Detective Trigger: Books 1-6

by M. A. Owens

  That night, I tied a piece of black silk to the handle on my trash can out front.

  3

  Monday morning came and I headed into my office early. Sure enough, the scoundrel was sitting right there in my chair again.

  “Looking to hire a private detective, sir?” he asked.

  “This routine again?”

  “Eventually you’ll find it funny, detective. You just need to relax a little. Have a nice strip of bacon sometime. Tastes even better when someone else paid for it.”

  “I didn’t think you were the type to steal anything that wasn’t top-shelf merchandise. Have jobs gotten slow enough for the master thief these days that he’s resorted to stealing breakfast?”

  “I was just suggesting you could be a better host next time, detective. You invited me over, remember? Not even so much as a coffee for my trouble.”

  “You sure like small talk, don’t you?”

  “Don’t you?” he said.

  “Small talk is for dogs who don’t have cases to solve. I invited you back because curiosity got the better of me. By the way, why did you come back? I could’ve had the cops stake this place out and pick you up. Make a big name for myself.”

  “No cops were staking the place out.”

  “I said I could have done it.”

  “You wouldn’t,” he said, without a shred of doubt.

  “You seem awfully certain of that.”

  “Certainty is my trade,” he said with a wink.

  The big grin on that smug face of his really bristled the hair on my neck. He was right. I didn’t have much tolerance for criminals, but in this city, sometimes you had to choose the lesser of two evils, and that’s precisely what I did with Rico.

  I knew it was bait, but I bit. “You know me well by the sound of it. Humor me. Why wouldn’t I do it?”

  “You don’t get along so well with the cops in this city from what I hear. I heard you were a police detective some time back.”

  “Easy now.” I pointed my paw at him, the hair down my back standing on end.

  “From what I also hear, that didn’t end so well for you. Do I have it right so far?”

  I slapped the papers off the desk in front of him. They scattered around the room and further littered the already cluttered floor.

  He grinned as big as he could manage, unphased. “You need to do something about that temper of yours. You asked, remember? Maybe you wouldn’t be so sensitive about your past if you did a few more things you could be proud of in the present.” He crossed his arms and leaned forward on my desk, a serious expression washing his grin away. He motioned for me to lean in, so I did. “How would you like to take down Mr. B and his gang? That ought to help you sleep at night.”

  I felt my stomach twist at the mere thought. I stood back up, slowly.

  “See, now you’re back in your comedy routine. The only ones who get a good night of sleep in this city are the dead, and the fastest way to join them is to go stepping on Mr. B’s toes. You must have lost your mind, or do you have a death wish? What kind of fool messes around with Mr. B, huh? And why?”

  “You’re talkative all of a sudden.”

  “Well, you know how to liven up a conversation. Done kidding around now? Ready to tell me what you really want?”

  “No more jokes, detective. You’re a smart dog. Tell me what all my thefts have had in common. I have a hunch you’ve figured it out by now.”

  “Yeah, I figured it out a long time ago. So what?”

  “Out with it then,” he said.

  “Everything you swiped was from an establishment either owned by Mr. B’s gang or working with it. I assume Mr. B was always quiet about it to avoid the embarrassment, so nobody ever pieced it together. They ought to give you a medal instead of cuffs, if you ask me. So what?”

  “You know what,” Rico said. “Aren’t you tired of living in a city run by thugs? A city where dogs and cats just trying to get by can never stop looking over their shoulder? A city where crime pays and no good deed goes unpunished?”

  “I manage fine. I keep my nose clean and help just enough not to get noticed by any big players, at least until now.”

  “You’ve not done much if you haven’t made enemies.”

  Rico really knew how to kick a dog where it hurt. I couldn’t argue with a thing he said. Here I was getting lectured about having guts and doing “the right thing” by none other than a wanted criminal. It used to be me giving that speech, but time had turned me into a coward.

  “Sleep on it,” he said. “All I’m asking is for you to hear me out. I’ll be back to see you soon.”

  4

  I picked up the paper the next morning. There were the usual crime sprees, most of which were in the Black District where I called home; the poorest part of the city. One story caught my attention. It was about a grocer who got his store smashed up. His whole life savings gone in a single night. Poor cat’s got a family too. Comes with the territory here in Black District, I guess. I’m not even sure why I read the paper anymore. Mr. B owns that too. I took a deep breath and read the interview.

  “Mr. Clive, can you tell us what happened?”

  “You can see what happened. Everything in the whole place is destroyed.”

  “Sounds like you upset the wrong people, Mr. Clive.”

  “Yeah, I upset the wrong people. This is retaliation because I quit the gang.”

  “While we don’t condone crime here at the Arc Daily, it sounds like you knew what you were getting yourself into.”

  “You’re right. This was my fault.”

  What a load of garbage! There’s no way he said that. I balled that paper up in a fit of rage and hurled it against the wall. Crooked cops, crooked newspapers, and crooked journalists. Rico was right. What’s it all for if you sit around day after day and do the same thing you’ve always done, drinking the same morning coffee while sitting down and reading the same so-called paper? They print the same hooey on it every day. For me, I sit in this chair and wait for somebody to come in with something easy - something that won’t upset anybody. Some dame misplaces her earrings and thinks someone robbed her. Some dog wants to check up on his pup who didn’t come home last night. Easy money.

