Several of the others around the bar turned around meaningfully. Though no one actually reached for anything, Griffen could clearly see bulges under coats and shirts. A trained gambler, he knew not to bet that the bulges were cell phones, not guns. Of course, there was what Little Joe had said about his reputation to handle himself.
Griffen sighed, then reached over and took Little Joe’s cigar from the ashtray. He blew on the glowing end until it was red hot, not flame, just stoking the embers. Then keeping eye contact with his opponent, he slowly ground it out in his own palm.
“I think you’d be wiser to play cards,” he said.
It took Griffen less than an hour to win Little Joe’s hundred.
The two men shook hands when they parted company.
Twenty-six
It is surprising, for an area that comes close to worshipping food, just how understocked its average grocery is. True, the physical confines of the Quarter were prohibitive. A massive chain supermarket simply would not fit in one of the refurbished old buildings that were the norm. So small groceries and delis stocked the basics, as well as an erratic supply of specialty goods and ingredients. And, like so many other Quarter businesses, many were open 24/7.
Valerie had finished her morning jog earlier than usual, and found herself more in the mood to cook up something than stop into one of the early morning restaurants. No, she realized, it was more than that.
The run had done very little to relieve her frustrations. She was worried about Griffen, and what had him distracted that he obviously wasn’t up to telling her. Sitting in a restaurant when she was still restless would be torture. But beating a few eggs into submission? Yeah, that could work.
Unfortunately, that meant she needed to get some eggs. Like so many people visiting and living in the area, her fridge held very little in the way of supplies. A few leftovers, some soda and favorite snacks, and a bottle of good wine, because one never knows when it could come in handy.
So, she stopped at the local A&P, the closest thing to a proper grocery, just a few doors down from Yo Mama’s. As she approached, she saw some of the average early morning crowd on the street. A drunk passed out in a doorway, a few musicians and street performers resting against a building and sharing a cigarette, and a few shopkeepers in the process of hosing down the sidewalk and opening up their fronts. There always seemed to be more people who hadn’t gone to bed yet than there were early risers.
She was just about to enter the store when she caught the rank smell of too many cocktails and not enough bathing. She started to turn abruptly, but before she could finish found a hand palming her rump. Valerie stiffened, letting out a hiss that was as much rage as shock, and finished her turn.
“Hey, baaaaby.”
The man before her was dressed in filthy jeans and a shirt that seemed more a collection of stains than actual cloth. His matted hair and almost black fingernails would have suggested he was homeless, but his shoes and watch were both high quality. All this was a secondary observation to Valerie. First was the fact that even facing him he was trying to maintain his balance and his grip on her behind.
Valerie grabbed the man’s wrist and jerked hard enough to fling him into the wall. He stumbled and cracked his face against the brick, long scratches embedding in his cheek. Whirling, back to the wall and braced, he jerked out a knife that even Valerie knew was substandard. A little pocket knife that probably couldn’t open an envelope.
“I am not your baby,” she said.
“Bitch, I kill you for that!”
“Baby, no. Bitch. I can do that.”
She reached out as if to grab the knife, and he slashed at her hand. While he was focused solely on the weapon, she took a half step forward, and slammed her other foot into his crotch. He sank to the ground, eyes shut and groaning. She ripped the knife out of his hand blade first, reversed it, and pressed it under his nose. His eyes popped wide again.
Which was, of course, when two police officers stepped out of the A&P with a bag of groceries.
“Now, there’s something you don’t see every day,” one said, looking at the man on the ground with Valerie standing over him with a knife.
“Miss, could you drop the blade! Now!” said the other, one hand resting on the butt of his gun.
Valerie did as she was told, and stepped away from him. The man gratefully shut his eyes again and rolled into a ball. The police stepped forward, guns still in holsters but clearly ready to clear the leather.
“Whoa, whoa. You best be holdin’ it.”
The officers and Valerie glanced to the side, and one of the street performers had stood up and was striding across the street to join them. He was a tall, thin man with very dark skin and very white clothes. Bleached so well they practically shone. The police saw his approach, and actually relaxed marginally. One nodded his way.
“Slim, you see what happened?” the officer said.
“Sure did. Dude saw Ms. Valerie here looking all fine in her workout clothes and then forgot everything he ever did know about manners. When she reminded him, he thought he would cut her for the trouble.”
The two officers looked from Slim to the man and woman. Valerie, tall, attractive, and in sweat-stained but otherwise clean apparel. The other, filthy, dirty, and obviously still drunk. They nodded to each other and relaxed more fully.
“Ma’am, do you want us to run him in? The little weasel might try to push for assault, but I doubt it.”
Valerie caught Slim’s shake of a head out of the corner of her eye.
“No, that’s all right. I got mine in,” she said.
“That you surely did.”
The officers shared a grin, and picked up their forgotten groceries. Valerie and Slim watched them head around the corner and out of sight.
“Thanks, Ms. Valerie. I knows this idiot, and the last thing he needs is more trouble with the po-leece. We both owe you,” Slim said.
“You’re welcome, but how come you seem to know me so well?”
“Ah, well, to answer that…”
Slim bent down and picked up the knife, looking over it with an expression of disgust. He shrugged, and pressed it against the downed man’s belly. The drunk gave a pathetic squeak, and tried to curl tighter into himself.
“You open your eyes right now!” Slim said. “Right now, I say. Good. You think you seen some tourist babe fresh from the hotel and you’d have some fun. Right? Well, I gots news for you, son. This here is Griffen McCandles’s sister you tried pawing.”
The man’s eyes shot wider still as he looked from Slim to Valerie. He tried to blubber an apology, but his words still would not come. Slim nodded and straightened up, and without looking chucked the knife squarely into the nearest trash can.
“That should take care of things. Good morning to you, Ms. Valerie.” Slim nodded and sauntered away, and Valerie stood watching him go. A mixture of emotions warred through her, holding her in her spot. By the time he was gone, her eyes had narrowed dangerously. She started to leave, turned back, and kicked the man once more in the stomach, then stomped off.
The other performers cheered from their perch across the street.
Twenty-seven
Once in a while, everyone needs advice.
Valerie found herself pacing back and forth in Mose’s living room, which wasn’t really large enough for her stride. After about four steps, she had to turn and start back the other way. Mose watched her progress and leaned back in his chair, seemingly completely relaxed. It was a good act, considering her nervous energy had him practically twitching. Being in tight quarters with an agitated female dragon was something he had learned from long experience to avoid. He was thinking that he either needed to calm her down or jump out the window and seek cover.