Robert Asprin's Dragons Run (36 page)

“How are you doing?” Griffen asked, peering at the scoreboard.

“Winning.”

“Then don’t stop,” Griffen said. “If I need your help, I’ll yell. I promise.”

“Well, see that you do.” Fox Lisa leaned close to him and put her lips to his ear. “Maybe you can do something about the man who’s been staring at us. I’m okay with it, but it’s been bothering Natalie something awful. I’d speak to him, but you’re an official of this event.”

“No problem,” Griffen said. He checked the time on his cell phone. “I have a minute. Which man?”

Fox Lisa turned Griffen’s shoulders so he was facing the rows of seats near the left corner of the hall. A knot of onlookers sat there in twos or threes, talking among themselves, eating popcorn, drinking or smoking. Griffen couldn’t figure out who Fox Lisa meant, until the form of Rose coalesced into view behind a man in sunglasses leaning on a cane and a neatly dressed tawny-skinned woman in the front row. As he recognized them, Griffen felt an inner jolt that shook him to his feet. The hot spark in his belly started dancing up and down.

“I know who that is. I’ll take care of it.”

Griffen
marched over to Duvallier and glared down at him. The shrunken cheeks molded themselves into a pleasant smile as Duvallier removed his cigar from his mouth.

“What are you doing here?” Griffen demanded.

“Well, hey there, Griffen. Good afternoon to you, too. You remember Miss Callaway?”

Griffen felt shamed into politeness.

“Hello, Miss Callaway. Nice to see you. What are you doing here, Mr. Duvallier?”

“I paid my money. I want to see what happens.”

“What are you talking about?”

Duvallier peered up at him over the tops of his dark lenses. The red eyes glinted.

“I sponsored a few players. I intend to win a majority of your prizes.”

“You what?”

“I have a few friends from the old days. They don’t need the money, but they like a chance to match sticks against the young people. I love a good competition. Why, you been playin’ with my old pal Elmer. A real pro. Wipes up the floor with the competition. My other old boys is the same.”

Griffen was horrified but fascinated.

“You brought in a ringer. A
dead
ringer.”

Duvallier grinned, showing square teeth in the shrunken gums.

“Might put it that way. Nothin’ in your rules says that the players got to be among the living.”

Griffen began to have a creeping feeling that few of the people in the room, except for the reporters, and maybe not all of them, were human. Shape-shifters, dragons, dead people . . . But he refused to be distracted.

“You can’t stay here.”

Duvallier took a drag on his cigar and blew a stream of gray smoke at Griffen. Griffen coughed.

“Can’t make me go. It’s a public event, for a wannabe elected official.”

“Yes, I can,” Griffen said. About ten yards away, he spotted Harrison making his rounds at the perimeter of the room. He strode over and grabbed the burly police detective by the arm.

“What’s your problem, McCandles?”

Griffen hauled Harrison over to the seats and pointed down at Duvallier.

“Arrest this man!”

Harrison looked from the elderly gentleman in dark glasses to Griffen and back again.

“On what charge?”

“Attempted murder!”

“Whose murder?”

“Penny Dunbar.”

Harrison gave him a glance that asked if Griffen was in his right mind or not.

“That Penny Dunbar? The one who’s doing a victory lap around her table?”

“She looks pretty alive and kickin’ to me,” Duvallier agreed. “You barkin’ up the wrong tree, son.” He eyed the detective up and down. “Say, ain’t you Oscar Harrison’s boy?

“Yes, sir,” Harrison said, then went very still. “Do I know you, sir?” Duvallier took off his glasses. The red eyes blazed into light. The cop didn’t back away. Griffen admired him for standing his ground. “Yeah, I thought that might be you, Mr. Duvallier. McCandles, you don’t want to kick over this anthill.”

“I have to,” Griffen insisted. “Rose told me that Penny’s life is in danger!”

The eagerness on Harrison’s face made Griffen’s heart turn over.

“Is Rose here? Where is she?”

“Back there,” Griffen said. He pointed to the second tier of seats, but the voodoo queen had disappeared. Harrison’s face fell. Griffen was sorry to disappoint him, but his mission was urgent. “Duvallier told me that he was going to have Penny killed!”

Harrison sighed and took a notebook out of his pocket.

“Did you say something like that, sir?”

Duvallier tried to look outraged, but his eyes twinkled with sparks.

“I certainly did not. You don’t get to put words in my mouth, Griffen. I ain’t no danger to that girl’s life!”

Griffen goggled at him.

“But you said . . . what about you trying to kill her?”

