Page 27 of Black Dog

“Be boring?”

“Aye. You have to turn away and pretend he’s no’ there.”

“Oh. I see.”

Storm unlocked the handcuff. Litha could have done it. She also had a key. After the season when Storm was lost, they began taking airtight precautions to insure there’d be no repeat of that incident.

“You go on home and rest,” Storm said. “If I need you, I’ll call.”

“I’ll go if you swear you’ll call regardless. I want to know what’s happening.”

“Text.”

“Deal.”

“Off you go.”

“That ordering me around thing is not sexy, Sir Storm.”

“Well,” he chuckled, “neither is your runny nose.”

“Ha. Ha.” And she was gone.

There was no worry about witnesses. They were behind an old barn. And it was dark.

The location was about ten minutes outside Donnemara, but it had taken them twenty minutes to find it. In the end they did so by following the trail of cars. It was highly unusual to see traffic on a B road at night the day after Yule.

It would have been beyond Litha’s pay grade to navigate passes, remaining in that nether space while monitoring the movement of objects in a particular dimension. But Kellareal could do it.

The event was apparently being staged at an abandoned manor farm that was for sale. In addition to the house there was a large barn and a stable.

“Let’s find my wife’s dog,” said Ram.

CHAPTER EIGHT

When the men came for Blackie he was standing at the back of the stall waiting. He planned to lunge and get past them, but they were expert at handling dogs who were unwilling.

“Your turn, old fella. Do no’ worry. ‘Twill all be over soon.”

With the muzzle on his face, Blackie couldn’t bite. All he could do was growl.

The men both carried poles with noose loops at the end. Blackie was helpless to stop them from looping the ropes over his head. One on either side of him, they were able to march him straight toward the ‘pit’ that was, in this case, a chain link circular cage built three days before in the center of the barn.

When Blackie saw that he was being taken to a cage made of chain link, he was triggered by his early experience of being tortured in a prison that looked much the same. He dug in his heels, trying to refuse to go further, at the same time shaking his head violently trying to free himself of the nooses. But the choice became clear in seconds. Walk forward or die from choking.

For a time it seemed as if Blackie was choosing the latter. So one of the men broke the stalemate by withdrawing a small taser then delivering a low setting shock to Blackie’s tail. Not enough to paralyze or mitigate the dog’s performance in the pit. Just enough to get him moving the last few feet into the cage. Once inside, one of the foul-smelling men removed the muzzle while keeping the noose taut from both sides.

They then stepped outside the cage, threading the poles though openings. From the outside, they loosened the loops so that Blackie’s head was freed, and withdrew the poles.

“Ladies and Gents. We have a big Alsatian from the east country ready and able to take on the series champion.”

Blackie had been running in circles around the circular cage looking for a sign of weakness, any means of escape, but he stopped still when the cage door opened. Another dog was being brought in. A young Rottweiler, all thick muscle and no brains. When the other dog’s muzzle was removed, the creature began snarling and snapping in Blackie’s direction, drooling foamy saliva, like he was crazed.

Blackie was confused by the behavior. He had nothing the other dog might want. There was no female in heat. No pack or territory to defend. It made no sense. So Blackie stood quietly staring at the other dog. Evaluating.

The crowd was being worked into a frenzy with odds quoting and promises of blood. And the sound was supremely irritating to Blackie. It seemed to crescendo just as the other dog was released.

The Rottweiler lunged toward Blackie, teeth bared. Blackie ducked to the side at the last possible millisecond. The result was that the dog’s fangs raked a gash from the top of Blackie’s shoulder to his chest. But before it had even registered with the Rottweiler that he’d missed his target, Blackie had seized the other dog’s thick throat in his jaws with a vice grip.

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