Four-Footed Angels

by J. T. Livingston

  “You are very welcome, my friend. You and the others will have a very different life from here on out…you will have a second chance…make it count…”

  Sam left the ring and found the F-150 where the mangled white, pit lay dead behind it; it was still chained to the trailer hitch. He repeated his healing ritual and waited until the dog’s mangled face transformed to its former clarity, and its legs grew strong with renewed life and strength. The chain simply fell away from the dog’s neck and he slowly made his way toward the wood line where Kong waited patiently. He looked back as Sam once and barked his gratitude.

  It was eleven-thirty by the time Sam had completed the resurrection process on the seven other dogs. He opened the cages of the winning dogs and instructed them to follow the others into the wood line. Czar had waited patiently in his cage and watched in amazement at each resurrection Sam had performed. He hung his head in shame when Sam approached his cage. He had known nothing but fighting all his life, and had grown to love it. It had never bothered him one bit when he carelessly took the lives of the smaller bait dogs, or the stronger fighter dogs he had defeated over the past couple of years. He felt that he did not deserve to be saved now.

  “Look at me, Czar…” Sam spoke softly.

  Czar shook his head and lowered it even farther toward the bottom of his cage. “I…can’t…”

  “Look at me, Czar!” Sam spoke more sharply. He waited until Czar had lifted his head and met his gaze. “None of this is your fault, Czar…none of it. This life is all you have ever known, but…if you want…you can have a very different life. You can have a real home…with a family who loves and cherishes you…a family you can honor and protect…a place to feel safe and…loved…”

  Czar sighed and lifted his head. He returned Sam’s stare and said, “I don’t deserve all that…I don’t deserve to be…loved…”

  Sam motioned for Czar to step outside his cage, and when he did, he moved to stand beside him. Sam was slightly taller, so he quietly laid his head upon Czar’s. “Everyone deserves to be loved, my friend, and…you…are no exception. Now…I need you to follow the others into the woods and wait for the officers to find you. I’m trusting in you and Kong to keep the others quiet and safe until you are all found.”

  A tear escaped Czar’s eye and flowed down the side of his face. He watched as the other dogs, winners and losers, moved into the wood line to wait with Kong. He nodded and looked back at Sam and Spartacus. “I can do that…thank you, Sam.” He smiled sheepishly at Spartacus. “I’m sorry I ever hurt you…please forgive me…”

  Spartacus simply nodded and watched while the group of dogs moved silently into the woods. His glance skewed over the people in the crowd and the groups clustered around the ring. “What about all of them? Are you just going to leave them like that?”

  Sam watched the group of dogs until they had all disappeared safely into the wood line. “They will remain like this for a few more minutes…long enough for us to be far away from here. Well…correction…long enough for ME to be far away from here. You my friend, unfortunately, will have to make the trip on your own.”

  Spartacus pouted. “Why can’t you just wiggle your nose or something and take me with you?”

  “It doesn’t work that way, Spartacus. I need you to make your way back to the café. Stay on the road…someone will stop along the way and pick you up…”

  “Who? Who’s going to pick me up? I want to go with you, Sam. You might need my help…”

  Sam looked back at Spartacus for just an instant before he transported himself away. His eyes glowed golden and he winked at his new friend.

  Spartacus stood beside Czar’s empty cage and looked around. “Yeah, right…sure…like YOU need MY help…I…”

  “SPARTACUS! GO! QUICKLY!” The voice boomed from the heavens above.

  Spartacus yelped, lost control of his bladder once again, and took off running. “Jesus, Christ…you scared me to death!” That voice had not belonged to Sam!

  40. Rescue or Recovery

  It was almost eleven forty-five. A lot would happen before the dawn of a new day.

  The Emergency Room doctors at Archbold Memorial Hospital worked quickly and fervently on the two men that had been brought in fifteen minutes ago by a young man who had given his name as Tyler Foster. Tim Breydan had been rushed immediately into surgery; his wound was life-threatening and the doctors did not hold out much hope for him making it through the surgery. Ross Taylor remained unconscious while x-rays were taken and his wounds were being thoroughly examined. The young man expressed regret at not being able to wait, but had given the nurse on duty a quick report of who the men were and what had transpired. He had asked her to contact the authorities and provided his contact number before rushing out into the night.

