Show and Tell

by Amy Shojai

  Gonzales looked ready to tackle her himself. “BeeBo is a child in a man’s body. And you sent him undercover? He couldn’t lie to save his life.”

  She didn’t back down. “He seemed fine to me. Insisted he wanted to help, after I explained the situation.” Doty licked her lips, and reached for the pack of cigarettes she no longer carried, and then dropped her hand. “If he’s slow, even better. Nobody’ll consider him a threat, or believe he’d be working with the police.”

  “We got to check on him.” Combs whirled and strode across the room.

  “Combs, leave it. Benson is Detective Doty’s informant.” The Captain paused. “Doty, you started this operation, so finish it. I want this drug ring shut down. And for damn sure, I don’t want any civilian casualty.”

  “Yes sir. It’s under control.” Doty glared at Combs.

  A uniform officer knocked on the door and without waiting, stuck his head inside. “Captain, we just got a call on a missing kid—”

  The Captain held up a hand to stop him, and aimed steely attention at Combs and Gonzales. “You two, take that call. See if it ties in with the other AWOL kiddoes. After that, liaise with September Day and get as much information as you can about dogfights, the people involved, and what to expect. I want a full report by shift’s end. Got it?” He took a seat behind the big desk, and waited a beat, looking at all three of them. “What the hell you waiting for? Get out of here.”

  Chapter 7

  Kelvin shed his clothes, trading French cuffs and tailored suit for soiled and patched jeans, a Texas First tee shirt with ripped off sleeves, and scuffed steel-toed boots. He tugged a black knit cap over his bald head, hoping it wouldn't itch and drive him nuts, and pulled on a sleeveless denim vest with an assortment of badges. The patches were legit, from his crazy motorcycle club days, even though the club had long since disbanded. He hoped they'd add to his cred.

  Hercules sprawled on the bed, soaking the cover with dog drool and thumping his tail each time Kelvin turned his way.

  "What do you think?" He posed, flexing his biceps so the tats of snakes undulated along his arms.

  The dog wagged, stood up and shook his 240-pound tan torso, black muzzle spraying drool across the room. His collar tags jangled, bed springs squealed and the headboard thumped the wall like a seedy hotel room’s amorous neighbor. Kelvin smiled wistfully at the thought, knowing he'd had his last taste of Sunny. If not for her pillow talk last week, he wouldn't have connected the dots that brought the Doctor within reach.

  "Only good times ahead. New apartment and better class of neighbors and clients, just you wait, Hercules. Maybe even a doggy girlfriend for you." He'd counted the wad of cash three times, and had the $10,000 stashed in a yellow sock and locked in the top desk drawer at his office. You couldn't deposit that much cash without pointed questions being asked and paperwork required. Time enough later to figure out how to manage the windfall.

  To reap the full rewards, though, he had to pay in blood—not his own, but innocent blood. He walked to the bed and opened his arms to Hercules, welcoming the heavy heat against his chest when the Mastiff leaned into his embrace. They'd been together six years. He'd want to kill anyone who offered to hurt Hercules. So would anyone with half a heart. Something must be broken inside of Sunny. Now, he'd have to play a gruesome price to buy the trust needed to gain insider access to the dogfight ring.

  "Not you, boy. Never you." Kelvin thumped his palms on the dog, and Hercules panted happily.

  It'd only take a couple to satisfy them. Surely, he could wrangle up a couple of strays. Besides, people who let pets wander didn't deserve to have them. He told himself it'd be only a day or so before he called in the authorities, not enough time for anything bad to happen to them. Kelvin didn't know if he could live with himself otherwise.

  But he had no choice.

  His phone beeped, signaling an incoming call. Kelvin hurried to the adjoining bathroom vanity where it charged next to the sink, and recognized the sender.

  "Got the location and the time." Sunny quickly rattled off directions, and he scribbled them down. "Here's the deal. You deliver three animals to the location today. Better hurry, before the storm hits. There's dumpsters on the property. Put 'em inside one of those."

  "Dumpsters? I thought they were supposed to be alive?" His stomach tightened. "That doesn't give me much time." He unplugged the phone and carried it back into the bedroom, and sat beside his dog.

