Dragons Luck by Robert Asprin Read Free Book Online Page A

on extra help or what?”
    Harrison made a rude noise, blowing a short raspberry through his lips.
    “Hell. It’s no big problem,” he said. “It’s like any other weekend. Just a bit more crowded, and the crazies are wearing costumes is all. Tourists getting drunk and messing with each other and the locals, same as always.”
    “Well, they do keep the Quarter green,” Griffen said, trying to make light of the situation. “Tourism is one of our biggest industries down here.”
    “Tourists,” Harrison said, like the word tasted bad. “Why do they call it tourist season if we can’t shoot ’em?”
    “Oh, come on,” Griffen said. “They aren’t all that bad. In fact, most of them are pretty decent and well behaved.”
    “Niggers, fags, and dope addicts! That’s all the French Quarter is!”
    The intrusion on their discussion came from a suit at the far end of the bar. The speaker was obviously drunk and loudly lecturing his companions, who were trying vainly to quiet him down. They were obviously conventioneers, still wearing their name badges on their lapels.
    Most of the late-night crowd, heavily local, pointedly ignored him. They had all heard it before.
    Harrison, however, leaned out into the aisle and stared at the offending party, blinking his eyes as he tried to focus.
    “Right on cue,” he said. “I may have to bend that boy a little.”
    “No big deal,” Griffen said, hastily. “Padre’s got it under control.”
    There was an unspoken rule in the Quarter: Let the bartender handle any altercations unless he or she specifically called for help. Even as Griffen tried to calm Harrison down, Padre came down the bar toward the trio, leaned close, and said something softly to them. Even though he couldn’t hear the words, Griffen had heard the routine often enough to know it by heart.
    “Excuse me, gentlemen. I’m afraid you’ll either have to lower your voices, or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
    “Don’t worry, Mr. McCandles,” Harrison said, regaining his upright posture. “If it comes down to it, you won’t have to testify. That would be a hoot, wouldn’t it? A cop calling a professional gambler as a character witness.”
    Griffen started to protest, but the situation erupted again.
    “Don’t tell me to quiet down!”
the drunk was declaring, shaking off the restraining hands of his friends.
“And if you lay a hand on me, I’ll sue your ass and this bar for everything they got! You want me out of here? You’re gonna have to call a cop!”
    Harrison was out of the booth and walking up to the man before Griffen could say anything more.
    “You want a cop, mister?” he said flashing his badge. “You got one. Let’s step outside.”
    The drunk gaped at the detective.
    “Bullshit! You don’t look like no cop I’ve ever seen!”
He turned his attention to Padre again.
“Who’s this? Your boyfriend?”
    Moving fast for his bulk, Harrison took the drunk backward off his bar stool and onto the floor. He had a fist cocked and ready to go, then he hesitated and took a deep breath.
    Still gripping the drunk with one hand, the detective hauled him erect and set him on his feet.
    “We want our
visitors
to have a good time when they’re down here,” he hissed, “so we’ll just call this a misunderstanding.”
    He glanced at the man’s two companions.
    “Take him back to the hotel and don’t let me see him on the streets until he’s slept it off.”
    He shoved the drunk into the arms of his friends, who gathered him in and hustled him out the door.
    Harrison watched them go, still breathing hard, then walked unsteadily to the door and stood staring after them. A few beats later, he stepped out onto the street and strode off in the direction the men had taken.
    “What in the world was eating Harrison?” Griffen said, when the bartender came to the booth to clear away the empty beer bottles.
    “He’s been suspended,” Padre said. “Got a reprimand for roughing up a couple