  I go home, sit down, and eat dinner. I watch the same stupid shows on the picture box, and used to listen to that made-up detective show on the radio. The one about a real detective who solved big cases. That was before they had it taken off the air. Then I go to bed and toss and turn half the night, barely getting a wink of sleep. Then, I do the same doggone thing over again the next day.

  All while the city gets turned upside down and pockets get turned inside out. I watch like it’s all just another show on the picture box. Occasionally, I’d get a little glimmer of courage in my heart and I’d lie to myself, “Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll change things.” Only tomorrow never came, because tomorrow always turned into today.

  I grabbed my hat off the rack and flipped the sign to “Out to Lunch.” I headed straight down to that grocer’s place. It was not all that far away. I started asking questions of the neighbors and other business owners. Folks were afraid to answer, like always, but I finally loosened enough lips to find out where the grocer lived. It was late, but I headed there to have a chat. His house was just a few minutes’ walk away from his store.

  I knocked, and a kitten answered the door.

  I tipped my hat. “Your mom or dad home, missy?”

  A feline dame came running toward the door. “Clive, you’re finally home!”

  She stopped and looked at me with disappointment as she got close enough to realize I wasn’t who she thought I was.

  “Your husband out, ma’am?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Trigger, ma’am. I’m a private detective,” I said, tipping my hat.

  “Why do you want to see my husband?”

  “I’ve taken an interest in your family’s troubles. I read about it in the paper, and I didn’t buy that phony intervi
ew for a second.”

  “When’s the last time they didn’t lie? I warned him not to talk to them, but he wanted to get the truth out. Wanted to let everyone know what he thought of that cutthroat Mr. B. I heard him too. Let them have it. The fool.”

  “Your husband. He out?”

  “He went out to survey the store and see what he could salvage. He wants to start it back up again. Got more guts than brains, I tell ya.”

  “Thank you for your time, ma’am. I’ll head back that way and see if I run into him.” I tipped my hat again before turning to leave.

  “You don’t think he’s in danger, do you?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “I’m sure he has a lot to look over. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

  I smiled, turned around, and kept walking. My pace quickened after I made it out of sight of the house. You work in the business long enough and you get an intuition for this sort of thing. He was definitely in danger.

  5

  I was about to round the corner at the grocer when I heard a commotion. Glass breaking. Hollering and hissing. I peeked around the corner. Several big cats, nearly twice my size. They were rough characters to boot, surely Mr. B’s goons. Looks like they came back to finish the job.

  No doubt Mr. Clive was inside. He probably hid out when he saw them walking up. I had to think of something quick. I walked a few buildings over and yelled, “Mr. Clive, where are you running off to in such a hurry!?” I darted down an alleyway and hid behind a dumpster, peeking out to watch the street. Sure enough, the guys I saw took off down the road after the imaginary Mr. Clive. Too easy.

  I circled back around and ran into the store, looking in every possible hiding place I could think of. I had to be quiet. If I yelled out again, they might hear me and come back. I opened one cabinet behind the cash register, and then out hopped a scared cat swinging a piece of broken glass at me as he went for the kill.

  “Easy, Clive. I’m not one of Mr. B’s goons.”

  I dodged the first strike, and then he stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Mister, I don’t know who you are, but I’m glad you came when you did. Sorry about swingin’ at you.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I sent those thugs on a wild goose chase, but they’ll be back soon enough. We gotta move it.”

  We ran out the back and hoofed it back to his house. The cover of night made the whole thing a lot easier. Few people to see and ask questions and go ratting us out. Lucy met us at the door, running out and hugging Clive as we ran in. The little kitten ran out and clutched onto his leg.

  “Oh, Clive, you made it. I’ve been up waiting, worried sick! Little Darla, too,” she said.

  “It’s alright, Lucy. I’m fine now. Go wait inside and let me talk to my friend here,” Clive said.

  She placed her paws onto the kitten’s shoulders, leading her back inside. Then she turned to me. “Thank you, detective. I won’t forget it. What do we owe you? I’ll fetch my purse.”

  “No charge, ma’am. This one’s on the house.”

  She took the kitten into the house and closed the door.

  Clive turned to me and put on a tired face.

  “You think they’ll give up, detective? You think they’ll let me be?”

  “You want the straight answer, kid, or the one that’ll let you sleep good tonight?”

  “That’s all the answer I need. I thought as much,” he said.

  “Can you leave the district in the next few days? Take your family and get out of here? You can lie low in the Capitol District for a while.”

  He frowned. “No can do, detective. For one, I’m not running… and even if I wanted to, everything I had was tied up into the store. I bet it all. Insurance in this city won’t cover Mr. B and his gang no more. I won’t see a dime from them.”

  “You call the cops?”

  “Yeah, they said they’d look into it.”

  Just hearing those words made me grind my teeth. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure they’ll look into it. Looking is probably about all they’ll do. They do a lot of just looking, so I’m sure they’ll do a fine job at it. Best to have a report on file though, just in case we ever get a chief that’s not bought and paid for.”

