Dark River Road (78 page)

“You mean Billy Mac, or Beau and Rafe?”

“All of them.” He went quiet a minute, then he said, “Ain’t no amount of money worth gettin’ your head bashed in. Or losin’ another dog over.”

He’d hung up then, and Chantry had thought about what he’d said all day long. It was true Billy Mac, Beau, and Rafe were mean, but they weren’t old. Coley had said “old man” like he was scared. Only one old man he knew could summon that kind of fear: Bert Quinton. Was he involved in the dog fighting ring? He had his hand in every other kind of business around, legal or illegal. As long as there was profit in it. It stood to reason he’d have his hand in this, too.

Chantry was still thinking about that while he fried some bacon, when the door to the carriage house opened with a bang. He jerked around, reflexes making him tense for trouble, then he relaxed a little when he saw Herky.

Tears streamed down the broad face, and his mouth opened and closed but made only a garbled sound. Like he was having some kind of seizure. Chantry turned off the bacon and went toward him.

“Hey, Herky, you all right?”

A wheezing sound came out. Snot ran from his nose and into his open mouth, and Chantry handed Herky a paper towel and told him to use it. “Calm down. Whatever it is that’s got you upset we’ll fix it. Okay?”

Herky’s head bobbed, but the tears kept pouring from his eyes. He shook all over, big arms trembling with distress.

“Spot,” he got out finally. “Spot.”

“Your dog? Is he hurt?”

Herky shook his head. “Gone.”

“We’ll find him. It’ll be okay. He’s probably just wandered off, and—”

“No. Took him.”

Chantry pushed Herky down to the chair near the doorway because he looked like he was about to fall over. His face was all red from crying. Chantry tried to soothe him.

“Spot’ll be okay. If he’s lost, we’ll find him.”

“
No
,” Herky insisted, this time in a strong voice. “He took him off.”

“Who took him off?”

“Billy Mac Stark.”

Oh shit.

He called Cinda up at the house because he figured cops were still watching him, and she came down immediately. “We’ll take my car,” she said when Chantry told her what Herky had said and that he wanted to borrow her car, and he shook his head.

“No. You stay here. I just need to borrow your car. Cops are watching mine.”

“I go with it. Package deal. You can drive, though.” She tossed him the keys. “If we go across the back lawn up to the house, whoever’s watching won’t be able to see us as well.”

Herky stood up. “I’m goin’ too. I tole Billy Mac not to take my dog but he just laughed at me. Called me a dummy. A retard. I hate it when folks do that. He got my dog. Said he’s gonna feed him to his dog just for fun. He won’t do that, will he, Chantry?”

“Where’d you see Billy Mac?”

“Walkin’ back from the store. Spot went with me. He’s a good dog.”

They went out the back way, across the patio and over wet grass watered by rain and the automatic sprinklers. Hedges separated the carriage house from the big house, and once they got beyond those, Chantry figured any cop watching his car wouldn’t be able to see them.

Savona met them in the garage, looking bemused at the trio with wet feet and legs. “Is it still raining,
carissima
?”

“Don’t call me that.” Cinda opened her car door. “We’ve got to run to the store. Is there anything you need?”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No, that’s all right. Herky likes to browse.”

Savona regarded the gentle giant’s red, wet face with obvious distaste. “You are too kind-hearted, as always.”

“My dog’s gone,” Herky offered, and Chantry opened the back door for him to get in.

When they pulled out of the driveway, Savona still stared after them with that bemused expression on his tanned face.

Chantry took the back roads, just in case. Herky seemed calmer now, but Cinda looked tense. She wore shorts and sandals and had her hair pulled back from her face. She stared out the front window as afternoon light dwindled toward darkness.

“Your car’s liable to get muddy,” Chantry said, and she nodded.

“Just so we get his dog back. Do you know where you’re going?”

“Pretty much. Been here once before with Mindy. Billy Mac took her dog, too.”

“Why doesn’t someone report him?”

“Someone has. Many times. No one gives a damn. Or can do anything about it. And that includes your friend up in Desoto County.” She had her own problems. The law wasn’t clear on some things. Dogs got stolen, used for fighting, or as bait, police went out and took a report, maybe even made some arrests, and then the people paid a fine and went home to start all over again. A couple thousand meant nothing to men making a lot more than that fighting their dogs. They’d make that money back in one night.

Cinda made a soft sound of distress. He looked at her quickly. “You sure you’re up for this?”

“I’m sure.” She put a clenched fist to her mouth. “People who fight animals are medieval. Despicable. I’d like to see them all in jail.”

Chantry thought about what to say next, what he suspected. Then from the back Herky said, “If Billy Mac Stark hurts Spot, I’m gonna hurt him bad.”

“I’ll help,” Cinda said, and Herky said
good
.

Chantry remembered too late he’d left his pistol in his car.

Lights were on at Billy Mac’s trailer. Tall lights up on poles switched on at dusk. Chantry cut the Escalade’s lights as soon as they crossed the metal I-beams spanning the creek, and kept the SUV in the middle as much as he could. Getting stuck in the mud wouldn’t help.

Several vehicles were parked out front. He recognized Beau and Rafe’s red truck. Damn. This could get really ugly. He should have thought it out first. At least brought a gun with him.

“Don’t suppose you have a baseball bat in here,” he muttered, and Cinda looked at him sharply.

