Slim stood up and brushed off his suit. He nodded to the bartender, who didn’t seem to mind that the dogs had gotten the first greeting. Then he picked up the large, white bucket that he used to collect his tips and headed toward Griffen.
“Can I have some words with you, Mr. Griffen?” Slim said, nodding to one of the tables set a bit apart from the bar.
Griffen had to admit to himself that Slim’s entrance had impressed him. Particularly the subtlety, the complete lack of interest anyone had shown. Griffen’s own animal control was a skill he was still developing. Being a dragon seemed to give him a boost in strength and power, but his control was still shaky. Slim was a natural.
“Sure, Slim.”
Griffen gathered up his drink and went over to the table as Slim reached into his bucket for a few ones to buy his own drink.
“Tell me something, Slim,” the younger man said, as the entertainer joined him. “How come nobody bats an eyelash when you do something like that?”
Slim looked over at one of the sleeping dogs, which twitched lightly in its sleep. It seemed to calm under the man’s attention.
“Well, hell, this here’s the French Quarter. ’Sides, everyone does know ol’ Slim has a way with chillen and animals.”
“Then why don’t you use your talents in your act? Bring a dog or bird or something into the bit, and the tourists will eat it up.”
“Why don’t you do some fire-breathin’ in Jackson Square? Tourists will eat it up.”
Griffen was taken aback by the sudden harshness in the man’s tone. He reminded himself Slim had threatened him before. That he was, in his own way, a dangerous man. Even with his own powers to protect him, Griffen felt somewhat vulnerable.