  _____

  Little John Abbott was never one to panic in any given situation, and he did not panic when he drugged Amanda Turner and tossed her into the back seat of his truck. He had looked into the burning pit before he drove off and assured his foreman that he would be back to help him out. He recognized the look of doubt that had crossed Clint Meacham’s face; maybe the man knew him better than he thought and realized how dire his own situation really was. Little John had no intention of returning to help Clint out of the pit. If he had more time, he would have set fire to the pit to eliminate the bodies of the two investigators from being identified; however, time was not on his side this night, and he did not want to draw any attention to the pit area until he was well out of range.

  He had listened briefly to the distant cheering of the crowd from the fighting arena before he reluctantly turned his truck toward the main house. He had more than two hundred thousand dollars in cold, hard cash in his safe. He was a realist…he knew that life as he knew it was probably over, but he did not intend to spend what was left of it locked behind bars with his own father. He had felt his blood pressure rise and his anger intensify as he thought about who was to blame for all this. He intended to get that money, and then he would find a way to get even with Tyler Foster. He had thrown a few clothes into a suitcase, gathered the money and his passport, looked around the home that he was sure he would never return to, and began driving south on Highway 19. He had connections in Tampa that, for enough money, could get him on a cargo ship leaving the United States. He had glanced at the pretty blonde sprawled upon his back seat. She was indeed very pretty, and he briefly contemplated the idea of taking her aboard the ship with him, but that would have cut into his cash. He shook his head and decided she wasn’t that pretty after all; that meant he would have to…dispose of her.

  _____

  Twenty-two dogs had gathered together in the wood line. Kong stood in front of them all, determined to honor his promise to Sam that he would see that they remain together until help arrived. Sam and Spartacus were long gone by the time the crowd of spectators, owners, handlers, law enforcement, and animal control investigators immersed from their ten-minute catatonic state. Sam had immediately transported himself to the Heavenly Grille Café, and Spartacus had begun a fast, physical sprint in the same direction.

  “Hey…where are the damn dogs?” one fat-bellied, bearded man yelled from the sidelines of the fighting ring. “I want my damn money back! What the hell is going on here?”

  The murmuring from the crowd began as a soft whisper, but it didn’t take long for others to begin feeling the same ire as the fat-bellied, bearded man. Five investigators displaced themselves from the crowd and came together in a small circle. One of them looked around and shook his head. “I’m with him,” he said, nodding toward the fat-bellied, bearded man. “What is going on? Did we miss something? Where are the dogs…”

  Fifteen men in dark uniforms suddenly rushed from the wood line and circled the fighting arena. Their guns were drawn and the leader of group issued a quick order to everyone there. “NOBODY MOVES!” This is a bust for illegal dog-fighting and everyone here…EVERYONE…is under arrest!”

  Seve
ral burly men on the bleachers jumped down with intentions to run; however, another twenty law enforcement personnel emerged from the opposite wood line and halted their escape. The spectators heard the sound of blaring sirens, and their breathing became more labored as the sounds got closer. The five investigators spread out and began a search for the animals. It only took a couple of minutes until one of them shouted out, “Hey! Over here! They’re all over here…they look like they’re…waiting for us…”

  Kong and twenty-one other dogs sat quietly just inside the wood line. Once Kong was sure that the authorities had control of the situation, he stood up and motioned for the other dogs to follow him. He wagged his tail when he saw an investigator move cautiously toward him.

  “Well, I’ll be damned…” the investigator spoke under his breath. “You’d never know that these were fighter dogs. Just look at them,” he told the other four investigators when they arrived by his side. “Every single one them…wagging their tails.” He pulled a leader leash from a clip on his belt and moved cautiously toward Kong. “Easy fella…we’re not here to hurt you guys…come on, now…”

  Kong moved toward the investigator. It was imperative that he prove to the investigators that he and the other dogs were not a threat to them. He lowered his head when he was within two feet of the investigator and allowed the leader leash to be placed over his massive neck. He took four more steps toward the investigator and licked the man’s hand.