Duvallier tipped a length of ash onto the carpet. Miss Callaway tsk’ed at him. Duvallier patted her hand. “Haven’t you felt like strangling her now and again over the last few months? She could drive a man to drink. I told you
a man
asked me to kill her. Don’t have to do that. He’d really be happy enough if I drove her out of the race. That’s gonna happen real soon now. I work in mysterious ways. Would I kill my own great-granddaughter?”

Griffen put a finger in his ear and wiggled it, but he knew he had heard correctly.

“Your . . . what?”

Duvallier grinned around his cigar. He exhaled a huge puff of smoke.

“Sure enough, son. That girl’s a chip off the old block, a real deal-doer and bargain-maker. I just don’t want her in this race. She can’t win it, and she’s beating her head against a wall for nothin’. She won’t listen to me. I even told her I’d back her in a decade or so, but she wants everythin’ right now. I’m just playin’ both sides. And getting’ paid for it, I might add.” He gestured toward a pale-faced man with light brown hair who stood among the onlookers near Penny’s table. “He’s gonna get what he wants for his candidate, but I ain’t doin’ nothing to Penny. She’s done plenty herself.”

“So you have no real power,” Griffen said, looking down his nose at the old man. “You know a bunch of zombies and ghosts who play dirty tricks for you.”

Duvallier was unmoved by the insults.

“You don’t know a damned thing, and that’s a fact, Griffen. I thought you was more mature than Penny.”

Griffen felt his temper flare. Smoke jetted from his nostrils. He moved toward Duvallier, who beckoned him with an upturned hand.

“Come ahead, boy. Try. You’ll be sorry, but come right ahead.”

A heavy blow fell on his shoulders, and Griffen found himself being hauled backward. Harrison kept hold of him.

“Leave it, McCandles. He said he’s not going to do anything to her. Leave it!”

Griffen blew one more gust of smoke. He raised a threatening finger toward Duvallier’s nose.

“All right, but one move on Penny, I will consider it to be your responsibility. I’ll take you to pieces.”

Duvallier laughed and tapped more ash on the rug.

“You can try, son. You can try.”

Griffen retreated. Harrison kept an arm on his shoulders until they had moved away from the spectators.

“Count to ten, or whatever you have to do,” Harrison said. “Duvallier’s a power in this town, has been for decades. He’s a pain in the butt, but he doesn’t lie. He doesn’t have to.”

“Well, if he’s not the threat to Penny, who is?”

“I haven’t heard anything. McCandles . . . ?”

Harrison hesitated, his face in a blank mask. He’d already shown enough emotion for the day.

“I’ll tell you if I see her again,” Griffen promised. Harrison nodded and moved off to continue his patrol.

“You’re hiding her! You can’t keep her from me! She has my grandchild!” a female voice shrilled. Malcolm’s voice replied, loudly but calm.

“I have not seen her, but if I had, I would not inform you.”

“You’re lying!”

“Please,” Malcolm said, his expression pained. “Why would I lie? Please leave. You are not welcome here.”

“No! I will not let you put me off. We’ll have it out right here and now!”

Griffen looked up. Malcolm was in the doorway, arguing with someone too short for Griffen to see over the crowd. But he didn’t need to see her to know it was Melinda. Griffen strode to his uncle’s side. Melinda wasn’t alone. Her two pet goons loomed at her back. Two other men stood nearby, a tall, good-looking man with blue eyes and wavy black Superman hair, and a smaller, slender man with blond hair. Griffen’s dragon sense went off on the tall man. The other was a puzzle. He had no time to figure it out. The reporters, looking for new material to perk up the rather tame feature pieces they were taping, saw an altercation brewing. They nudged their photographers and cameramen and started to move away from the players, toward the scene of the action. Griffen opened his stride to get there ahead of them.

“There he is, the uncle-to-be!” the small, stout female said, holding out her hands toward Griffen. She bore down on him and attached herself to his arm like a clamp. “Where is my grandchild’s mother?”

“Come with me,” Griffen said, holding on to her hand firmly with both of his. He tried to steer her out of the room. She didn’t move an inch. He felt as if she had taken root in the hotel floor.

“Oh, no,” Melinda said. She looked around her as if for the first time. “I’m not going where you can ignore me. What is all this? A party?”

Inwardly, Griffen wanted to grab a pool cue from the closest table and smack her with it, but he produced a friendly, easygoing smile. He lowered his voice.

“Melinda, this is a bad time. We’re running a fund-raiser here. Uncle Malcolm and I are supporting a candidate for governor.”

Melinda waved a hand.

“Yes, I know! That’s how we found you. We went to your apartment first. Imagine how impressed I was when I saw all those flyers for this event! And all for nothing! But it did tell me that you would be here now. It’s all working out for the best.”

