Free Hair-Trigger by Trevor Clark Page A

night and said he got jumped by a couple of guys outside his place and had to go to the hospital, and wouldn’t be in for a couple of days.”
    â€œDo we know why?”
    Rowe smiled. “Listen to this. When I saw him today he told me some fucking story that didn’t make any sense. He said that he and his girlfriend had a friend over for dinner, and when the friend was leaving later that night he asked Robert for twenty dollars that he said he owed him. The two of them were standing on the steps just outside the back door, right? He lives in a basement apartment.
    â€œSo Robert goes, ‘What twenty dollars?’ The guy says, ‘The twenty I lent you two weeks ago.’ So they disagree about this money, then the guy grabs him and drags him up these steps, and pulls out a lead pipe and starts whaling on him. Robert says he was in his pajamas and couldn’t really fight back. Then this other guy comes out of the shadows, and he has a pipe too, and they’re both beating the shit out of him.”
    Lofton had to urinate, and shifted his weight. “Why’s he in his pajamas?”
    â€œThey were having an orgy for all I know. He and the girlfriend seem to get into some funny shit, so I didn’t ask about that part. He said he managed to get back into the house, and collapsed on the floor covered in blood. She called the cops.”
    â€œWho was this other guy? How long was he out there?”
    â€œWell, this is what I’m saying. None of it makes sense.” Rowe drank some beer. “If the guy was going to ask Robert for the money, the other one would have to be waiting outside all night on the off chance that Robert wasn’t going to pay off a lousy twenty. And this is someone they’re friendly enough with to have over for dinner, or whatever—a guy who’s brought a pipe with him, and who has another guy with another pipe outside, and who’s going to wait patiently until it’s time to go home before suddenly trying to beat his head in for twenty bucks.”
    â€œYeah, that story’s bullshit,” Lofton said, getting up.
    In the washroom he swayed a little at the toilet. Urine hit the floor. On a shelf in front of him there was a bottle of Scope, sponges, Bayer Aspirin with stomach guard, disposable razors, Ajax, deodorant and a can of shaving cream. Someone had tied a lacy hair ribbon to the blinds cord. On the upper half of the walls, above the yellow tile, the paint was buckling.
    After he flushed, he walked back into the living room. Over the grey sofa was an art poster he liked with a painting of a fighter being knocked out of the ring. As he made his way around the coffee table, he asked, “So, are the cops involved?”
    â€œRobert said they were looking for both of them, but neither of them have a fixed address. I assume it’s a drug thing. He seems to do a lot of coke, but I get the impression he doesn’t want me to know how much.”
    â€œGotta be.” Lofton settled down again. “And now everybody on the street probably knows he’s a rat.”
    â€œHe said he was thinking of moving. He doesn’t want to testify, either.”
    â€œOf course not.”
    Rowe had a pull on his bottle, and smiled a little as he crossed his legs. “Speaking of Robert, he’s interested in coming in on a heist of some sort that I’ve been meaning to talk to you about as well. Have you ever considered robbing some place like a bank?”
    Lofton snorted and reached for his beer. “Where’s this coming from?”
    â€œSomething with a reasonable payoff that might take two or three guys. Robert apparently has access to some unregistered guns and a rifle. At least as far as he knows, nothing’s traceable. They’d just be for show; we wouldn’t want to complicate things.”
    â€œFirst of all, you never bring out a gun unless you’re prepared to use it.” Lofton drew on the