Underdog (2 page)

The parking area was empty when he reached it: no cars, no-one out for a walk. He was disappointed that there were no dogs to look at, or pat, as he pedalled towards the exit. He stopped to look down the sloping tarmac road. The town that had seemed so small was about to engulf him once more.

The rising heat made the rest of the journey home tiring. By the time he had sped across town and reached his street, Tom’s heart was thumping and he was out of breath, the strength sapped from his legs. He stepped off the bike and wheeled it round the back of the house.

It was an unwelcome surprise to see his dad through the kitchen window, sitting at the table, and Tom immediately began to think of excuses to explain away his early return from school as he propped up his bike against the kitchen wall.

‘Hi, Dad.’

Keith didn’t bother to look round as Tom came in. Instead he just reached for the half-empty bottle of vodka in front of him, filling his shot glass.

‘What are you doing back?’

Tom’s heart sank when he noticed the booze, heard the hostile tone in his dad’s voice.

‘They let us go early. End of term and that.’

Tom hung his jacket up on the kitchen door, wondering how much of the bottle had been drunk. His dad’s eyes looked vacant, staring blankly ahead of him. The whites were flecked red, the lids tired and puffed up, like he’d been crying.

‘Is everything alright, Dad?’

Keith continued to stare straight ahead. An unnerving stillness and silence filled the little kitchen.

‘I’m celebrating, aren’t I?’ he said finally. ‘Making a toast.’

He held the shot glass aloft, gesturing towards Tom. Putting it swiftly to his lips, he downed his drink, a grimace deepening the crow’s-feet around his eyes.

‘Celebrating what?’

‘“Celebrating what?”’ mocked Keith. ‘What a surprise. Forgotten, have you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Your mum.’ Keith’s words were slurred and his voice rose. ‘Remember her, don’t you? Well, it was a year ago. Today.’

The look in his bloodshot eyes was bitter as he fixed Tom in his sights. He poured another glass.

‘Want one?’ he asked scornfully, offering the glass to Tom.

The hairs on the back of Tom’s neck prickled and a shiver danced its way up his spine. He knew exactly what the date was; it was the only thing stopping him from challenging his dad’s unkindness. Instead, he turned and ran from the kitchen towards the stairs.

‘That’s it!’ shouted Keith after him. ‘Run away. Run away …’

Tom rushed up the stairs and burst into his room, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him. The anger inside him built so quickly, it felt as though he was going to explode. His every muscle seemed to tighten, making it hard to breathe. He wanted to scream the house down, but remained silent. Reaching over to the bedside table, he opened the drawer, rooting around until he found his pocket knife. Taking out the longest blade, he rubbed away the peppering of dried blood from its edge.

Rolling up his shirt sleeve, he pressed the blade against an unmarked patch of skin on his forearm. As he prepared himself, a sudden thought flashed across his mind of what his mum might say, and what she would think if she could see him. The idea checked him instantly. He sat motionless on the bed and stared blankly at the wall, any anger left in him overwhelmed by a crushing sadness.

For the first time since his mum was buried, Tom began to cry.

It was dark up ahead, the overhanging trees shutting out what was left of the dwindling evening light. Cal could feel his anger rising. It didn’t look good showing up to his own meet after everyone else. He sat impatiently, tapping his steering wheel and revving the engine as he waited for the gate to be shut.

‘What time is it?’ he demanded as Andy jumped back into the car.

‘Ten past.’

‘Bollocks!’

Cal eased off the clutch and the car lurched forward, bouncing its way up the muddy track. He glanced over at Andy, hunched in the passenger seat. His face looked gaunt and even pastier than usual, the stoned eyes behind the
round-rimmed
glasses set too deeply in their sockets. Andy was getting that look: like he was using more of the dope than he was selling. Cal wondered how long it would be before he started messing things up.

‘Next time, you can forget about the beers. That’s the last fucking time I’m hanging about for you. Got it?’

Andy simply grinned, too out of it to worry about the reprimand. ‘So who you putting in, then?’

‘Bane.’

