His boss hadn’t been much more reassuring. As smooth as he was, Bob’s presence had made Parker Baird nervous, a man who doubtless spent any number of hours around other people’s lawyers.
That bore investigation, too.
17
The American bully XL had been baited for hours, poked, prodded with needles, starved since the day prior.
The jet-black oversized Staffordshire terrier clone paced its tiny cage like a lion that had treed its foe. The cage had ‘DEMON’ pasted onto it with masking tape.
Merry loved dog fighting. He’d been bankrolling Demon, even though he didn’t own the dog—or much of anything, technically.
His associate, Javier, owned Betsy, the dog across the ring.
Demon shuffled in place, unable to even turn around, just waiting for the gate to come up. Its lips were drawn back over glistening canines, the snarl near constant.
Across the pit, Javier’s dog was in a similarly foul mood.
The farm was a smallholding, just a few acres with a barn, grazing land and a hog corral. Technically it wasn’t Merry’s, either, but belonged to the Kopec twins. He’d had a lawyer tie up most of his assets as a corporate entity, in case he ever had to go down for a stretch, and others transferred to associates for a dollar, putting the onus on them.
That way, nothing could be seized as proceeds of crime. Or some such thing. He was never quite sure what the lawyers were yammering about it.
Dog fighting, comparatively, was simple; the sheer viciousness of it, the abandon. It was like the rules faded away when he was at the fights. It even made it worth driving out into the county for the afternoon, leaving his business worries behind.
Or that was how it was supposed to be.
“What do you think, boss? He sure looks mean.”
He looked over at Terry, his underling, then leaned back in the director’s chair that had been provided especially for him. In Bakersfield’s criminal circles, Merry was increasingly top dog.
“You sound like you might want to put some money down yourself, Terry. Is that what I’m hearing?”
“Well…” Terry looked a little nervous, as Merry was not known for his outgoing nature. “Well, maybe. I just might at that.”
“I wouldn’t want you to miss out,” Merry said. “I wouldn’t want you to be so concentratin’ on your chores and responsibilities and such that you’d miss this titanic engagement.”
“Yeah…” Terry said, worry creeping into his tone.
“I wouldn’t want you to go on and lose your focus on what’s important… you know, the way you did last night, when that lawyer handed the three of you your asses.”
Terry studied his boots. “Yes, boss. I’m sorry.”
“Now… you figure that’s anywhere near good enough, Terry? ‘I’m sorry’? After I ask you to do one simple god-dang thing…”
“It weren’t like that, boss, honest. He surprised us.”
“He…” Merry whipped off his sunglasses, then used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. “He surprised you? A real-estate attorney from Los Angeles got the drop on all three of you, did he?”
He took a deep, cleansing breath. It kept him from losing his temper, pulling his pistol and shooting Terry in the face.
Then he put his sunglasses back on.
The two dog trainers were hunkered by the mouths of their cages, waiting to let their fighters loose.
“AH!” Merry said loudly, directing the attention his way. “KENNY! Kenny… maybe just let our boy into the ring first. Let Demon out to get some air. Javier, keep Betsy behind bars for just a minute.”
The two dog owners looked puzzled, but knew better than to argue with Michelsen. The gate came up and Demon charged into the ring, snarling, driven to madness. He prowled around, staring at the other cage, ignoring the bystanders.
“Now, Terry, I’m thinking if you want to show us all how sorry you are, you can prove to me that you still know how to handle yourself in a fight. Demon here looks like he’s itching to prove himself, too. So now… why don’t you go on and climb on in the ring there, minus your piece, of course. Can’t have you shooting a defenseless creature, even it is smarter than you.”
Terry turned white. He looked over his shoulder at the dog, its fangs glistening, a look of sheer hatred in its eye. “Bu…but, boss… he’ll rip me to pieces.”
Merry beckoned him closer with a crooked finger. “If you don’t get in that pit and show me you’ve still got a set of balls for that dog to potentially remove, I’ll make you drop your britches right here and take ‘em myself with my knife, save ol’ Demon there the trouble.”
“But, boss…”
Merry reached down and undid the snap button on the sheath holding his hunting knife. “Uh huh?”
Terry hung his head. He reached down and took his gun out, handing it to Javier.
He wandered over to the raised sides of the pit and looked over them. Demon began to growl.
Merry leaned over and whispered to Javier. “Pull it off him as soon as it sets to, okay? Can’t spare the body right now, so we don’t want it killing him or nothing.”
Of course, Terry wasn’t the only one who’d failed him. But he was the weakest and most disposable. Jonah was his most loyal soldier, while Diego was the best fighter. And the Kopec twins wouldn’t take kindly to being lectured, let alone get into a dog pit. They had courage and self-respect, he figured, or at the least were just about scary enough to not piss off.
But Terry had always been slightly chickenshit. He’d make a fine example for the rest of them.
“I… I can’t…” Terry whined. “He’ll be right on me, Merry, please…”