  "Yes, alive. Open the lid and drop them in. You can toss some hot dogs if you want. With all this rain, there should be plenty of water to drink. It's not like they'll be in there for long."

  He closed his eyes. If Sunny had been in the same room with him, he would have smacked her, never mind he'd never struck a woman in his life. He'd make an exception in her case.

  She must have read his mind. "Hey, this isn't some sweet-and-fluffy Disney adventure, Kelvin. I'm the messenger. If you don't have the stones for it, my guys won't let you inside."

  "Right, I know." He stroked Hercules, imagining reproach in the dog's eyes.

  "This is a test. You won't see them, but they'll be watching your every move. I want the rest of my money, what's coming to me." Her voice turned fierce. "So don't mess up. That would reflect poorly on me, too."

  "Yeah, whatever." This was his party, and he had the most to lose. He knew what the dog men did to fighters that disappointed, and could guess his fate, should he fail in any of myriad ways. "Maybe there's another way."

  She blew out breath with exasperation, and he imagined Sunny tossing her neon locks. "Figured you'd try to weenie out on me. I need the money, Kelvin. I've got plans, gotta get the hell out of this stinking place and start over. You can't trust anyone here. It's all empty promises, lies and disappointment."

  God, she'd played the victim card again. In her world, everyone was out to get her. "Sunny, hear me out. That referral I pitched your way, over to that old renovated Victorian, 205 Rabbit Run Road? I'll double your fee.”

  Combs’s text had been insulting. Detective Combs now. He hadn't been so high and mighty last year after his demotion. Combs came to Kelvin begging for a job. Kelvin strung the cop along for a while, figuring Combs would still have inside connections even as a tainted ex-cop that could prove helpful with Kelvin's clientele. But once reinstated, Combs no longer had the time of day for Kelvin Quincy. Until now.

  Sunny laughed. “Figured it wasn’t worth much or you’d do it yourself.”

  He grit his teeth. He couldn't let anything distract him from nailing the Doctor’s drug ring, but couldn’t tell Sunny that. At the same time, Combs knew Kelvin never turned down a job. Doing so could make the detective suspicious, when Kelvin couldn’t afford cop noses in his beeswax, so he’d referred the job to Sunny. “You already agreed to take the job, Sunny, I’m just sweetening the deal.”

  She waited a beat. “I’m playing with you. Already on the job. I never turn down a bonus.”

  The P.I. job would keep Sunny out of his hair until he could figure a better way to manage this whole thing. Maybe he'd send the Doctor to the designated spot, and let Combs know. The detective would owe him. He’d heard Combs was a stand-up guy willing to share credit. Kelvin wouldn't have to mention the $10K socked away, literally.

  "As for this deal, Kelvin, I won't let you back out."

  He laughed so hard, he shook the bed. Hercules sneezed, joining in with a doggy laugh, and his collar tags jingled again. Kelvin was many things, but he was not a dog killer. Drop in a dumpster? Sheesh. "Sunny, what kind of leverage could you possibly have?"

  "I took care of BeeBo, like you said. Squashed him flat. So to speak."

  His shoulders tightened and he stopped laughing. "What do you mean?"

  She drawled, voice dripping with treacle and seeming to enjoy every word. “Got word about BeeBo asking questions, sniffing around. I did my own sniffing, and sure enough, it smelled to high heaven like bacon.” The honey turned to brimstone. “BeeBo’s cousin turned me
on to his little game. We go way back.” She giggled. “Then when BeeBo called me to help out with his undercover sting, I couldn’t resist fixing our problem. The poor simple soul had a little accident with his gun."

  He leaned forward, and shouted into the phone. "You shot him? Are you crazy?" His voice raised an octave and he leaped to his feet. "You crazy bitch. If he’s undercover, a suspicious death won’t help our cause.” Murder had never been part of the plan. He was supposed to be one of the good guys.

  "Don't take that tone with me. I'm not stupid, I quizzed him first. He hadn't reported to his handler, not yet, but was going to. I couldn’t wait. He'd already been out to the site. Had a kitten he must've pulled out of there. I hate cats." She sniffed. "I'm still so stuffed up with allergies I can't breathe. If I hadn't taken care of business, you and me and the Doctor wouldn't have any business."

