Detective Trigger: Books 1-6

by M. A. Owens

  He had advanced knowledge of what was about to happen and had many hiding places. No one had better contacts in both the business world and the less savory side of the district than Rick. He was all too happy.

  I hope we’ll see each other again someday. Knowing you and your tendency to get into trouble, maybe soon. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, am I right?

  That part of the letter stood out.

  He’d gotten arrested on purpose and…

  I looked to the box that was lying on the floor beside my bed, containing the suit.

  You’ll need to look good for your photo.

  Well, I’ll be. That photo he was talking about… it was a mug shot!

  Sorry, Rick. I appreciate the fancy suit, but I prefer a different look.

  I scribbled a note for Lily on the back of the letter Rick had written for me, using a tiny pencil I had fortunately neglected to throw away. No way she’d let me leave if she knew where I was going.

  I opened the window as quietly as I could and slipped out. When I landed on the ground, the sharp pain I’d been expecting never came. Had Kerdy given me some kind of advanced painkiller?

  I made my way out of Rose Garden Estate, and visited my apartment, grabbing my hat and trench coat. With lining removed, of course. I wanted to match up with the photos the Arc Daily Tribune had taken of me when I was in the papers over there. Wanted maximum recognition.

  I left my apartment and continued walking down the empty streets. It’s a shame I couldn’t go see Harvey or Petey before I did this, but all of them would just say I was crazy.

  All of them would be right, of course.

  A sense of calm washed over me as I approached the Blue District gate. Both dogs on duty there looked at one another, questioning if what they were seeing was real.

  “Trigger?” one dog asked. “Is that really you?”

  I nodded, holding out my paws. “Take me to the chief. Ready to turn myself in. Tired of putting everyone else in danger on my account. This is the easiest way.”

  Reluctantly, the second dog pulled out cuffs, whistling for an officer to come and escort me.

  Patches seemed neither surprised to see me, nor expecting me.

  Instead, he twitched one of his paws twice toward the phone, twice toward the bookshelf to his right, and twice toward his desk. Bugged from top to bottom. No wonder he hadn’t been able to talk straight with us from the beginning.

  “You’re doing the right thing by coming here, Trigger. It shows that despite all you’ve done, you still have a bit of integrity left in you from your time wearing the badge. As you know, the charges against you are quite serious. They put you in the same league as your friend, Rick. Or, should I say, Rico? How does it feel to be in the same class as a legendary criminal who had to work for years to achieve it? Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

  “Shove it, Patches!” I said. “I’m ready for my glamor shots. Just make sure they get the lighting right. I want to look real pretty for the papers tomorrow.”

  He made his first and only slip, allowing a small smile to escape his lips. Only for a moment, and it was gone, so quickly most would question whether it was ever there in the first place. Whatever the plan was, Patches was clearly in on it. Somehow Rick had informed him. Too bad Patches couldn’t pass the message on to me in less cryptic terms. Though, I had a feeling I knew what it was, despite any reasonable thought disagreeing with the conclusion.

  He led me down the hall in front of the camera. They handed me the card with a chain to hang it from my neck.

  “Don’t smile,” the officer said. “I know you’re going to.”

  He was right. As soon as I heard the click, I grinned like a bandit from ear to ear.

  “Aw man, he smiled!” the officer said, looking to Patches. “Please don’t make me retake this photo over and over. Work with me here.”

  Patches raised his paw. “Doesn’t matter. He’s never getting out anyway. They’ll chew him up and spit him out down in the sub-levels long before his trial rolls around. It’s unlikely he’ll last the week. Look at it as us capturing probably the last smile he’ll ever make. Just book him and get him changed into his new uniform. An officer will be by shortly to escort him the long way down.”

  Patches nodded at me, and I was confident he was secretly wishing me luck.

  I got changed, and an officer arrived a few minutes later, escorting me as promised.

  “I’m getting a nice little tip to switch around your cell assignment, Mr. Trigger,” he said, giving me a wink as we descended the heavily armored lift elevator, nearly sending me toppling over as we moved.

