by M. A. Owens
He laughed as the two dogs uncuffed me from the chair and dragged me out of the office, my feet dragging the floor behind me. I put up a bit of an act for his ego. He needed to believe he hurt me a lot worse than he had. That was for his benefit, and mine. Last thing I wanted was these two enormous dogs kicking me around too.
At least now I didn’t have to worry about sending a message to the floor below. I’d be delivering it myself.
18
Marty and I met in the elevator, two guard escorts each. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t get a handle on his angle. He’d taken a beating, same as me, but that made sense either way. If he’d shown up without a scratch, I’d know without a doubt where his loyalties were.
“Looking good, Marty,” I said. “I see you got the same makeover I did.”
He grinned from the opposite side of the elevator. “Yeah, gotta say you’re looking pretty good yourself over there. That big bump over your right eye really distracts from the bad one.”
“Yeah, they really know how to treat a dog here in Arc City Prison, don’t they? A real civilized bunch down here. Say, you think the dogs down here realize that when Saint becomes mayor, they’re going to be at the mercy of the same prisoners they’ve been kicking around all these years? Once they join them, I mean. Saint’s already made it clear dogs won’t be welcome on the ACPD.”
Marty glanced between the guards, all doing their best to remain composed, but succeeding poorly. A nervous shifting here, an uncomfortable glance there. I struck a nerve. Of course, they’d thought about it. They were in denial. Or so it seemed.
“I don’t think they realize it, Trigger. I think they probably think it’ll never happen to them. They don’t realize that a private detective getting thrown down here for standing up to the guy ought to be the only red flag they need. They don’t think it’ll happen to them.”
“Shut up,” the guard next to Marty shouted, elbowing him in the face. “Just stay quiet until Dan gets here to bring us down. We don’t need your political commentary.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It sounds like you do. I’ve met Saint, several times. Have you? You know how the city used to treat cats? Well, that’s how Saint wants to treat dogs. Better think about how you’re going to survive as prisoners here, instead of guards.”
The guard to my right sighed. “Look, we’ve heard rumors. Prisoners talk. There are other prisoners here who knew him personally. Look what happened to you. What do you expect from some low-ranking prison guards in the ACPD?”
That was a good question. What was I expecting? Not a miracle, but no one dog or cat is ever as powerless as they think.
“If that’s a serious question, how about you start with treating the prisoners here like dogs and cats instead of punching bags or cheap entertainment? Might return the favor when the scales tip toward them.”
No one answered. Maybe they’d taken the suggestion to heart, or maybe there’s nothing they could do, and they were done talking about it. It was clear by now that Warden Beans didn’t live up to that polite facade he showed when we first met. Then again, I never expected him to. Most of the time reputations are earned, and his reputation is the thing he lived up to and then some.
Dan stepped into the elevator, moving forward past the six of us and inserting his key into the lock. He didn’t say a word, and no one else did either for the short ride down. Only one guard was waiting for us when we arrived at the bottom. Whoever the bottom floor supervisor was, I’d never met them, and this clearly wasn’t important enough to warrant a personal visit. Assuming this floor even had a supervisor. I didn’t want to assume anything anymore.
“This way,” the guard said.
The moment Marty and I stepped out, the key turned again, and we watched the elevator disappear back up again.
“Ever worked on that floor, pal?” I asked the guard.
He tilted his head. “Can’t say I have. Why?”
“You ain’t missing much,” I said.
He offered a polite smile, before taking us past the rope room, and into the kitchen. We continued until we reached the kitchen and saw the faces of a very surprised Rick and Briggs.
I saluted when we stepped into the room. “Captain, good to see you again. I’m back with another kitchen helper.”
“I’ll leave them to you, Captain,” the guard said, before abruptly turning and leaving.
Briggs eyed Marty up and down, unimpressed. “What’s your name, dog meat?”
“Name’s Marty. Friend of Trigger.”
Rick stood up straight, looking between the two of us. He’d never met Marty, but I’d told him the story more than once. He knew exactly the sort of history Marty and I had, and seems he was as shocked by the turn of events as I had been the first time I spoke to Marty in here.
“Well, Marty, Friend of Trigger, I hope you’re a better worker than he is, or I’ll transfer you straight to toilet duty.”
“Hey, I resent that!” I said, holding my arms out wide.
“And you… what in the world did you get yourself into? Mouth off to the guards? And what did this poor Rottweiler here do that was so bad that he ended up getting thrown down here with you?” Briggs asked.
I crossed my arms and smiled. “Well… I’d like to argue with you, but yeah, in a way you’re right.”
He laughed. “The fact you’d like to argue with me despite not having any reason to illustrates the problem, doesn’t it, Trigger? You need to learn to settle your problems more diplomatically.”
Yeah, let’s see if he still felt that way after he found out why he wasn’t getting his shipments of meat down here.
“Guess so. Also, this dog got thrown down here with me because he was my coconspirator. My partner in crime if you will. I guess you could say that was my fault too.”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Marty said, with the hint of a growl.