‘Why him?’ Andy nodded at the joint in Cal’s hand, wanting it back. ‘I thought you were throwing in a loser.’

‘I am,’ Cal replied. ‘But it’s got to look the business. Bane’s a good give. He’ll go as long as I let him.’

Cal took a last pull on the spliff. His words were cold and calculating.

‘He ain’t no champ. I can afford to lose him.’

Andy sucked down a mouthful of beer, then took the remains of the joint from Cal’s hand, trying not to burn the tips of his fingers on the cherry. He cursed as they hit another bump that sent beer spilling from the bottle over his jeans.

‘Bullen should fix this fucking track,’ he muttered, wiping himself down. ‘It’s not like he ain’t got the money.’

‘Can’t hold your booze, eh, And?’

Both men laughed.

The end of the dirt track opened onto a large horseshoe of tall trees that surrounded the old barns and neatly hid them from view. Cal knew the place was right the moment he had been shown around. It was just what he had been looking for: a safe venue with more than enough space to kennel, train and fight. The location had not been used in years and was situated well out of town, nicely off the beaten track. The rent paid to the farmer in drugs and an entrance to the meets made it a steal.

‘Shit,’ said Cal when he spotted the group of men huddled in front of their parked cars. They were waiting outside the largest of the derelict barns, sheltering from the wind and swigging back beers. Smoke billowed around them. Cal slowly drove past and parked.

‘Nice of you to make it, lads,’ shouted Frank as Cal and Andy got out of the car. ‘Thought you’d done a runner, Cal.’

Frank grinned and winked at the other men standing with him, all enjoying his attempt to goad Cal into some pre-match banter.

‘Just got a bit held up, Frank,’ Cal replied coolly as he approached the group. ‘You fuckers are early.’

His greeting was met with nods and whispers of acknowledgement from the crew of small-time dealers and thieves. Cal turned his attention to Frank, standing taller than the rest of them, holding court with a bottle of beer in one hand and a large joint in the other.

‘So where’s your dog?’

‘In me motor,’ Frank replied, his voice as gravelly as the stones under his feet. He nodded to the car behind him.

‘He’s well up for it tonight. Nearly had me hand off just getting him in. He’s been baiting like a bastard the last couple of days.’

‘What you been using?’ asked Cal, doing his best to sound interested.

‘Had a couple of cats off the estate. Vicious little fuckers. Big ’uns too. Finished them in seconds. Tore them up proper.’

The group seemed impressed by Frank’s bluster. Everyone except Cal. What Frank knew about preparing a dog could have been written on a torn-up Rizla. He had no real idea of how hard it was to train up the gameness in an ordinary dog, or what it took to create an out-and-out killer. Conditioning a dog for a fight was easy; building and nurturing the kind of pure aggression and crazed mentality needed for a battle that could last hours was something only genuine dog men understood. Cal smirked. Cats were only ever useful on the Jenny. A reward.

‘Sounds good.’

‘So you ready, Cal?’

‘Give us a couple of minutes. Me and Andy need to get the barn sorted. Then I’ll get Bane in.’

‘Bane, eh?’ Making a show of looking thoughtful, Frank rubbed at the untidy patch of blond stubble along his jaw. He took a swig from his bottle. ‘Well, don’t leave it too long getting him in. My Tanner needs his fucking dinner.’

The others laughed. Cal smiled along with them, through gritted teeth. It was bad enough having to sacrifice a good dog to Frank’s mutt; he didn’t need the piss-taking as well. He focused on why the meet was taking place and what the evening was really all about. The dogs and the fight didn’t matter. Tonight was about Frank making the call. It was all about the future.

Cal and Andy left the group and headed towards the largest of the three barns, a single-storey shell of tired brick and crumbling stone, its newly replaced door and freshly boarded windows at odds with the rest of the rundown building. Tall weeds grew up around it, and a lawn of green moss made its way up the walls.

Cal rummaged in his pockets, finding the key for the lock. A putrid odour assaulted him as the door swung open and he stepped into the darkness.

‘Leave that open,’ he instructed as Andy followed him in.