“I do. We’ll try talking first, though.”

“Right. That should work for the first five seconds. Where’s the bat?”

“In the back. Herky, would you reach behind you and hand that bat up here?”

Herky slid it over the top of the front seat. Chantry felt a little better. Not that a bat would help too much, but it was better than nothing.

“If you’re going to carry a bat for protection,” he said as he put the SUV in park, “you should keep it within reach.”

“That’s not why I have it.”

It got real quiet when he turned off the engine. Then he opened the door and heard the unmistakable sound of dogs fighting. Snarls, yelps, men shouting
 . . .
couldn’t be a real fight, though. Not enough cars.

“Stay here,” he said to Cinda, but she already had her door open and was out of the car. Herky stood right behind her, eyes a pale, frightened gleam in the shadows. It’d be dark soon. Chantry wanted to get Spot and get the hell out of here as quick as he could.

“No,” Cinda said, “I’m going with you.”

“Then I’m leaving right now.” He turned to look at her. Herky moaned something and she tightened her lips.

“Fine. But you better come back quick or I’m calling the cops.” She held up her cell phone and he nodded.

“That’d be a real good idea.”

“I should have already done that.”

Maybe. Bert Quinton’s granddaughter could get things done no one else could. That was a given.

“I’m goin’ with you, Chantry.”

He looked at Herky and nodded. “Okay. Lock yourself inside the car, Cinda. If it looks like there’s trouble, leave and call the cops.”

She didn’t answer, just nodded. Her face looked pale and set, and she had her arms crossed over her chest like she was hurting. A dog started screaming real loud, that
ark ark ark
sound, and Cinda’s mouth went flat.

Chantry headed for the lights back behind the trailer. The closer they got, the more he could hear the hoarse shouts of the men, the snarls of the dogs, the yelping. And the closer he got, the madder he got. Something churned inside him, rage and frustration and a sense of sick outrage that men would be so bestial. Not even wild animals fought for fun. Survival, procreation, food. Territory. Not for pure blood lust.

He thought for an instant of Iraq, the hate in men’s eyes, the fear and anger and shock. Behind him, he heard Herky whimper. He kept going, across the muddy yard that had trash strewn all around, broken bottles, paper, soggy cardboard boxes and empty bags of dog food. Cheap shit, nothing nutritional. No money wasted on decent food. Dogs had to be kept at fighting weight, lean and hungry.

“Spot,” Herky said behind him when they rounded the corner of the trailer and saw a wood fence that marked out the fighting pit. The pup was tied to a fence post, still alive and looking unharmed but terrified.

Chantry put out a hand to stop Herky. “Wait. Let me talk to them first. If you go and try to take your dog, they’re liable to do something.”

Training equipment was set up around the yard, treadmills, chains and weights to muscle up the dogs. Dogs squatted in wire cages, barking. The din was deafening. No one noticed them at first, just yelled at the dogs fighting in the middle of the pit. Just a handful of men. Mud flew up, and the snarls stopped.

Then one of the men went into the pit, picked up a dog. Obviously the loser. It struggled weakly, and he tossed it to the wet grass outside the pit, looking disgusted.

“Damn dog won’t fight,” the man grumbled.

“Needs the taste of blood,” someone said, and Chantry recognized Rafe’s voice. “Feed it that pup Billy Mac took off the retard.”

Herky made a strangled sound and before Chantry could catch him, surged toward the pit. “You leave Spot alone!”

There wasn’t anything else to do but follow now, and Chantry went right behind him. Rafe turned around, looking surprised. Herky was a big guy, tall, but with enough muscle and flab that he outweighed the scrawny Rafe by a good sixty or seventy pounds. It took all of them by surprise so that Herky had time to grab for Spot before they recovered. Then all hell broke loose. Two men jumped Herky, two started for Chantry.

Herky threw off Rafe easily, and that was the last Chantry saw before Billy Mac and Beau were on him. He didn’t give either of them the chance to swing first. He took that baseball bat and caught Beau upside the head with it, a good smack that took him down quick, then he brought it back around almost in the same motion to hit Billy Mac hard across the middle. Billy Mac doubled over, stumbled, went to one knee, then came up with a skinning knife in one hand. It glittered in reflected light from the overhead vapor lamps.

“Gonna field dress you,” Billy Mac snarled, wheezing when he said it, “hang you up in that goddam tree and gut you like a deer.”

Chantry didn’t bother to answer. He kept an eye on Billy Mac, but watched Beau rolling on the ground, too. He could hear Herky hollering, but didn’t dare look away for too long. Rafe lay stretched out on the ground, and it didn’t look like Herky was having too much trouble from the other guy. Herky had picked up Spot and had the pup tucked under one arm, and had something long and narrow in his hand that he used like a sword. Even a gentle guy like Herky had his limits.

He looked back at Billy Mac just as Beau got to his feet. Both of them rushed him at the same time. He got in a couple of good licks with the bat, and then felt something sharp and cold skim over his arm. Twisting, he barely got out of the way before the knife could stick into his ribs. Fury took over.

Later, he wouldn’t remember exactly what happened, only that he swung like hell with that bat. Maybe he wouldn’t have stopped until he’d bashed in a few heads like ripe melons, but the loud noise of a gun brought them all up short.