by M. A. Owens
"All right, what is it you would like to know?"
"First thing I want to know is about the other visitors you had. Don't spare any details."
"The first visitor came several days ago. It was a tall male cat."
"What did he look like?"
"He was slender and immaculately dressed, in a tailor-made suit as far as I could tell. He had a bowtie and was bespectacled. Round lenses. When I first saw him, I thought he looked like the sort of cat that might give you a tour through an old museum. A well-cultured, reserved, and knowledgeable fellow. Very polite. He told me a great deal about the origin of the statue. How it had been imported into the city and was originally a gift for the first mayor who founded the city generations ago, back when there were only dogs here."
Lady came into the room and sat our tea down in front of us. I picked mine up and took a big gulp, noticing an open window. Agatha took a more appropriate sip befitting her grace.
"I like the breeze you have coming in through here. Very relaxing."
She looked puzzled for a moment, finally realizing I was talking about the window. "Oh, yes. The weather's so nice near the end of summer. I enjoy the fresh air."
I nodded. "What about this cat's fur? Any distinguishing features?"
"You mean other than being a cat with round spectacles and a bowtie?"
"Glasses and bowties can be removed, ma'am. Fur can't. At least not as painlessly."
"I suppose you're right. He had mostly white fur, with several patches of brown. Green eyes."
"The other visitor, describe him for me."
"He was a black miniature schnauzer. He had a bushy beard and eyes black as night. Wore a trench coat, much like yours, except his was of a much higher caliber. Blue and spotless. No offense."
I couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. "None taken, ma'am. Anything else?"
"No, he wasn't here for very long. I had Lady throw him out."
"Throw him out? What for?"
"He was of the impression I had stolen the statue from him. I informed him I'd obtained the statue through strictly legal means many years ago in an auction. But he wouldn't hear of it. Doubtless, he was some con artist looking for information. I wasn't about to tolerate that behavior and foul language in my home. No sir," Agatha explained.
"Did he leave a name?"
"He did not."
"The cat?"
"Oh, let's see... what was it, now? Flavio? No... Flavino?"
Lady spoke up, her voice as sharp and as cold as her gaze, "Fernando."
Agatha knocked on the table and shouted, "Yes, that's right! Fernando. He was from either the Capitol District or the Adria District if I had to guess."
I finished the last gulp of my tea and set it down on the table. "Thank you for your time, Agatha. Lady. Good day to you both."
Lady escorted me back to the door and handed me my coat and hat. I tipped my hat and gave her my very best wink and smile. "Ma'am."
No reaction to speak of on the face of the very stoic Lady. "Good day, Detective," was all she said.
3
I knew someone who could help me answer the questions I had plaguing my mind. I grabbed another night of halfway decent sleep and headed to the Adria District. Not much had changed at the checkpoint since Mr. B had been in control. It seems that without their old criminal overlord it was still business as usual. The place was locked down tight, like a fortress. The two Rottweilers at the gate asked to see my security token. I handed it over to them; they scanned it, and I was on my way.
Sugarplum had done a lot in a short amount of time to transform the atmosphere of this place. Despite being Mr. B's daughter, it appeared she kept her word on switching operations over to the straight and narrow. It was a difference hard to detect for the average dog or cat who wasn't aware of the inner workings of the district, and much of that difference could also be credited to Colonel Buddy, who took over policing the district after Colonel Bones was sent packing on racketeering charges. Being in Mr. B's pocket had its risks, no doubt.
Since I entered the district I saw at least one officer almost everywhere I went. Folks already seemed more comfortable with cops around than they were before. Before, it was just a gang of crooked cops on Mr. B's payroll, and if you got on his bad side, you couldn't count on the police for help. Sugarplum herself had moved from a slimy hideout in the far corner of Adria to a large, proud, multilevel building in its center. It was as if she was careful not to choose the tallest building, just almost the tallest.
When I entered her building the two security dogs at the door moved quickly to step in front of me. Can't say I blamed them, as I had stormed right in without thinking. The young feline secretary at the desk was quick to stop them.
"Easy boys. Don't you know who that is? That's Trigger. He's a friend of Sugarplum's."
The demeanor of the two dogs immediately changed. They become friendly and welcoming when just a couple of seconds before they were ready to put me face first on the floor. They must have been new here.
"I'm here to see Sugarplum. Something important has come up and I need her help."
"And I'm sure she would be glad to see you, too, Mr. Trigger. However, she is quite busy these days. She's in a meeting right now and has two more lined up after that." She pointed to a dog and a cat seated in the lobby. "She's already behind. Her next two appointments are already here waiting."
"All right. All right, I got it. Squeeze me in for just five minutes before her next meeting. Just five minutes is all I need. Tell her it's a matter of life and death, and death's already making a tally."
"Sure, Mr. Trigger. I'll ask her. But you can't go making a habit of this."
"Fair enough."
I sat in one of the empty chairs in the lobby and waited. An old cat in a suit stepped out of her office and the secretary quickly went in. A moment later she returned. "Sugarplum will see you now, detective."
