As a rule Sean Renard avoided bars. When Sean Renard wanted a good time it usually involved marble floors, velvet upholstery, attire with entirely too much fabric and the finest (and oldest) single malt whisky that money could buy. Opera was usually involved. If nothing else, the conversations were enlightened, refined, and rarely in English.
Thus it was a surprise to him when he turned into a bar of middle character and took a seat at the counter. Once, several years ago, he had visited this establishment as part of a case, making contact with a witness. That particular visit ended with a rather nasty brawl when the killer himself turned up at the pool table in back trying to hustle Renard out of every penny. Had he not been… well, more than human, that fight might have gone differently. Had he also not been a master of self-control—aided by his hybrid nature—and able to resist a woge in the midst of a take down, things might also have done differently.
Tonight was different though. There was no case. Well, there was one, but Burkhardt and his posse were handling it. Sometimes it was very convenient to have such a capable Grimm on the force. No, tonight, Sean Renard was simply tired. Tired of being tired. Tired of juggling daggers in the air and waiting for one come down on his head. Plots and intrigue had been his life, all his life. But they were growing tiresome. And deadly.
The news from Meisner was not favorable. Plus, there was movement from several unusual parties in Europe. Rats fleeing a sinking ship. But who were the rats? And who were the sailors? And most of all, who were the pirates firing the cannonballs?
He ordered a local microbrew and a basket of steak fries. Better to stay away from the cheap whiskey.
Portland used to be safe. No one here knew who he was and no one dangerous knew where he was. He was just a talented police officer—who liked opera and fine whiskey and spoke five languages—but still, just an officer. These days he was starting to wonder if he needed to take more precautions. Maybe that's what led him to the bar—some anonymity.
Out of habit he had chosen a seat facing the door. So he had a clear view when it opened to admit a few wet patrons and the fleeting glimmer of headlights. Two, obviously a couple, grabbed a table in the corner. The third, holding a phone up to one ear and plugging the other with a finger, stepped to the side of the door and kept talking. Renard went back to his beer. But then he heard a familiar sound…
すみません、雨が急に降ってきて、聞こえなかったんです。ごめんね! ＞＞(Sorry! It started to rain and I had to duck inside. Yes, it is quite loud. Sorry!)
He looked back at the figure huddled by the door. A wide brim hat jammed down over the head and a stylish trench coat had hidden the blond hair and petite frame. But a closer look proved it was clearly Mira Speigel.
田中先生に聞いたんですか？ 私の作った年間計画の全部持っていますので…そうそう…一分未満でじゅうぶんです。 あそうですか！ いちいになったんか！？ すごい！ みんなにおめてどうを伝いくださいね。 ええ。 バイバイ。＞＞
(Have you asked Tanaka-sensei? He has all my original curriculum binders. That's right. The skits should be only about a minute. They won? That's amazing! I miss them too. Yep. Bye bye!)
She hung up and fished in her purse for a moment, settling the phone. When she looked up it was obvious she wasn't sure where she was or quite how she'd gotten there. She looked around the bar curiously, then out the door at the rain. With a sigh she turned up her collar and hitched up her purse straps. Then she took one last look around and locked eyes with Sean.
She looked at him for a moment. Then with another quick glance around the bar she sashayed across the floor.
"What a delightful surprise!"
"Indeed," he said. "What brings you to this part of town?"
"Agh," she sighed heavily. "ESL tutoring. Are you alone again?"
"Until now," he replied. "Care to join me?"
"Sure." She draped her dripping coat over the back of the bar stool and climbed up onto the seat. "What's good?"
"What do you like?"
"I've been drinking sake and umeshu for six years. I'm a blank slate."
He laughed. "Well, Portland has lots of local microbrews. Have you tried anything from 10 Barrel?"
"In fact I haven't." She ordered a pint. He was just starting to wonder how to start a conversation when she continued. "Any interesting cases lately?"
"Rather too interesting, actually," he replied. "And nothing that would make good dinner conversation."
"Do fries and beer count as dinner in America now?"
"Well… perhaps not." He smiled. "How are your studies going? Pardon! Je devrais dire, comment vont vos études?" (Pardon! I should say, how are your studies going?)
She blinked in surprise thought for a moment. "Plutôt bien... mais mon français est encore... assez simple." (Fairly well, but my french is still... rather simple)
"Je trouve ça difficile a croire." (I find that hard to believe) He took a sip from his now half full pint.
She also took a drink, a rather large gulp. "Vous avez de... grandes attentes " (You have high expectations) "And also, I didn't know you spoke French!" she finished sounding either impressed or scandalized.
He leaned back a bit. "C'est une belle langue" (It's a beautiful language)
"Je suis d'accord," (I agree) She replied. Her accent was quite good."Alors, parlez-moi un peu de vous," he said (So, tell me about yourself.) "En français, bien sûr, pour vous pratique." (In French, of course, for practice)
She took a deep breath. "A challenge! How can I refuse? Let me think. I… like to acquire new knowledge."
"Clearly. That is a rare thing"
She smiled. "I also like coffee. I think you also like coffee?"
"The French adore their coffee."
"Are you French?"
"…No." He said slowly, but definitively.
She looked at him doubtfully but let it drop. "I often like to walk in a park after visiting a café. Do you recommend any local parks?"
"Yes. Actually, Columbia Park is just down the way from the University. It is very lovely in the fall."
"Sounds perfect. Perhaps I will walk there on Saturday. Is it very crowded?"
"Not often. This time of year it should be fine in the late afternoon."
"Do you go there often?"
He paused, mulling the conversation over in his mind. "I sometimes find myself there."
"Mmmm. I'll explore Columbia Park this Saturday. Perhaps I will see you there sometime."
"That would be nice. Hopefully—"
Renard wasn't entire sure what he intended to say but he was interrupted by a rich vibrato from his breast pocket. "Pardon me." He put the phone to his ear. "Renard…I see…Yes. I'll be right there. 15 minutes?...Excellent." He replaced the phone in his pocket and stood. "I'm sorry, I have to go. Thank you for the conversation."
She laughed. "You're welcome. We should talk again when my French is better. "
He swung on his coat. "I would enjoy that. Take care, Ms. Spiegel."
"Mira. Call me Mira."
Just as he opened his mouth to say farewell a silver glimmer flickered across her face. It looked just like the sweep of headlights, except… something about it seemed off. But he had to be going and nothing was triggering his innately suspicious nature. It was probably nothing.
"Mira, then." Renard turned up his collar and sent her an enigmatic smile. "Au revoir!"
Just as he climbed into his car it hit him. Mira was seated facing away from the window. Where had the light come from?