Although she’d been given carte blanche to hang around and ask more questions, Ginny was pretty much done with the place, and worried about having left Georgie out in the car alone for too long. She glanced around, but Tonica was nowhere to be seen. She had a moment of panic, feeling like she’d been abandoned.
“Get a grip,” she muttered, and went out the front door, breathing a sigh of relief as the fresh air hit her lungs. They might have an excellent ventilation system, but the air in there still smelled like… well, like an old gym.
Once her eyes adjusted to the sunlight, she saw Tonica leaning against the wall, nonchalant as though he were seventeen and ditching school.
“Enjoy your tour?”
“Oh, it was a blast,” she said. “I was ready to lay down money for a membership then and there.”
“Might not be such a bad idea,” he said. “Not there, I mean, but learning how to throw a few punches… You’re not always going to have Georgie around to protect you.”
“So you admit now that she’s good protection?”
“I’ll grant her ‘decent,’ anyway.” It was a running argument that even Georgie’s taking down a thug who was trying to shoot them hadn’t settled. Tonica still only saw the goofy, sweet-tempered side of the shar-pei. Ginny was thankful for that temperament, glad that her dog showed that side to most people, but under the loose fur and goofy face, there was solid muscle and sharp teeth, too. And, thanks to a year of training, excellent control that made her a potential badass, if Ginny were threatened.
But he was probably right, for reasons having nothing whatsoever to do with the cases. If mugged, she was willing to give up her wallet and jewelry, but there might come a time when she’d face something scarier, and Georgie wasn’t always with her. She should know the best way to defend herself, rather than reacting on instinct that might get her killed.
But she wasn’t going to admit that to him. Not when he was still dissing Georgie.
“Anyway, the only thing I got from Alan was a confirmation that there had been illegal fights run in the back, but he claims that was the fault of the previous owner, all that had been sorted, and they’re clean, clean, clean now.”
“Which of course makes you assume that they’re not clean at all.”
“It’s like you know me.” That, and the fact that the insurance question had made him run. Something was still off-kilter there.
“Wipe that smirk off your face,” he said without looking at her as they started walking toward the car. “How someone as sheltered as you ever got so cynical…”
“You don’t have to grow up on the street to get cynical,” she responded, carefully not calling him on the fact that she knew he’d grown up protected by more family money and status than she’d ever see. “All you have to do is pay attention. Speaking of which, did you learn anything useful?”
“Maybe,” he said. “It depends on if I get any callbacks, or if they were shining me on. One guy practically fell over himself to put me in touch with a guy who might know something about buying a dog that could fight.”
“But?” she prompted, because she knew Tonica by now, too.
“But he was too eager. If he was involved in something illegal, he’d want to check my bona fides before he admitted to even maybe knowing a guy who might know a guy. I think he’s a wannabe—knows about what’s going on but isn’t actually involved. Or he’s a cop, working undercover. Or he’s an idiot; that’s also always possible. But hey, if he calls, that’s a possible in. We’ll play that one by ear.”
Ginny made a face. She wasn’t a big fan of improvisation.
“And then there were these other two,” he went on. “Tight-lipped, butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths, but they definitely knew something. They asked the questions I’d been expecting, what kind of dog I wanted, why I wasn’t going through a shelter or a reputable breeder. They should’ve run when I told ’em shelters wouldn’t let me adopt—I hinted around what Este’d said, about the do-not-adopt list, so if they know anything, they know I’ve abused an animal in the past. Allegedly.”
“And you think they bit?”
“Maybe. They weren’t promising anything, but I left them a phone number, in case they were willing to follow up. I’m betting we’ll get something more useful from them than guy number one.”
“We should set up an email drop for stuff like this,” Ginny said thoughtfully. “And a dead-end voice mail. I could do that easy enough… .”
