road, just tooling around, and a later show. That sounded about right. Sometimes it helped to have a reminder that there was life outside of the Quarter.

He unlocked the door and slipped inside. For a few moments he just sat, hands on the steering wheel, feeling the texture under his fingertips. Maybe movies in the theater wasn’t the only vice that the French Quarter wasn’t quite built to indulge. He sighed happily and slipped the key into the ignition. Turned it.