Detective Trigger: Books 1-6

by M. A. Owens

  As soon as he stood up, I kicked my desk forward, right into him. The impact caused him to fall onto it and catch himself with his left paw. The moment his paw touched the desk, I jumped up and slammed the letter opener into his paw, pinning it to the desk. I wasted no time throwing several punches into his face, hopefully right where his jaw was broken recently. I nailed it. With a satisfying crack, I could hear Marty’s jaw break once again under my fist. After about three good punches, he pulled the letter opener out of his paw and hit me hard enough to send me flying against the back wall. I slammed against it so hard that my framed Rose Garden Estates ticket came crashing down, littering the surrounding floor with shattered glass. Seemed the pain just made him angrier.

  He made his way over and picked me up by the scruff of my neck. I picked up a shard of the broken glass and stabbed it into his right forearm, which left both of us with nasty cuts. He dropped me, and when I landed on my feet I threw several more punches square into his gut. The effect was small, but it was something. He kicked me. I went sailing across the room again and into the other wall. I felt several of my ribs break. Even though I was doing better than I had any right to be, it still wasn’t going well. He approached me again, but this time I lunged toward him and sank my teeth into his paw. I felt small bones crack. He tried to shake me loose, but I held on and kept biting as hard as I could, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. He picked me up off the ground and carried me over to my desk, where he slammed my head repeatedly onto the top of it before dragging me across, knocking everything off onto the floor. My vision clouded like I was trying to wake up from a bad dream. If I passed out it would be over for me.

  As I was about to go over the other end of the desk, I grabbed the handle of my drawer. I pulled it out with me as I sailed across the room. Its contents littered the floor, but luck was on my side. Marty saw me reaching for the electric baton on the floor and reacted quickly, trying to stop me. He ran over and gave me a swift kick to the head. My nose felt like it broke in fifty different places, but when I hit the wall for the third time, I was relieved to find I had somehow kept hold of the baton.

  He came over and grabbed me around the neck, picking me up and slamming me against the wall. His face told me everything. It was the face of an assassin, intent on finishing the job. I struggled to find the switch on the baton as he was choking the life out of me. I found it, just as I felt as if I would pass out. I pressed the baton against his rib cage and turned it on. As the device crackled to life, he dropped me to the floor and I gasped for breath, grabbing every ounce of sweet, cold air I could. As we both struggled to get to our feet, I made it to my feet first, delivering two solid blows to his head with the baton. I didn’t have the strength in me to stay standing, much less hit him again.

  That all changed when I looked over and realized the lamp I had on my desk was now on the floor, broken and resting on the rapidly igniting paper. It was lighting the place up quick. I used every last ounce of the strength I had left to drag myself out of the back door and into the alley behind my office. I wasn’t sure if I would ever wake up again, but I was dead tired. I turned to take one last look at my office as the fire consumed every square inch of it. It seemed like I couldn’t wake up from the nightmare after all.

  37

  I woke up in a hospital bed, and I may as well have been opening my eyes into the sun itself. It would be nice if these white rooms weren’t as familiar, but unfortunately I had been in a few too many of them throughout my life. As I rolled over, I realized I had company at my bedside. One Lieutenant Buddy.

  “Look who finally decided nap time was over,” Buddy said, smugly.

  “I didn’t realize you cared so much, Buddy.”

  “Yeah, me and about a dozen other boys the chief has secretly spread around the building.”

  Suddenly it hit me. I remembered what happened leading up to where I blacked out. “My office?” Buddy frowned and shook his head slowly. “What about Marty? He make it out?”

  “Yeah, he made it. You know, the boys downtown had quite a laugh after hearing about what went down. Never seen a Rottweiler licked so hard by a Chihuahua before. He was in the same hospital until just this morning,” Buddy explained. “But don’t worry, he’s enjoying a very secure cell right now. No one's springing him this time.”

  “So how long have I been in here?”

