Dragons Wild

“Think back, Big Brother,” she said. “When you were in school, you never thought beyond today. You liked the soft, irresponsible life and only lived for the next card game or woman. Any attempt to get you to take anything seriously would have you running for the horizon. Now look at you. You’re heading up an entire gambling operation, schmoozing with the local bigwigs, and working at setting policy and procedures. That’s a big change no matter how you look at it. The thing is you seem to be enjoying it. You’re taking to it like a duck to water.”

“So, are you saying this change is a good thing, or a bad thing?” Griffen said thoughtfully.

“I don’t know yet,” Valerie said with a grimace. “The jury is still out on that one. It’s good to see you enjoying yourself. On the other hand, we already know you’re in the crosshairs. Actually, we both are. The weather may be cooling down a bit, but I’ve got a feeling things are going to get hot for us.”

Griffen considered what his sister had said for several moments, then rose from his seat, tossing some money on the table for a tip.

“Hate to eat and run, Little Sister,” he said, “but I think I need to have a chat with Mose. Maybe catch up with you later.”

“She’s right, Young Dragon,” Mose said with a smile. “Of course you’ve changed. You’ve had ideas and opinions ever since you got here. The difference is, now you’re doing more telling than asking.”

Griffen frowned.

“That makes me sound pretty pushy and arrogant,” he said.

“No. That makes you sound confident,” Mose said. “It makes you sound like a dragon.”

He leaned forward in his chair.

“Look at all you’ve learned and done in a little over two months,” he said earnestly. “You’ve got a good handle on our operation. You’ve handled a couple of potentially nasty situations pretty much by yourself. You’ve even made some changes in policies that have been in place for decades. Everybody in the crew looks to you for leadership…and a lot of folks outside the crew as well. For a new dragon, fresh out of the box, you’re doing yourself proud. If I had any doubts about turning the leadership over to you, they’re long gone.”

“I guess.” Griffen sighed. “Say, Mose. About the whole thing with taking over the leadership. How long do you figure it will be before I’m ready for that?”

Mose threw back his head and laughed.

“Young Dragon,” he said, “you haven’t been paying attention. It’s already happened. I just said that everyone is looking to you for leadership, and that includes me. For all intents and purposes, you are the dragon of this crew.”

Fifty-three

Griffen was still thinking about what Mose had said as he unlocked the front gate and let himself into the complex courtyard. Behind him, the now familiar sounds of the city faded. The clip-clop of a passing carriage being the loudest as he shut the gate.

It was true that he was pretty much running the gambling operation now. But did that really make him the local dragon? He had nowhere near Mose’s experience or wisdom. More important, on many levels he knew he lacked the confidence and his abilities to truly be a leader. The head honcho.

Suddenly, the lights in the courtyard, those fake gas lamps New Orleans was famous for, went out.

Griffen stopped in his tracks. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he had relaxed his now habitual scan for trouble or tension. This, however, was too blatant to ignore.

The courtyard was not completely dark. There was a bit of ambient light from the street, and a little coming from between the curtains of his upstairs apartment where he usually kept a light on in the living room, even when he was out. There was also one gas lamp on a post still lit, creating a ten-foot pool of light.

A figure stepped out of the shadows in the courtyard and into that pool of light and stood there, waiting. It was a short, slightly built man. It took a moment, but Griffen finally recognized him as the man who had been in the fight at the Irish pub the night someone had slipped the lime slice into his water back.

“Mr. McCandles? I believe we have some unfinished business.”

“And you would be the George,” he said, keeping his voice level.

The man bowed slightly.

“So you have heard of me. I was starting to wonder there for a while.”

“Is this it, then?” Griffen said. “The showdown at high noon?”

“Considering the hours you keep, I felt that the wee hours of the morning would be more appropriate,” the George said. “But basically, you’re correct. This is it.”

Griffen began walking along one of the paths between the flower beds, more to be doing something and to hide his nervousness than anything else. The George watched him, turning slowly to match his progress but not leaving his pool of light. There was something about the way that he watched; a tilt of his head, or the shine of his eye, or perhaps just his stance that made Griffen’s stomach knot. This man was a predator.