‘Christ, it stinks.’ Andy’s face contorted into a grimace, his mouth opening to expose a row of broken, stained teeth. ‘Something fucking died in here, or what?’

He sniggered, amused at his own quick-wittedness. He looked to Cal, expecting a response. But the joke had not been heard. Cal’s mind was elsewhere.

‘Lucky there’s some wind,’ he said, peering into the gloom. ‘Should freshen the place up in a bit. Get the lights.’

Andy obediently hit the switch that dangled from exposed wires next to the door. The strips of fluorescent tubing hanging from the rafters flickered noisily, running blue then yellow as they came on and lit the dingy space.

‘Let’s get it emptied.’

They headed towards the hay bales sunk into the concrete floor near the end of the barn. Heaving them out one by one, they stacked them against the back wall. Slowly, the sixteen-foot-by-sixteen pit was revealed. It was barely three feet deep and poorly constructed. The dirt base was filthy, stained with streaks of dried blood from previous matches. Wooden panels lining the walls were scratched and chipped, some torn away by thrashing claws, exposing a layer of flaking brick and plaster beneath.

Cal walked to the door, leaving Andy to remove the last of the bales. He turned around before stepping outside.

‘When you’re done, give the floor a going over. I’m going to get Bane.’

‘You set, then?’ called Frank as Cal exited the building. ‘Ain’t got all night, mate. How about I get Tanner sorted?’

‘Yeah, go for it.’

‘How do you want to run it?’

Cal stopped and thought for a moment. He didn’t want to get into anything complicated; it was hardly a championship. There was no need for scratching or turns. No need for rules.

‘Go in with them and break them if any holds go on too long. Apart from that, just let them at it. You need a break-stick?’

‘Nah, I’ve got one.’ Frank’s eyes narrowed as he took another toke on his joint. ‘So we’re going all the way, then?’

‘All the way,’ answered Cal indifferently as he headed for the second barn. He knew it was what Frank wanted.

‘Nice one. See you in there.’

Frank smiled, happy with the crudeness of the rules. Turning away from the group, he made for the back of his car and opened the 4x4’s boot. The free-standing cage squeezed into it was just large enough to house the pit-dog locked inside.

Tanner was all nervous excitement. He attempted to stand and leap out as the cage door was opened, but was held back as his black leather collar was replaced with a heavy choke chain.

‘Go on, then,’ said Frank.

Tanner came forward and jumped from the car, his short tail wagging so furiously it was a blur behind him. He looked up trustingly as Frank bent down and drew him in close.

‘Don’t let me down, mate,’ Frank whispered in his ear. ‘Show your teeth. Be a bastard.’

He slipped his hand into the pocket of his grubby jeans and fingered the small rectangular packet inside. Looking back, he made sure that no-one in the group was watching as he drew Tanner to heel and led him round to the passenger side of the car. He opened the door and picked up a bottle of water from the seat.

‘Easy Tanns,’ he said as Tanner pulled against the choke chain.

Frank dextrously opened the bottle and then the packet, managing to get most of the gram of cocaine into the water. Placing the tip of his thumb over the top of the bottle, he shook it hard, the drug quickly dissolving. Tanner lapped up the liquid when it was offered to him, not minding its bitterness. He was used to it, and took more.

‘That’ll sort you, mate.’

He splashed some of the water over his hand, squeezing the moisture into Tanner’s muzzle and lips. The fact that Cal was a mate was doing nothing to quell Frank’s competitive nature. It made him more determined to win. He was looking forward to giving one of Cal’s dogs a kicking. It would be something for Cal to remember.

Frank drank what was left of the water. Throwing the empty bottle onto the front seat, he shut the car door and led Tanner back to the group. The dog’s eyes were dilated and he was already panting. Thick, sticky saliva bubbled in the corners of his mouth.

Some of the men came forward, greeting him like an old friend, admiring his physique. The braver ones amongst them did their best to ignore his threatening growls and dagger-like canines as they dared to pat him.

‘He’s looking great, Frank. Cracking.’

‘He’ll do.’