“Oh, don’t be sour about it. Briggs here is probably the best brass in the whole joint. Just don’t back talk him, crack any jokes at his expense, or make a single mistake, and you should be just fine.”
Briggs roared laughing, stepping toward me and patting me hard on the back. A little too hard.
“Can’t I at least scare the new face without you going and spoiling even that for me? Oh, before I forget, did you hear anything about that doggone meat order? How long has it been since they’ve gotten their last shipment? Going on seven months down here. The cats are getting sick, even with me pulling from the protein rations that were supposed to be for emergencies. Getting to be more than an annoying problem now.”
“About that…” I started. Rick’s eyes widened. He put his paw to his neck and flicked it side to side a few times, motioning for me to shut up. Thankfully, he was behind Briggs. “They’ve been getting your orders up top.”
Rick threw up his paws, clearly annoyed with my choice to broach the topic Briggs was most passionate about since we’d been here.
Briggs bent toward me, putting us on eye level. I was regretting the decision too. Despite his big heart, Briggs was a truly terrifying force of nature when he got angry, and he got angry often. Most of all, about this meat situation. Now that the cats were getting sick, even more.
He lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “Well, if they’re getting my orders, why haven’t I got any meat down here in almost… seven… doggone… months?”
“Uh… Well,” I hesitated, even more wishing I’d listened to Rick. A very familiar feeling.
He grabbed me by the collar. “What? You afraid I’ll overreact? I’m the very image of calm, Trigger. Now finish that sentence before I fly off the handle and wring your neck.”
“The kitchen captain above…” Briggs’ changing expression made me hesitate again.
“Yeah, go on… the kitchen captain above. What did that little conniving old pencil-necked dog do?”
“He’s holding up both his shipment and ours and serving double.”
Briggs froze in pla
ce. His eyes bulged and twitched. He reached his paws out slowly and planted them on my shoulders, then patted me a few times, uncomfortably hard.
“Thank you for telling me, Trigger. Rick is in charge of the kitchen until I get back. That clear?”
“Get back? Maybe that’s not such a…”
Rick made the same motion again, signaling for me to shut up. This time, I listened.
“Crystal clear, Captain Briggs,” I said, correcting myself. I elbowed Marty, who followed along.
“Yes, Captain Briggs,” he said, his tone giving away the fact he was probably the most confused out of all of us. It sounded more like a question than a statement.
Briggs stomped off, shaking the shelves as he did. Boy, was he angry. I really hoped he didn’t get himself into trouble, but this was another golden opportunity, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s never to let one of those go to waste.
“Trigger, you shouldn’t have told him about the meat that way. You know how Briggs is. You could’ve eased him into the information. Now he’s probably going to rush up there, slug that dog out, and come back down the elevator with boxes of frozen meat and a trail of blood behind him.”
“And? He just said the cats were getting sick. Sounds like that dog deserves to get slugged to me. I get why— Hey, wait just a minute…”
Rick tilted his head. “What is it?”
“How is he going to go up the elevator without a floor supervisor’s key?” I asked.
Rick rubbed his forehead. “Some detective you are. He has the floor supervisor key. He’s both. You never noticed? Did you think everyone around here follows his orders because he’s scary when he’s mad?”
“You know what, Rick? Yes. I did think that. Did you see his eyes twitching just now? He’s also the only dog in this whole blasted place that treats the prisoners with any respect at all. I just assumed everyone liked the dog so much they were happy to do what he asked, and any who didn’t like him were too scared to say so. Seems like good detective logic to me. Maybe noticing valuable item is something a master…” No. Almost let myself slip up there. Can’t go calling Rick a master thief in front of Marty. Others here knew that, but Marty didn’t. Best I keep that to myself for as long as possible. Ease him into the information, as Rick put it. “… business dog. Something a master business dog would notice, always looking for opportunities and all.”
Rick was quick to catch on. He narrowed his eyes, and I think he got the point.
“So, what have you been up to on the floor up? You look awful but forgive me for having a hard time believing you came back empty pawed.”
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it. I memorized a list of items that are stocked in the kitchen. I need you to make sure these items are unlocked and accessible. While we have a chance, let me go over everything with you. I had enough of that floor to last for a lifetime. Both of you, follow me.”
19
For the next hour, I went over the list of ingredients with Rick, with Marty following closely behind. This was going to be tricky. Not just deciding if I wanted to trust Marty, but how to handle him constantly breathing down my neck if I decided he wasn’t trustworthy. The only solution I could think of was to keep everyone in the dark. That would make this hard. I couldn’t tell Rick exactly when we needed these supplies, and I couldn’t alert Mr. B to the fact that the mission above had been a success. This made lunch the following day awkward.
Mr. B seemed every bit as nervous about Marty’s presence as I did, though the two seemed to hit their reunion off just fine. Then again, we were talking about one of the most charismatic cats in the city. Putting on an act wouldn’t exactly be difficult. Marty, I’d learned, may not be so bad at acting himself. It was entirely possible I wasn’t giving him a fair shake, that he’d really turned over a new leaf, and was on board with our plans. He was previously loyal to Mr. B, after all.
