“Is this Barry?” I asked when the line finally went through.
“Speaking.”
Good. I'd been trying so many numbers on the sheet Charlie had given me, but many of them had gone straight to voicemail. I had no intention of talking to a machine. I wanted someone I could hold accountable.
“I got your number from Charlie. I'm in interested in the dog fight that's being hosted tonight.”
“Right. Charlie sent you?” He sounded suspicious. I didn't blame him. If a cop got his hands on this kind of information, Barry could be arrested just for admitting he knew where a fight was going to happen and not having reported it.
“Yeah. I've got the schedule with me.”
He hesitated for a moment and then cleared his throat.
“What was it you needed?”
“I need someone to escort me. I haven't been to a fight here in LA yet, and I want to get an idea of how the game works around here. It's different all over.”
Of course I didn't know that but I needed someone to go with me. I couldn't just arrive at these places alone - I was either going to get kicked out or killed. Neither would help me with Joker, and the latter was a little too permanent for my liking.
“What do I get out of it?” Barry asked. Business man.
“A cut of what I win if I decide to get involved.”
I didn't know if that was incentive enough. I wasn't going to get involved. I could work on an excuse later. “Starting with three thousand.” That pushed him over the edge.
“We're starting in about an hour. When can you meet me?”
“Give me a time and place, and I'm there.”
He gave me an address and told me to be there in an hour and a half. Bribery worked in the world when morals didn't, and the world of dog fighting was about money and a vicious kind of thrill. I called Bane and let him know where I was going to be in case something happened and I didn't show face. I would contact him when I got home. If he didn't hear from me in twelve hours, then he had to find me.
I didn't like the idea of risking my life, but this wasn't like any job I'd ever done before. There was no safe side here, and this had to happen. There was no excuse. I wasn't even trying to find one.
I glanced over at Joker. He lay on a new bed I'd bought him to spoil him. He was still weak, some of the stitches not out yet, but he was home. I was going to make sure it stayed that way. I was going to lock him inside until I came back so that he didn't have to run away or defend himself if it came down to it.
I dressed in black pants, shitkicker boots, and a black leather jacket. A red shirt underneath made all the difference, making me look as dangerous as I felt. I let Joker out to do his business, made sure he had food and water, and crouched down in front of him. I put one hand on his head and the other under his chin.
“I'm going to stop the fuckers that did this, boy,” I said.
Joker licked my hand and made his way back to his basket. I locked up the house and got on my bike.
It took about twenty minutes to make the drive. I pulled up in front of a house that looked neat and clean - the kind of place normal folk lived, not people who were in the animal-cruelty business. A little girl sat on the front porch playing with dolls. Her hair was so blond it looked silver; when she looked up she smiled.
What a sweetheart.
A man stepped out of the house and patted her head. She carried on playing. The sun was setting, and as the man walked toward me, a woman came out to collect the child. He was an older man, I guessed him to be late forties, with a professional haircut and a jacket that looked new. Everything about this man and his life shouted decent citizen. Oh, how looks could be deceiving.
“Barry?” I asked.
He nodded and held out his hand. “And you are?”
“Leon.” There was no way I was giving him my name. “Where are we going?”
He looked at my bike. “You can follow me. It's not a good neighborhood, but I don't think you'll mind.”
He was right. I didn't mind. The biker stereotype was accurate in some cases. And I hadn't expected the kind of neighborhood where wholesome people made a living. This house was already a surprise. He opened the garage and backed out a gleaming black pick-up. Not the sort a tradesman used; jacked up wheels and no cap on the back. It drew too much attention, and was something that I would never drive. He turned down the road and I followed him.
The neighborhood he took me to was definitely not a good one. It was in a forgotten industrial area outside of town and was filled with abandoned warehouses and empty factories. It was like a ghost town.
We weaved in and out of the streets. The closer we got to where we wanted to be, the more cars there were. One of the warehouses had been transformed into a place that pulsed with life. Barry parked and got out. I pulled my motorcycle in a parking space a bit further down from Barry's truck. He waited for me.
“You have any animals you looking to enroll, or are you working through a supplier?”
A supplier? “I always work through someone,” I said. I didn't want him knowing that I had a dog at all, and if he talked about suppliers, maybe I could figure out who was getting the dogs here if they weren't owned.
Barry nodded. 'There are a couple of those here. We'll find someone for you.” I wanted to gag.
We walked into the warehouse. Lights were set up against the walls, giving it a rustic look. The place itself was run down, with broke windows that let it the cold and no seating space.