Frank was pleased with the praise. Tanner was in good condition, not an ounce of fat on him. The weight of his snub-jawed head was supported by a short, powerful neck, and a wide-barrelled chest hung beneath his muscular back. His haunches looked like oversized hams. Scars on his muzzle, legs and body interrupted the sleekness of his tan coat, adding to his fearsome appearance. It was clear to everyone that Frank must have put in some effort to get his dog into such good shape.

‘Let’s be getting you in, then, mate’ said Frank. He pulled Tanner tight to him, jarring the links of the choke chain against the animal’s throat. ‘Come on, lads.’

Andy was standing in the empty pit. He puffed up his scrawny frame as everyone entered the barn, waving them in as though he owned the place. Frank stepped down into the pit, followed by Tanner, who obediently jumped down and took his place in the corner beside him.

‘You going to let me have a look at him, then, Frank? Wash him down?’ asked Andy, appointing himself referee in Cal’s absence.

‘You ain’t touching my fucking dog,’ sneered Frank, glaring back at him with contempt. ‘I’ll wait for Cal.’

The tension in the barn was building. The men edging the pit were getting louder, anticipating the coming violence. Frank bent down and gripped Tanner’s scruff, roughly lifting his head to look directly into his wild, flashing eyes.

‘Let’s be having it.’

They were ready.

Jeffo lay down when he heard the footsteps approaching. The other dogs were barking. There was a sudden loud thump on the barn door.

‘Shut it!’ screamed the familiar voice.

Keys rattled in the lock and the door opened. As Cal stood silhouetted in the doorway, the wind flooded in behind him and clean, cool air rushed through the cages. The light from his torch broke through the darkness, causing the dogs to bark even louder.

‘Fucking shut it!’ he shouted, moving in to launch a kick at the nearest cage.

Jeffo edged back into the corner of his cage, hoping to remain unseen. He was fearful, even when Cal moved to the furthest cage from him and started to open it.

‘Come on, mate.’ Cal leant in and released the brindle dog from his chain. There was a resigned quality to his voice as he fastened Bane’s lead and coaxed him out of the cage. ‘That’s it. Here we go.’

Bane looked up acceptingly as Cal walked him to the door, his tail wagging as he was led outside.

‘Keep it down,’ said Cal, slamming the door shut.

Jeffo’s racing heartbeat began to slow once the door was locked. The other two dogs stayed on their feet, pacing. They whined and yelped as they turned in their cages.

Before long, a sinister low hum could be heard coming from the next barn. The dogs fell quiet, listened. The noise grew louder as the minutes passed, and soon developed into a prolonged roar. Jeffo became transfixed by the ebb and flow of these screams and shouts that carried on the wind, so much so that he hardly noticed the approaching rumble of thunder. A sudden flash of lightning lit up the barn, and he cowered against the uneven concrete floor. It started to rain.

The men were silent as they made their way out of the barn. The downpour that drummed on the roof whilst the dogs fought had freshened the air, and the wind had calmed to little more than a breeze. A scent of wet fir trees hung around them as they stepped out into the night, the parking area patched with puddles that reflected the moonlight. Thunder could still be heard as the storm moved further away to the west and slowly towards the town. They trudged towards their cars, soft murmurings between them as they discussed the events of the last hour.

The sweat covering Cal’s body cooled sharply under his thin white shirt. He pulled at his collar as he stood in the doorway, rearranging the clinging material. He leant back on the edge of the door, as the warmth and smoke inside was sucked out and blown beyond him.

‘Nice one, Cal,’ said the last of the spectators as they left the barn. ‘Haven’t seen a scrap as good as that in ages.’

Cal nodded his head to acknowledge the compliment.

‘Yeah. Good scrap.’

Relighting the half-smoked cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, he took a long, deep drag, cocking his head back as he exhaled. The smoke thickened in the cool air to a dense plume that drifted towards the sky. He ran a hand through his dark, slicked-back hair, feeling the wet stickiness of the blood on his fingers. With his other hand, he reached into the pocket of his jeans and gently fingered a bundle of notes. He hoped the sacrifice had been worth it, and that Frank would go ahead and make the call.