The Dragon Files: A Detective Harry Welsh Story

In the dingy and dimly lit living room-slash-bedroom of number 112A, the phone buzzed, echoing around the apartment, rousing a pile of blankets and bottles awake. With a quick plink, and a rustle, a shaky hand reached out and picked up the receiver. 

“Hello?” a grumble. Barely audible to the young officer on the other end of the phone. 

“We have a code 6161, reported at the Old Mistress’ house,” a voice said, sounding somewhat unsure of itself. 

“Oh?” Now he sat up. This had roused him. It had been a while since he had been called to do some special control.

“I’ll be right there, give me about thirty minutes,” he had found his voice now, and tried to suppress the dread he felt. He gulped down the final remnants of his cup, an amber liquid of Drowsy’s Drink and got up to get ready. 

He entered the bathroom, flicking on the light and hearing the buzz of the fluorescence radiate - sometimes, he felt like he could feel it in the back of his teeth, right down to the fillings. 

It took an effort to look at himself in the neglected mirror, save for a lazy smudge of the hand to reveal the lower half of his face - a necessity for shaving. C.E.A.C.D. Harry Welsh usually didn’t. He had been doing this for many years of course. The great adventure books that he read when he was a child always played in his fantasy, however, now, getting dimmer and dimmer as the reality of his profession set in. Around the precinct he was known, officially, as Chief Exotic Animal Control Detective. His job description required the investigation and capture of those who are involved in the exotic pet trade. However, around the precinct he was only known, half mockingly, half serious, as the Dragon Slayer. 

It was a nickname he despised. 

Harry sighed as he dried his face. It was a great big sigh, the one that makes your lungs feel like it has stretch marks. The smoking probably didn’t help. He lit another up as soon as he was dressed, taking deep puffs as he checked that he had everything. ID badge? Check. Police Badge? Check. Pouch of precious gems? Check. XXXXL-Tranq? Check. His firearm - a small, lovingly polished revolver? Check. 

He stepped out onto the street, lit with bright-white street lamps, showcasing the numerous cracks in the pavement. The city was alive tonight, people swayed down the street, cars cruised past, couples held each other steady as they made their way to and from restaurants or clubs or cinema domes or cocktails… Harry got in his car. An old thing, faded in colour. Almost laughable for someone on his pay grade, but he couldn’t let her go, something to do with nostalgia maybe, the good times? He stroked the dashboard, which housed a heavy unit - the precinct radio, and several coffee cups and packets from Spacer’s, his favourite place to get a midnight pick-me-up. 

He picked up the receiver, clearing his throat, “This is Harry Welsh, of Precinct 360 of the Wuurmanan District. I’ve been called to a scene in Amsgrove for a Code 6161. A Containment Unit may be needed, please be on standby.”

There was silence, then a crackle, then a, “No problem, Slayer.”

The voice was mocking - Vance Frevier on the other end. Probably in his nice cushy office, eating donuts and giving sly, unwanted advances to the new female recruits, Harry thought. He didn’t envy him.

“Much appreciated,” Harry grumbled into the receiver, “Oh, and wake up Lieutenant Dennis for me. I need him on this - tell him I’ll be there in 15 minutes to collect.” He didn’t wait for a reply, and hung up. 

Harry drove through the streets of Wuurmanan, not much taking it in. He’d lived in this part of the city for a while - too long in fact, to really take it in anymore, it blended into the background of his psyche. People seemed… on guard. No smiles were exchanged in this part of town, no friendly hellos. Too many people slept rough, under dirty blankets, under complex and busy overpasses, under the shroud of intoxication. Children didn’t play here. Schools didn’t open here. Houses weren’t built here. They were saved for the elites, money making citizens, the worthy ones. People here, in this part of town, live on top of one another, in small, boxed off apartments, with paper thin walls, playing a yearly game of surviving the winter. The Inheritors, closer to the fringes of the mega-city were able to afford things, and could keep themselves healthy and alive, and if they didn’t, it was purely from choice, never affordability. 

Harry used to think it was disgusting, the divide and disparity of it all. But now? He accepted it as a part of life, and a part of life that everyone knew about or would come to know about eventually. It was inevitable. Disparity fuels society. The only thing that truly disgusted Harry, was when he had to answer calls like this; when he had to be the first point of contact for code 6161. In simple terms, a code 6161 usually meant a dragon. An illegal, out-of-control, unauthorised dragon. A dragon that usually needed to be put-down. Slayed.

Harry was driving through East Turinsan now, a slightly more groomed place than Wuurmanan, but still no better economically or socially. Here, lived a lot of older workers, broken and forgotten, left to rot. Some, still dragging themselves to put a shift in every now and then so they could feel a morsel of heat during the winter months. Harry could see Lieutenant Dennis, dressed in a navy suit, standing at the curb outside an almost derelict-looking apartment, brightly lit with an electronic advertisement for dentures. On it, an older woman, her ears decorated with pearls, her collarbone cradling a diamond necklace, mid-laugh, her pearly-white teeth practically gleaming from behind red lips! Even if you squinted, the strip of white more prominent.

