by M. A. Owens
I struggled to my feet, walking again, making my way to the kitchen with a paw being shoved into my back every three steps as a helpful guide so I wouldn’t get lost.
The dog pressed a button on the intercom when we reached the end of a long hallway, and a large metal door.
“Fresh meat delivery,” he said, smiling at me as he let go of the button.
“Really?” an excited voice came from the other side. “They finally sent us meat down? Thank goodness. I’ve been submitting a request form like clockwork for six months now. Can you believe it? Six months. Well, what are you waiting for? Door’s unlocked. Let’s see what they sent!”
The Pomeranian looked sick suddenly and didn’t reach out to open the door.
“Hey… you alright? He said we could go in,” I said, immediately regretting opening my mouth again and giving him an excuse to put his baton across my face. But he didn’t even seem to hear me.
The box buzzed again, and the disembodied voice came through again. “Hey, is this thing on? I said get in here. I swear if you don’t hurry it up after I waited six months, I’m going to add you to whatever meat they sent. Get in here!”
Oh boy, I recognized that voice. He was even angrier than usual today.
The door flung open, nearly hitting both of us, sending me falling backward onto the floor.
A huge Chow Chow stepped through the door, his face a blast of orange fur that nearly obscured his eyes.
“Is that blasted speaker broken again? Where’s the meat shipment?” he boomed, sending spittle flying in all directions as he did.
Again, the Pomeranian stood rigid without answering.
The Chow Chow ran up to him, leaning down into his face. “Is the speaker in your head broken too, officer? Am I too quiet for you? Did you invent a new language that I don’t speak? Did the prisoners hold you down and stuff wax in your ears? Are you carrying out a vow of silence for your religion? Want me to keep asking you questions? I can do this all night, officer. All night. Six months I’ve been waiting for that meat shipment. Six months. Is it invisible meat? Why can’t I see it?”
The Pomeranian’s face was visibly damp from being covered in the big dog’s spit now, and he looked as though he was about to cry. I, on the other paw, was thoroughly enjoying myself.
“Kitchen Captain Briggs, I was making a joke about the new prisoner… sir.”
“Oh…” the Chow Chow stepped back, looking at me and then to the Pomeranian again. “So, I guess I just don’t have a sense of humor? My sense of humor is the problem. I must not find this funny because I’m lacking your refined sense of humor.”
“N-no. N-no, sir.”
Briggs stood up straight, clearing his throat. “Let me try it. I heard a joke just now, in my head. Want to hear it? Hey officer, nice cuts. Get it, fresh meat, cuts? Like fresh cuts of meat. Guess which cut I have for you, because there’s one for you here. Has your name on it,” he said, lifting an invisible package up and pretending to inspect it.
The Pomeranian stood quietly. “Uh, is it a—”
“A pay cut!” Briggs shouted, doubling over laughing. “Hah! Get it? Because I’ve been waiting for a meat shipment for over six months, and you just had to make that joke, so I might ask the warden to cut your pay this week. You prefer thin cuts or thick cuts, officer?”
“Thin! Thin, sir,” he shouted, without hesitation.
“Glad we could share a laugh like this, officer. Dismissed.”
The officer turned and walked quickly the way we came, and Briggs motioned for me to go through the door. He stepped through behind me, and I was thrilled to see Rick on the other side, standing and peeling potatoes over a large bucket. I stood beside him, and Briggs came over and put an arm around both of us.
“Good to see you, pal.”
“Boy, am I ever glad to see you too, Briggs. What’s for dinner?”
2
“Well, some kind of potato dish by the look of it,” Rick said, grinning.
“Thanks a lot, pal. Glad you were here to reason me through that.”
“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’re tired of potatoes,” Briggs said, trying to employ the same sarcasm Rick and I did, but he completely missed the tone. Probably because of the constant rage that seemed to occupy his head.
“Not at all, really. So, fried potatoes. Sausage is out of the question. Obviously. Cheese?” I asked.
That was clearly the wrong question to ask, since the Chow Chow took in a deep breath and almost seemed to plan on holding it until he passed out. When he finally let it go, he spoke at the same time he exhaled.
“We ran out of cheese this morning. I put in the order two weeks ago. The cheese we were eating was already past date… like when we got it.”
“Easy, big guy. We’ll make it work. You’re the only one who treats the cats and dogs better than garbage. No one’s going to complain.”
He scratched the top of his head. “Not the point, Trigger. I want these dogs and cats to enjoy the food they eat. Not only not complain about it.” He waved his paw, dismissing himself. “Ah, who am I kidding? Ever since Rick came down here, and I found out he ran that food business, restaurants and all that, it’s made my life a lot easier. Dog knows food.”
Rick laughed. “Well, owning a company and cooking my own are two very different things, but I’m glad to hear I’ve been helpful. I just invested heavily into this alternative method, not sure why we’d never done it before, called ‘canning’. It’s actually an old method, but it keeps foods fresh for ages. Would help you a lot down here.”
Briggs shook his head. “Yeah, well, that’s exciting news. Really, it is. But down here? If I put in the order, maybe the next generation will see them come in. Except they’ll all be broken by the time they get here.”
