Home to the Harbor--A Novel

by Lee Tobin McClain

  The man orchestrating the fight looked somehow familiar, but Bisky was too scared and distracted to think about how she might know him.

  And then the man guarding Sunny went tense. He said something to Bisky’s guard and nodded toward the edge of the crowd.

  There, in the shadows, was William. He scanned the crowd, and clearly, he hadn’t seen her and Sunny yet. Relief, anger and fear for his safety warred within her. She wouldn’t call out to him, not yet.

  “Keep an eye on these two,” the man who’d been guarding Sunny grunted to the other, and headed toward William. No one in the crowd seemed to notice him, too caught up in the wildly yelping dogs in the ring.

  She looked from William to the megaphone man who’d seemed familiar, and suddenly, she realized why he looked familiar.

  The man orchestrating the fight and riling up the crowd was William’s father.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  WILLIAM SCANNED THE CROWD, his mind racing between concern for Bisky and shock that he was seeing his father for the first time in twenty years. He’d intended to come back only long enough to ascertain that the teenagers weren’t really here after all and that Bisky was safely away. And then he’d realized that the man managing the fight was his own father.

  He’d aged hard. His scruffy beard was entirely gray, his thick hair salt-and-pepper and long enough to look disheveled. Bushy eyebrows topped narrowed eyes and a red, weathered face. He was skinnier than William remembered; that much was visible despite the ragged, fleece-lined jacket he wore. His tattered jeans hung off skinny hips.

  William remembered his father young and strong, and he hadn’t considered what age would do for him; truthfully, he’d never expected his father to have a long life. Seeing him this way, worn out and prematurely old, wrung William’s heart.

  At the same time, his father’s energy was high as he whipped the audience into a frenzy, and his crows of delight as the dogs ripped into each other turned William’s stomach.

  He had to stand up to his father one more time, but how?

  The crowd was mostly occupied with the snarling, yowling dogs in the ring, and William was trying to figure out his next move when another man grabbed him roughly by the back of the shirt. “Who’re you?”

  William turned. The man who’d approached him was dressed in camo, an automatic weapon visible in a sling on his back.

  “Just here to watch,” he temporized, his adrenaline surging. This wasn’t just some guy who liked to carry a concealed handgun; this was a man ready to take some people down.

  Where were Bisky and Sunny and the teens? He could only hope and pray that they’d gotten away.

  “No unregistered spectators,” the armed man said.

  Then William would pretend to be a spectator. “I just want to see the show,” he said, and reached for his wallet. “I’ll pay.”

  The man frowned, and William pulled out his wallet and handed over a fifty.

  “Who’s your money on?”

  It took William a minute. Then he nodded at the ring. “The underdog,” he said.

  The man snorted and pocketed the money.

  William stepped to the side and scanned the spectators, relieved that he didn’t see Bisky and Sunny and the other teenagers. They’d gotten away. That settled, he focused again on the man with the megaphone who was revving up the audience.

  Listening to his patter, watching him read the crowd, William suddenly remembered that his father could be charming. He caught the edge of a memory: his dad at the center of a circle of men, telling some story, making them roar with laughter.

  William had felt proud to be his father’s son that day.

  As if he knew he was being watched, William’s father looked up. He caught William’s eye and visibly started. Slowly, he lowered his megaphone to his side and stared, shook his head, stared some more. Finally, he started walking around the ring toward William.

  From the crowd, there were shouts that sounded like dismay, and from the corner of his eye William saw the man in camo stand straighter, hand going to his weapon.

  There had been a time, right after Jenna had died, that William had wished to be shot, as she had been. He didn’t want it now, though.

  He’d never get over his grief, but he had gotten over his death wish. He wanted to live.

  “Who’s that guy?” someone called, and there were more shouts as his father made his way through the small crowd. People were noticing this break from the usual protocol, apparently, and they weren’t happy about it. A few even seemed to be gathering up their things, making ready to leave.

  The dogs continued fighting, jaws snapping, snarling. The larger dog knocked the smaller one to the ground, again, again.

  So this was where his father had ended up: orchestrating a cruel blood sport, hurting innocent animals. It shouldn’t surprise William. His father’s lack of morality and compassion had been a given as long as William could remember.

  But it turned William’s stomach anew. He couldn’t let this go on. He’d stopped his father before, and he’d do it again.

  A few car doors slammed and engines started up. Yes, people were leaving, afraid of being caught at their illegal activity. But at least half the spectators were still watching and yelling about the fight, ignoring the drama between father and son happening on the sideline.

  Thank heavens Bisky and the kids had made it out.

  His father finally reached him. “Son?” he said. “How’d you find us out here?” He was staring at William, looking him up and down. “You don’t belong here.”

  “Stop that fight,” William ordered.

  “Can’t.” His father glanced at the truck tailgate where two men still sat, one watching over the scene, and the other counting out cash. No doubt, that was where people had placed their bets. Now those in charge of the gambling seemed to be preparing to end things quickly if needed.