  “Oh, from who?” I asked.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” he said. “This way.”

  He motioned me to follow him as we exited the lift. This must be the sub-levels, in a world of its own. Prisoners screamed and shook their bars as I walked by.

  “Look who it is,” one shouted.

  “Oh, wait until this gets around,” added another.

  Someone else spat on me as we passed. What a friendly bunch.

  “Your new cell, Mr. Trigger. Hope you don’t mind sharing. It’s a group cell.”

  “Great…” I said, stepping inside, hearing the door slam and lock behind me.

  “The switch,” a voice said. “To your left, next to the door you just went through. Turn it on if you’d be so kind.”

  That voice was familiar, but it wasn’t Rick’s like I was expecting. No, I knew exactly whose voice it was.

  I flipped the switch, revealing a familiar orange cat sitting at a table at the opposite end of the room, flashing me a smile.

  “You should have chosen a different career, Trigger. Once again, you and I find ourselves on the same path,” he said.

  “Thank you for your advice, Mr. B, but looking back I think I’d have to disagree. Maybe this job wasn’t so bad after all.”

  Epilogue

  After placing a bottle and two empty glasses on his desk, Saint handed the cat sitting across from him a cigar, leaning back into his new leather chair and lighting one of his own. The cat across from him cut the end of his before doing the same.

  Saint smiled, “What’s the matter, Rosco? You seem troubled. Is the cigar not to your liking?”

  Rosco adjusted the collar of his fancy suit, leaning forward in his chair.

  “Forgive me for saying so, but I’m not sure I see the cause to celebrate. We just lost Saul.”

  Saint puffed on his cigar, and blew a smoke ring toward Rosco, smiling again.

  “You think too much in the short-term, Colonel. Where’s your sense of vision?”

  Rosco continued. “And we put thirty of our best cats…” He paused, holding his arms out wide. “Thirty of our best cats guarded that little white Chihuahua, and one cat somehow comes in, nearly kills all of them, yet somehow doesn’t kill any of them. She didn’t sneak, Saint. She kicked in the front door, pulled out two swords, and beat the tar out of all the meanest, toughest cats we could find in the entire city. It wasn’t close. If she walked into the ground floor of this building right now, we’d be done.”

  “She won’t,” Saint said. “She got what she came for. We won’t be seeing her again.”

  Rosco choked out a sigh, shaking his head. “Well, that’s a relief, but Saul could have done the same thing she did, but to our enemies. Is it worth losing our secret weapon to remove theirs?”

  Saint shrugged. “Saul wasn’t on her level. At worst, removing these two pieces changes nothing. At best, it’s a slight advantage to us. Again, small things.”

  Rosco forced a smile, finally taking a puff of his own cigar. “Right. You’re right. But what about that private detective?”

  “What about him?” Saint asked, tilting his head.

  “We don’t have an ideal hostage anymore, and without Saul it will be hard for us to grab up anyone we want, whenever we want, wherever we want.”

  “Rosco, I really am disappointed in you. I exp
ected you to have more imagination. Don’t you see the hostage threat worked?”

  Rosco squinted, letting the cigar hang loosely from his lips. “I’m sorry. I don’t follow.”

  Saint sighed. “Of course you don’t. Haven’t you heard? The little detective turned himself in. Walked straight into the Blue District, held out his paws, and didn’t even put up a fight. See, I put the fear in him. He knows that his friends and loved ones aren’t off limits. He knows that if he causes me trouble, I’ll hurt everyone he ever cared about if I can’t hurt him directly. When that finally sank in, he turned himself in. I’ll honor his wish and leave his friends alone, so long as they don’t bother me… for now.”

  “Yeah, but…” Rosco hesitated, seeing Saint’s irritation deepen.

  Saint stared at him, then sighed, motioning for him to continue. “But what?”

  “Don’t you find it a little strange? That he’d just give up like that.”