  Kelvin pulled off the black stocking cap and threw it across the room. "That's dandy. That's it, Sunny. I'm out. Bad enough this deal involves murdering dogs. But you killed a man. They'll never buy that a gun guy like BeeBo got careless. You're on your own." He'd call Combs, come clean and the devil takes Sunny and the Doctor and the whole shitty mess.

  "Before you click off, hon, you should know about my insurance."

  He hesitated. She sounded positively gleeful, and he couldn't bring himself to disconnect. Not until he knew what the witch planned. "What? What insurance?"

  "The police investigation will turn up a rabies tag that doesn't belong to one of BeeBo's dawgs." She drawled the last word, the way BeeBo would have said it. "Now, you give that big old Hercules-boy a pat for me, y'hear? Always loved the way he jingles his collar."

  Chapter 8

  His feet squished with each cautious backward step, and Larry froze and prayed the slight noise wouldn't raise an alarm. There were dogs out there, a lot of them. Pit Bulls.

  Every horror story he'd ever read about the murderous beasts flashed through his mind. A single bark would alert whoever had staked them out here in the middle of nowhere. If they were guard dogs, he didn't want to find out what they protected.

  A half mile back, his car hydroplaned off the pavement when he stupidly crossed a low spot covered by running water. Now that his MiniCoop sat up to its headlights in black mud, and the weather knocked out cell phone service, he'd never make track practice in time. Coach would have a cow, not to mention his dad once he found out about the new car.

  Larry lifted one foot and winced at the slushy sound it made coming free of the ooze. The sticky muck turned his feet into black snowshoes that nearly tugged off his sneaks. Larry carefully scraped them against a nearby tree and lamented his Christmas track shoes, barely worn, were ruined. His eyes pricked and he silently berated himself to suck it up. After all, he'd turn seventeen next week. Maybe Mom would replace the shoes for his birthday.

  Not likely. They'd been too expensive the first time and the gift was supposed to count for both Christmas and birthday combined. Ditching the car made the shoe issue pale in comparison.

  Wind panted hot breath against his face. This had been a year for weird weather, and the February temperatures mimicked May, excessively warm even for Texas. The breeze swirled his curly hair into his eyes. His girlfriend was right, he needed a haircut. If he'd listened to Melinda, he'd be getting shampooed and trimmed in downtown Heartland, instead of hiding from a pack of devil dogs. Larry hoped they couldn't smell his fear. Fear smell made them crazy, or so he'd read. Even he could smell his rank sweat, like he'd already run a marathon.

  He sheltered behind a stand of burl oak, but the naked limbs did little to screen his presence. The wind rattled dry-bone branches, and he shuddered, remembering the recent news accounts of bone yard dumps. Maybe the dogs belonged to hog hunters like from that reality show? At least they’d rounded up and arrested all the bad guys. Larry relaxed a bit with that thought, until lightening strobed a dark cloud, and a simultaneous BOOM! made him wince.

  The dogs didn't like the thunder, either. A couple of young ones yelped. Some had empty metal barrels laid sideways on the ground, but the makeshift shelters squatted in the same muddy swill that hobbled Larry's feet. He heard the rattle of the enormous chains that tethered each dog, even the pups, collar-to-stake-in-the-ground in a scatter-shot pattern around the remote clearing. Poor dogs, they couldn't help their nature. Was it necessary to chain them up like that? Must be to keep the dogs from killing each other. Everyone knew Pit Bulls were bloodthirsty beasts eager to attack innocent bystanders. They must be something powerful if they needed huge chains to restrain even the babies.

  He hoped they'd focus on each other long enough for him to get away. Hell, he'd run farther distances before, and in the rain, too. This would be a great story to tell Melinda and their friends at school. At that thought, his chest puffed out. She'd be impressed.

  Larry had only plodded down this chewed up drive to find a house, homeowner and phone connection, or maybe a truck that could pull him out. When he'd seen the dogs staked in front of the cement block barn, he'd stumbled off the gravel drive to hide behind scrubby trees. He debated whether to beat a more hasty retreat, or slog through muck to take advantage of the half-assed shelter of the trees.