  “Only a few days. Well… technically you’re dead.”

  “Dead?”

  “The chief thought it would be a good idea. Give you a chance to lie low for a while and recover. See for yourself.” He tossed the newspaper on my bed and I immediately flipped through the pages, making my way to the obituaries. Sure enough, there I was. It was quite an exciting thing to see. I bet not many dogs live to be old enough to see their own obituary. And that wasn’t the only interesting thing I saw in the paper. Many of the white-collar criminals Patches had arrested were being found not guilty at the trials, despite overwhelming evidence against them. It appeared that Mr. B still had full control where he wanted it. Those who failed him he was happy to let go, and when he wanted you out, you were out. It looked like the department would once again find its paws tied.

  “I need to speak to him,” I said.

  “Do you know how busy the chief is right now? Is this not something you could just tell me?”

  “Sure. I could tell you. And you’ll tell me we need to take this information to the chief.”

  Buddy laughed. “Try me.”

  “You want to know who paid me a visit?”

  “Yeah, Marty. We’ve already been over this.”

  “He didn’t come visit me by himself. He had a tag-along who left before the fun started.”

  Buddy looked vaguely disinterested when his eyebrows furrowed. “I’m all ears.”

  “A big, fat orange cat by the name of Vash.”

  “Vash?”

  “Yeah, that’s his real name. At least, that’s the name he gave me. No reason to think he lied, considering he was certain I would be worm food in the coming minutes. No harm in telling your real name to a dead dog.”

  “Whose real name?”

  I sighed. “Mr. B.”

  His eyes bulged. “Mr. B?! The Mr. B? I’m sure you’re well aware that Mr. B isn’t known for his meet and greets.”

  “No kidding. Lucky me. I must’ve really gotten under his hide.”

  “Well, you were right about one thing. We need to take this information to the chief. I’m sure he’ll be back to see you shortly. By the way, your name is Carson. You’re an insurance investigator. Mr. B needs to think Marty finished the job for as long as possible. It’ll give you some breathing room.” He handed me a fake ID. Decently made, but not enough to convince anyone who gave it a closer look.

  “Carson. Got it.”

  Patches came into the room a few hours later, and I brought him up to speed on everything. He told me about the plan he’d come up with to fake my death. It turned out that Zelda, that forgetful old dog, did in fact remember my warning phrase and alerted the police as soon as she left the building. They got there just in time to drag Marty out the back, but not enough time to save the building. Things would’ve been a lot easier if I hadn’t had my face plastered all over the paper in Adria several times over, but at least there had been no good close-ups that would give away my bad eye. I still had to be careful who I asked questions around and make sure the wrong people didn’t get a good look at my face. The fact that I had one eye would be a problem. The chief had me discharged and gave me directions to a safe house here in the Black District. I took my papers and promptly made my way toward Adria. The chief would be livid, but probably not surprised. Carson, the insurance investigator, had things to do.

  38

  Before I got there, I made a stop at the residence of an old friend; reformed forger by the name of Harvey. Harvey was a beagle who got mixed up with the wrong dogs when he was just a pup. He tried to leave the business early on, but those he work
ed for don’t take kindly to early retirement. The dog had a real talent for forgeries. I busted up the whole operation and let Harvey escape during the raid. When it came time to testify, I “forgot” he was there or even involved. How weird is that? I believe they call that selective amnesia.

  Harvey was a good kid. I knew a bad apple when I saw one, and he was as far away from that as they come. Folks needed to live in the Black District for a while to understand how good dogs and cats get forced into these operations, then end up in jail with the rest. I just couldn’t abide by that.

  He was reluctant, but he put together some real quality products. I needed convincing documentation “proving” my occupation in the event someone pressed me for it. If I’d have investigated Carson myself, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought. I thanked him for his work and made one more stop to pick up a fresh suit.