“Acudent! Time for a healthy smile!”. Underneath the billboard, a few paces outside of a caged doorway, a young man, mid-twenties, fresh-faced, excited. Harry wondered why he lived in this part of town - a sickly parent perhaps?

“Good evening, Harry,” the Lieutenant’s voice was docile, “I heard we are on a Code 6161 today. I’ve come prepared, I’ve yet to see anything like it! I hope that it may lead to who is involved in this illegal smuggling.” He couldn’t betray his excitement any longer, this was going to be the first time that he would have seen a dragon that wasn’t in captivity in an ‘official’ sense. 

“Don’t get too excited,” said Harry, with a tone more morbid than he intended, “You never know what these freaks do to these creatures...” There was the warning, Harry thought, without having to actually tell him. 

The silence was heavy between them as he drove, and he broke it finally when they stopped at a glaring red light. 

“All I’m saying is…” Harry began, “These creatures… to them,” there was real vitriol in his voice now, “they’re playthings… toys… entertainment… Another thing to just buy and show off.” 

The Lieutenant nodded, like he knew, but he wanted more elaboration, Harry could tell. 

“They come in all sorts of… states…” Harry said quietly, “and very few, we can save.” He left it at that. 

As they approached the outer fringes of the mega-city, they found themselves in the area of Amsgrove. A well-lit, well-cared for district of the mega-city. The houses here were big, modern and surrounded by land, as green and as fresh as the first day of Spring. Here, there were no billboards, or dirty cars, or cracks in the pavement. Here, there was no arthritis, or tooth decay and everyone who needed them, bought Acudent dentures without any financial consideration. Here, schools were built, and universities too, and doctors offices and community centres. Parks were watered to play in, people lazily walked their overly-pampered dogs, and many people here were safe. Something to do with the gated communities, Harry always sarcastically thought, when crime rates were reported on the evening news. A little further beyond, into the heart of Amsgrove, and to the outer reaches of the mega-city, was what many people dubbed, Millionaire’s Row.

Here, the houses were huge and grand. Here, the mega-city’s most wealthiest inhabitants lived and died and were frozen for future resurrection. Harry, now slowing his old car to a smooth cruise, drove past the many luxurious houses, with personalised gates, often with gold and platinum features, donning the initials of the mega-city’s most wealthiest tycoons. The only differences, or crumbs of individuality, were left in the all-too-neat shrubbery. Here, they had some fun with colours, depending what was on trend right now.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Harry said, as he reached into the glovebox and pulled out a small, but readable flag that stated: OFFICER OF THE 360TH PRECINCT, and suctioned it to the top of his car. It flapped happily in the fresh wind. 

“Good thinking,” said Dennis, “Don’t want them mistaking us for criminals because we dared enter their neighbourhood in a car that was made before 2340.” He rolled his eyes.

Just as Harry was retracting his arm into the car, the radio on the dashboard came to life, “Harry, for fuck’s sake, please put your ID on the car, I’ve had about four calls from worried Millionaires, thinking your beat up old piece of crap car is containing some hooligans ready to cause crime. Stop worrying them.” 

Click, Vance was gone again. 

If you could see past the gates and into the houses, you can see that the appearance of an old, beat up car, cruising through their neighbourhood made them nervous. The sight of anything that wasn't modern, new, or on trend made them worry. All eyes on me, Harry thought.

Tonight, he was going to The Old Mistress’ abode. One of the most highly decorated, biggest and most luxurious houses in the neighbourhood. The gate was easy to spot, glinting in the moonlight, a nice gold and silver. Harry knew that she was one of the most celebrated tycoons, owning a total of seventy-five percent of the enterprise distributed in the mega-city, and twenty-five percent she gave back in charity - to her own district. Harry knew that she lived with her husband and her only son. A notorious bad boy.

 Who bought the dragon? Harry had seen it all before. Dragons bought and sold, kept in cages way too small, chained to posts and columns for years on end, exposed to the elements, contained in underground rooms to never be shown the light of day, trapped in caves, wings clipped, nails clipped, teeth extracted, eggs produced, bred to be sold, scales removed for profit, tails amputated and exchanged for new-age soups and medicines… most things. He shuddered. The word ‘entitled’ floated through his mind. He had a dreadful feeling in his gut as he approached the attendant’s box of the Old Mistress’ house. 

He pulled the car over a little down the road, and made his way over to the box, in which an old, withered attendant sat. Harry noticed he was lost in concentration, peering at his computer screen. He paid no attention to the two officers, even as Harry tapped on the glass. 

“I think he wants us to ring the bell,” The Lieutenant whispered out of the side of his mouth.

Looking down, Harry saw a golden bell that said ‘please ring for assistance and wait patiently.’ He rolled his eyes and rang the bell. 

The attendant straightened up in his seat, ready for action. “Hello, Monsieur, how may I assist you today?” the man said, in a rather posh, rehearsed accent. 

Harry said nothing, and held up his badge to the glass.

The man produced some spectacles, and placed them on the end of his nose. 