I nodded. Hard to believe there were bigger cynics than me, but if you were going to find one, this would be the place to look.
“Didn’t you say things also improved a lot after Mr. B got here?” Rick asked.
“Sure, when he first got here. Nearly everyone here was one of his cats, and the guards were mostly on his payroll. Everyone expected he’d just walk right out, so he just became the default warden of the sub-levels. Beans didn’t bother him.
“Then, they sealed off his old secret tunnel, and time just kept passing. Cat still has a lot of loyalty down here, on account of his smooth talking, but it’s reduced over time. Warden Beans has been sending orders down here more and more often, and the new guards couldn’t care less about him or who he was on the surface.”
“Yeah, they’re going to regret that,” Rick said.
“What do you mean?” Briggs asked, tilting his head.
“Sorry, I just mean they could regret it,” he said, quickly correcting himself. “Especially when they get to know his replacement.”
Briggs nodded. “Yeah, sure, they could regret it, I suppose. A dog with as much money as you had, why not try to get a slice of that special treatment yourself? I’m sure whoever’s controlling whatever assets of yours that weren’t seized would be happy to bribe a few guards to make your life easier.”
Rick offered him a toothy grin. “Nah, they need the money up there to clean up all the messes that have been made. Besides, all I need to do is make good friends like you, Briggs.”
Briggs let out a big table-jarring belly laugh. “True. True. But don’t forget, I take my job seriously, and that means making you work, so speed up on those potatoes, or it’ll be you on the hook for everyone getting smaller portions.”
“Yes, sir!” Rick shouted, turning his attention fully back to his potato peeling.
“Come with me, Trigger. I need you to pick out the rotting carrots today, before they spoil the entire supply. You missed a few last time. Don’t let me see it happen again.”
“Yes, sir!” I shouted, following Briggs into the storage room.
This place stank beyond comprehension. It wasn’t just the rotten vegetables that accumulated every day. I
t was the moisture creeping through the stone walls, mildew, mold, and worse. Even the food that didn’t kill you didn’t exactly taste good. No one had the heart to break it to Briggs, a dog that had lost most of his sense of taste from years of eating the food himself, but also because everyone here loved the old dog. He would ask an opinion on the food, and no matter how much he threatened to punish them if they lied, they would lie anyway. We all lied, every single time. A white lie that was the only thing a bunch of hopeless prisoners could give to one of the few dogs who looked out for them and fought tooth and nail to make sure they had enough to eat.
Despite all that, my stomach stayed a wreck since I got here, but I was getting used to it. One week, it had been. Felt like a month. A year, maybe. This place was a hole in the ground, both figuratively and literally.
I frantically dug through the carrots, inspecting each one by one. I was about as suited for this job as Briggs was for cooking. One completely blind eye, at the other wasn’t exactly the best eye to ever be in an eye socket. The worst part was the candlelight. One small candle on a table for the entire room.
“Good enough, Trigger. Looks like you got them all. Wonderful work,” he said.
I really, really hoped he was right.
“Thanks. What now, boss dog?”
“Go back and help Rick finish his potatoes. Let him take a break, if you can. I need to go have a word with the supply officer… again. Not that it’s his fault, but I have a few words for him to pass on.”
I nodded to him as he left, checking through the carrot pile one more time before I left, already finding several I’d missed that were either slimy or half blue. Sheesh. These dogs and cats were going to kill me if I didn’t get better.
“Oh!” I shouted, running out of the room. “See if we can get a better light in the pantry.”
Briggs laughed at that one. “No problem, Trigger. I’m six years ahead of you.”
Holy cow. Six years? Guess we were never getting that light. I’m a bit of a slow learner down here, but I was catching on. Hard to believe there was a place in the city where it was harder to get basic needs met than Black District, but this was definitely worse. A lot worse. And yet, since coming down here, Mr. B had adapted and thrived. Even after he lost his connections to the surface, and his way out. Didn’t seem to affect his mood or make him give up in the least. I’d understood why so many were loyal to the cat, and why others feared him so much. One thing I hadn’t learned was how to forgive him for all he’d done.
I headed back to the potatoes where Rick was, grabbing one and fumbling with the extra peeler which I only now realized was broken. I held it up for Rick to inspect, but he only shook his head. I sighed and gently dropped it on the ground beside me.
“Swap out?” I asked, since that was my only choice.
“Sure,” Rick said, grabbing his cane and hobbling over to the wall opposite the sink, sliding down onto the floor. “At least until our new friend gets here.”
“Your new friend,” I snapped. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“You really don’t think these things through very well, do you?”
“Not thinking things through is one of my superpowers, Rick. That’s what I count on you for,” I said, finding my rhythm on the potatoes.
“Either way, if we want to see the light of day again, I suggest you at least pretend to the best of your ability.”
I looked over my shoulder, giving him an incredulous look. “You think?”
“Right,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re not exactly the best actor with letting someone know how much you like or dislike them, are you?”
“No, guess I’m not.” I eyed the potato pile. “Guess we can slice them together, at least.”