  “Jesus!” the man almost shrieked. “Is this the same dog that had the one called Defiance by the throat just a little while ago?” He held out a tentative, shaking hand and allowed Kong to sniff his scent. When the dog didn’t growl or attempt to bite him, the man kneeled and slowly placed his hand on Kong’s head. He used his thumb to rub the dog’s forehead between its brows.

  It was the first kind touch that Kong had ever experienced. He whimpered and lay down at the man’s feet.

  The other dogs moved forward while the other four investigators looped leashes around their necks. Five law enforcement officers appeared and took more leashes from the investigators. Each man looped two dogs and began leading them away. The last two dogs didn’t even wait for leashes; they simply followed the pack of dogs and officers back to their crates.

  Enrique Ramos was the investigator holding the leashes of Kong and the white pit bull whose face and legs had been badly mangled in the ninth fight. He was one of only four Christians at the fights to witness the resurrection of the dogs that had lost their individual fights. They had witnessed their mangled bodies being returned to healthy flesh and bone. They had watched the transformation of the dog named Defiance, seen the heavenly glow that had enveloped him as he lay beside the deceased dogs, and watched as those same dogs were restored to a glorious health they had never before experienced. The truth and reality of what they had witnessed took some time to sink in, but when it did, each and every one of them turned their eyes toward the night sky and gave silent thanks to their God above. They had witnessed a miracle at an illegal dog fight tonight, and they would share their stories with anyone who wanted to listen.

  Enrique led Kong to his crate and slid the lock closed on it. He leaned down and whispered, “It won’t be long, fella. You’ll have to stay locked up until everything gets processed, reports are submitted, you get checked out by a vet…all that stuff…but, then…I want you to know that you will have a home with me and my family for the rest of your days.”

  Kong whimpered and licked at the man’s fingers. He looked over at the cage that held the white pit bull from the ninth fight. He looked back at the man.

  Enrique laughed softly. “Don’t worry…we always have room for one more…”

  “Ramos!” the voice came from Enrique’s supervisor, who was handling the transportation of the dogs to the agency’s vet. He held a sheet of paper in his hands. “Looks like two are unaccounted for…best we can tell…they are both Abbott’s dogs…the one called Defiance and the smaller, black pit…Spartacus. I have someone searching the woods for them.”

  Ramos looked back at Kong. If he didn’t know better he would have sworn the dog had raised his brows in mockery. He shook his head and smiled. “Something tells me those two are long gone, Boss…probably miles away from here by now.”

  “Well, let’s get the word out for everyone to be on the lookout for them, just in case…wouldn’t want them attacking anyone before we can catch them.”

  Enrique felt another lick against the top of his hand. He grinned and winked at Kong. “Somehow, I don’t think we have to worry about that happening…” he spoke softly.

  _____

  Clint Meacham had cursed Little John Abbott when he left him in the pit; he knew that Little John never had any intentions of returning to help get him out. He cursed again when Tyler had sped away, rushing to get the two investigators to the hospital. He lay in that gut-stenching pit until he thought he would gag on his own breath. He listened to the cheering of the crowds and knew that the fights would probably be over in less than two hours, and he knew that help was not coming for him; he had to help himself. He grinned when he realized that Tyler had forgotten to pull up the ladder from the pit, but that grin had faded when he contemplated how difficult it would be to pull himself up twenty feet to the ground above, even with the help of the five-foot cushion of dead and decomposing animals.

