Apparently satisfied, Jumbo opened the door behind him. A small, wiry, ebony black man came in. He was maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, and seemed to vibrate with energy. As he moved, he seemed to throb to the beat of unheard music. Gris-gris.
Jumbo stayed by the door as Gris-gris moved to their table.
“Hey, Jerome,” he said by way of greeting. “This the new guy?”
Jerome nodded.
“Gris-gris. Griffen.”
“Have a seat, Gris-gris,” Griffen said, gesturing to an empty chair at the table. “I thought we should meet and have a little talk.”
“We got nothing to talk about, white boy,” Gris-gris said. “What I got to say, I can say standing up.”
He pulled himself erect and folded his arms across his chest.
“Since I’ve been running my game, I’ve been paying a piece to Mose. I didn’t have to, but he’s been operating down here forever and I figured it was only respectful to acknowledge that. Then I hear he’s bring in some white-bread college boy from up north to take over his operation.”
He unfolded his arms and put his fists on his hips.
“Now, Mose is Mose, but I don’t figure I owe you anything. I’m going to keep my money and keep running my game and I don’t see there’s any way you’re going to change that. You sure ain’t going to do it with talk. That’s all I got to say to you.”
The bar was now dead quiet as everyone concentrated on not looking like they were listening in on the exchange.
Griffen took another sip of his coffee and set the cup down.
“You’re wrong, Gris-gris,” he said. “I didn’t ask you to come here to threaten you in any way. In fact, I just wanted to let you know that I’m your new best friend.”
Gris-gris frowned.
“And just how do you figure that?” he challenged.
“Simple.” Griffen shrugged. “I’m the only thing between you and her.”
As he spoke, Valerie came off her stool at the bar and grabbed Gris-gris with both hands, slamming him against the wall.
“You listen to me, little man,” she hissed, her face close to his. “I don’t give a rat’s ass if you run your game or not or if you pay in a percentage. But if you dis my big brother again…if I hear about you talking trash the way you’ve been doing…I will personally kick your boney ass up one side of Bourbon Street and down the other. Now, do we understand each other?”
She gave him a small shake.
“I said, do you understand?”
“Um…Val?” Griffen said. “He can’t answer if he can’t breathe.”
“He can nod,” she said, not looking around.
Gris-gris managed to vibrate his head up and down.
“Fine,” Valerie said, setting him down. “I knew you’d listen to reason. Hey, Jumbo. How’s it going?”
With that she slid back onto her bar stool and returned to her drink.
Gris-gris straightened his clothes, then looked at Valerie’s back.
She ignored him.
Then he looked at Griffen.
Griffen shrugged and gave a little grimace.
Finally, Gris-gris turned on his heel and left the bar, with Jumbo, deadpan, trailing along after him. As the door closed behind them, the bar talk resumed, a little louder than before.
Griffen exhaled a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“I think that went well,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “I’m about ready for a real drink. How about you?”
“In a minute,” Jerome said. “Did you notice anything unusual happen during that exchange?”
“You saw it, too, huh?” Griffen said. “I was thinking that maybe it was an optical illusion.”
“Um…what did you see?”
“When Val picked Gris-gris up and pinned him against the wall,” Griffen said. “It looked to me like she grew about six or eight inches while she was reading him the riot act. She’s back to normal now, so I thought it was just my eyes playing tricks on me.”
“If so, then my eyes are playing the same tricks,” Jerome said. “But I was talking about the other thing.”
“What other thing?”
“While she was working on Gris-gris and everyone was watching the action, you blew a smoke ring.”
“I what?”
“You blew a smoke ring. A nice round one until the draft blew it apart.”
Griffen looked at him.
“You’re kidding me. Right?”
“Well, while you’re laughing at that, sneak a peek at your right hand.”
Griffen glanced down at his hand that was holding the coffee cup.
At first he thought he was having trouble focusing his eyes, as the image was fading…but his hand, for a few lingering moments, was covered with leathery scales.
Seventeen
Even though it was only supposed to be temporary shelter, Griffen found himself growing increasingly fond of the complex he and Valerie were housed in. He had been puzzled at first by the apparent lack of neighbors, but when he asked, the answer was quite simple.
Mose owned the whole complex. He used the apartments to host the occasional poker game if they didn’t want the lack of privacy that was the downside of using a hotel room. They also served as “perks” for various out of town high rollers, one of the few concessions made to the new competition of the casino. New Orleans wasn’t used to Vegas-style casinos, but with a relatively new Harrah’s literally across Canal Street, the locals had to adapt.
The location of the complex was convenient, tucked away on a small street running parallel to Decatur one block into the Quarter proper. It was only a block and a half away from Jackson Square with its wide range of amusements and distractions, and the street itself was lined with small shops featuring used books, small restaurants, craft and vintage clothing shops, and even one small local bar, Harry’s Corner, that was open twenty-four hours a day.
The complex itself was impressive. It had been designed and built in the 1800s by the same person who had designed and built Pat O’Brien’s, a popular bar and restaurant on St. Peter in the heart of the Quarter. Griffen learned this by listening to the carriage drivers who paused at the entrance-way to rest their mules while regaling their passengers with the history of this particular landmark.
Griffen found himself feeling not only comfortable, but safe. It was as if, nestled as his temporary home was in the surroundings, it was protected by the Quarter itself. He felt himself relaxing, comforted by old brick and the constant swirl of activity beyond the complex walls.
After the inevitable wrought-iron gate on the street, there was a low carriage passage leading to the open-air courtyard. The courtyard itself featured heavily planted gardens, with the apartments in the three buildings surrounding it reaching up two stories. The second floor was circled by a wooden walkway edged by a railing, affording residents a fine view of the courtyard as they emerged from their dwelling.
It was on that walkway that Griffen found himself one morning in the early daylight hours. He was in one of those rare moods that occasionally strike young men. That is, he had abandoned the music and lingering crowds of the clubs to return home, but upon reaching that destination, discovered he was not yet ready to go to sleep. Having noted the clear sky and fresh air still not heated by the new day’s sun, instead of watching a DVD or curling up to read, he decided to pull a chair out onto the walkway and enjoy the morning while he read.
Unfortunately, the book he was reading proved insufficient to hold his attention. He had picked it up at the used bookstore down the street, but as he started to read it, he realized it was merely a reprint of a novel he had read before, rereleased under a new title with a new cover.