  Saint placed his cigar in the ashtray sitting on his desk. “Rosco, all of our primary threats are out of the way. No more Kerdy. Rico is in prison. Trigger is in prison. Mr. B is in prison. Sugarplum is on a tight leash, only a paper tiger now. We’ve basically won already.”

  “What if Rico, Trigger, and Mr. B team up in there, with you as their common enemy?”

  Saint leaned forward and plucked the cigar from Rosco’s lips, placing it carefully in the ashtray.

  “And do what? Shout obscenities at me from the depths of Arc City Prison? Draw my face on a pillow and take turns punching it?”

  “Sir, if Mr. B ever escapes, he—”

  Saint shot to his feet, grabbing Rosco by his shirt, pulling him nose-to-nose. “Mr. B will… I’ll…” Saint tried to put his thoughts into words, but even now he was still afraid to insult his former boss aloud. He sighed, easing Rosco back into his chair. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Tell the chief I’m requesting—”

  “You mean Trigger’s old friend? He’s doing well but shouldn’t be fully trusted just yet.” Rosco interrupted.

  Saint nodded. “Spread a rumor among the prisoners occupying the sub-levels of Arc City Prison, the meanest and toughest criminals alive in the city, that the one to kill any of them will receive a full pardon and government position with salary the first day after I take office as mayor. Dog or cat, doesn’t matter.”

  Rosco nodded softly, pleased with the idea. “I’ll be visiting next week. I know some prisoners there, so we don’t have to risk passing the message along.”

  “Good. Now can we celebrate?”

  Rosco picked up the bottle on the desk, pouring a glass for each of them, offering one to Saint. “To you, Saint. May cats take their rightful place soon.”

  Saint laughed, mirroring Rosco’s gesture. “No, my dear friend. To Mr. B, Rico, and Trigger. Don’t they at least deserve one last toast before they die?”

  The two laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

  1

  Arc City Prison. Home to countless flea-bitten scoundrels willing to do just about anything for a quick dime. And that was just the criminals on the upper levels. The sort of dogs and cats occupying the sub-levels? Well, they’d do it for free, and toss in a smile as a bonus.

  Of all the places I expected to see myself visiting during my career as a private eye, I’d like to lie and say this wasn’t one of them. Thing is, the way things had been going for me lately, ending up here was almost a sure thing. By turning myself in, I just made sure it happened on my terms.

  Truth is, I’m not sure I even believed the real reason myself. Saint was a plague that had latched himself onto the city, and he’d spread himself far too quickly to just be removed now. Rick had realized, somewhere along the way, that sometimes fire had to be fought with fire. Me? I wasn’t convinced. But I also didn’t have a better idea, and we were running out of time.

  A baton cracking on my knuckles disrupted my thoughts.

  “That’s enough daydreaming Eight Eighty-Nine. These knots aren’t going to tie themselves. I can request you be put back on toilet scrubbing duty if this is too difficult for you,” the scruffy Pug prison guard said, trying his best to look down his nose at me despite being the same height.

  “Sir, no sir!” I snapped. My over-the-top compliance seemed to have the opposite effect of calming him down.

  He poked me hard in the chest. “Maybe up on the surface you were a big shot detective, but down here you’re dog meat. I can knock the teeth out of that smart mouth of yours until you decide to shut your mouth and show some respect. Is that what you want?”

  I looked up at him, resisting the urge to smile. “I could tie these better if you weren’t in my light,” I said, pointing my paw toward the light above us.

  He pulled back his baton, ready to strike me again, when a paw grabbed his arm. A Basset Hound stepped beside him. “Enough, Lenny. Trigger’s going to be our guest down here for a long time. Going all out on him in the first week is like sucking down a fine meal. It’s a waste. Why not take your time and really enjoy it?”

  Lenny lowered his arm. “Yeah. Yeah, I think you’re right. As you were, ace detective. You and I have plenty of time to get to know one another. All the time in the world.”

  He sneered as he continued passing by, walking down the line of prisoners tying knots for no other reason than to keep our paws tired and keep us from thinking too much. He has plenty of prisoners to harass, and he savored every minute. If I had a quarter for every time ol’ Lenny here whacked or poked a prisoner with his baton, I’d have buckets of quarters. Not that quarters would do me any good down here anyway.