  The yelping, snarling dogs turned William’s attention back to the ring. The two dog handlers stood on either side of it. While others yelled drunkenly, these two were sharply focused, eyes going back and forth between the two fighting dogs. One of the men had his arms crossed. The other held a stick with a flattened ring. He was the ticket to stopping the fight, because if William wasn’t mistaken, that stick was how they could separate the dogs.

  William heard more talk, yelling, another car engine. A man and woman shouted at each other on the edge of the crowd.

  More of the audience headed away, while others, women and men both, cheered for their dog, ignoring any interpersonal drama.

  William’s father turned back toward the ring and lifted his megaphone. “This one could go to the death, folks,” he yelled. “We’re still takin’ bets.”

  William hadn’t seen his father in twenty years. He was much bigger and stronger than the man now, and even back then, he’d managed to knock his father out.

  He wanted to do it again. But now there were others involved, and guns. “You need to put a stop to this,” he said to his father. “Please. The police are coming.”

  In the ring the smaller dog fell and the bigger one gripped its hind leg in his jaws. William watched, horrified, as the big dog bit down and the smaller dog screamed.

  His old fears of the flashing teeth and angry eyes of Diablo warred with his new love of Xena. He started toward the dog owner with the stick. If his father wouldn’t stop this travesty, William would.

  The camo-clad man who’d initially questioned William stepped in front of him. “Don’t even think about it. Or we’ll take you out just like we’re gonna take out those two.”

  He gestured with his gun toward the side of the crowd.

  William reeled back, staring, his heart turning over. Bisky and Sunny were there, side by side, and a big armed man stood behind them. Sunny was crying. Bisky kept glancing from William to Sunny.

&nbs
p; Not only hadn’t they escaped, but they were here under guard and targeted for killing. He took a step in their direction, and the gunman grabbed him and pressed the weapon into William’s side.

  His father’s eyes narrowed. “That’s the way to get him outta here,” he said out of the corner of his mouth, his eyes never leaving William. “That’s his woman.”

  Interest flared in the gunman’s eyes. “Well, well. Try anything funny and we’ll shoot your woman.” He grabbed William’s arm and poked his weapon in William’s back, shoving him toward Bisky and Sunny.

  William braced for the biggest acting job of his life. “I barely know her,” he said loudly. “She’s not my woman.”

  The gunman nudged him, laughing. “Can’t blame you. She’s a big ’un.”

  Bisky had heard that; he could tell by the flash in her eyes.

  But she was strong, she’d know he was trying to save her, she could take it.

  “Let them go,” he said, waving a careless hand in their direction. “They’re nothing to me. Nothing to worry about, either, from the looks of things.”

  “He’s lying,” the camo-clad man warned.

  At the same moment, William dove toward the guard behind the two women, taking him down.

  “Go!” he yelled to Sunny and Bisky.

  “Come on!” Bisky put an arm around Sunny and started running into the darkness, crouching down. Something cracked William in the head—the butt of a rifle—but he grabbed it and shoved it aside, looking in the direction Sunny and Bisky had disappeared. He let out a sigh of relief. Whatever happened to him, at least they were safe. He hoped.

  * * *

  I BARELY KNOW HER. She’s nothing to me.

  She’s a big ’un.

  William’s words, and his acknowledgment of that other guy’s words, beat at Bisky’s heart as she ran into the woods with Sunny.

  Ahead of her, Sunny stopped and held up a hand. “Nobody’s chasing us,” she said.

  “Let’s get a little farther.” Bisky was panting, and she led the way up a narrow path that came out onto the dirt road.

  There, they both paused to listen. In the distance was the cheering and shouting of the crowd, but there was no one behind them, not that Bisky could hear. And she didn’t think those men who’d been guarding them could have moved silently.

  “They don’t think a couple of women could do anything.” Sunny sounded disgusted.

  “You’re probably right.” The only time the men had shown any real concern or interest in her and Sunny was when they’d thought Bisky was William’s woman.

  Which she most definitely wasn’t. He’d made that clear, both by leaving to go to his ex, and by his careless words.

  She felt in her pocket for the key to William’s car. “Come on,” she said, “let’s get out of here, get help.”

  “I don’t want to leave,” Sunny said. “I want to sneak back there and take pictures of license plates. Get more evidence for the cops.”

  “Too dangerous,” Bisky said.

  “We’ll be careful.” Sunny grabbed her arm and looked into her eyes. “We’ve come this far to help those poor dogs. We can’t give up now. We have to do what’s right.”

  Bisky looked at her daughter, her heart seeming to swell in her chest. Who was this activist she’d raised? “It’ll be dangerous.”

  “I know.” Sunny held her gaze steadily. “I accept the risk.”

  Bisky sucked in a breath. She wanted to protect her daughter. But she had to acknowledge that Sunny was grown, grown enough to make risky decisions of all sorts. At least she was making them for a good cause.

  “If we stay together,” she said, “and if you promise to listen to me and run if I say to.”

  Sunny hesitated.

