Gregor

Xavior and I worked the evening shifts at different shops all week and hadn’t managed to catch anyone or even tell if someone was casing the different shops we worked with. The incidences would happen anywhere from one to two weeks apart, so we figured it was an off week or that maybe the weekend would produce something more in regards to a lead.

It was midnight on a Friday when Xavior came out of the little convenience store while the clerk he’d worked with that night closed up the shop behind him. He wore a short-sleeve button-up with the store’s logo and colors along with jeans and sneakers. I didn't think it was possible for him to look bad in anything he wore.

I got slightly distracted as he approached while he unbuttoned his shirt. He wore a white t-shirt under the logo shirt, but that didn’t deter my imagination much. He climbed into the motor pool requisitioned vehicle and tossed the shirt in the back seat.

“Another fruitless night. How did the surveillance go?” Xavior asked.

I cleared my throat and tried to adjust myself unobtrusively. “Nothing at any of the other stores either.” I started the car. “I know spot a couple of miles from here where we can get a beer. You interested?”

Xavior looked at me for a long moment and then nodded. “Sure. I don’t have anywhere to be tonight. A beer sounds pretty good after this week.”

I smiled. “The place is usually pretty quiet. Either industry folks or business people.” I pulled out of the parking spot and headed for the bar.

Jackie’s was one of those in-between places that didn’t mind serving drinks to anyone as long as you had money and didn’t start shit. It was modeled after an Irish pub but didn’t advertise itself as one. This late into the evening, most of the sports crowd had moved on, and what was left were the regulars and folks looking for a quiet spot.

We took a couple of spots at the bar and ordered two drafts. We didn’t say anything to each other as we drank for a little while. When the silence almost became awkward, I broke it.

“The captain mentioned you trained as a CSI too. What’s the story there?” I asked.

“There wasn’t much going on at Nob Hill, so I took classes, got a degree, and then did my certification training in Bay City,” He said. “I thought having a better understanding of crime scenes would help me solve cases faster. What it did was present more information and statistical noise to my casework than was relevant sometimes. Though occasionally it paid off.”

I laughed a little, “Oh? What happened?”

“When I was working a murder scene in Bay City, I was so methodical with collecting evidence that it took a week to catalog it all correctly. Everybody in the lab was pissed at me until this tiny fingernail clipping I collected turned up enough DNA evidence not only to put the person-of-interest at the scene but tie them with the deceased. It was the only thing we had. It was trace evidence at best, but it was enough for them to use a walk-back spell to recreate the murder.”

“Sounds like you were good at it. Why didn’t you transfer to Bay City? They could have used a good CSI.” I took another drink of my beer and wondered what motivated Xavior and why he thought Jefferson was a better fit.

“Honestly, I didn’t like the attention. I mean, I was good at my job, but I was a bit more obsessed than my coworkers about it, and I hoarded as much evidence as possible for nearly every case I ran. While it worked out in one instance, it didn’t work for others. I got my certification, but I wasn’t asked to stay on.”

“Ouch. All because you were thorough? That seems like a mistake.” I felt a pang of concern for him. He obviously liked that part of the job. It seemed wrong of the other public service unit to push him away from it.

Xavior shrugged and fidgeted with his beer glass. “There’s only so many hours in the day to process evidence, and if you treat a random theft the same as a murder, because you get caught up in the mystery of it, you drag the case down with you. While it’s easier to collect and process evidence these days, it still costs time, money, and coworker sanity.”

“The mystery of it? Is that your dragon-related obsession?” That got a small smile out of him. Though for me, it dredged up some unpleasant memories about how I knew that was his obsession.

“Yeah. After I decided I’d take a break from traveling, I took up public servant work. I was able to help people and still figure out some of the little mysteries of life, and that keep me going.” He turned toward me. “I’m lucky that I am not so obsessed that I had to keep driving for bigger and bigger mysteries or stay stuck with ones that are nearly impossible to solve.”

“That is somewhat lucky. Though unusual. Most dragons don’t have that kind of self-control.” I glanced at him and inwardly winced. Then he asked exactly the question I would have asked after that statement.