Tonica put his hand out in front of her, halting her midstep and midthought. A year ago she might have raised an eyebrow and asked what he was doing, but now she trusted his instincts enough that she tensed, alert for trouble. She scanned up and down the street, seeing the normal scattering of pedestrians, all minding their own business, two joggers, one with a German shepherd running alongside.
“What’s wrong?”
“Dunno. Hang on.” He started to turn around, as though expecting to catch someone following them. In that same instant, a solid, denim-clad arm grabbed Tonica by the arm from behind, pushing him against the wall.
Or trying to, anyway.
“The hell?” It came out a little strangled, because the jerk had his arm pressed up against his throat, but Teddy was sure he’d made his point. The guy—and it was the first guy from the gym, even though he was wearing a jacket and a ball cap now, Teddy could see enough of his face to recognize him, even if the stale smell of cigarettes wasn’t enough to choke a horse—tried to force him harder against the wall, his other hand on Teddy’s chest. Teddy gave a moment to weep for idiots who thought with their upper body, and not their lower.
And then he let his weight shift to his left leg, stabilizing his shoulders against the wall, and brought his right leg up, aiming not for the groin—a fighter should know enough to wear a cup—but the fold between thigh and groin. There wasn’t enough room to get his foot there, but his knee worked almost as well, throwing his attacker off balance, if not quite enough for Teddy to break free.
He managed to look for Ginny, and saw that she was busy, his attacker’s companion holding her by the arm in a grip that was going to leave bruises. But nobody’d pulled a gun yet, anyway, so maybe—
Ginny twisted in her attacker’s hold and shouted. “Georgie! Help!”
And a forty-pound, fawn-colored bullet streaked out the open window of his coupe, down the sidewalk, and aimed directly at the guy holding Georgie’s human. Ginny dropped to her knees and Georgie took the guy down onto the sidewalk, her paws planted firmly on his chest.
Teddy took advantage of the distraction, turning the tables on his attacker, grabbing the arm and twisting it back hard enough to not-quite-break. He’d learned that move from a bouncer in Chicago, and had hoped to never have to use it again. But it still worked.
“The hell?” he asked again, shoving his attacker onto his knees and checking to make sure that Ginny was all right. She looked pissier than a wet cat, but nothing was bleeding or otherwise busted. She rolled back onto her feet and ordered, “Georgie, hold!”
The dog lowered her head to the attacker’s chest and sniffed: Teddy could see where if you didn’t know Georgie, that could be deeply unnerving.
Teddy returned his attention to the guy who’d attacked him. “Dude, if you wanted to talk, you had my phone number.”
The guy stared at him, then shook his head. “Boss says you’re a cop.”
Teddy almost laughed. So much for thinking this guy was undercover. If he was, he was doing a hell of an acting job. “Your boss is wrong.” Teddy stepped back so he could keep both men in sight, but still within reach if either of them made a move. Not that Georgie’s chew toy looked like he was moving anytime soon; Teddy knew for a fact that forty pounds of dog muscle was heavy, even if she wasn’t leaning on your rib cage.
A couple walking down the street stopped and stared, one of them looking l
ike he was going to intervene, but Teddy caught his companion’s glance and shook his head. “These gentlemen are swearing off mugging for Lent,” he said loudly enough to carry. “Aren’t you, boys?”
That was enough to convince those would-be Good Samaritans that they didn’t want to get involved. But they were going to attract more determined attention if this standoff lasted any longer.
“Get up,” Teddy said. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Um?” The guy under Georgie made a weak noise but stayed where he was.
“Georgie, release.” Ginny’s command got Georgie off the guy’s chest, but she only took a few steps back, and looked quite ready to tackle him again. Both assailants got up slowly, keeping their hands in clear sight at all times. Teddy suspected they’d been rousted by the cops more than once.
“I’m not a cop,” he said again. “And neither is she.”
“So why were you nosing around?” guy number two said. Teddy recognized him now—the rope-jumper who had been watching them while they talked.
