From: mrkeller829@gmail.com   
      
   =====o============================o=====   
   "Chermera" by Mary Ruth Keller Part 08  of 45   
   E-mail: mrkeller@eclipse.net, mrkeller829@gmail.com   
   PG-13   X-File: Myth-arc   Disclaimed in Part I   
   Already sent to Gossamer   
   =====o============================o=====   
      
   Northern Division   
   San Diego Police Department   
   San Diego, California   
   Saturday, June 6, 1998   
   4:33 am   
      
   Jerry Donato scratched the black stubble on his chin before checking his   
   watch. {No wonder I'm beat. It's been too many late nights.} He looked over at   
   his partner, Richard Gonzales, who was staring blearily at a list of   
   addresses. But, their Sergeant,    
   Martin Johnson, was whistling slightly off-key as he scanned listings on his   
   laptop.   
      
   "Sarge." The thick-chested detective stopped, surprised to hear the gravel in   
   his voice. "Whatever coffee you're drinking, I think we both need some."   
      
   The African-American spun the laptop so they could read the screen. "It's good   
   to be doing some actual work, Detective, rather than trying to settle   
   personnel disputes. See this?" He tapped the glass. "I've cross referenced the   
   artists whose paintings    
   Evans appeared to be purchasing, and they all exhibited at this same art   
   gallery here in San Diego in the past two years."   
      
   Gonzales yawned. "But, he didn't have the money to do that. We know that. So,   
   how did his name end up on these pieces?"   
      
   Donato stood. If he sat much longer, he'd be face down on his papers. "He was   
   a co-owner, Rich. That doesn't mean he needed to have a lot of money, just a   
   little, like those conglomerates that own racehorses now."   
      
   Johnson huffed. "Oh, I think we're well past wondering whether Evans was   
   really involved, Detective. We know he wasn't. The question is, who was?" He   
   sent the list of artworks to the printer, then lifted away the sheets once the   
   control panel lights    
   stopped flashing. "I've tried cross referencing the attendees of the different   
   art shows, but I'm not seeing overlap between them." He held the papers out   
   for Donato to scan. "Detectives, read this over, then you two go home and   
   sleep in today."   
      
   Gonzales scratched his head before he stood. "Thanks. I could use some free   
   hours before Monday." With a wave, he stepped out of the precinct doors toward   
   the street.   
      
   With a relaxed grin, the African-American turned to the thick-chested   
   detective. "Why, Jerry, you look like you've gotten a second wind."   
      
   Donato shook his head. "No, Sarge, it's just that, we shouldn't be beating   
   ourselves up like this. We can tap some experts if we need to."   
      
   The Sergeant rubbed his darkening chin. "No, I can't go to ASAC Nichols about   
   this, you know that. We're working well off the books here."   
      
   The dark eyebrows drew together. "No, I mean Judy Seymour-Wilton. If we need   
   someone who understands the local art scene, she'd be more than willing to   
   take a look at those names and let us know who they are."   
      
   He was rewarded with a gentle grasp of his shoulder. "Good thinking,   
   Detective."   
      
   Jerry took the papers to tuck them in his jacket pocket, then both men stashed   
   their remaining documents in an unused filing cabinet drawer before they   
   headed out. The sky was just beginning to lighten over the mountains as   
   Johnson unlocked his car, then    
   waved to Donato, who was already rolling past him.   
      
   --o-0-o--   
      
   Office of the Lone Gunmen   
   Alexandria, VA   
   Saturday, 9:33 am   
      
   Awakening slowly, Fox Mulder became aware he was under a blanket, otherwise   
   quite comfortably warm, but upright on a couch that was not his own. His neck   
   was stiff when he tried to sit up, then he realized there was something   
   besides thick tan acrylic    
   holding him in place. When he focused down at the mass, a lopsided grin spread   
   across his face at auburn curls covering a head, by his knee, that had had a   
   battered seat cushion slipped under it. The slender shoulder moving under his   
   palm was shifting a    
   white cotton quilt as well.   
      
   Pulling herself into a crouch, his partner dropped her feet, still encased in   
   their black running shoes, on the floor beside his. "Mulder?" She was blinking   
   at him. "I thought I had made it to the guest bedroom. Sorry. You needed to   
   stretch out after    
   being cramped up in that car."   
      
   He rubbed the kinks in his neck, twisting his torso back and forth, before   
   resting his elbows on his knees. "No problem, Ma'am. Never slept better."   
      
   She sent him a chuckle, then glanced down at her arm. "It's what ti – oh,   
   no, my Breitling. It must still be back on the Vineyard." Her shoulders sagged.   
      
   He grasped her wrist momentarily before patting his jeans pocket. "No, Scully,   
   I have it. I know a place I can get it repaired."   
      
   She held out her hand, waiting for him to drop the bag into it. The sight of   
   the disjoint gears and scarred back pulled the corners of her lips downward.   
   "Oh. That's bad. Ahab made a special trip to Switzerland just for me." Shards   
   of crystal and twisted    
   metal reflected the early light as she rotated the plastic on her palm.   
      
   Retrieving the contained fragments to tuck the lot back in his pocket, he   
   shook his head. "No, this guy's a regular Descartes, so he'll be able to work   
   miracles." They both smiled at his unintentional juxtaposition, before Mulder   
   checked around their    
   space. Frohike was snoring quietly from his post in the armchair. "Fro?"   
   Mulder reached over to tap the round-faced Gunman on the knee. "You up?"   
      
   His glasses hanging off his left ear, Frohike yawned. "No." He rotated his   
   Mathey-Tissot around on his wrist to check it before letting out a groan. "You   
   guys, this is inhuman." He settled his wire-framed lenses in place, then   
   grinned at the faces in    
   front of him.   
      
   Scully was attempting to smooth down her curls, pulling her fingers though   
   them repeatedly, but still with the quilt over her lap. Mulder had flung the   
   blanket on the nearest arm of the sofa before rising to pace slowly back and   
   forth while stretching to    
   wake up.   
      
   "Good to have you two back from the Med." The round-faced Gunman pushed   
   himself off the cushions. "It's been too quiet these past few months."   
      
   --o-0-o--   
      
   Office of the Lone Gunmen   
   Alexandria, VA   
   Saturday, 9:57 am   
      
   The five were settled around the living room again. The partners were back on   
   the sofa, showered and in clean clothes. Both had taken full advantage of   
   multiple bathrooms in a house that did triple duty as shared residence,   
   publication center, and    
   electronics workshop. The Gunmen were scattered around the room on odds and   
   ends of mismatched furniture that populated the rest of the space.   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)