  An engine revved behind him. Larry crouched, heart thumping, and started to flag down the driver for help. Whoever owned those dogs, though, might not take kindly to him trespassing. Before he could make a decision, the mud-spattered truck pulled up next to him, rolled down the window and stared, pockmarked face grim. The driver’s bare arm boasted snake tattoos writhing from wrist to shoulder.

  A massive canine with close-cropped ears, nearly as broad as it was tall, rode in the truck bed with front paws balanced on the roof of the cab. A short chain kept the beast anchored to the truck. It stared at Larry but remained silent.

  "That your yellow car back there, swamped beside the road?" In answer, the Pit Bulls leaped up and stood at the ends of their chains barking, most with lowered heads and wildly wagging tails. Both the man and his gigantic dog ignored them. "I said, is that your yellow car?" The driver raised his voice over the barking.

  Larry swallowed hard, and nodded.

  "Figured somebody needed help when I saw that. Glad my Hercules didn't have to get out in the mud to find you.” At the name, the dog in the back wagged his tail. “Don't stand there in the rain. Hop in, I'll give you a ride. Got a rig in the back ought to yank your car back onto the road."

  Larry straightened. He swallowed, but saliva had turned to dust. The big canine—Hercules?—perched in the back of the truck stared at Larry while the Pit Bulls barked.

  Shifting sideways half a step, Larry scanned the area, curly hair whipping in the stiffening wind. Dogs at the barn, scary stranger beside him, the monster dog in the truck, and nowhere to hide.

  "What're you waiting for? Get in the truck. Bet your folks won't be happy you got your car stuck." He smiled with sympathy when Larry flinched. "Get in the truck, kid." He put a hand out the window, and the huge dog leaned forward to sniff and lick the snake tat on his arm.

  "Does he bite?" Larry wanted to kick himself for asking. What did it matter? He had to run and take the chance. He'd had a few close calls during runs, and even one butt-nip from a Toy Poodle, so embarrassing he'd told no one, not even Melinda. He imagined the bright-hot pain of Hercules’s giant teeth grappling his legs.

  "All dogs bite in the right circumstances."

  Larry stumbled a half step backwards.

  "Hell, kid, take a breath already. I'm trying to save your ass." The big man wiped his acne-scarred face with a paisley kerchief. "Hercules puts the fear of God into some of my clients. I'd never tell them this, but he wouldn't hurt a fly. He's more a wrestler. He don't—I mean, he doesn't bite. Mastiffs pin you to the ground but never leave a mark." He paused, and added impatiently, "I got things to do. And I’m trying to do you a favor. I just want to get you out of here safe and sound, and get that toy car of yours back on the road. Do we have a deal?” It
wasn’t really a question. "Get in the truck."

  Larry gulped. "Absolutely, sir, whatever you say." He took a couple of steps toward the truck, stalling and doing his best to clean the rest of the muck off his running shoes. He'd sooner face the chained Pit Bulls than climb into this guy's truck.

  The gravel drive sat above the mucky field on one side while more scrub trees blocked the other. He could be halfway back to the main road before the driver could turn around and give chase, or release good old Hercules from his tether in the truck bed. Larry consciously steadied his breathing, psyching himself the way he did at the start of any track meet.

  The man leaned over and swung open the passenger door to the truck. "Don't worry about the other dogs, either. Even if unchained, they might lick you to death. Pit Bulls love people. They only hate each other, same as lots of terrier breeds that are dog-aggressive." He chuckled. "All that hoopla about being mean does give folks pause, though, so they keep their distance. But a well-bred Pittie would sooner kill itself than harm a human." He craned his neck to follow Larry's progress around the back of his truck.

  The gravel drive, littered here and there with a muddy puddle, beckoned with open invitation once Larry cleared the tailgate, and he didn't hesitate. With the truck between him and the stranger, he put his head down and sprinted.

  The truck’s engine snarled. Shit. The guy hadn't taken the time to turn around. He'd shoved it into reverse to come after him.

  The Pit Bulls had gone nuts, too, barking and snarling. Larry imagined them lunging, breaking each massive chain one after another. He tucked his chin and increased his speed.

  Overhead, thunder crackled. Dark shadows dance across the road. The truck’s tailgate loomed. Hercules rode the bed like a surfer, silent and watchful, and strained against his tether.