  “Are you…” He looked at the ground, going quiet.

  “Am I what?”

  “Are you going to get in Mr. B’s way, detective?”

  “You don’t need to concern yourself with my job, kid. But let’s say a dog would make trouble for Mr. B. Would you help that dog out?”

  “I would.”

  “You’ve got it bad enough already. Think it over. Carefully. Things are bound to get a lot worse for you as time goes on. Talk it over with the wife.”

  “I got a family to take care of, detective. I want Darla to grow up in a city where she doesn’t have to look over her shoulder everywhere she goes, where she don’t get dragged into a life of crime like I did. Crime’s been in my family for years, Detective. I want to get it out. I want to get it out of the whole rotten city.”

  I smiled. It was looking more and more like I wasn’t the only one feeling that way. “Better lock those doors tonight. Come by to see me tomorrow and make sure you’re not followed. My office is just twenty minutes down the street. You know the place?”

  “You’re Trigger, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right. You heard of me?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t really know who you were. I sure know who you are now.”

  That moment I felt like I could relate to that big-shot detective that used to be on the radio. It felt good.

  6

  I opened another letter the next morning. “Final Notice” was stamped across the top. I frowned and tossed it on the desk when a knock came at the door.

  “Come in.”

  It was Clive.

  “Were you followed?” I asked.

  “No, sir. I left early and took the long way around. Made several stops along the way, just like you told me.”

  “Have a seat.” I pointed my paw to the chair in front of me. “So, tell me what it was like on Mr. B’s crew? How did that start?”

  “Well, my mom and dad died when I was just a kitten. I never found out how. They just never came home one day. So I lived in the alleys and went digging around in the trash for scraps. Eventually I found a few other kittens do the same and we sort of formed our own little crew, you know?”

  I nodded. “Sorry about your parents, kid. Go on.”

  “We didn’t really make much trouble. We’d steal sometimes, sure, but we only stole food. If we had something we didn’t need, we’d try to leave something in its place, you know? We weren’t bad kids. Not really. But we all gotta eat, know what I mean?”

  There was a time more than a few generations ago where dogs had the run of the city. Cats weren’t allowed to own businesses, vote in elections, or even be cops. They mainly lived outside the city walls, but I’d never been outside the city. I couldn’t say what it was like. Few knew what it looked like outside the city, much less what it was like to live there.

  I’d lived in the Black District long enough that I’d seen kittens like Clive running around looking for scraps, fighting just to get the next meal. I’ve met a few pups like that, too. Dames would have more pups and kittens than they could take care of by themselves, then mommy and daddy get desperate trying to bring home the bacon. They’d get mixed up with the wrong folks, then, sure as the summer rains, something would happen to your dear old parents and… Boom! You get strays like Clive. I’d probably seen Clive at some point, too. Wish now I’d paid more attention to some of their faces since most of them end up getting recruited by Mr. B.

  He noticed me getting lost in thought and stopped talking, tilting his head in concern. I motioned for him to continue.

  “One day, when we were a little older, I was out with my boys. We messed up bad. There was two cats talking outside a restaurant we liked to hang around. Big shots in suits. We could tell they were scoping somebody. They were trying
to blend in, but we could tell they weren’t from our hood. They didn’t really know how to blend in. They were too focused on this one table outside. Probably had a meeting scheduled. Say, detective…”

  “Yeah?”

  “You gonna write any of this down?”

  I pointed to my head. “Yeah, in here.”

  “This seems like an awful lot for you to keep straight in your head.”

  “Let’s say someone followed you and you didn’t know it. Let’s say I get Mr. B’s attention some other way. You believe they should come in here and find written testimony from you?”

  “You must have a good memory.”

  “A little too good. There’s plenty I wish I could forget,” I said, dropping the matter. “Anyway, the big shots.”

  “Oh, right. So, this one big shot had his wallet bulging right out of his coat pocket. The thing was so full of cash it was about to burst. See, we’d never stolen money before, but money buys food. So, well, we came up with a little plan to nab the wallet. One of the boys came over and said he was the son of the restaurant owner. He wanted to know why they were snooping around. Another one came down the street about that time and threatened the one pretending to be the owner’s son. Saying he had beef with him. They made it real convincing. Scrapped right in front of these guys. Claws out, that kind of stuff. Blood and all.”

  “You really went all out on the distraction,” I commented.

  He nodded. “These guys didn’t want the attention and tried to break up the fight. I was hiding nearby. When they were good and caught up in what was happening, I snuck right up behind them and pulled the wallet right out of his pocket. Then I took off. I ran all the way back to our usual meeting spot. The other boys didn’t break character either. They were calling names and making threats all the way down the street. Could’ve been actors on the television.

  “So, we finally get back to the meeting place and this wallet… well, sir, it really was full to bursting. We’re talking about a grand or more. We should’ve been terrified to see that much money, but all we could think about was all the food that money could buy. We rented ourselves a nice little apartment to stay in, we went out and bought some nice clothes, went to some nice restaurants.