Trigger

Chapter One

There's nothing better than a good old weapon transaction to start off the day.

The lighting is dim in the large abandoned warehouse. The crates, stacked to the ceiling, aren't looking too steady, and the transition from the dark room to the place in the middle where the ceiling has collapsed is huge.

As we walk closer to this middle place, I spot the potential buyers, and I immediately know something is up. The way they are standing, so incredibly on edge. The way one of them looks around him as if he expects to get attacked any moment. The way at least three of them stare at us as if we're the most disgusting things they have ever seen.

It's a scam.

Without a word, I stuff my hands into my pockets and turn back around again, walking towards the entrance I just came from. I can hear Steven's footsteps, followed by a swift turn and then running. 'What are you doing?' he hisses at me, annoyance clear in his voice. 'We've got a deal, remember? You know what'll happen if you don't help me.'

The threat hangs in the air between us, and I look up to stare him in the eye. 'I know,' I say, before I knee him in the groin.

He falls to the floor, whimpering with pain, and I can't even feel sorry for him. 'Pain is only bad when you let it, Steven. Lesson number one, since you clearly need it. Lesson number two is that when something feels bad, it usually is. You can always walk out on a deal, especially when you've not yet said a word. You being in an abandoned warehouse is circumstantial evidence to your involvement at most. Circumstancial gets them nowhere.'

I don't wait for the boy to get up again. It wasn't as if this job was my choice to begin with. Instead, I simply complete walking the way to the big double doors and step outside into the late afternoon Los Angeles sun.

'Hey!' A voice, a woman's, sounds behind me. It doesn't take a genius to figure out it's one of the potential buyers, and I pick up my pace. Unfortunately, so does she. I want to break out into a run, but fleeing could make me look guilty. So instead, when she says, 'Excuse me, miss?' and taps my shoulder, I turn around to face her with my head slightly tilted and a surprised expression on my face.
'I'm sorry, do I know you?' I ask the woman, feigning ignorance. She looks at me, simply looks, but I can see the gears in her head turning a thousand miles a second. Before she can say something, I beat her to it. 'Miss, I don't know who you are and I really need to get home on time. Is there anything specific you want, or can I go now?'

It's not even a lie. I'd told Ben I would be back at seven, meaning I should go catch the bus sometime. The fact that it's only four is a minor detail.

'Is he with you?' she asks me. I follow her finger, which is pointed at Steven, and suppress an eye roll. He is still laying on the floor, having difficulties with not crying. It's weird to look at, and to be totally fair, quite pathetic. But I can't portray these feelings, as they'd give me away, so I cover my mouth to stifle a fake-gasp.

'Oh my gosh!' I say, making my voice sound like an average teen. 'Is he okay? He looks like he's in pain. Do something about it!' The last part is meant for the other people who'd taken part in the transaction, who are standing around and looking at a loss for what to do. One of them takes a step into Steven's direction in an instant, but is stopped by his neighbor.

The woman, at least fifty years old, looks at me and I can tell she's realized that she has lost. A small smile behind the hand still covering my mouth is allowed, before I turn back to her. 'I'm sorry, but I've never seen that man in my entire life. Do you want me to call 911?'

She just stares at me, before shrugging slightly, as if the gesture is only meant for herself. 'No, it's fine, we've got it covered. Sorry to bother you, you're good to go now.'

I nod at the woman, shake the outstretched hand, go over all the formalities. Then, when it's clear she's no longer got any business for me, I turn back into the direction I was heading to in the first place. I can feel her staring daggers at my back, but I don't really care. Because when I turn the corner and get the wallet out that I pick pocketed from her belt, I see a shiny badge staring back at me.
Weapon buyer my ass. She's a cop!

When I take a second look, I correct myself. Fed. She's a fed. Which potentially is worse. I look around me, for a second unsure of what to do. I can't exactly go back and return the badge, but I can't take it either. Can I?

The footsteps and hushed talking coming from around the corner make my decision for me, and I tug the badge into the waistband of my jeans. Then, without looking back, I make my way back straight away.