At that moment, the candidate herself, detecting the depletion of her audience, had come to see what the fuss was all about. By the spark in her eyes, Griffen saw she knew Melinda. She put on all her charm and extended a hand.

“Hello there. I’m Penny Dunbar. I’m running for governor of Louisiana.”

Melinda ignored it. She eyed Penny up and down, dismissed her, and turned back to Malcolm.

“Oh, yes, your little puppet girl. The novelty candidate.”

“My record is as good or better than anyone else’s in this race,” Penny said.

“Good enough is hardly good enough,” Melinda said.

Horsie broke through the crowd and interposed herself between the two dragons.

“Well, it seems you must be from out of state, ma’am,” she said. She brandished a handful of flyers and tucked them into Melinda’s hand. “Representative Dunbar has a sterling record of backing law enforcement and education.”

“Putting lipstick on a pig doesn’t change the fact that it’s a pig,” Melinda said, ostentatiously dropping the pamphlets onto the floor.

The reporters grinned avidly over their recorders and notebooks.

“Is that what you say to yourself in the mirror every morning?” Penny asked, sweetly. She glanced over her shoulder at her security escort. “Winston, would you remove this
person
.”

Winston moved forward with the inevitability of an avalanche. Griffen pushed Melinda into his grasp.

“Yes, Representative. Ma’am, will you and your party please come with me?”

Melinda backed away, trying to break his grip.

“Physical intimidation! Is this how you treat potential donors? Help me!” She turned to the reporters. “They’re attacking an old woman because they don’t want the truth about their penny-ante candidate to come out!”

Horsie’s mouth dropped open. She appealed to Griffen.

“Can’t you get this woman out of here?” she begged. “This is ruining her!”

A puff of cigar smoke enveloped them all. Griffen coughed. Without looking, he knew that Duvallier was there at his elbow. The big man with the light brown hair stood beside him, looking uncomfortable.

“She’s already ruined,” Duvallier said, gleefully. “We’re just witnessin’ the burial of the corpse.”

“Please stay out of this,” Griffen said.

“Naw, gonna enjoy the show! Did I introduce you to my friend, Mr. Sandusky? Albert, say hi to Griffen.”

“Uh, hi,” said Albert.

Melinda put a dramatic hand to her forehead.

“Police brutality! I’m going to faint! I can’t take this torture!”

Horsie grabbed Griffen’s arm to get his attention. “Stop her!”

“How?” Griffen asked.

“Ma’am, no one is hurting you,” Winston said calmly. He held on firmly. Melinda writhed, managing to look feeble and frightened in the cameras’ harsh light. Malcolm was furious. He tried to push the press back, away from Melinda.

“Nothing to see here, folks,” he said. “The tournament is still in progress.”

“Griffen!”

Griffen spun toward the sound of his name. He looked over the heads of the crowd of reporters.

Through the doorway of the ballroom staggered Gris-gris and Mai. Between them was Val. His sister looked exhausted. Her face was red, and wisps of her long blond hair had escaped from the long plait over her shoulder. She wore a rumpled light blue sweat suit that had stains on the jacket. He was amazed at how large her belly had become since he had last seen her. Griffen pushed in between the onlookers, most of whom turned to see what was going on.

The tall, black-haired man was right behind him, his face taut with concern. He hurried toward Val with his arms out.

“Val! Are you all right?”

Gris-gris let go of Val’s arm and breasted up to the man. He reached into his jacket and came out with a shining curved knife. The man backed away a pace.

“Who the hell are you?” Gris-gris demanded. The man offered him a pleasant smile.

“I’m Mike. You must be Gris-gris. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

The dealer was in no mood for appeasement.

“Well, I don’t know nothin’ about you! Get away from my lady!”

“Hey!” Mai shouted. “She’s heavy!”

Griffen swooped in and got a shoulder under his sister’s arm just as she started to slump. He helped her to a chair. She clutched her side as if it hurt her. Mai sat down beside her and held her hand. Val was breathing heavily. Griffen didn’t like the pinched look of her face.

“Are you all right?” Griffen asked.

Val grinned wearily up at him. “Just can’t run like I used to. I’m all off-balance. Had to park blocks from here and run. They’ll probably tow our car.”

Griffen laughed with relief.

“You’re safe now. I’ll take care of it when this is over.”

Mai wrinkled her nose up at him.

“Do I not even rate a hello?”

So many questions urged themselves forward in his mind that Griffen hardly knew where to start.

“Valerie!” came a triumphant shout behind them.

As if magically recharged, Melinda flipped Winston backward like a cardboard cutout and shoved reporters aside. The blond man trotted behind her, exuding a proprietary air.

“There you are, darling! Now, you didn’t have to leave in such a hurry. Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to visit New Orleans?”