by Dave Edlund
“Don’t utter a sound, or I’ll blow your goddamn head off,” she said, her voice low, her tone menacing. “Clasp your hands on your head.”
He complied, his eyes wide in fear. Danya stepped behind him, never lowering the pistol even for a second. With the muzzle pressed against the back of his head, she used her free hand to search for a weapon, which she found in a hip holster. She tossed it aside. “How many inside?” She pushed the steel muzzle hard into his flesh. “And keep your voice down when you answer.”
“You’re dead, lady. Billy and Mitch probably already have their guns aimed at your back.”
“Those the two idiots wandering around out there?”
No reply, which was a clear answer to Danya.
“Well, your buddies should have had more job training. But it doesn’t matter now. Their training days are over.”
“Did… did you kill them?” he asked, his voice trembling.
“What do you think? I’m not out here looking for a date. Now answer me, how many are inside?”
“Just… just my boss.” His voice was steady this time.
“Really. Your boss runs a dog fighting ring in the middle of nowhere, and he only has three morons for protection?” Danya spun the man around and pushed his back against the chain link fence. With one hand clenched around his throat, she lowered the gun and pushed the barrel against his groin, causing him to wince. “I hear on a good night your boss will pull in twenty, maybe twenty-five grand. Now, if I were the boss, I’d have some hired guns inside, near the cash. So, last time, how many men inside? And before you answer, I want you to close your eyes and think hard about what will happen to your family jewels if I pull this trigger and send a 115-grain hollow point into your manhood.” To emphasize the point, she pressed the gun harder. The man stifled a cry as he tried to shrink away through the wire fence and into the kennel.
“Okay. Okay,” he answered in short breaths. “Two. There’s two. My boss and Kenny.”
Danya studied his face and after a few seconds concluded he was speaking truthfully. “Your boss got a name?”
“Reggie.”
“That’s it, just Reggie?”
“Reggie White.”
“Good boy. Now, tell me what your boss and Kenny are doing.”
“They’ll be gathering the receipts—the money—and packaging it up for storage in the safe.”
“Where is the safe?”
“It’s… it’s in the barn.”
She rammed the gun into his groin again. “Where in the barn?”
“I don’t—”
“I’m growing impatient.”
“By the front entrance.” He was gasping for air. “Underneath… underneath some straw… in the horse stall.”
Danya relaxed the pressure. “Good. Now, on the dirt. Face down.”
He dropped gingerly to his knees, and then lay prostrate, hands out to the side. Danya grabbed the slip leash hanging on the fence and looped it around his ankles. She cinched it tight, bending his legs back so his ankles were nearly touching his buttocks, and then dropped her knee into the small of his back. A muffled grunt escaped his lips.
Still pointing the gun at him, she pulled first one hand and then the second behind his back. Only then did she holster the pistol and tie his hands securely. Hog-tied, he wasn’t going anywhere. She stood and glanced around the kennels, eyeing a dirty cloth that appeared to have been used to wipe blood off an injured dog. She snatched it and not too gently stuffed it into his mouth until no more would go in.
“If you have any brains at all, you’ll just relax and lay still. And pray that it’s the sheriff who comes for you and not me. Trust me, you don’t want to see me again. Ever.”
She stood and was at the door in four strides, her shotgun in her grip. Slowly, she inched the door open just enough to peek inside. Warm air flowed across her face from the heated barn. At first, she didn’t see anyone, but she could hear voices. “Looks like it was a good night, eh boss?”
“Yeah Kenny, we did alright. That’s for sure.”
“That big ‘ol gray bastard sure is a fighter. Tore up those other dogs like they were nothin’. Did you see him chewing on the leg of that smaller dog?”
Both men laughed, but Reggie never took his eyes off the bills passing through his fingers. “I tell ya, those dogs are wild beasts. Once they get the scent of blood, something in them just goes berserk. And when they get the taste of hot blood on their tongue, there ain’t no stopping ‘em. That gray bastard? He’d just a’soon eat you as not when he goes crazy like that.”