Rick nodded, and we moved as quickly as we could with our knives. Over an hour later, when every small muscle in my arms was burning, we’d finally finished. I fired up the stove in the kitchen, the next room over, oiled the skillets, and dragged the potato basket into the kitchen too. I was missing the knots right about now. Briggs’ kitchen was back-breaking work, but if no one was here, he’d gladly do it all himself without a single complaint. Which made it impossible to complain myself without feeling like a complete wimp.
I dragged the basket over a few more feet and dropped potatoes into the giant skillets by the pawful.
“I’ve got it from here. Our partner in crime has arrived in the dining hall. Best you go out and talk to him. I think I’m at least capable of flipping potatoes with a spatula.”
“He can wait, Rick. He’s not the king of the city anymore.”
“City doesn’t need a king, Trigger. It needs someone who can still push out Saint. The list for that is pretty short.”
I slammed the spatula into the skillet, sending pieces of potato flying up into my face and across the room.
“He already had his chance. He almost killed me, and he would’ve killed you too if he had the opportunity. Have you gone mad? I know… we’ve had this conversation over and over. You’ve tried to explain it to me, but there had to be another way.”
“Woah, careful. You break that spatula, and Briggs is going to break your neck. And you know if there was another way, I’d have done it. We made a mistake, Trigger. End of story. We messed up. We should’ve gone about things a different way, but we did the best we could with what we knew. As far as we knew, we were doing the right thing.”
“Doggone it, Rick. We did the right thing.”
Rick simply nodded, picking up the spatula, steadying himself with his cane in his other paw. “You figure out another way, and I’m all ears, pal.”
“Yeah, I’m working on it,” I said, storming out of the kitchen and into the dining hall. I saw Mr. B and walked toward him, when I suddenly tripped, falling face-first onto the concrete floor.
I looked up and saw a big black and white tabby staring down at me. He grinned and stood from his seat.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the brilliant detective himself, come to grace us with his presence. I heard you were down here, and I’ve been waiting. Got myself kicked down a level just for this meeting. I’m going to enjoy cracking your skull in.”
I struggled to my feet, dusting off my jumpsuit.
“You mean caving my skull in, or cracking my skull. You’re getting the phrases mixed up,” I said, grinning. “And it’s good to see you too, Mr. Scumbag.”
He cracked his knuckles. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.”
“Give it your best shot,” I said… really hoping that he wouldn’t.
3
The last time I met Mr. Scumbag, it didn’t go so well for either of us. Thankfully, I had help at the time from a nearby security cat. In here, he was more likely to have the help than me. But dogs and cats in here also liked to watch the fights and rarely interfered. It was the closest thing to live entertainment they got, and they didn’t want it devolving into full-blown brawls and riots. That would mean the guards stepping in, and no one wanted that. Including the guards, who also enjoyed the fights. I’d never heard of a fight happening in the dining hall, but then again, I was new here too.
I went with the strategy that worked the best for me. Swinging first.
I caught him in the gut as he walked toward me, and he doubled over. I tried to follow up with a knee to the face, but he grabbed my leg, picking me up and taking me to the ground. While he was adjusting, I kept delivering blow after blow to his head with my fists. It didn’t take long before he’d worked his way into the right position to hit me from above, but his face looked like a dog twice my size had punched it. Lucky shots, I guess. He landed several punches, and I realized I was going to be in big trouble if I didn’t get him off me, and soon. But I wasn’t feeling much of it... yet.
He stood up straight, on his knees, just long enough to retrieve a fork from the table and held it above me, ready to plunge it deep into my chest. A cat who’d been sitting beside him jumped up and wrapped their arms around his while another ran over an
d grabbed the fork from his paw. A dog from the table across came over and picked Mr. Scumbag up, slamming him onto the table.
“Captain Briggs said if anyone ever used his utensils as a weapon, we’d be eating with our paws until the day we die. Listen, new blood, if you try to pull something like that again every dog and cat in here’s going to make your life either miserable or short. Probably both. Understand me?”
Mr. Scumbag only nodded, still in a state of disbelief over what had happened, looking between me and the dog holding his forearm against his neck.
“Good,” the dog said. “Now shut up, sit down, and don’t say another doggone word or so help me…”
“Alright, I got it,” Mr. Scumbag pleaded. “Not a peep. I’m sorry.”
It occurred to me that these prisoners were more than happy to watch him beat me to death with his fists, just not the fork. Where had the fork come from, anyway? They weren’t supposed to be put out until just before mealtime, which was still a few minutes away.
I looked back toward Mr. B, only to find him grinning, another cat sitting beside him doing the same. I ought to slap that smile off his face. Maybe I would.
I walked over; this time even angrier than I was before.
I sat down in front of them.
“You think that’s funny, do you?” I asked, pointing my paw in Mr. B’s face.
He held up his paws but continued smiling. The gray cat beside him laughed.
“What the boss means to say, is ‘you’re welcome’.”
“I’m welcome? For what, exactly? The pleasure of having him watch someone almost kill me for the second time? You order that one too?” I asked, turning my attention back to Mr. B, getting caught up in the moment.
“Do you really want to know? I don’t mind telling you,” Mr. B said, his grin still digging under my skin.
“Seeing as how I don’t have anywhere else to be, why not? Tell me.”