“Ah yes,” he said, “A call was made earlier.”

At the house, the Old Mistress was frantic. In the parlour room, next to her husband, she was shaking, barely able to contain her hysteria.

“My son!” she said, her voice shrill and piercing, “My son! I should never have let him down there to play with it! Oh!”

“There, there dear…” was all her husband could repeat, he sounded rather bored. Perhaps he had to reschedule a golf game for this, Harry thought bitterly. He didn’t like dealing with these sorts.

“Where did the creature come from?” Harry said, dropping all formalities from his voice. 

“Why does that matter? It has my son!” she howled in his face, “Go down there, and save him! I don’t care what it takes! Shoot the thing!” 

Harry winced.

“And,” Dennis interjected, “what type of dragon is it?”

“Oh, I don't know!” she screamed, “Go and do your job! Go and save my son! They promised me it would be safe! Oh they promised me! That’s what I get for entertaining the business ideas of low-lives and criminals! Disgusting scum! The lot of them!” 

“Enough,” Harry said, and it surprised her so much that anyone would talk to her so frankly, that she stopped, stunned, “Where is it?” Harry’s stare was intense.

“T-the greenhouse…” she mumbled, rising to a wail “Please save my son!”

Harry and Dennis made their way through the large house, outside to the pristine gardens, and over the lawn towards a greenhouse the size of a modest town hall. 

The sight was to behold! Here, in the large greenhouse, was chained a beast. No bigger than a German Shepard. It sat on top of a man, dressed explicitly in an expensive, shimmering golden tracksuit, complete with sneakers and a cap, encrusted with rows of diamonds. He was sobbing softly as the dragon lay on his chest. His face twisted in fear.

"Oh wow," Lieutenant Dennis marvelled, "A baby!"

Harry had not dealt much with baby dragons, apart from that Mining Station bust of ‘22. His heart sank. 

The dragon was stout, with iridescent scales, toting an almost pearly-white hue. Its great big talons were resting on the chest of the Old Mistress’ man-child son, threatening to dig past the soft imported fabric, and into his waxed chest. 

“Easy now,” whispered Harry. At this sound, the dragon perked its head up, seemingly listening. Its eyes are milky and under-developed. Must be from an underground-like region, Harry thought. 

“They love gold…” whispered Lieutenant Dennis. Harry thought he could hear a mocking tone in his voice.

It was true. The Old Mistress’ son, who, in all his vanity, came to taunt the dragon. Dressed like a beautiful vein of precious metal. It was an easy snatch for the creature. An almost… Instinctual one. 

Harry knew, deep down, that if he tried to take gold away from a dragon, even of this stature and size, that there would be dire consequences. 

As everyone knew, Harry thought bitterly. It was common knowledge if you had any business with dragons, and he knew that the man-child knew this. He shook his head in disgust. Entitled. He looked at the pathetic man-child adorned in gold under the dragon. His face was wet, and pink from crying. He looked ridiculous. Pathetic.

A pure hatred came over Harry. He swallowed it quickly. His oath was to protect human life, not the life of a creature, illegally bought and traded. Sold to work and be abused at the whim of power-hungry individuals. 

He sighed, he knew what he had to do. He reached into his pocket, feeling for the little sack of precious jewels. He approached the beast, and was met with a dangerous snarl. The rabid dragon bared its teeth, its rubbery saliva clinging to every sharp point and jagged edge. Harry could practically see it gleam in the glow of the greenhouse. 

“Easy now,” Harry repeated, as he slowly unfastened the small pouch. He shook it, and the little clinks of the precious gems hitting off one another was enough to rouse the dragon’s interest further. It stepped forward tentatively. The man-child gave another whimper. 

“Shh,” whispered the Lieutenant, with an urgent edge. 

The man-child gave another whimper. Why do these people never listen?

Harry opened the pouch and reached a steady hand in, it closed over the small gems, and they rattled together happily. 

The dragon went wild, and began to charge. Quickly, Harry scattered the gems over the musty floor, which cast a disco-like glow over the situation, making the dragon appear more beautiful than ever... The Lieutenant grabbed the man-child by his jacket and began to drag him away, Harry reached for his revolver, and the dragon dove for the precious gems. The door was opened. The Lieutenant threw the man-child out, into the now-dawning light.

Harry swung the door shut so hard it rattled, and he found himself alone with the dragon who was now collecting the gems, one by one, gently, in its pointy maw. He felt sorry. That he had to do this again, that people were using dragons for their own profit again, that he had to be the one to protect one of these freaks again, that he knew if he let the dragon live, it would live a life of abuse and neglect - again. 

He sighed. The dragon cooed. 

He reached for his gun.

The dragon turned to face him, her cheeks now full of Harry’s precious gems. At the end of it all, it was a magnificent creature, Harry thought, it could have been a magnificent creature. 

He raised his gun, making sure to do it from the shadows of the greenhouse, lest the glint of the metal set off her primal instinct... 

“It’s their fault,” Harry whispered, and then there was a flash… Brighter than any precious gem known to Dragonkind.