I sprang up and hurried into her office, careful to avoid the justifiably irritated glares of the other two waiting for their turn.
The office was impressive; Sugarplum was never one for modesty. Then again, that was my opinion as someone who didn't live here. Everything was polished to a point of pointless perfection. If someone offered me my usual rate to find a paw print on a piece of furniture in this room, I'd have to turn it down. Paintings lined the walls that looked like they belonged in art museums, and at one point probably did. Even Sugarplum's name plate on her desk wasn't simple. It was what appeared to be imported black marble with her name etched in with gold. Throughout my career, I quickly learned that this decorative excess was common for all the big shots in Adria. Sugarplum can't afford to be the exception.
She'd taken to a more professional mode of dress these days, more representative of her new position as a top business cat, but with all her typical flair. She wore a ruffled crimson button-up with black slacks and a wide leather belt. With her short black fur and bright green eyes, she somehow looked more menacing than before. No doubt she'd done that intentionally, just as she had always done everything else. There were never any accidents or coincidences when it came to Sugarplum.
"Come in, detective. Have a seat. You promised to keep it under five minutes, so I suggest you stop wasting time ogling me and be quick about it."
The lack of her usual playfulness and relentless teasing surprised, and even disappointed, me. But at least she managed to throw in one quick jab for old time's sake.
"I'm here to-"
She suddenly threw an eraser at me, keeping her cold expression for only a moment longer before it gave way to a relentless full-belly laugh.
"Oh, same ole Trigger. Lighten up! How many nights have you been dreaming about me before you couldn't help yourself and had to visit?"
I sighed aloud. I'd been mistaken. Signature Sugarplum wisecracking was back in full force.
She pressed a button on her desk. "Delila, reschedule those two dears patiently waiting and clear my schedule for the ne
xt hour. No calls."
Delila buzzed back. "Yes, ma'am."
4
Sugar was eager to catch me up on all she'd accomplished in the recent months, since her father, Mr. B, was sent to prison. She'd merged control of his juggernaut criminal enterprise into a leaner, but thankfully not meaner, alliance of legitimate businesses. The casino was still there, but now others weren't intimidated against starting casinos of their own. In fact, many came to see her for advice on how to get started, and for tips on how they could work together without too much overlap. However, nothing had really gotten started despite there being no obstacles. It was hard to become a king when someone was already on the throne.
"Well, if it isn't the little hero detective himself. I haven't seen you since we got daddy thrown in jail." She produced a toothy grin. Never one for seriousness.
"Yeah, place looks a lot different with Mr. B out of the picture. How's the crime in your part of the city these days?"
She began with a light chuckle. "Oh, you should've seen the first few weeks after they put that new Colonel in charge. They lined up to offer the usual bribes and favors. He invited them by for a meeting, arrested them and charged them on the spot. He really is something else. A bit heavy-pawed, but that's what this district needs most right now."
"He got them all running scared?"
"Running? Yes. Scared? Hardly. They're just scattering and adapting. There'll always be smaller organizations but they'll fight and compete amongst themselves, and they'll never have the control daddy's organization had on the city."
"I guess Buddy's reputation helps that too," I added.
"Oh, yes. In just a few months the police's reputation here has flipped completely. He even had several of his own officers arrested for accepting bribes, but enough about that. If you were just interested in what Buddy's been up to, you'd have gone to see him. What brought you here today?"
"Sugar, I'm here investigating a murder."
"And why are you investigating this murder instead of the police?"
"The police are missing some vital information." I tossed the letter onto her desk. She picked it up and read over it quickly.
"I assume Constance was the victim?"
"Yeah, made it as far as my apartment door before whoever was trailing her caught up and did her in."
"Now I understand. If the police poked around the masterminds would hide out like they always do. You need to find him before he finds out about Constance. Have you discovered the sender's identity yet?"
"As a matter fact, that part of the trail led me straight to you. I want to see if you might know the cat."
"What can you tell me about him?"
"He's a tall cat, wears a suit with a bowtie. Has round glasses. Goes by the name Fernando."
Sugar nodded, with the hint of a frown. "Yes, I know Fernando. He worked for my father. He helped him identify the items in his collection. My father's own personal curator. This 'Grand Gobbler' mentioned in the letter, it's an item my father had always wanted to have."
"That's surprising. Your father's the last person I would expect to not get something he wanted."
"And that made him furious."
"So, this Fernando guy, he a good egg or a bad one?"
"You should know as well as anyone that it depends on where you set the bar, Trigger. As far as I know, he hasn't killed anyone. I don't believe he's ever robbed anyone. Then again, not getting your own paws dirty, and not letting others find out about your role is the mark of a smart criminal. I can tell you he never cast his lot in with what you would normally call the good cats."
"So I'm guessing he's one of those who split off when you took over."
"That's right."
"Any idea who he's working for nowadays?"
"From what I know, he's freelance. Offering his knowledge to various thieves and fences around the city. For a price, of course. He seems to be involved pretty deeply with one of the few establishments left where those types still gather in Adria, called the Swindler's Den. It's near the border to your district disguised as a bar of sorts," Sugar said.
