Page 49 of So Smitten

“Look at you, keeping your ears open,” Faith said. “That’s good. That’s real good.”

“It sure is,” Michael said, “it means you might actually be able to do good.”

A lightbulb went off in Ben’s head. He finally realized that if he cooperated with the agents, then they would be inclined to release him. “Y-Yeah. Okay. What do you want to know?”

“Are you familiar with Harvey Harris?” Michael asked.

“H-Bomb? Yeah, he was the master of ceremonies. The dogfights were his baby. He was the one who first organized them. He built the league and everything, created the brackets, wrote the rules. He was turning it into a legitimate sport that…”

He saw the stony faces of the agents and Turk’s narrowed eyes and decided that it probably wasn’t in his best interests to speak so glowingly of dogfighting. He swallowed and finished with, “Anyway, yeah. I know him.”

“Wonderful,” Faith said, “How many of his own dogs fought?”

“Well, he didn’t fight his own dogs much anymore. He’d find dogs for other people, but the only dog I know that he fought under his own name was a German shepherd he called Huntress.”

Faith tried to keep the excitement from showing on her face. “What happened to Huntress?”

Ben shrugged. “Well… she wasn’t a very good huntress.”

“Lost her fight, huh?” Michael asked.

"Badly. She didn't even fight back. She just stood there and let herself get literally eaten." He shook his head. "I couldn't believe it. A lot of people were pissed. Harris talked her up, you know? She told everyone she was small but fierce. Talked about how he had seen her take down powerlifters and bodybuilders five times her size. Said she scared the hell out of all the other dogs in the pits. Then she didn't fight. Didn't even try to protect herself, not even when the other dog bit out her—"

“All right,” Michael interrupted. “We get the point.”

“Now this is the important part, Ben,” Faith said, uncrossing her arms and leaning forward on the table. “Do you know who Huntress’s owner was before Harris stole her?”

Ben shook his head. “They never told us any of that. I didn’t even know that he stole the dog. I thought they raised them from puppies to be fighters.”

Michael sighed. “See, that’s a problem, Ben. That helps us, but only a little. Meaning we can only help you a little. I don’t know if you’re aware, but betting on dogfights nine times in a row carries a sentence of up to three years each. That’s twenty-seven years, Ben. That’s a lot of life. You’re what, twenty-seven, twenty-eight?”

“Twenty-nine,” Ben said.

“Twenty-nine. So you’d be… fifty-six when you get out?” Michael whistled. “That’s a long time. Well, with the info you gave us, maybe we can shave a third of that off. That means you get out at forty-seven. I guess that’s not too bad—”

“Wait!” Ben said, “Wait! I… I can tell you what she looked like. She… she had a little divot in her ear, right out of the top. Right he—” he reached for Turk’s ear, and Turk growled low in his throat. Ben jerked his hand back and said, “Um… right on the top. She also had light brown fur, lighter than his, almost tan. Uh, and blue eyes. I guess she was a husky mix or something.”

Michael smiled. “Now that’s more like it, Ben. All right. We’ll see what we can do about these charges.”

“Oh, thank you!” Ben cried. “Thank you so much! I’m so sorry. I’ll never do anything like that ever again, I swear!”

“Uh huh,” Michael said.

He nodded at the officer, who led the still profusely grateful Ben out the door. He turned to Faith and said, "You want to talk to the others, or do you want to start looking for this dog?"

“We start looking for the dog,” Faith said. “If we find this dog, then we find the killer.”

“You’re sure of that?”

Faith looked at Turk next to her and thought of everything she would do to anyone who hurt him, everything she wanted to do to West just for threatening to take him from her. She had been fortunate enough to get Turk back. Huntress’s original owner hadn’t. He had no reason left to control himself.

“Yes,” she said, “I’m sure.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

They went to Garvey’s office and looked up dogs that matched that description in the city’s registry. Dogs were, apparently, quite popular in Atlanta. There were nine hundred thirty-two shepherd/husky mixes in the city, and the number skyrocketed if you extended the search to a fifty-mile radius. This would take some time to dig through.

“Screw that,” Garvey said, “I’ll get us some help.”

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