Trigger Greenaway: Space Detective #2, Aug Writ Opus 622

[baronscartop]

In fact, Trigger is his first name; it says so on the birth certificate. His father was a bit weird about guns, which is probably the reason his daughter, Trigger's half-sister Sue, went into the military. On his eighteenth birthday, Gavin Greenaway gave his son an antique Colt Peacemaker. Trigger wears it in a tan-coloured leather holster strapped to his right leg wherever he goes, even though guns in this century are much more lethal (and they still fire projectiles, by the way).

The room was dark, with balconies high up on the far wall. Aside from one crate stacked atop two other to their left, everything was empty.

"I don't like this," said Remington quietly.

"I'm not surprised," Trigger told him. "After all, this is a perfect place for an ambush. If we survived the first salvo, we would effectively be trapped behind - "

Remington jumped at him. The shooting started.

"Yes, precisely, we would be trapped like this, pinned behind these crates."

Based on the shooting sounds and the way the floor was chewed up by the impacts, Remington figured there had to be at least three of them: One in the far doorway, and two on the balcony, left and right.

He turned and looked at the doorway through which they had entered.

No way they could reach it without being turned into hamburger.

He turned back. Trigger was just sitting there, watching him. "Trigger!"

"Yes?"

"These people are shooting at us."

"It would seem that way."

"So shoot back!"

"With what?"

"Your gun! The one you wear with you everywhere you go! The one you never take off! What is it there for - decoration?"

"Actually, yes."

"What?"

"I wear it for decoration, and a keepsake of my father. I don't keep it loaded."

"Do you mean to tell me," Remington said, in a quiet, measured voice, "that you work as a private detective, regularly butting heads with the criminal underground, publicly displaying a firearm that you can't even use?"

Trigger shrugged. "It's never really been an issue before."

Remington realised for the first time the significance of Trigger wearing the gun on his right side, even though he was left-handed. "We're going to die."

"I disagree. Earlier, you remember, I told you it seemed that they were shooting at us. But they're not, really. They could have killed us with their first shots, if that had been the plan. After that, we were behind cover, so they were just keeping us in place."

Speaking of cover fire, it had recently stopped. "Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe they were waiting for someone to show up."

"All right," a strange voice called out. "We have you trapped. Surrender and you will not be killed."

"Will we be hurt?" Trigger asked.

There was no answer.

"He's not sure," Trigger translated for Remington.

"Thanks. But do we really have a choice, here?"

"Not really."

"Okay!" Remington called back. "We surrender!"

"Toss your weapons onto the floor where we can see them."

"I'm unarmed," said Remington.

"Me, too," said Trigger.

"Greenaway! Don't get cute with me! Toss your gun aside."

"I'd rather not part with it, if that's okay."

"Trigger!"

"It's not loaded, so you have nothing to worry about," Trigger said to their captor.

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?" came the angry reply.

"Hey," said Remington, "it came as a surprise to me, too. Why do you think I came unarmed? I thought - "

"Throw the gun, now!"

"You'd better do as he says," Remington said quietly.

"But... "

Remington could barely stand to look at his friend's face; he had no idea the gun meant that much to him. "Look, we'll get it back when all this is over. I promise."

Trigger hesitated only slightly. "Okay." And he unholstered the gun, placed it on the floor, and shoved it away carefully so that it would scratch as little as possible.

Remington watched the gun spin a little bit as it came to a stop.

He really wished he could be sure of keeping his promise.