"I guess that's my next stop them."
"Trigger, I won't try to stop you from going. You should know, however, that the only reason this place still exists is because they are great at sniffing out the boys in blue. And before you say you're not a cop, they don't take too kindly to the private kind either. That means you."
I laughed. "You should come with me, then. You could be my bodyguard." She joined me in the laughter, but instantly drowned me out with her volume, as she did with everyone. Sugar was always competing for the loudest, most dominant in the room, and she seldom lost.
"Oh, you know I'd love to. But I have so much work to do here. I shudder to think what would happen if I took even a single day off. It turns out there's a lot more work in running a big business than there is in being the spoiled daughter of a criminal overlord. Who knew?"
I got up to walk out and made it as far as the door before it finally entered my mind to ask another question. "Say, do you happen to know about a black Schnauzer, one with a big black beard?"
She sat thoughtful for a moment. "Sorry, Trigger. Though I can tell you if it's anyone worth their grit, they must not live here in Adria District. At least, it's not likely. Anyone with connection to the Grand Gobbler would be prominent enough for me to know."
I smiled and nodded. "Interesting. Well, it's been a pleasure as always, Sugar. Let's do lunch sometime."
"I was wondering when you would work up the courage to ask me on a date, detective."
I sighed and shook my head, but I couldn't stifle the grin that stretched across my face. Seems I had grown fond of Sugar's jokes at some point. I winked at her before saying, "Wish me luck."
5
I had wondered how a place that calls itself the Swindler's Den still had its doors open in Adria with a dog like Colonel Buddy heading up law enforcement. There's no way he didn't notice it. Then again, I wondered whether Sugar may have been exaggerating or playing some kind of elaborate joke on me. It just didn't make a lot of sense, but after arriving, the situation was becoming clearer.
The place wasn't so much of a bar as it was a pawnshop that served drinks. It's always difficult to determine whether a pawnshop is intentionally dealing in stolen items or if they are just a symptom of a larger disease. No matter how hard a pawnshop owner tries, some stolen merchandise will always find its way in.
Several long, glass cases lined one half of the building, leaving just enough room to walk between them. The glass wasn't regularly cleaned, and there were so many smudges and prints you could barely see what was inside. You had to bob and weave your head to get a clear view of something in particular. The walls were a faux wood paneling that were long overdue for a wipe down, and debris littered the stained, maroon carpet. The place had the distinct smell of antique furniture, even though I didn't see any.
I browsed around. Nothing really seemed out of the ordinary beyond the lack of upkeep. There was lots of jewelry, a couple of telephones, a few lamps, and various other knickknacks. Other than a sword and a few knives, I saw nothing suspicious or out of the ordinary. The bar was the only thing anyone, staff included, paid any attention to. There was a dog or a cat rear end on every stool, and the selection against the wall behind the bar seemed respectable enough. Better than the joints in the Black District for sure, but not by much.
Eventually an empty seat opened at the bar and I claimed it before motioning the bartender over. He was a gruff-looking bulldog, but a little over the hill.
"I'm looking for a friend of mine. Wonder if you might be able to help," I said. Suddenly, all eyes were on me. These boys really were paranoid.
"That depends. Who ya lookin' for?"
"A cat that wears a bowtie and round glasses. A tall fella by the name of Fernando."
The collie sitting next to me, who had been eying me ever since I walked into the joint, decided he would answer instead.
&
nbsp; "You a cop?"
"You think everyone who asks a question is an undercover badge?" I replied. I'm not sure why anyone ever bothered asking that question, it's not like they'd ever take "no" for an answer.
"I'm sure you realize that's just the sorta thing a cop would say. Thing is, I know Fernando, and he don't got no friends who'd go around asking about him the way you are," the collie grunted.
"Not that it's any concern to a," I looked him up and down, "fine canine such as yourself, but he's actually the one looking for me. He sent me a letter and needed my help to find something."
"Easy enough to clear up. Let's see the letter then," he demanded.
"Can't do that. I don't make it a habit of sharing client information."
"Tell us what he wanted you to find then."
"Is your brain as narrow as your snout? What part of 'I don't share client information' is difficult for you to comprehend?"
The collie just smiled and shook his head, looking to the bartender, who returned the smile with one of his own. He nodded and walked to the other end of the bar.
"So, you're one of those private detectives then. Did you see the sign out front that said cops not welcome?"
"I did. The sign said nothin' about private detectives, so that clearly didn't include me. Being a private detective and all."
"I bet you think you're pretty smart, huh?"
"Smarter than you? Impossible," I smirked.
The collie had cursed something at me, but I had turned my head, paying attention to the cat on the other end of the bar who had been watching us and listening. Suddenly, he got up and casually walked out. Seemed no one noticed other than me.
"All right, Mr. Private Detective, it's time for you to go."
"But I haven't even gotten my drink yet. And today I'm more on your side than either of us would like to admit. I need to talk to Fernando before the cops do, so until he and I have a sit down, I'm afraid I'm not going anywhere, pal."