by M. A. Owens
I tilted my head and gave him an incredulous look. How could the statue be fake, yet the gold be real?
"I'm not sure I follow. So do you think it's fake or do you think it's real?" I asked.
"Both, my friend. Both."
"Yeah, you said that already. What do you mean by that?"
"In business, I don't mind spending five or ten grand if I'll get paid twenty. Catch my drift?"
"Sure. So you think they made the statue with a real gold exterior, of some unknown thickness, but they filled the bulk with something else?"
He smiled, pleased with my answer, before shaking his paw at me.
"Exactly! My theory is even more specific than that, but it'll be better if I explain as we go. Now, if you would, please place the statue on the scale."
I did as he asked, picking the statue up and setting it on the scale. I stared at the number, waiting for Rick's explanation.
"And?"
"Do you know how much the statue would weigh if it was solid gold?"
I laughed. "Do I look like a physicist to you?"
"If you knew the answer to that question, you would state the number right there on that scale."
"You mean it's real?"
Rick shook his head. "Nope. It just means we go to the next step. Take the statue off the scale, and set it on the table. Then take that gray block and hold it to the side, then let go."
"Just let go?"
"Precisely."
I did as he asked, taking the statue off the scale and sitting it toward the middle of the table. I picked up the gray block and held it to the side of the statue. When I dropped it, it fell straight to the table with a thud.
"All right, I think I know this one. Gold isn't magnetic. But you'll tell me we're not out of the woods yet and..." I looked at the drill sitting on the other end of the table. "Hey Rick, you're not really going to drill into this thing are you?"
He grinned as wide as was physically possible.
"No, Trigger. Don't worry. I'll not drill in to a potentially priceless statue."
I stared at him blankly, waiting for the punch line.
"Then why is the drill sitting there?"
"I won't drill into it. The vibration will do a real number on my back. That's why you'll have to do it."
"Ha ha, Rick. Hilarious. I should have seen that coming."
We sat there staring at each other.
"So?" Rick said.
"So what?"
"Are you going to pick up the drill or not?"
I blinked. "You can't be serious?"
"As serious as heartworm. Pick it up and drill directly into the center of the bottom. If it turns out I'm wrong, I'll have the hole plugged with the same quality gold. We'll polish it and nobody will ever know the difference."
"Wow, you make it sound so simple. All right, here goes nothing."
I picked up the drill and held it to the bottom of the statue, drilling about an inch before pulling out. Nothing but gold. I showed Rick, and he motioned for me to go further, so I did. Suddenly there was a lot more resistance. I had to put some real force on it and could barely get it to go in any further at all. When I pulled it out, the metal was black at the end of the bit. Rick laughed and slapped his paws together. "You see that, Trigger?"
"Yes, I do have one good eye. Of course I see it. What is it?"
"Tungsten! It's the same density as gold. It's not magnetic either. Genius! Whoever counterfeited it is a genius. This probably also means that Kerdy was innocent of any wrongdoing."
That was a fine observation, but was it true? Sure, Kerdy may not have been an expert with statues, but she also seemed like a crafty cat, and also like a cat that's probably craftier than she seems. If I ever saw her again, I'd have to find out.
"Okay, so it's a top-shelf fake. Where do we go from here?" I asked.
"From here, we determine who made it. Lady doesn't seem the counterfeiting genius type."
"Yeah, don't be so sure. She seems to be good at quite a few things. As for tracking down the counterfeiter, leave that to me. I know a dog who used to be in the business. One of the best. I helped him get out of that life, so he still owes me a few favors."
Rick nodded. "Best to leave the detective work to the detective. Besides, I think I'd like to be a regular businessman for a while. Sounds like you've got it covered, anyway."
25
Harvey was a good dog. Helped me out when I had to lie low after Mr. B's goon, Marty, put me in the hospital. He was a master at forging documents even the most diligent cop in the city wouldn't have given a second look. A few years ago, when he wasn't much more than a pup, Harvey got mixed up with some bad dogs. Happened a lot in the Black District. They say crime doesn't pay, but whoever says so hasn't been committing the right ones. The truth of the matter was that crime always pays, and so does the criminal. Some have it good, and things stay good. Those are the ones who have others doing the dirty work for them. If you're the one doing the dirty work, it's a sucker's game.
That's what Harvey figured out, almost the hard way. He was doing forgeries for pennies on the dollar for some cats over in the Adria District, making cash paw over fist. When I was a cop, I headed up the investigation on these guys. Turned out Harvey's mom brought him into the business after seeing potential in her son's skills when he recreated paintings he'd seen in a book. A real prodigy. She'd hoped, I guess, that some big shot would see his talent and he'd move up in the organization. Given enough time, he might have. But Harvey didn't get that time.
Harvey hated the work once he realized what he was being asked to do. His parents told him he had to make the money to care for his little sister, who'd been sick since she was born. Turned out that was a grade A load of bologna. Long story short, I got to know Harvey through an undercover investigation into a large, but low budget counterfeiting operation in the Black District. I knew a good dog when I met one, and I knew all too well that the justice system at the time took dogs like Harvey, who could've been upstanding citizens, chewed them up, and spit them back out into the streets as hardened criminals so they could just wind up back in a cell a month later. I arranged for Harvey not to be there when we raided the building and neglected to put his name on the offender list I'd compiled. It wasn't the first or last time I took it upon myself to play judge and jury. At the time, there were more bad cops than good cops.