“Teddy, what’s going on?” Ginny had a hand on Georgie’s head now, and looked prissy-pissed. It took him a second, then he remembered that she was still working another story, sort of, and was trying to keep that cover intact. He didn’t think it would matter, but he’d follow her lead.
“While you were touring, I asked a few questions of this gentleman,” he said, indicating thug number one. “Personal matter.”
“I would appreciate your keeping your personal matters out of time that I am paying you for. Particularly when it involves violence.”
“Yeah, all right, fine. It’s not like I knew this guy was going to decide I was a cop! Jesus.”
Number one widened his eyes. “You were serious? About wanting a dog?”
“No, I just randomly walk into skeevy gyms and ask strangers about random shit. Yeah, I was serious.” Teddy was pretty sure he hadn’t sounded so disgusted since six-year-old Annalee had tried to kiss his seven-year-old self back when. “But there’s no way in hell I want to do business with you right now. Your boss thinks I’m a cop? Have him contact me, and we can talk. Otherwise, forget about it. Ms. Mallard, I apologize. Let’s get you back to the car, and let these gentlemen sort themselves out.”
“No, wait,” thug number two called as they started to walk away. “Look, we’re sorry. But the boss, he doesn’t talk to anyone direct. You want a dog, just let us know. We’ve got a bunch of litters coming due; you can have your pick, fair price.”
“Litters?” Ginny stopped and turned, looking at him. “You’re breeding them?”
“Well, yeah.” Thug number two sounded believably surprised. “Direct distribution, no middleman. We keep it on the quiet so we don’t pay no fees, nobody poking around demanding their cut. You don’t get papers or nothing but that’s not what you’re looking for, right?”
“You—you’re running a puppy mill,” Ginny said in disgust.
“Hey.” Thug number one looked insulted. “Our dogs get good care.”
“Yeah, that’s why you sold my contact an animal that’s badly socialized, and looks like it’s been fed crap and not enough of even that for its entire life?” Teddy shook his head, aware that he was blowing his story to bits, but not caring anymore. “Give me the name of your boss, and I’ll forget we ever had any of these conversations.”
“Ah hell, you’re from one of those animal activist groups, aren’t you?” Thug number two scowled. “Screw you. We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“The emotional swings in this are giving me a headache,” Ginny said, her voice crisp. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s illegal. You know that; otherwise you wouldn’t have been worried if my friend here was a cop or not. This little conversation alone is enough to get you into unpleasantly hot water with the officials, if we were to report it—and at the very least, enough to get you both kicked out of this gym, permanently, as I’m told that they’re most concerned with keeping their noses clean.”
That made thug number two snort with bitter amusement, and Ginny turned to him. “Excuse me, did you want to say something?”
In another life, Virginia Mallard had been the strictest librarian to ever rock a cliché, because that voice made Teddy stiffen his spine and feel the urge to say “no, ma’am.”
“Management in there only knows one kind of clean and that’s cleaning up. You buying their holier-than-thou crap?”
Ginny leaned in. “You saying something’s going on there?”
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.”
Teddy laughed. “Dude, yank my chain all you want, I don’t care, I’ll just walk away. But do not annoy the lady. Her client list would make you piss yourself.”
Not entirely untrue: he’d heard some of the stories about some of her jobs, all with names withheld but enough detail to understand why Ginny was able to afford a nice apartment and fancy tech on a select client list. Not that she could ever call on them for a favor, probably. But maybe, if it was important enough… or she was angry enough, yeah.
Thug number one was made of lesser stuff than his partner. “The place is clean enough. Manager keeps a tight ship now. Like I said, they don’t allow nothing to go down on the floor, and freelancing gets you kicked right out. But they’ve got their own action going on. I don’t ask, so I can’t tell. It’s smarter that way.”
Teddy doubted this guy had ever done anything smart in his life. But he could see where the self-preservation instinct would kick in.
“Something connected to the fights they used to hold in the back room?” he asked. “Only not with fighters anymore, because they got busted, and they don’t want to risk anyone who might talk if they thought they weren’t getting a large enough cut of the action? Maybe something with more bark than bite?”