  Of all the different ways the city had improved, and become more civilized since Mr. B was put away, the prison remained untouched. Bribes, abuse of power, corruption, and just plain evil ruled the day down here. I knew to expect the worst of Arc City criminals when I came down here, but I never expected I’d take them over the guards any day of the week. As ugly, smelly, and as big of a bully as Lenny was, he didn’t hold a candle to Warden Beans.

  Why did they call him Beans? I had no idea, and I doubted anyone ever asked. His parents probably named him that before he ate them. The worst part of all was that I’m told he actually requested to be transferred down here, after a fairly promising career as an Adria District police captain. Surprising, since every other uniform I’d seen down here had an inferiority complex and a chip on their shoulder the size of Arc City itself.

  The white cat next to me muttered under his breath after the guards had passed. “The tunnel idea I mentioned the other day. You thought about it?”

  “Won’t work,” I said, my voice matching the whisper.

  “You sure? I’ve spent years thinking about this. If we can’t dig out to escape, we could at least plug up the ventilation and they’d have to move us up a level temporarily. Having so many of us on the elevator might give some of us a chance to ride on out or take control of it.”

  “Bik, I’m sure if we did that, they’ll just move themselves up a level. They’ll let us suffocate down here.”

  Bik frowned.

  “Alright, but I still think it’s something we could build on. Say hello to the boss for me later. Whenever we find something that works, I’m backing you a hundred percent.”

  “Thanks, Bik.”

  “Hey, no talking! What is this, social hour?” Lenny shouted, walking back down the line and punching Bik in the face. Lenny was a real tough guy when the cat he was punching had his paws bound by iron shackles so heavy he could barely move his paws. Thing is, I’d give just about anything to see Bik tear his head off. Bik was down here for a list of assaults, from back when he was a kitten, so long you could almost use it as a rope to climb all the way out of this place if you printed them on paper.

  In the typical style of Arc City, instead of offering even the tiniest amount of help to put him on the right path, he got tossed in here and they threw away the key. The kid grew up in here. The Arc City he remembered is one he wouldn’t even recognize.


  “Sorry,” Bik said, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

  “Yeah, you better be sorry!” Lenny shouted, getting into his face. “Or you’ll be really sorry the next time.”

  Bik just kept looking down at the rope in his paws, tying the knots as quickly as he could, avoiding eye contact.

  “That’s what I thought,” Lenny said, smiling as he walked away yet again, this time leaving this room as another guard cycled in.

  The Basset Hound walked back over. “Sorry…” he said under his breath. Then he left the room too.

  We continued tying the knots for at least another hour, before one of the new guards grabbed me by the collar of my orange jumpsuit and detached me from the long chain we’d all been attached to. “Alright, new blood, no time to rest those paws. You’re on potato peeling duty today. Unless you want all your friends down here to starve to death? You don’t want everyone to starve to death, do you?” he said, pulling me close enough to smell the stink of his breath.

  “Alright! The drama isn’t necessary. Just lead me to the kitchen.”

  The Pomeranian smiled to the rest of the prisoners. “You can tell he’s new blood, because he still runs that mouth of his. How long do you think it’ll take for us to teach him manners?”

  No one answered.

  He pointed toward the door, and I started walking.

  “Move it,” he said, pushing me from behind.

  I picked up the pace as much as I could with several pounds of iron on my legs.

  “I said to move it!” he repeated, shoving me hard enough to send me falling to the floor.

  I twisted to look at him, only to find him smiling to the other prisoners.

  Most of the guards down here were like this, with only a few exceptions. I was certain most of them didn’t start out that way. Something about overseeing bad cats and dogs made them feel like they had the right to do anything they wanted, and they’d grown to enjoy it. Somewhere along the lines, the guards became worse than the prisoners they were guarding. How did something like this happen? Did Patches even know about what was happening down here?