Four-Footed Angels

by J. T. Livingston

  Sam, in direct contrast to Spartacus, stood erect and moved as close to the front of his cage as he could get. “You’re right about one thing…it will be his last fight…it will be all of their last fights…”

  Little John stared down at the large, black dog that seemed to be staring back at him with…what…defiance? He squatted down and returned the dog’s glare. “We still need a name for you, don’t we? Well, let’s see…Michael Vick had a champion fighter named Lucas, but…no, that doesn’t suit you. How about…Duke or, Zebo, Zeus, Frisco, Matrix…?” Little John suddenly slammed the front of Sam’s cage with his bare fist, but the dog never flinched; it just continued to look at him with disdain and defiance. “Well…” Little John spoke softly. “That’s it…we’ll call you Defiance…and, since I’m still not sure how you’re going to perform out there tonight against the champion from North Carolina, I probably shouldn’t put you as the last, star performer, but…you will be, and, if you know what’s good for you, you will win your fight…” He kicked the cage with his boot as he stood to leave. He walked past the cage that held Czar, the champion he had recently purchased, and the one that Spartacus had lost his last fight against. The dog growled at him when he knelt down, and Little John smiled proudly. “I have no doubt you will win your match, Czar…it will be a long time before you meet the burning pit…”

  As Little John’s truck pulled away from the training area, Spartacus looked over at Sam and said, “I don’t think he likes you very much…”

  Sam offered his best look of defiance and grinned back at his cell mate. “I didn’t come here to make friends…”

  _____

  Tim Breydan and Ross Taylor limped nervously around the small, dark cabin. Ross was still in severe pain from his bruised and broken ribs, but he was standing more erect than he had been since his initial beating. “It’s a good thing I’m not claustrophobic…” he mumbled. “You’d think they would have put at least one window in this damn cabin.” He glanced at the small space between the floor and the bottom of the door. “Sun’s going down…”

  Tim had been walking the floor and praying. He kept rehashing the phone call that Little John had forced him to make the night before, while a knife had been held against Ross’ neck. His supervisor had answered on the third ring and had been concerned that he had not heard from the two men since their regular check-in on Tuesday night. The call lasted less than three minutes, but Tim felt confident that he had convinced his boss that the dog-fighting ring in Thomasville was not on a large enough scale to be included in the scheduled bust for the following Friday. He told him that they had discovered a larger operation, located closer to Albany, Georgia, that they might have time to include in the sting. He ended the conversation with assurance that he would check in again before the weekend was over.

  Ross stopped walking and nudged Tim lightly against the shoulder. “Why do I have the feeling you haven’t heard a word I’ve said?”

  Tim opened his eyes and looked over at the younger man who had become a good friend to him. “Sorry…I was…”

  “Praying?” Ross grinned. “How’s that working out for you, buddy?”

  Tim smiled back. “We’re still alive, aren’t we?”

  Ross nodded and said, “Yeah…that was some pretty good acting on your part last night when you called McRoberts and convinced him that the Abbott operation was too small-time to waste our time on. Are you sure he believed you?”

  “Pretty sure, yes…” Tim answered back. “There was something strange about his voice, though.”

  “What do you mean? You didn’t say anything about that after Abbott left last night.”

  Tim shook his head. “I don’t know, really…it may be nothing…I mean, it was a little hard to concentrate on the conversation while seeing that blade press into your neck…but, I keep re-hashing the call, and there was something just a little off in the way Mr. McRoberts sounded…I don’t know…something in the tone of his voice. It was almost like he was trying to tell me something without actually telling me something…”

  “Well, that makes perfect sense!” Ross tried to laugh but the sharp pain stopped him short. “Hey…have you noticed that nobody has been here today? I mean, it’s almost dark, and no one has brought us any food or water.”

  Tim nodded. “I know…and the dogs have been howling and barking more than usual, it seems. Would be nice to have some water, though…”

  “Well, look on the bright side,” Ross quipped. “No water means we won’t have to piss in that nasty hole for a while. Man, that thing is just gross…the smell around it is strong enough to make you pass out.”

  Tim held up a finger to his lips and motioned for Ross to look toward the front door.

  A shadow walked in front of the door, disappeared for a moment, and then returned…a shadow with four legs.

  _____

  The crowd had settled into a dull roar by seven-thirty, the referee was announced, and twenty-four dogs had been paired off by size and weight. Only one owner had to forfeit his $1,000 down payment because his dog was overweight; a replacement dog had been quickly added to the fighting list. Bets for the first fight were being placed and monies collected. The spectators were in their folding chairs or on the bleachers provided; some preferred to remain standing as close to the ring as they were allowed to be. The handlers for the two dogs matched for the first fight flipped a coin to see who would wash their opponent’s dog first. The winner of the flip was provided two towels, baking soda, milk, and soap to wash their opponent’s dog; this was done to make sure the animals’ coats were not covered with any slick substance or poison. Each handler was required to bare their arms to the elbow and use the same warm water to wash and rinse the opponent dog.