“Well, his shoulder was chewed on pretty good. Might get infected if we don’t get it looked at by the vet. Maybe some stitches and antibiotics. I could take him in to the emergency clinic, if you want me to.”
“Shit, Kenny. That dog ain’t worth a couple hundred in vet bills. Man, there’s a hundred more, just like him, waitin’ their turn to be the top dog.”
Kenny nodded. “What do you want me to do with the dead dogs?”
“Leave ‘em in the kennel tonight. It’s late. But first thing in the morning take the backhoe and bury them. And dig it deeper this time. I don’t want the bears digging up the half-rotted carcasses again.”
“Should I put out some food and water for the others?”
“Nah. Let’s finish up. It’s been a busy night, and I’ve got a bottle of whiskey waitin’ for me.”
Through the opening, Danya saw a chain link cage. Wire fencing lined the path from the doorway where she stood to the cage, creating a slot that the dogs would be brought through. There was a gate at the end of the slot and another at the opposite side of the cage—both were open. On either side of the cage were tiered benches, like the bleachers one would see at high school sporting events. And just beyond the cage was a table where a man with black hair and beard sat counting money. A lanky fellow was standing at his side.
Danya drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled. She placed the toe of her boot just inside the door and firmly grasped the tactical shotgun with both hands.
A round was already in the chamber.
Show time.
Chapter 4
La Pine, Oregon
March 3
Reggie White was a big man. Dressed in dark indigo blue jeans, snake-skin boots, and sporting a leather flying jacket, he was an imposing figure, even if he did show a bit of a belly bulge. His black hair was tied tightly back in a ponytail that terminated at his shoulders, and his full beard was braided into a single strand that covered his Adam’s apple.
He obviously liked to flaunt his money. From the large gold rings on every finger of both hands, to the gold Rolex wristwatch and thick gold chain around his neck, he stood out from the folks who worked hard to scrape out a living in La Pine. Although he frequented the local diner and dated most of the eligible women, he otherwise kept to himself. With a reputation for a hot temper, the local sheriff knew Reggie well. He’d had several run-ins with the law, but nothing ever stuck.
Looking like he was only a couple years out of high school, Kenny was easily fifteen years younger than his boss. He was about six feet tall, but thin and wiry. His red hair and freckled face conveyed an appearance of innocence that was very much out of place.
Danya kicked the door open and stepped inside. At the same time, she raised the shotgun to her shoulder and sighted on the two men. “What the…” Kenny started to say, but stopped when he recognized he was looking into the business end of a 12 gauge shotgun.
Danya advanced in purpose-filled strides, both eyes wide open to maximize her visual awareness. Kenny slowly edged to the side. Reggie stopped counting and looked up. “You’ve made a big mistake, lady.”
“I don’t think so,” Danya answered.
“My men will—”
“Your men,” she said, her voice raised in anger, “are accounted for. All are either dead or incapacitated.” She was at the end of the slot where it joined up on the cage.
“What do you want?�
� Reggie asked.
“You must be the boss of this operation.”
He nodded his head. “That’s right.”
“And that would make Kenny your hired gun, right?”
“Yeah, so what? Who are you, anyway?”
Kenny continued edging to the side.
“Who I am is not important. I’ll take that cash, along with everything you’ve got in the safe.”
“Safe? You see any safe around here? What makes you think you can come in here, on my property, and rob me?”
Kenny’s fingertips were brushing against the holster on his hip. Riding high and designed for comfort and concealment under a waistcoat, it was not a fast draw configuration. Danya read the look in his eyes. “Don’t do it Kenny.”
His fingers wrapped around the grip and he jerked the pistol up and out of the holster.
Danya fired. BOOM! The load of nine 00 buckshot pellets was still in a tight cluster when it blew apart Kenny’s chest, sending him sprawling backwards as his arms were flung out to the side.