Thug number one nodded his head, repeating, “I don’t know anything, I can’t tell anything. And you ain’t got the chops to get invited in, neither of you.”
“Let us worry about that,” Teddy said, crossing his arms across his chest and smiling, his best “I’m the House and you’re gonna get bounced” smirk. “Give us a name.”
Seth walked out of the back rooms at Mary’s and glared at the woman behind the bar. “Who let the rat in again?”
“Oh hush,” Stacy said, gathering the puppy in her arms defensively. “You’re the one who got them involved in this; it’s your own fault Parsifal’s got nowhere to live.”
“How’n hell is that my fault?” Seth didn’t bother to wait for an answer, stomping back into the kitchen and making as much noise as he possibly could to show how annoyed he was. Stacy shook her head, giving the puppy another kiss between his oversized ears before putting him back down on the bar. He sprawled there contentedly, watching her set up the cash register. Jon had called in sick—likely story, she thought with a sniff—so she got to fill in. She didn’t mind: Mondays were slow days, so she was able to combine this with agreeing to puppy-sit, swinging by Ginny’s apartment to gather Parsifal—and a handful of wee pads—before she came in.
“You think he’s cute, don’t you?” Stacy asked Penny, who was perched on one of the bar stools, washing her paw with immense concentration. One pointed ear flicked in the human’s direction, but otherwise Penny declined to respond. “Well, I think you’re cute, Parsi,” she said, and the puppy reached up to cover her face with kisses, making Stacy scrunch her face away in disgust even as she giggled.
“All right, be good now while I work, okay? Ginny promised you knew how to behave, wouldn’t be any trouble at all. You’re not going to make her into a liar, are you?”
That earned her another face kiss. “Oh, yuck, dog—really?”
The phone behind the bar rang and she pushed the puppy down before twisting around to answer it. “Mary’s Bar, Stacy speaking.”
She frowned. “No, I’m sorry, he’s not working this afternoon. Would you like t
o leave a message? Oh, you’re calling about Parsifal? The puppy? Yes, he’s here. Oh, sure, we’ll be open; come on by and meet him!”
She hung up the phone and smiled down at Parsifal, who was now chewing on his hind leg. “Looks like we may’ve found you a forever home!”
12
After getting to knock someone down, Georgie’s normally placid blood had been riled. She braced her stocky body on the pavement and resisted leaving the scene of the party, even though the two thugs had long since skedaddled, not risking their would-be targets changing their minds and calling the cops on them after all. Not even a handful of treats could convince her to get in the car, not when evildoers might come around the corner and need to be knocked down again.
“Damn it, dog.” Ginny finally lost her temper. “Get in there right now.”
Georgie made a surprised half hop into the car and squirmed her way into the backseat, turning around once and settling herself without further ado.
“Huh.” Ginny made note of the tone she’d used, and wondered if it would work on people, too. Probably not, but she made another mental note to try it at some point.
It took a few minutes more for the humans to get in the car and settled, and by then she’d let go of dog-training worries and gotten back to the question at hand. Only they’d just been given so much information, she wasn’t quite sure what the question was, anymore.
Tonica sat in the driver’s seat, waiting, as though he could tell she was trying to sort through her thoughts. Maybe he could: they’d been working together long enough, and he was good at that kind of thing.
“Yeah?” he asked finally.
She focused on what seemed to her to be the most important thing.
“Do you think, maybe, we got pointed in the wrong direction? I mean, the landlord said dogfighting and we took after that like… well, like a dog with a bone, but maybe the dogs in Deke’s basement were from a puppy mill, not a fight club? It would make more sense—the coming and going, the lack of space. Maybe they were using Deke’s house as, I don’t know, some kind of halfway house from breeder to buyers? Take the puppies, leave the mommas?”
L.A. Kornetsky - Gin & Tonic 03 - Doghouse Page 18