  I opted for something low key, but Adria low key. I couldn’t be looking like I was a cop, but often the insurance investigators I met were snazzier dressed and just as mean. Meaner, actually. At least it wasn’t a stretch for me. I picked the blue pinstripe I could afford with the twenty in my pocket and added the matching hat. The widest brimmed fedora they had with the front folded down a tad. It would do wonders for my short stature, hopefully hiding the eyes without looking too out of sorts. Unfortunately for me, a one-eyed Chihuahua was easier to pick out of a crowd than the two-eyed variety.

  I had no trouble at the gate. I waited for a crowd, flashed my pass, and walked right in like I owned the place. I had a good handle on where I wanted to go, but I’d shown up to the commercial hub of the city with just a few dollars in my pocket. I had good money in my bank account, but I couldn’t exactly walk into a bank and inform the teller that a dead dog was here to make a withdrawal. I would need help and in more ways than one. I made my way straight to Rick’s corporate headquarters.

  I asked the secretary at the front desk to see him.

  “Got an appointment?” the secretary blurted out.

  “I don’t need one. Tell him an investigator is here to see him. He’ll-”

  “I don’t care who you are. Come back when you have an appointment,” she replied.

  “It’s urgent, ma’am. I need to see him right away. It’s-”

  “You and half of Adria. Now scram.”

  I opened my mouth to speak again, but this time she just made a threatening nod toward a very large security dog. I realized quickly that I was going nowhere fast with this tenacious gatekeeper. I’d seen prison wardens easier to crack. I went outside, and after spending several precious minutes wandering around I found a payphone. Using an even more precious quarter I rang his direct line. No answer. Now I had less time, less money, and nothing to show for it. Great start.

  I had nowhere to stay. I couldn’t be caught sleeping in some alley, and as the hour grew late, it looked more and more like an all-nighter. I made my way to the one place I remembered a dog could spend the night awake without drawing suspicion. The ironically named Sweet Dreams.

  I made my way there and wove a tall tale at the door about how I was a food critic sent by the paper, eventually getting inside. I went up to the bar, ordered a glass of water, gave the barkeep a nickel, and sat at the first open corner table. I sipped on that water as slow as physically possible. I had a lot of time to pass.

  It wasn’t long before the waiter came to my table asking me to order more or vacate. At first I told him I was waiting for two friends of mine, also food critics, but after an hour he stopped buying it. I made up excuse after excuse until finally he wasn’t having it anymore. He said he’d send his pal over to see me next time.

  A few minutes later, a pit bull, looking about as rough and mean as he was big, came over and sat down at the table across from me. He was the most polite dog I’d ever met explaining how he was about to open the exit door with my face, which made me believe him all the more. He stood up and put his paw on my shoulder, at about the same time that a black cat's paw came to rest on his forearm.

  “Relax. He’s with me.”

  “Sorry Sugarplum, but I know trouble when I see it. He’s gotta go, the bouncer said.”

  “No problem. I’ll just give my father a call. You can sort it out with him.”

  “No!” Looking around to make sure no one heard him, he took a step back, adjusting his jacket collar. “No, that won’t be necessary. Please, enjoy your night.”

  The slender black cat was a sight for sore eyes, but I found her one part intriguing and one part frightening. At the moment, she was the closest thing I had to a friend in Adria.

  39

  “I had a feeling we’d see each other again, Mr.—”

  “Carson. Mr. Carson.”

  “Right, Mr. Carson. Remind me again what you did for a living,” Sugarplum purred.

  “Insurance investigator, ma’am.”

  She grinned, looking as though she was holding back a giggle. “Right. Insurance investigator. So, Mr. Carson, you seem to be down on your luck tonight. I’ve been watching you since you came in here. Either you’re hiding out or you’ve got nowhere to go. I’m desperately curious as to which one it is.”

  “A little of both, but more of the latter I’m afraid.”

  “What insurance claim are you investigating, Mr. Carson?”