Harvey managed to carve out a modest living these days by restoring damaged documents, books, that kind of thing. His craft was in high demand, for a low demand industry.
It only took a couple of hours to track down Harvey's new apartment. I assumed this was because he had moved into a nicer one, but that turned out not to be the case. Although I'd kept Harvey out of prison, the dog never was happy to see me when I came around. I never stopped by for a casual visit, just to say hello. For Harvey, I was the kind of dog you hate to hear from. The one that only ever talks to you when he needs something.
I walked up the steps and knocked on the door. A beagle answered, but it wasn't Harvey. It was a dame. So maybe that's why he moved from his old apartment. Maybe he was shacking up with this gal.
"Can I help you?"
"Good morning, ma'am. My name is Trigger, private detective. Is Harvey in?"
Her face suddenly lit up when I mentioned my name.
"You're Trigger? The Trigger? Harvey's told me so much about you. Please, come in."
She invited me in and took my hat. I saw Harvey shortly after going through the door. He was sitting at his kitchen table with two stacks of documents in front of him. He was clearly engrossed in whatever he was doing, offering me only a subtle nod before returning his eyes to the sheets in front of him.
"Long time no see, detective. Have a seat. I can talk while I work."
"Still doing freelance?"
"Yep. It's gotten a little better too. I get a little more work than before."
"What about the pay? That gotten any better?"
He chuckled. "Per job? No
t a chance. Anytime someone from the Black District hires you they know what you'll work for. Just about nothing. These documents I'm working on here are for the insurance place in the district. I'm checking for forgeries and authenticating signatures. I've got a near hundred-percent accuracy rate in identifying these things. But how much you think they're paying per document?"
"I'd be afraid to say. If you'd take a penny, it would be a penny. If you squeezed anything else out beyond that, you're doing pretty well."
"You'll be impressed then. I earn twenty-five times that."
I raised my eyebrows. "Come now, Harvey. You get a few dollars and they save probably tens of thousands thanks to your work. Do the math. That's completely fair."
We both laughed that time.
"Let me guess, you want to discuss forgeries with me."
His expression didn't change, but mine did.
"Don't worry, Harvey. Since I've interrupted your work, I'd be happy to give you a twenty for the information. Means a lot right now."
He shook his head.
"Trigger, I won't charge you for information. I read about what ended up happening the last time when I forged those documents for you. I'd do it again a thousand times. I'd be willing to go to jail for it if I had to. Just tell me what you need, and I'll put it together for you."
I leaned in close to Harvey's ear, fixing my eyes on the dog who answered the door, sitting just a few feet away reading the morning paper.
"Aren't you going to introduce me to the lady of the house?" I asked.
My voice was a mock whisper, plenty loud enough for her to hear me.
He stood up abruptly. "Oh my, you're right! Priscilla, come meet Trigger. I told you about him before. Trigger, this is Priscilla, my fiancé."
I threw up my arms in surprise. "Fiancé? When's the wedding?"
"Hopefully soon."
"Hopefully?"
"We'd like to save up a little first." He looked over to Priscilla, who apparently disapproved of him saying so. "Well, I would like to save a little money. Priscilla is fine either way."
I didn't want to pry, but if Harvey expected to save any money in the Black District, he'd have to know a couple of things were required beforehand. It takes a lot of hard work and a lot of luck. Harvey had the hard work part taken care of. What he needed was luck. For most of the dogs and cats who lived here, that supply of luck was usually spent keeping you alive, keeping you from being robbed, etc. Guess I had more luck than any dog from here had any business having. I was like Harvey until I got mixed up in all that Adria District business. Nowadays, though, I didn't have to worry so much about paying the bills. I had to worry a little more about whether someone would try to off me in my sleep or if I'd gotten the wrong kind of attention from some big shot. Yeah, I wanted to tell him to give it up. Be content with the wedding he could afford, and just live his life. I might've said that, only I had been that other dog before, on the receiving end. When you're the dog hearing it, it may as well be a punch in the gut. No, I wouldn't say that to Harvey.
"Keep at it, pal. I'm sure you'll get your big break before you know it."
I did my absolute best to make my smile look authentic. I didn't believe a word of what I was saying, but I hoped it would come true anyway.
"I know you don't mean that Mr. Trigger, but I appreciate the encouragement regardless."
"Few dogs make it, but only the ones that tried and none of the ones that didn't. That's gotta count for something."
"True. So far I've at least been able to stay out of trouble. Speaking of which..." he trailed off.
Priscilla closed her paper abruptly, interrupting Harvey.
"Speaking of which, Mr. Trigger, Harvey has worked very hard to stay on the right side of the law, so don't be asking him to do something unsavory." Priscilla's voice was sharp, threatening. She was protecting her man.
