Xavior

I admired how Greg got on board with working together once I’d told him that I didn’t mind who he was, and I knew he wasn’t going to murder-stab me right there in the office. I mean, he still could, but I had a hard time believing that from how he smelled. Or even from how he looked.

Greg had black hair with a nice styled cut, goatee, and dark brown eyes. He was a study in contrast with his dark hair, and dark eyes, compared to his pale white skin. He wore tan trousers with a brown belt and a blue button-up with the sleeves rolled up. His brown leather dress shoes had seen better days, though.

I picked up on his attraction from the locker room, and with the combination of his soap, which had earthy tones, it made me groan internally. He smelled like a banked fire or embers. I had to shake myself mentally to stop thinking about it.

What was weird to me is that I was equally attracted to him. My brother Denis would have said I was drawn to the danger of the association alone. He probably wouldn’t be wrong on that part, but it was something more, and I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I wanted to. But work and his boyfriend reminded me to get myself under control.

Greg fumbled with a few things on his desk and pulled out his case files. “We have a chain of small corner stores that are being robbed around the same time every night, almost in a rotation. The owners have taken precautions, but they are somehow scaring the shit out of the clerks in a way the clerks can’t describe anything afterward, and no one’s been able to catch anything on camera.”

“Interesting.”

“Yeah, you could say that. Problem is that the shops have counter-measures like tracking spells, stop-goo burst packs, but none of the clerks seem to be fast enough or coherent enough to trigger any of it. And, when we interview them afterward, they don’t remember what the person looked like. The cameras show fuzzy smudges, like a ghost, so we haven’t been able to develop or ascertain a description either. We don’t even know if it’s the same person every time.”

“But it’s the same shops?”

“So far.” Greg shrugged but turned to his computer to enter some data. “I’ll run a regional check, which I hadn’t thought to do. Maybe we’ll get a hit.”

“It’s not magic?”

“No, not exactly. Or they aren't using anything that leaves a magic signature. We checked for that when we processed the scenes.”

“What do they take?”

“Whatever is in the till, about a dozen or so lottery tickets, and a pack of gum.”

“Gum?” I laughed. “What in all the world would they need gum for?”

“Fresh breath? Who knows, but that’s what they take from the shops each time, without exception.”

“And the clerks remember what they take, but not what they look like?”

“Yeah,” Greg said as he sat back in his chair. I was sitting at the chair next to his desk, looking over the file.

“It’s probably likely that right up until the clerk turns over everything; they know who they are dealing with, then whoever it is they’re using some ability, and the clerk forgets, and only remembers the fear and what was taken. But they don’t trigger any counter-measures, why is that?” I asked.

“It’s someone they know. It has to be. So the clerks think they are dealing with them the first time they’ve done anything like this, probably try to talk them out of it while they continue giving in to the demand.”

I thought about what Greg said for a while and noticed some of the clerks interviewed had the same last names. “It’s a family-owned group of shops. Are all the employees family?” I realized I was probably thinking in the same direction Greg had or anyone else had that worked this case. But it was my nature, so I asked the questions.

“Almost all of them, and extended family as well.”

“What was the next step you were going to take?”

“Work shifts with anyone that were friends with the other clerks. See if whoever is doing this comes back while I was there undercover.”

“Without backup?” I was wondering why Greg didn’t have a partner. It was common for some detectives to work solo, but most of them coordinated with others around days off or vacations. Greg hadn’t mentioned that was the case, so I was curious.

“Well, normally, no. Gina Hendrickson, my last partner, moved with her family to Texas.”

“They didn’t tell me who I’d be replacing,” I said. “There were a few openings when I applied. General support seemed like a good fit for me.”

“I’m not holding that against you,” Greg said with a shrug as the edge of his lips tried to curl into a smile. “Gina was cool. We were partners for the last five years, did patrols together, and made detective about the same time. Her life partner got a perfect job in Dallas, and there were positions open there for detectives, so they decided to move. The commute would have been too much of a burden with two kids.”

“I bet,” I said. “So, back to this undercover idea. When do you think we could set it up? We could take turns so it doesn’t look too suspicious having one of us on the same shift all the time.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard to set up. The owners are desperate to have someone help them. People have stopped coming into the stores at night, afraid of what might happen if they are there when an incident occurs,” Greg said. “I’ll put in the requests for additional external surveillance with the captain. If you want, you can call the owners and see if they’ll agree to that and the undercover assignment. Then we can get into the particulars if they are agreeable.”

“Sounds good.” I put the file on the desk and pulled out my phone to make the necessary call, while Greg pulled up the reporting system to make notes and request external surveillance on the different store locations.

The owners were out, unfortunately. We were also waiting on the preliminary okay from the captain. While that was ongoing, Greg and I went over the rest of his case files. One was about bike thefts. Another was a property dispute between the tenants and a landlord. It held its own for now. It had an injunction in place so people couldn’t be evicted or their rents raised for complaining about the building not being up to code. We finally called it a day after the owners got back to us and okayed the surveillance and undercover sting.

I didn’t live far from the PS building and enjoyed the walk home. I opened the door to my modest brownstone walkup and tossed a bag of takeout Chinese food on the counter. There was enough food there for six people. I could eat all of it, but part of me wondered if Greg had dinner yet.

“No, Xavior, get a fucking grip. You’re new; he has a boyfriend and your partners. Complicating shit is not a good idea,” I said out loud to my empty apartment as if the walls were going to talk back to me. This brownstone was small compared to the place I used to live. I took the job at the Nob Hill department mostly for something to do instead of letting myself sit there on my massive property and be lazy.

It had been a long time since I went out on an expedition or traveled. I’d lost a taste for it after a while. I’d made enough money from my finds over the years that I didn’t need a job, but like most dragons, we all have obsessions. I liked mysteries, always have. Thankfully becoming a public safety officer was enough to scratch the itch. Moving to the Jefferson District proved to be a good idea so far, even if some things would remain a mystery for now.