Dragons Wild

Thirty

Nighttime Bourbon Street was the usual kaleidoscope of color and sound. Even on a slow weekday night it swirled with energy unmatched by the “hot spots” in most cities even at their most celebrative. Some of it was because there was so much packed into a small area. A lot of it was both due to the no traffic, pedestrian nature of the street after seven o’clock, and the go-cup ordinances that allowed the revelers to wander from club to club with their drinks in hand. Most of it, however, was because of the mood. People came to Bourbon Street to have fun. To see and be seen and party like there was no tomorrow. If, at times, the gaiety was a little forced or strained, well, they were there to enjoy themselves and were bound and determined to do just that.

Tonight, Valerie was on a mission, and had convinced Griffen to escort her as “a change of pace from the rut he was getting into.” He had gone along with it partly because he agreed that he needed to do something different, and partly because he enjoyed the music clubs.

That was Valerie’s mission. She had met a musician, sort of helped him haul stuff into his new apartment, and he had invited her to come hear his band play. The trouble was, she couldn’t remember which club he was playing in, the name of the band, or even his name for that matter. Then, too, there was the minor detail that there were two to three dozen clubs along an eight-block stretch of Bourbon Street that had live music.

By Griffen’s calculations, there was no way they could stop and have one drink at every club without running out of energy, money, or both. Not drinking really wasn’t an option. With the overhead, mostly rent, the Bourbon clubs paid out every month, they couldn’t afford to have people taking up the limited seating and floor space without their contributing to the coffers. There was a one-drink minimum at most places, and even a Coke would cost you six dollars.

He pointed this out to Valerie, but she waved him off. To start with, what she did remember was that the musician in question played with a “cover band.” That is, a band that mostly played popular rock and rhythm and blues music made popular by name bands. That meant they could bypass the clubs that played Dixieland, Chicago blues, Cajun, or folk music. That substantially reduced the number of clubs, but it still left a lot. Griffen, however, had long since learned to recognize when his sister was set on an idea and didn’t bother trying to argue. Instead, he just drifted along with her, enjoying the night and the company.

“I still can’t believe we’re doing this when you can’t even remember the guy’s name,” he said as they paused at a cross street that let the cabs cross Bourbon.

“You know how it is, Big Brother,” Valerie said with a shrug. “He mentioned his name when we first met, but I didn’t really make a mental note of it. After we spent some time together, I was embarrassed to ask him to repeat it. That’s kind of why I’m trying to find him again. I want to see if the first impression holds up. If it does, I can catch his name when you introduce yourself.”

“Is that why you wanted me to come along?” Griffen laughed. “Not that I mind, but…”

A soft shove in his back sent him staggering forward a step. Catching his balance, he turned quickly, expecting to find a clumsy drunk or a bad pickpocket.

Instead, he found himself looking at the horse of a mounted policeman, which was looking back at him with soft brown eyes.

Startled, Griffen took another step backward.

The horse followed, ignoring its rider’s attempts to rein it in.

Valerie, of course, was laughing hysterically.

Griffen looked sternly at the horse.

“No!” he said firmly. “I can’t even have a cat at my apartment. There’s no way they’d let me keep a horse.”

The horse looked hurt and shook its head.

“I think you broke its heart, man.”

Griffen looked around.

Standing a few feet away was a street entertainer, a mime by the look of him. He was tall and skeletally thin, wearing an all-white outfit crowned by a top hat decorated with red, white, and blue stripes.

“Hey, Slim,” Valerie said, stepping forward. “How’s the crowd tonight?”

“So-so, Ms. Valerie,” Slim said. “There are a lot of ’em, but they ain’t parting with their money. Guess they think ‘tipping’ is a city in China.”

“You two know each other?” Griffen said, still tracking the horse, which was now being turned away by the officer on its back.

“We’ve met,” Valerie said with a smile.

Griffen wondered about that smile but decided not to ask.

“You must be Griffen McCandles,” Slim said, holding out his hand. “I’ve been hearing things about you.”

Griffen shook the offered hand.

“I hope that none of it is that I’m a horse thief,” he said.

“Oh, the beast just took a shine to you, is all.” Slim laughed. “It happens sometimes.”

“We’re out to do a little club crawling, Slim,” Valerie said. “Want to tag along?”

“It’s tempting,” Slim said. “But I got rent due soon. I’d better keep working the crowd.”

With that he waved and wandered off down the street.

Griffen didn’t take too much note of his passing. Instead, he was thinking about the horse.

Something hit him a sharp blow high on his back, staggering him a few steps. Catching his balance, he turned quickly, but there was no one behind him close enough to have hit him. Scanning the crowd, he realized his back was wet.

“Here it is, Big Brother,” Valerie said holding up a large plastic go-cup. “I think someone threw it at you from one of the balconies.”

Griffen shifted his gaze and studied the crowds on the balconies that bracketed the street. They seemed to all be tourists, with no familiar faces visible.

He realized he smelled of beer. He also considered how it might have been if the go-cup held something other than beer.

“Ya gotta love this town, even if it does get a bit crazy from time to time,” Valerie said, waving at the crowds.

Griffen found himself wondering if it had been the George counting coup on him, or if it had really just been a drunken tourist blowing off steam.

He was starting to see what Mose meant when he said the George’s stylish approach could make his victim jittery, jumping at shadows.

They never did find Valerie’s musician.