“I’m finding this real hard to believe,” Griffen said.
“But it fits what you’ve already suspected,” Mose said.
“Yeah. Yeah, it does. I think Valerie’s taken up with someone who’s more than he seems.”
“Huh, well, maybe I could take a look at her; see if she’s under a ’fluence.”
“From what you’ve said, only a few people have serious talent at this, even in dragon circles. Any idea who might be targeting Valerie?”
“Too early to say, I might know better when I see her. It’s such a style thing that if I’ve seen their work before I’ll recognize it.”
“And can I use my will to break her hold?”
“Yes and no, you can help, but with a dragon of her stature, you will also have to teach her how to break it. As soon as it comes from within, everything that he has laid on her should crumble like a badly made house of cards.”
“Good.”
“One more thing, Griffen, and this is purely from what I’ve heard. If I had a guess, touch would amplify it. Don’t ask why, pheromones directly, a direct channel to the psyche, I don’t know. But keep your guard up. Story goes, when two glamour users touch and go to war, the effects on the loser are devastating.”
“How devastating?”
“Well, the loser is pretty much stripped of his will, and the winner’s own is imposed directly.”
Mose paused and sipped his drink, and a small tremor ran through his body. If Griffen didn’t know any better, he would have thought the man was afraid.
“This here being New Orleans. Ever heard of zombies?”
Forty-seven
It was Monday night. Actually, it was twelve thirty in the morning on Tuesday, but by Quarter reckoning that was still Monday. As was becoming his habit on Mondays when there wasn’t a game on the schedule, Griffen set aside the night to watch a movie or three on DVD.
The reason for this was simplicity itself. Officially, new DVDs were released nationally every Tuesday. The Quarter, being the Quarter and fiercely competitive for every dollar, had devised a way around this rule. Both the major multimedia stores in the Quarter, Tower and Virgin, stayed open until one in the morning on Mondays, allowing them to sell the new releases to the late-night Quarterites that didn’t want to wait until the next day.
Griffen had done his shopping this week at Tower. Even though it was a couple blocks farther from his complex than Virgin, they often had better prices. There was also a better selection of the old movies that he traditionally favored.
Walking along the riverside of Decatur Street, he mentally reviewed his selections with no small degree of self-satisfaction. Of particular pleasure was finding the old Danny Kaye movie, The Five Pennies , on DVD. Ever since stopping in to listen to Steamboat Willie and his band play in an open-air bar on Bourbon Street, Griffen had been slightly nostalgic for the old big-band sound, and this movie about Red Nichols was just the thing to satisfy that craving.
As he walked, however, he slowly became aware that someone was behind him. Whoever it was neither fell back nor closed the distance, but seemed content to match his pace. That in itself was noteworthy, since, as a transplanted Northerner, Griffen tended to walk faster than most of the leisurely strollers in the Quarter.
His recent experiences had made him wary, so he decided to try one of the techniques Padre had coached him on to check a tail. Pausing in midstride, he set down his bag of DVDs and stooped down, loosening and retying his shoelace. The follower didn’t stop, closing the gap between them. Reclaiming his purchases, Griffen straightened and looked back. The approaching figure was instantly recognizable.
“Hey, Slim,” he said. “How’s it going?”
“Actually, I was kinda lookin’ for you, Mr. Griffen,” the street entertainer said. “Can we talk for a few? Maybe over by the river?”
A small alarm sounded in Griffen’s mind.
“I’m sort of in a hurry,” he said casually. “Can we do it another time?”
“It’s really important,” Slim said, his voice flat.
Griffen stared at him for a long moment.
“Do we have a problem, Slim?” he said.
“That’s what I want to find out,” the entertainer said. “Shall we?”
He gestured toward the Moonwalk.
Griffen continued to hesitate.
“You know, Slim,” he said carefully, “I haven’t had much luck with surprise meetings lately.”
“Yeah, I heard about that,” Slim said. “But I ain’t no damn dope dealer ambushing you. I’m coming to you head on and axing to talk.”
Griffen made his decision.
“Lead on,” he said, gesturing for Slim to precede him.
The two men walked through the parking lot beside the Jackson Brewery, now a small shopping center of stores, crossed the railroad and cable-car tracks, and emerged on the Moonwalk by the paddle wheeler, Natchez , silent and deserted at this hour.
Slim motioned for Griffen to sit on one of the benches lining the Moonwalk, while he himself stood staring at the river and the tour boat. After a minute or two passed, Griffen began to grow restless.
“So. What can I do for you, Slim?” he said, breaking the silence.
“I’ve been hearing a lot about you, Mr. Griffen,” Slim said, not turning around. “Some of it good. Some, not so good. Been watching you myself trying to figure you out, but I can’t make up my mind. I’ve finally decided to talk with you direct.”
The man turned and faced Griffen, his arms folded across his chest.
“What is it you’re doin’ in my town, Mr. Griffen?”
“I thought that was common knowledge,” Griffen said. “Mose has asked me to take over his gambling operation, and he and Jerome have been teaching me the ropes.”
“And what else?” Slim pressed.
“Might I ask, first, what your interest in all this is?” Griffen countered.
Slim gave him a smile that held no humor at all.
“Take a look over your shoulder and figure it out yourself.”
Griffen turned slowly in his seat and looked back.
Rats! Twenty…no, closer to thirty of the large wharf creatures were arrayed in a loose half circle with him at the focal point. They weren’t snuffling around or foraging for food. Instead, they were sitting silently and staring at him.
A totally inappropriate thought flashed through Griffen’s mind—he was glad he hadn’t picked up the remake of Willard on DVD.
With an effort, he broke off his examination of the animals and turned back to Slim.
“So,” he said. “You’re one of those. The animal control people or hoodoos or whatever.”
The street entertainer grimaced.
“Never did like that name,” he said. “We aren’t really a group. We don’t have meetings or conduct rituals or anything. We’re just a few people with the same skills who know each other. Can’t rightly see why anyone would want to try to take us over.”
“Me neither,” Griffen said. “Least of all, me. I’ve got enough on my plate already.”
“That ain’t exactly the way it was told to me,” Slim said.
“Yeah. I heard that someone had given you folks some cock-and-bull story about my having a hidden agenda,” Griffen said. “Well, I’m telling you, man to man, that I have no interest in controlling your group or trying to use it in any way. I might like to sit down and talk with you someday, but that’s pure curiosity. If you didn’t want to share your secrets, well and good. That’s your call.”
“Uh-huh,” Slim said. “Of course, that’s what you’d say if you were hatching some kind of plan.”
“So, what am I supposed to do to prove it?” Griffen said. “I’m already doing nothing. I haven’t even tried to contact any of you, much less cozy up to anyone.”