Crude rings were built with waist high metal fences; one wall was lined with dog cages. My stomach turned. The animals looked underfed and overly aggressive. This was a hell hole, the kind of place that needed to be torched.
Barry made his way through the crowd, clapping hands with people he knew and not bothering to introduce me. That was fine by me. The less people knew me, the easier it was to disappear again. There would be fewer people who could point a finger if something 'accidentally' went wrong.
The sounds of cheering and fighting dogs echoed in the metal hall and made me sick. I didn't even try to see into the rings. Enough people crowded around the fences that I didn't have to look unless I made an effort. I didn't want to look. I didn't think I'd be able to stomach seeing the animals forced into a life like this.
“How do you know Charlie?” Barry called over the noise.
“A friend referred me to him. Apparently he's the guy to go to.”
Barry shrugged. “They say so, but he's on his way out. You want to make it in this place, you stick with me.”
Yeah, I wasn't going to be sticking with anyone. I was just holding onto Barry until I knew enough to put an end to this.
“This is where they get the dogs ready,” Barry said, gesturing to a square waiting area. A man stood there with a dog on a leash. The animal looked terrible. Its fur was dull and covered with all sorts of matter. Its eyes spelled out death; there was blood around its mouth that hadn't been cleaned. I wanted to walk right up to the man and put a bullet in his skull. Barry saw me looking at him.
“He's one of the most popular owners around. His dog is almost impossible to beat, which means they all try. He gets the most challenges of them all. You might want to remember that once you're settled in.”
I nodded. I tasted bile at the back of my throat. A dark head of hair floated through the crowed and I frowned. Akira stepped into the waiting arena and walked over to the man with the dog. Her jet black hair hung like a curtain around her shoulders. She wore a shirt the color of blood that set off her olive skin and worked perfectly with the rest of the surroundings.
“Who's that?”
“Akira. She's one of our most trusted suppliers. You know her?”
I started shaking my head but ended up nodding instead. “I'm supposed to work with her. What is she like? Should I be worried?”
Barry chuckled. “She's a hard ass, but if you can get in there I hear she's quite wild.” He exaggerated a wink and nudged me. “You know what I mean?”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Where does she get the dogs from?”
“I don't know. She doesn't share her secrets. It's a dog eat dog world out here - Ha! - and no one shares trade secrets unless there's something in it for them.”
I nodded. That made sense. Akira was involved in dog fighting. I wondered when she'd gotten mixed up with something like this. It wasn't like she was the most savory person to start off with but this was a step up from hanging around with delinquent bikers. This was a whole new level of illegal. I watched her as she left the owner and pranced around the place, talking to some of the men. She never spoke to other women. They were all butch and unattractive. Akira outmatched them. But she knew her talents, and seducing men was what she did best.
“What happens when the dogs don't make it in the fights?” I asked.
“Sometimes they die in the ring. That happens from time to time. Most of the time we turn them loose when they stop making a profit. We're not here to fuck around. If the dog doesn't perform it has no place being here.”
“And the police? Don't they get suspicious about stray dogs?”
Barry shrugged. “How many strays do you think are around here? The pound scoops up the ones that make it. The rest...” he shrugged again. I was starting to put it all together. Joker must have been one of the ones that they'd 'turned loose'. I knew why he wouldn't have made it fighting. He was a pit bull, but he wasn't a fighter. Contrary to what most people believed, they were as sweet and loving as any other dog. They were often trained for this life, but that started when they were babies. I’d trained Joker no differently than I would have trained a lab or a golden. He would have fought in self-defense but he wasn't a fighter at heart, not like that. He wouldn't just kill, especially if there was nothing to gain out of it. Joker protected me. That was how he saw it.
Nothing else really mattered except the love I gave him in return.
This was despicable.
“How much are you looking at putting down in the fight?” Barry asked, pulling me back to the now.
“Whatever it takes,” I said. Barry smiled, seeing an opportunity for money, but I wasn't talking about payment. I was talking about what I was willing to bring to the table. I wasn't going to leave something like this. I had the schedule that told me where they were going to be every time. I was going to toy with them until I was tired and my urge for vengeance was satisfied, and then I was going to turn the whole damn thing in to the police.
This was wrong. There were a lot of things in life I did wrong. I killed people for a living. But people made choices that landed them wherever they ended up. They could defend themselves. If they were on my list, they had usually done something that warranted a death sentence.
Animals were loving and kind when humans were involved. Even the most aggressive animal was only made so by people. It was a crime; no, a sin. And it had to be stopped. For Joker's sake, and for the rest of them.