  After the dogs were cleaned, a timekeeper was chosen, and, the two dogs were placed in their respective corners behind the scratch lines. Their faces were turned away from each other. The spectators grew quiet and waited for the referee to shout, “FACE YOUR DOGS!” The handlers then turned their dogs and positioned them to stand full head and shoulders between their legs. The two dogs growled and pulled, but their handlers held them firmly until the referee shouted, “LET’S GO!”

  The handlers released their dogs and the first fight between two new fighters began. Both dogs were young, less than two years old, and this was the first fight for both of them. The crowd cheered when the white boxer immediately jumped on the brown cur-mix and went for the throat. He missed but still managed to rip away one side of the cur’s cheek. The cur-mix jumped up and turned his head and shoulders away. Its handler claimed the “turn” and the referee made the call. Each handler returned their dog to their assigned corner and turned their faces away so that they, once again, faced the corner. Twenty-five seconds passed and the referee called out again, “FACE YOUR DOGS!” The handlers turned to show their dogs. Five more seconds passed until the referee shouted, “LET’S GO!” Since the cur-mix was the first fighter to “turn”, he would be required to cross the scratch line first. He did, and for the next 20 minutes, the two dogs took turns trying to destroy each other. By the time the first match ended, the white boxer had been declared the winner, and the brown cur-mix was shot in the head by its owner and dumped in the disposal pile.

  Tyler couldn’t watch the match, especially the end, when he knew that the losing dog would most likely be beaten or destroyed by its owner, so he walked among the spectators. He glanced at the crowd, nonchalantly, and tried to determine which of them, if any, might be law enforcement or animal control investigators. If they were in attendance, they managed to blend perfectly into the crowd. He glanced into the wood line and tried to distinguish any unusual sounds or movements. There weren’t any. He turned his Atlanta Braves cap so that it was facing backward on his head and exhaled softly. He continued walking through the crowds until the fifth fight ended; it was then that he saw Little John and Clint Meacham watching him. It only took one look into the cold, steely eyes of John Abbott for Tyl
er to realize something. He didn’t know how or when it had happened, but he suddenly knew that his short acting career was over. “Holy crap...” he panicked. “They know…”

  Amanda’s plan had gone more smoothly than she had hoped, and she had sat snugly, through the first five fights, wedged between two, burly rednecks from Alabama. She had been watching Tyler intensely and saw the exact moment that panic crossed his handsome face. She turned to see what had caused his panicked expression, and recognized the man that Tyler had described to her…Little John Abbott. It had to be him. She watched as Tyler backed slowly away and disappeared into the dark wood line. She turned back in time to see Little John say something to the wiry, older man who stood beside him. The man spit on the ground, grinned widely, and nodded before moving off in the same direction as Tyler.

  “Not, no…but Hell, no!” Amanda thought as she pushed and squirmed away from her two bookends, jumped off the short bleachers, and dashed into the same wood line into which Tyler had just vanished.

  36. Change of Plans

  Tyler pulled a small flashlight from his back pocket and made his way quickly through the woods toward the cabin. It was only nine o’clock, and the plan had been for him to wait until the eleventh fight between Spartacus and the champion fighter from South Carolina; however, Tyler was certain that Little John was suspicious of him now, and he did not want to take the chance that Clint Meacham would get to the two investigators before he did.

  He moved slowly through the woods and kept his flashlight toward the ground in order to avoid stepping on the any of the traps the crew had set throughout the woods. He knew what to look for…three medium sized stones to the side of the trap which would be covered with leaves and pine straw. He had just passed a sixth trap when he heard a slight rustling of leaves about a hundred feet behind him. He turned around quickly and did not see anyone, but the sound of rustling leaves was getting closer. He moved to hide behind a large oak tree and squatted down in attack mode. The rustling grew louder; whoever was following him was almost upon him.

  Tyler assumed that it must be Clint Meacham and he knew that he would have to stop him. He waited until the rustling of the leaves was less than five feet from him. He raised himself up to a half-standing position, and head-butted Clint in the stomach, knocking him to the ground. He quickly pressed his left hand against Clint’s throat and raised his right fist to pummel the older man’s face.

  “Tyler Foster! Don’t you dare hit me or I will kick your butt all the way back to Brooksville!”

  Amanda gasped for air but still managed to shove her right knee deep into Tyler’s groin. “Now, get off me, you big oaf!”

  Tyler groaned and grabbed his manly jewels as he began to roll off her. “Damn you, Amanda…” he croaked. “What the hell are you doing here…I told you to stay away tonight…”

  Amanda completed the push off, stood up, and began brushing the leaves off her clothes. She held her stomach; it hurt, but wasn’t anything she couldn’t endure. “I don’t take kindly to being told what to do, Mr. Foster…that’s something you had best learn about me. Besides…I thought I might be able to help.”