“How do you know that? Did you grow up learning everything you could about dragons?”

I could tell Xavior meant it as a joke by the easy stance and the way his eyes held a kind of mirth at the question. He was amused that someone would take that much interest in his kind. When I didn’t answer, I watched as he quickly made the connection, and the mirth I’d enjoyed seeing a moment earlier died as he swallowed and took a breath.

“That makes sense that you would, given your family history. I’m not holding it against you, Lyndon. Or I’ll try not to.” Then I watched as some spark lit up, and his curiosity kicked in. He realized he had an opportunity to ask questions since right at that moment, we were the equivalent of some cliched joke: ‘A knight and a dragon walk into a bar…’

“So what exactly did they teach you? If you don’t mind me asking,” Xavior said. He was still turned toward me, still relaxed. He wasn’t scared of me, which was oddly comforting.

I took a long drink to prepare myself. “Uh, well, it was a lot like you’d learn in school, but the focus was around all things Draco gagantem. Math. Biology. Psychology. History. Physics. Name the subject, and it was related to dragons somehow. My siblings and I were home-schooled. We had tutors sometimes, but that was mainly for weapons and spell training.”

Xavior blinked. Then slowly blinked again. “Holy shit. I had no idea. I mean, my parents would talk about the knights like they had to steer clear of them because there seemed to be so many when they were younger. I admit, you’re the first one I’ve ever run into my whole life, even while traveling.”

“Well, if you weren’t eating people, livestock, or burning down whole areas, you’d probably never run into any of us. Towns and villages wouldn’t pay us to run off someone they didn’t like. We cost too much. But if a dragon started down the wrong path, they were more than happy to pay my family anything we wanted to end things for them.”

I took a breath. “Sorry. I...” I shook my head, confused and frustrated about my family history. Not only with what we represented, but my own history with my family as well. “It’s not something I talk about. I’ve had an easier time explaining that I’m gay than explaining my family’s history.”

“Sorry. My curiosity got the better of me.” He gave me a little grin that had me smiling before I realized it. Ah, the mystery obsession. I could live with it. It wasn’t like I didn’t have similar interests.

“You’re the first dragon I’ve ever met, that I’ve known about anyway,” I confessed.

“Really? You don’t have some sixth sense around dragons?”

“No. Even with all of my training from when I was younger, I’d be surprised to recognize one, let alone stop one.”

Xavior finished his beer and set the empty glass back on the bar. “Did you know that the character Sherlock was based on a dragon obsessed with mysteries and solving riddles?”

“Seriously? No way.” I wondered if he brought that up because he saw my tattoo. I have an intricate sleeve on my left arm with several detective related genre things all pieced together like a jigsaw puzzle. One of them is a bloodhound, with a Sherlock style hat.

“Totally true. I met Doyle once. I have a signed first edition of one of his books somewhere.” He waved to the bartender when they motioned toward the glass to see if Xavior wanted another beer. He waved him off and asked for the check instead. He glanced up at the clock above the bar. I winced when I saw the time. I finished off my own beer. When the bill showed up, I thumbed for the tab.

“Thanks. I’ll pay next time.” Xavior scratched his nose, and I wondered if he smelled something he wasn’t telling me about. Sometimes I second-guessed what I said, but it was a completely different feeling to second guess my own smell, which I couldn’t read like he did, and it gave me no small amount of anxiety at times over what my chemical makeup said versus what came out of my mouth.

I gave him a nod and left it at that. As we walked out and toward the car, I couldn’t help but want to get to know Xavior better as my working partner. I told the small voice in the back of my head that I had ‘other reasons’ to shut up. “I usually hit the gym in the morning before the shift starts if you want to join me. I alternate days between jogging and weights.”

“Sounds entertaining. I might take you up on it,” Xavior replied.

I nodded again, unlocked the car, and got in. Xavior slid into the passenger seat. We chatted as I drove us back to JPSH to drop him off, collect my own vehicle, then I drove home. Keith was working overnight, so I had the house to myself. I felt this odd sensation of loneliness and comfort, combined with the late-night quiet of the house. I took a shower and crawled into bed, thinking about mystery writers and bright green eyes.