One of the toughest parts of this whole thing was that I couldn’t mention Mildred at all. Once we left our cells in the morning, Marty was with me all day. I never had a moment to myself, or alone with Mr. B, or Rick. The risks had to be weighed. If I talked about the secret plan, everyone could be prepared. Marty could also rat us out. It added a lot more anxiety to an already delicate situation. We had to be ready at an exact time, and there was no room for mistakes. If I couldn’t get everyone ready in time, I risked someone being left behind, or ruining the escape entirely.
Although he’d returned empty-pawed the first time, a few days later Briggs returned from his trip up to the next floor with, of course, a cart full of frozen meat. Not one of us asked how he got it. We could have guessed. I expected the warden to come stomping after him, demanding he return the supplies or explain himself, but he never did. Come to think of it, the warden never showed his face down here. Even when he sent Marty and I down after the whole incident with Mildred, he didn’t escort us personally. He had Dan do it. Why was he so shy about this floor?
Part of me wanted to believe that Briggs was just more intimidating than the other floor supervisors, and the warden didn’t step on his toes, but something about the warden told me that wasn’t true. Briggs might be a scary dog in a lot of ways, but in the ways that really mattered in this prison, the warden checked all the right boxes. He was a sly liar who only went to blows when there was no chance of being hit back. It was frustrating being on the receiving end of it, but it was easy to see how a cat like that became the master of this prison. He played the criminal game, and he played it better than the criminals probably ever had. He might even give Mr. B a run for his money. Except for the fact Arc City was a lot bigger than just Arc City Prison. Warden Beans might be the big cat down here, but Mr. B once held it all in the pad of his paw. I shuddered to think that having the very dogs who brought him down in the first place be the ones to return him to power could be by his own design.
What if he’d planned all of this? What if he’d asked Saint to make this kind of move if he was ever taken out of power, so the city would actually want him back? What if this? What if that? Mr. B might be smart, but he was just a mere mortal like the rest of us. He might be good at predicting the future, but he didn’t have visions of it. Even he had enemies working against him, making plans and moves of their own. And if Mr. B had a lot of things, even more than power, he had enemies. Grudges can last a long time. Could all the dogs and cats in the city he’d wronged really look past everything he’d done? Saint hadn’t taken power yet, but he’d kept no secret about his plans. Would Saint’s plans for the future feel more wrong than Mr. B’s actions of the past?
No matter what happened, there was a strong possibility that Saint would win anyway, that all of this would play right into his paws. That we’d played our paw too soon and lost the chance to play it later at a better time. If Saint overcame Mr. B, either legitimately, or by just sending some assassin to take him out, what cards did we have left to play? Was there any possibility that I could talk Kerdy into intervening? Not likely. If they’d turned a blind eye to the persecution of cats, their own people, what chance was there that they’d intervene on behalf of dogs? None. Their rules were too important to them. Nothing, not even common sense, took priority over them.
My thoughts were sounding like Saul, when he gave that speech about a murderer not getting away with his crime just because he regretted it. That they deserved to be punished no matter what, or that wasn’t justice. Was he wrong about that? As a cop, I made a lot of arrests where the perp regretted what they’d done. If it was something like a petty theft, I turned a blind eye sometimes. But for something like murder? Of course I couldn’t. The victim and their family deserved justice. Was the enslavement and awful treatment of an entire species any different? If they followed through, and made dogs pay by doing the same thing to them… Maybe it would take a hundred years, but dogs would get the power back eventually, probably through a lot of bloodshed, and generations of wrongs would need to be punished. Again, and again. Could we really c
onvince the cats to let go of their desire for justice, if it meant finally having an equal and peaceful existence with dogs for a long, long time?
That’s the question that would have to be answered, and it’s the question I couldn’t get out of my head for the next two weeks leading up to my big surprise. Mr. B certainly believed we could do it. He believed it was possible. He was a cat that got what he wanted more often than he didn’t, and I took comfort in the fact he believed it could be done. Maybe it could. It’s the hope I had to cling on to. It’s the hope that helped me steel myself against the dread and fear of blowing everything and living out the rest of my days in Arc City Prison, never seeing Lily again. Never seeing Petey, Buddy, or Brutus again. Even Fire Claws, Elly, Robby, Clive, and too many others to name. I thought about them, and what the city was soon going to be like for them if we couldn’t pull this off. Should really track down Clive and see how he made out. Hadn’t seen the cat in ages, ever since I helped him get out of that mess with the mob sacking his grocery store. It’s unlikely they could track him down again, since they had better things to do after that.
When the day finally came, I told Mr. B, Marty, and Rick that I’d come up with a plan and needed to meet with them near the elevator just before ten. I kept Marty close to me, just to make sure he didn’t rat us out. This worked both ways. I was stuck with him, but he was stuck with me too. To my surprise, he made no effort to slip away, or excuse himself. I knew it was a possibility, but had I misread the situation? Maybe he was onboard all the way, after all.