I nodded. "Don't worry, ma'am. I just need information. Trying to catch a killer. You may have read about it in the paper? I read one of those things every day myself. They've improved a lot since the days of Mr. B, but not by much."
"Oh no, that's even worse. This isn't something that will be traced back to Harvey, is it?"
"No ma'am. I just wanted to get Harvey's opinion on who may have forged a very expensive statue that was involved in some insurance fraud I'm investigating. Well, it's not officially fraud yet. I recovered the statue recently, and it's really quite a convincing fake."
Harvey perked up his ears. "Convincing? How do you mean?"
"There's a layer of gold on the statue. It would've weighed exactly the same as if it were solid gold. It's also not magnetic. Turns out they made it out of-"
"Tungsten. Am I right?" he interrupted.
"You nailed it on the head. This isn't something you made a while back is it?"
"Oh, definitely not. I didn't make those sorts of things. My specialty is strictly paper. I know of a cat who could make this sort of thing, though. He's not exactly a counterfeiter. He considers himself to be an 'artisan of replicas'."
"Isn't that just a different way of just saying the same thing?"
"A different, yet definitive legal distinction."
"I suppose that legal distinction is fairly important if you can get away with it."
"I've never met him, just heard about him. His name is Hans. He's a real big shot, just like a lot of folks over in Adria I guess. Oh, and keep in mind that the only reason I've heard about him is because I'm told he behaves strangely and that others have found him hard to work with."
"Did he not work for Mr. B?"
Harvey shook his head. "No, Hans is, or at least was, fully independent."
"Do you know where he lives?"
"I'm afraid I don't. But anyone who knows their way around there will probably know him. Anything else?"
"Thanks a lot, Harvey. You've been a big help."
26
I found the nearest payphone and dialed Rick. No luck. Sugarplum, however, was a little more helpful. As it turned out, her dad, Mr. B, has something of a love-hate relationship with Hans. Hans would sometimes turn down his work for little to no reason or purposely change one minor detail of his instructions because he felt it would be an "artistic improvement". However, Hans was by far the best at what he did. She said they went way back, before Mr. B made his claim to criminal fame, and Hans disliked how it changed him. Besides the backstory, I finally got an address. Adria District. Where else? One of these days I would have to commission someone to make me a private express tunnel between the Black District and Adria. On the bright side, I was getting plenty of exercise.
I had never been to the section of the city where Hans lived. It was a strange little place. It's not that it didn't belong in Adria, it just had a different culture than the rest of the district. Dogs and cats were dressed differently, and there were open stalls along the street where food, pawmade items, jewelry, and more were being sold. When I walked up to my destination, I hesitated. What stood in front of me looked more like a temple than a home. There were two pillars on either side of the entrance with a large wooden plank at the top that curved down. A single paper lantern hung off each side, white with golden symbols I couldn't decipher.
Through the archway was a large area filled with lush grass. Yes, grass! I couldn't believe it. There were too few areas with grass in the Black District, but this was the first time I'd seen a single blade of grass in Adria. The path was made up of large flat stones, creating a narrow walkway. About halfway to the wooden building at the end of the path, the stones diverged. The path kept going straight, but it also led off to the right and left. A short distance to the end of the left path was what looked like a fountain. Water came down and filled up a cup that was slightly tilted. After a few seconds, it filled up and tilted over, pouring out the contents into the pool below. I was never sure of what the point of something like that is. Conversation piece, maybe?
The right path led around the back of the building, so I couldn't se
e where that went. As I neared the door, two young, hairless cats greeted me. They appeared to be twins. One stood quietly by the door while the other walked down the steps to greet me.
"Greetings, traveler. Have you come to meditate? Or perhaps you've come to see the pieces on display in the great temple of the arts?"
"Neither. I'm actually here to see the owner of this place."
His ears twitched. "What business do you have with Master Hans?"
"Master Hans?" I asked. "The name's Trigger. I'm a private detective, and I'd like to discuss a case I'm working on with him."
"Mr. Trigger, the thing is, I'm not so sure Master Hans wants to speak with you. He's given us specific instructions to allow only those with a very genuine interest in his art to speak with him."
"My interest in his art is as genuine as it gets. Passionate, even. You could call it an obsession. I've risked my life more than once for one piece in particular. I'm interested in making a deal with him, since I now possess it."
He turned to look at the cat still standing beside the door, who gave him a curt nod.
"We think it best you leave."
"My apologies. I seem to have given you the impression I was asking. There's a lot at stake here and meeting with him isn't optional," I said.
The cat standing in front of me walked back up the steps to where he had originally stood, and the other cat walked down to take his place. We stood there just staring at one another for a moment. The cat standing next to the door shouted down to us.
"He's politely waiting for you to leave, as we've said."
"All right, then let me say this as politely as I can: I'm not leaving until I talk to Hans."
I stepped to the side to go around the cat, but he quickly stepped back in front of me. The cat next to the door shouted down to us again.
"Master Hans will not see you. Leave."
I stepped quicker this time, nearly making it around him this time. He wrapped his arm around my torso and shoved me back.