  “An expensive collar, one covered in red jewels. You know, now that I think about it, it’s not too dissimilar to the one you wear. In fact, it’s basically identical. Seen any others like it around the city?”

  “I can’t say I have. In fact, I’m fairly certain it’s one of a kind,” she replied.

  “One of a kind, you say?”

  “Yes. I’m drawn to the things that no one else can have.”

  “How do you know the collar is one of a kind? Also, how did you get it?”

  “Mr. Carson, let’s not waste our time. You know either I’m telling you the truth already, or I won't tell you the truth. Either way, you can’t prove that this collar is the one you’re looking for. Besides, I’m sure you have bigger fish to fry at the moment.”

  Unfortunately, she was right. As much as I would’ve enjoyed grilling her about the collar, she was my one and only benefactor at the moment. Besides, I really did have bigger fish to fry.

  “Alright, Sugarplum. You win. Maybe let’s talk about who I think might have stolen it.”

  “Oh please, let’s do that.”

  “Does the name Bad Kitty mean anything to you?”

  “Bad Kitty? Never heard of a cat by that name. How do you know it wasn’t Rico? After all, he’s the most successful thief around. Actually, the buzz is that they caught him last night, but they’re keeping it out of the papers because daddy wants it that way.”

  She sent me reeling with two solid verbal punches in one breath. “Now wait just a minute. Caught?”

  “Yep, caught. I think it’s a real shame, too. I always looked up to him. I liked the way he would get daddy in a big fit.”

  “Okay, what’s this ‘daddy’ business?”

  “Oh, you know who I mean. Normally I keep that on the down low, but I see no point in doing that with you. You’ll just find out eventually anyway, and by then you’ll be cross at me for hiding it from you. So, there we are, out in the open. Mr. B is my father. Although somewhat estranged,” Sugarplum said.

  “Just how estranged are we talking?”

  “We are not on speaking terms at the moment. See, I wanted to restructure the operation. Turn it into something legitimate before it’s too late. He insists on doubling down even though anyone can see how this will end. If not now, then soon. A well-maintained, legitimate company can last for countless generations.”

  I nodded, unconvinced. “Sure.”

  “Think about it like this, Mr. Carson. Would you rather make two hundred today or fifty dollars every day for the next two weeks?”

  “So this is just a disagreement in efficiency then?” I asked.

  “Something like that. At any rate, I suspe
ct we very much have the same goal at present. You need a benefactor here in the district, and I can do that for you, but on a condition of course.”

  “I’m not fond of conditions.”

  “I want to be your partner.”

  “I do just fine on my own, thank you,” I said. “Plus, let’s just say you draw a little too much attention.”

  She grinned. “You sure do know how to compliment a lady, Mr. Carson.”

  Having a partner was something that never interested me. I'd always turned down the opportunity when it presented itself. I couldn’t deny the truth though. I needed a partner right now, and this cat was probably as good as any I was liable to find at the moment. With her resources, it opened a lot of doors that would otherwise be closed. I also got the impression she was highly competent.

  “I can tell just with how the conversation has gone so far that I'll not talk you out of this. Fine, partner. Mind giving me a place to stay? We can meet there in the morning.”

  She smiled. “There’s a modest hotel not too far from here. I’ll call in a reservation. It should be ready by the time you get there. Good night, partner.”

  40

  There was no such thing as a modest hotel in Adria, or a modest anything here, really. It was just the second fanciest place I’d ever slept in instead of the first. I had breakfast and a much-needed bath. Then I waited patiently for my new… partner to arrive.

  There was a knock at my door at about nine.

  “Come in. Door’s open.”

  She walked in, sporting a suit and fedora like what I was wearing when I met her the first time. How was it I kept finding myself working with comedians? Though, no one could argue she didn’t make the get-up look a lot better than I did.

  “Good morning, Mr. Carson,” she said.

  “Really?”

  “Really, what?”

  “Sugarplum, private detective?”