by M. A. Owens
“You think you failed her,” I said.
She sniffed, wiping at one of her eyes, nodding.
“I wish I could tell her I miss her. I think I would say ‘the ninth commander releases you from your oath’ and let her go.”
I perked up my ears. “Ninth commander? So, you are a leader.”
“Something like that. So long, Trigger. We may not see each other again for a while, so I’ll be direct and not hide my feelings. I think of you as a friend. That thing I didn’t just do, that was not your payment. That was a bonus. The favor you’re entitled to, take your time to think about it. When we see one another again, I’ll settle my account with you.”
“So long, Kerdy. Thank you for everything, and good luck.”
Kerdy stood and walked out. Not long ago I said I’d be happy to see her walk out the door and now seeing it made me feel deeply sad.
The feeling didn’t go away, only intensified as I sat quietly in the room by myself, going over the events of the last few days in my mind. I had dealt with Saul, and Lily was safe. Petey had used his new power as Black District Chief to push back against Saint’s influence on the police. Patches had planned this brilliantly. Because Black District was now independent of the ACPD, Saint’s reach as an Adria District representative, and even the mayor’s own orders to the police, stopped at the Black District gate. Petey’s Black District police could act as they saw fit.
Lucky for me, because the warrant out for my arrest rivaled the one that had been out for Rico all those years. I’m told the wanted posters were going up everywhere, offering a handsome reward to anyone who would risk crossing into Black District to retrieve me. Petey dared them to, and, at least for now, there were no takers. Considering what we’d just done, and Fire Claw — oops, I mean Simon’s passion for telling the story like I was a comic book hero deterred the typical for-hire street thug from wanting to get involved with anything that had my name on it.
The press, now pandering to Saint more than ever, did not come by to take my photo. Not least of all because someone with a pile of warrants out for their arrest for such charges as… well, being a traitor, did not make for good press unless it was about their capture.
My mind lingered on the thought for a moment.
Why didn’t Rick go into hiding when he sent me to reveal his identity to the broker?
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 s
mile.
“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 expected 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.
Mind if I ask for a favor?
If you made it this far, I hope that means you enjoyed the story! If you can spare a couple of minutes, it would mean the world to me if you could leave a review over on Amazon and/or goodreads. A review may not seem like much, but for a small, self-published author like me, each and every review makes a massive difference. Reviews mean reaching new readers who would otherwise never know this book exists. Trigger doesn’t have a huge marketing team behind him. All he has is you.
Thank you so much for reading.
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