  “There are plenty of law enforcement and animal control reps to help with this, Amanda.” Tyler had rolled onto his back, but was now attempting to sit up. He saw her holding her stomach. “I’m really sorry…are you okay?” He shook his head. “Never mind…you’ve got to get out of here…now. I can’t be sure how any of this is going to go down tonight…it could go either way. Please…go back to the café. These woods aren’t safe…they’re full of animal traps…I can’t believe you didn’t step into one of them already…”

  Amanda released her stomach and held out a hand to help him up. “I’m fine…a little head-butt isn’t going to stop me, and…why does everyone forget that I am a cop! Do you honestly think that I can’t find my way through a bunch of dark woods? These idiot rednecks and their ridiculous animal traps are so conspicuous and predictable. I’m assuming you’re talking about the pile of leaves with the rocks beside them, right?”

  Tyler took her offered hand and managed a semi-erect position. He exhaled and shook his head. “I don’t even want to know how you knew that…” He stopped mid-sentence when he heard more rustling of the leaves, coming from the direction of the fighting arena. “Come on…we’ve got to get to the cabin…I only hope it’s not too late…”

  The cabin was located about two miles from the fighting arena. Tyler and Amanda continued to tread their way carefully through the dense woods. They never looked back; if they had, they would have seen that it was not a two-legged creature that followed closely behind them.

  _____

  The lantern inside the cabin offered a dull glow for the two men who had been trapped inside it for three long days.

  Ross shook the lantern. “Guess we should have been more conservative in our use of this thing, huh?”

  Tim moved closer to the door. “I don’t think we’re going to need it much longer anyway…”

  “What do you mean?” Ross asked as he moved slowly toward the door.

  “Listen…” Tim spoke softly. “Can you hear it?”

  Ross put his ear to the door and shook his head.

  “Listen again,” Tim said. “It sounds a long way off, but…”

  Ross nodded. “Sounds like a cheering crowd…yeah…I hear it now, but…what do you think is going on? The fight is scheduled for next Friday…”

  Tim looked at his friend and co-worker. He smiled sadly. “My guess is…fights are subject to change…I would be willing to bet that Abbott moved the fight up a week, maybe…to throw the agency off…to give himself plenty of time to get rid of all the evidence before next Friday…”

  “Son-of-a-bitch…” Ross growled. “That means…”

  Tim started to place a hand on his friend’s shoulder, but stopped when he heard the sound of a loud engine pull up outside the cabin. He waited until the engine shut off, and one door creaked open and quickly slammed shut again. “That means our time may be up…”

  “Not if I can help it…” Ross gritted his teeth and quickly shut off the lantern. “They may not have considered it when they left us this lantern, but, they also provided us a weapon. Quick, Tim…go stand in the corner…I’ll hide behind the door…”

  “You’re too weak, Ross…let me do it…”

  “No!” Ross whispered loudly. “Your conscience may not allow you to do what has to be done. If you think my ribs have taken a beating, buddy, you have no idea what all this has done to my conscience. Now, go! Get in the corner!”

  The key turned in the padlock and Clint Meacham kicked open the door with his boot. He was surprised to see the room in complete darkness, especially since he knew they had provided the men with a lantern. “Damn, fellas…don’t tell me the battery has run down already…”

  Ross moved silently from behind the door and swung wildly into the darkness. He could make out Clint’s silhouette but could not judge how far away he was. He missed Clint’s head by a few millimeters and was more than a little shocked at the older man’s reflexive response.

  Clint felt something heavy whiz past his head and heard it crash into the door behind him. He sensed, rather than saw, a movement to his left. He turned and threw a hard punch directly into the stomach of his attacker. He heard more movement off to his right, turned, and fired his gun into the darkness.

  The firing of the gun was sloppy, but the bullet somehow managed to hit its target. Both men fell heavily to the floor and groaned. Clint pulled out a flashlight and moved it around the room. “Stupid sons-of-bitches…” he muttered as he backed out of the door and moved toward his truck where he still had the old, kerosene lantern. He brought it back inside the cabin and lit it.

  Ross Taylor lay in a crumpled pile gasping for air. Tim Breydan lay in another crumpled pile, pressing both hands against his stomach. Blood seeped quickly between his fingers as he stared back at Clint for a moment…before closing his eyes and pass
ing out.

  _____

  Tyler and Amanda were still a mile away from the cabin when Tyler stopped abruptly, causing Amanda to bump into his backside.

  “What are you stopping for?” Amanda asked hurriedly. “Come on, we’ve got to get to that cabin.”

  “You didn’t hear that?” Tyler asked.

  “Hear what?” Amanda moved in front of him. “Come on, let’s go!”

  Tyler grabbed her arm and pulled her back toward him. “I could have sworn I heard a gunshot,” Tyler steered her behind him. “Sounded like it came from the direction of the cabin…”

  “But, who…” Amanda began, but stopped.

  Tyler shook his head. “I don’t know…but come on…stay behind me…we’ve got to get to that cabin.”

  They were running so fast that neither of them was aware that they were being followed.

  37. Clint Takes Matters In His Own Hands

  Clint’s hands shook slightly. He knew, without a doubt, that Little John would not be happy about what had just happened; but, he had done what he had to do. His breathing was heavy and labored as he paced nervously around the room. Neither of the downed men had made a move to stand, and Clint was pretty sure that the one he shot was either dying or already dead.