Page 31 of So Smitten

“Yeah, but it kills their stamina,” Gaucho said. “That’s why we started using bait dogs. Gets their blood up, but it’s not enough food to make them sleepy. They start fighting each other, and they have the energy to go forever. Not that they do. They end up dead—well, one of them does—within a minute or two.”

Sure enough, Killer lived up to his name, and after less than two minutes, he walked away from the mangled body of Brutus. Trixie returned with his drink and, of course, sat on his lap and wiggled her hips. He managed to do a passable job of seeming interested, all the while reminding himself that this was necessary to catch a murderer.

Michael endured one more fight but didn’t get to see the legendary Bruiser defend his title. Gaucho tapped his shoulder and said, “All right, Impatient Mike. The bosses want to see you now.”

Michael scratched his ear, tapping his earpiece as he did. “Wonderful. Where are we meeting them?”

“They have a room upstairs,” Gaucho said. “You’ll have to leave Trixie behind, though.”

Michael turned to her and forced a lecherous grin. “I’ll see you soon, baby.”

Trixie nibbled his earlobe and said, “Don’t keep me waiting long.”

God help Michael, but he would personally see everyone here thrown in prison.

Gaucho led him to the cages. “We’re getting your dog,” he said, “They’re going to want to see what Turk can do.”

Michael paled. He feared suddenly that Turk would be asked to eat a bait dog, something that couldn’t and wouldn’t happen. Faith must have feared the same thing because she said, “If you need us, tap. Try to give us five minutes to show up, but we should be there in two.”

He was mildly encouraged to see Turk still snarling and snapping at the other dogs. A few of the other dogs even cowered against the corners of their cages.

“Pinche cabrones,” Gaucho said, “Hey, Jose. Get these little bitches out of my cages.”

Jose obliged, calling on his radio for handlers to help him with the dogs who cowered. Gaucho smiled at Turk and said, “He’s a killer, huh? Damn. Usually shepherds are too small for this kind of fighting, but I think Turk here might surprise us. You know that German Shepherds are related to wolves?”

As are all dogs, Michael thought drily. Aloud, he said, “That so? Explains why he howls all damn night.”

Gaucho threw his head back and howled himself. Then he laughed and clapped Michael on the shoulder. “Just you wait, Mike. Five minutes with Trixie, and she’ll have you howling just like Turk.”

He howled again, and Michael joined him to keep up appearances. God, I hate you, you bastard.

He followed Gaucho up to the office where three men and—surprisingly—a woman waited. They wore the stony expressions of hard businessmen who knew that their work could get them and many others killed or thrown in prison.

“All right, Mike,” Gaucho said when Michael and Turk entered. “This here’s my boy, Mike. He’s from L.A. He’s got this dog here, Turk. Says Turk’s a champ. Says he’s gonna make Bruiser look like a little bitch.”

Turk growled menacingly, and Michael looked over the room, wondering which of the men Turk had picked out as a suspect. It worked for the charade, and the woman nodded at Gaucho, who clapped Michael on the shoulder and said, "Have fun, man. I'll keep the dogs away from Trixie, if you know what I mean.

He laughed and howled again on his way out the door. Michael turned back to the four. This would be the riskiest part.

“All right,” he said, “You said you want to see what Turk can do. So who’s he eating?”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Two of the men chuckled briefly, rather impressive considering their expressions didn’t change. The man who didn’t chuckle said, “He’s too small. Even if he’s mean, he’s not going to make it in there with a hundred-twenty-pound Rottweiler.”

“He’s fought Rottweiler’s before and won,” Michael said, which was technically true even if the dogs in question weren’t actually trying to kill him.

“So you say,” the woman said, “but what you say doesn’t mean shit. We don’t know you.”

Michael grinned cockily. “Hi. I’m Michael Ponce. I train champion fighting dogs. This dog is going to kill your champion Rottweiler and any other bitch you throw in with him.”

“Really?” one of the men said sarcastically. “Right now, he's wagging his tail like he's waiting for a treat."

Turk was indeed wagging his tail, but not like he was waiting for a treat. He was staring directly at the only man who hadn’t spoken yet, his eyes boring into him. Michael glanced over him and said, “Looks like he found one.”

The man curled his lip contemptuously. “You threatening me, white boy?”

Michael whispered, “Be mean.”

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