  Clint rolled over and belly-crawled his way to the foot of the ladder. His hands dug into soft, decomposing flesh and fur as he rallied to get a grip on the top layer of animals. He gagged each time his fingers became lodged in rotted heads and bellies, but he finally managed to reach the ladder. He was stronger than most men gave him credit for, and he had actually pulled himself up to the sixth rung of the ladder before the gooey gore on his hands caused him to slip backward. He screamed out in pain when he landed on his back; the pain started in his back and spiraled downward into each leg and foot. His bottom extremities felt on fire with the pain. He took four, deep labored breaths and began pulling himself up again. He continued to do this time and time again until it suddenly dawned on him that he no longer heard any cheering from the crowd. When had it stopped? Why had it stopped? “To hell with this!” he grunted as he began a final attempt to pull himself up. His arms and chest were burning with having to bear all his weight, but Clint bit his bottom lip in relief when his fingers finally dug into the earth at the top of the pit. “Only a little bit more…come on…you can do this…” he encouraged himself. He had no earthly idea what he would do when he reached the top, or where he could go; all he knew was that he had to get out of that pit.

  The ladder moved slightly to the left when he placed both hands on the ground and began his final separation from it. He kept pulling at the earth and moving forward until he knew his feet had cleared the top of the pit. His head fell forward and he began to laugh hysterically. “Oh…thank, God…so glad I’m outta there…” he moaned as he eagerly inhaled the fresh air.

  Two uniformed officers stood motionless on the other side of the pit and waited until Clint had pulled himself out. “Yep,” one of them nodded. “So are we…cause we were getting ready to flip a coin to see which of us was going to have to go in to haul you out.”

  “Imagine our surprise,” the other officer grinned in acknowledgement, “When we searched and searched, but neither of us could come up with a coin!”

  _____

  Little John had decided to stay on the local back roads, travelling south on Highway 19, instead of getting on the interstate. The interstate would have been much quicker in getting him to Tampa, but he figured he would be more visible to law enforcement on the main roads. He could get to Tampa in about four hours, get on the cargo ship, and be on open water before the sun came up.

  He was still pondering what to do with Amanda, and was regretting the decision to bring her along. His first instinct had been to have his way with her, strangle her, and dump her body in some swampy wooded area. There were plenty of those type areas betwee
n here and Tampa, and it would take weeks, maybe even months, before her body was found…if it was ever found. There were plenty of wild coyotes, bears, gators, and other land critters out there who would love to sample this tasty little appetizer, especially along a 30-mile stretch of dark nothingness just south of Perry, Florida. He would probably save a small piece of her as a souvenir to send Tyler; it was important to him that Tyler know that his little girlfriend had suffered a horrible death.

  His rambling thoughts and plans were thwarted by a bright glow that suddenly appeared from above the trees, just around the bend in the road ahead. He saw the huge halo that seemed to float above what might be a restaurant, to the right, just past the curve. He saw the flashing marque in the empty parking lot that read– HEAVENLY GRILLE CAFÉ – open 7 - 11. He glanced at the clock on his dash…it was eleven-thirty…the place was probably closed, but all the lights were still on. He glanced back at Amanda to make sure she was still knocked out. He had bound her hands and feet with duct tape, every redneck’s surefire remedy for anything that needed to be fixed. “I’ve got a long ride ahead of me…maybe I can get some coffee if they’re still open…”

  He should have kept going and stopped at a gas station for coffee, but something compelled Little John to pull into the café parking lot at the same time that Sam transported himself to the back porch.

  Little John’s fate and destiny had arrived right on time.

  _____

  If the police had been hiding with their radar on, they could have made quite a chunk of money on Tyler Foster. By eleven forty-five, he was more than half-way to the Heavenly Grille Café. He couldn’t explain why he was headed to the café; it would be closed by now, but he felt obligated to let the people closest to Amanda Turner know what was going on…he dreaded telling them, especially Bertie, that Amanda had been taken by Little John Abbott and could be anywhere by now. He had called the local police from the Emergency Room and told them about his suspicions, but they were reluctant to take him seriously over the phone. They had suggested that he wait twenty-four hours and then come in to make an official missing persons report. He had hung up on them and knew that saving Amanda was up to him, but he felt helpless not even knowing if he was driving in the right direction. Little John could have gotten on the interstate by now and headed God knows where.