  “I’m your mom. I want to fix things, too, but I won’t go along with it if you’re going to be impulsive and stupid.”

  Sunny nodded quickly. “Fine. I’ll listen.”

  “Then let’s go.” Bisky’s heart was in her throat. Sunny said she’d listen, but would she? As an emotional teenager, if she saw something that upset her, would she really be able to exert self-control?

  Bisky hoped this wasn’t the biggest mistake she’d ever made.

  * * *

  WILLIAM WATCHED THE PIT as the dogs snarled and snapped. The smaller one struggled toward the bigger one, dragging her hind leg. She’d been trained to fight to the death, trained out of caring for her own safety. Horrifying.

  “Yeah, Princess!” the man who’d been guarding William yelled. “Lookit her! She’s gonna be a great fighter.”

  “Whee, she got game!”

  “She’ll give ’im a run for his money!”

  The crowd grew frenzied. William’s father started waving his hands up and down, riling people up even more. The avid expressions on some of the faces suggested that there was probably a lot of money on the fight.

  He stepped back to where his father stood. “Make them stop, now. I don’t want to see that dog killed.”

  His father frowned. “I can’t call the fight,” William’s dad said. “Who would get the purse?”

  “The police are on their way, stop it!” The voice was Sunny’s, and William looked back, his heart sinking because he’d thought they’d escaped to safety.

  “Sunny, get out of here!” he yelled across the shrinking crowd.

  “Not until they stop the dogs from fighting,” Sunny said, and in her fierceness, he saw how much she was like her mother. She came toward him then. “Make it stop, William,” she said, her voice low now, tears in her eyes. “Make them stop hurting each other.”

  He studied her face for a moment, then nodded and turned toward the ring.

  There was the sound of a gun being cocked.

  He wished he’d confessed his love to Bisky.

  More car doors slammed and more engines started. When William looked toward the jumbled cars, he realized that the twins were there, too, snapping pictures of license plates.

  Then the truck that had held the betting operation pulled away.

  Cursing, the big dog’s handler waded in with a stick and got his dog to clamp on it. He tried to guide it away, but it turned back to the injured smaller dog, now panting and bleeding on the ground.

  William saw tubs of ice, mostly devoid of beer cans now and partially melted, and something he’d read came back to him. People used buckets of water, or a hose, to stop dogfights.

  He grabbed the largest tub and flung its contents onto the fighting dogs.

  That allowed the handler to pull the confused big dog away. The other handler hurried toward a vehicle; apparently, he’d decided to abandon the injured dog in the ring.

  William stepped closer and saw the small dog bare its teeth. He didn’t want to go near it, but he thought of Xena—now that he’d seen a dogfight, he was guessing she’d been a bait dog or unwilling to fight—and he took off his coat and used it as a blanket to wrap the dog a little, protect himself from those teeth as he lifted the dog into his arms.

  “You’re still softhearted,” his father said.

  “And you’re still cruel to creatures who can’t defend themselves.”

  To William’s shock, his father looked ashamed as he waved a hand around the area, now deserted. “I don’t like doing this stuff,” he said. “I just need the money.”

  William shook his head. “I can’t forgive you for what you did to Mom.”

  “I wanted to take care of my family,” his father said, staring at the ground. “I just...couldn’t. It did something to me, made me crazy.”

  Shaken, William realized that he felt exactly the same. He had wanted to take care of Jenna and even of Ellie, but he hadn’t been able to do it. And it had done something to him, too. Maybe he had more in common with his father than he’d realized.

  It wasn’
t a good thought.

  The sirens got louder, and a police car swung across the road. Two officers emerged, one headed toward the few remaining cars and the other, Evan Stone, toward William and his father. Evan glanced down at the megaphone William’s father was still holding. “Is this the man behind it?”

  William looked at his father, who wasn’t making any effort to get away. “He’s involved,” he said slowly, “but if you’re looking for the mastermind, I don’t think he’s it.”

  Evan nodded and began firing questions at William’s father.

  Moments later, the other cop came and said something to Evan, and Evan turned to William. “Go on, see to Bisky.”

  William turned, and sure enough, there was Bisky. She stood in the emptying parking area, arms around Sunny, who was crying.

  He wanted to help them in the worst way. But he was a failure. He’d nearly let them get killed. When the time for decisive action had come, he’d abandoned them to go off on a wild-goose chase after his ex.

  As usual, he’d made the wrong choice.

  Evan was patting down William’s father now, but he met William’s eyes and jerked his head sidewise. “Go on, see to them,” he said.

  They were better off without him. “No, no interest,” he said, loudly and clearly. He looked at her as he said it. Better to be direct, make sure no softheartedness on her part made her think there was anything remaining between them.

  The expression on her face told him she’d gotten the message.

  William turned away, the little dog in his arms, and walked slowly back toward Bisky’s car.

  He laid the dog gently in the back and thought what to do. He’d drive it to an emergency vet. Yes. Once he got into an area with better cell phone service, he’d find a vet and go.

  What he really wanted was Bisky. Too weak to stop himself, he turned toward her.