The auto-loading FN shotgun smoothly chambered another round and Danya swung the muzzle, pointing it at Reggie. “Do we have an understanding now?” she asked.
Reggie nodded his head at the same time he raised his hands. “Sure thing, lady. You can have the cash.”
“And the contents of the safe.” Danya was standing directly in front of Reggie.
“My men will have heard that blast. They’ll be here real soon. That was careless of you.”
“You mean it was careless of Kenny. He’s the one lying on his back in a pool of his own blood. As for your men? All you have left are the two checking the cars about a half mile from here where your private driveway joins the Forest Service road. The way I figure it, you’ve got about fifty vehicles leaving. And your guys will stop each and every one of them to make sure the same people who came in that vehicle are in it when it leaves.” Danya smiled. “Don’t imagine you want any guests lingering around to rob you after you’ve gone to sleep. With that many engines running, they never heard the shotgun report.”
Reggie’s lips were drawn tight, his eyes narrowed. “You’re going to regret this. I will find you and kill you.”
“Yeah, yeah. If I had a dollar for every time I heard that, I wouldn’t have to rob you. Stand up. And keep your hands on your head.”
Holding the shotgun aimed at Reggie with her right hand, finger on the trigger, she quickly patted along both sides of his chest and his waistband. She removed the pistol holstered at the center of his back and a folding knife from a belt sheath, tossing the gun to the side while pocketing the knife.
Then, she reached into her cargo pocket and retrieved a compressed nylon duffle bag. She dropped it on the table and took a step back. “Put the money inside.”
Reluctantly, Reggie flapped the nylon sack open and swept the bills off the table into the bag while Danya stood in front of him where she could see every move. He slid it across the table toward her. “There. That’s all of it. You have what you came for, now leave.”
“Now the safe.”
“There is no safe!” Reggie exclaimed, his voice raised.
Danya motioned with her chin. “By the front entrance, underneath the straw in the horse stable.”
For a moment Reggie’s eyes opened wide, then he suppressed his surprise.
“Move!” Danya ordered.
Gripping the bag in one hand, Reggie moved toward the front of the barn. She pushed the muzzle of the shotgun into his back as encouragement.
“I keep telling you, there ain’t no—”
Danya suddenly swung the butt of the gun into his right kidney. Reggie grunted and staggered to the side. Before he recovered, she held the spike tip of her tomahawk against his neck, pressing the point into his flesh and drawing a drop of blood.
“Do you really want to play this game?” she asked.
He hesitated for a moment before answering. “Okay, okay.”
They moved forward toward the main entrance to the barn, passing a garbage can. Danya glanced inside—lots of crumpled paper napkins, disposable cups, soiled paper plates, and even scraps of hot dog buns and what looked like half-eaten bratwurst. “You running a snack concession too?” she asked, somewhat incredulous.
“Of course. People come here to be entertained. They want something to eat, maybe a drink—it helps them to enjoy the sport.”
Reggie’s nonchalant, matter-of-fact explanation pushed her over the brink. She rammed the buttstock into his kidney again. This time, he fell to his knees, favoring his right side as he worked to catch his breath.
“Goddamn lady! What the hell is wrong with you! You asked a question and I gave you an honest answer.”
“You son-of-a-bitch. You think this is all just innocent entertainment? People pay you to come here and place some bets, maybe win some money, laugh a little, have a good time. Everyone goes home at night to a warm bed. Right?”
“Yeah. So what?”
Danya lifted the shotgun like she was going to strike Reggie again. He raised his arm to block the blow that never came. “Those dogs, that’s what! You’ve sentenced them to a living hell. All they know from day to day is pain, fear, hunger, thirst. Their entire life, that’s all they know! You think it’s all fun and games to them?”
Reggie shrugged. “They’re just animals—wild animals at that. Jeez! You a card-carrying member of the SPCA or something?”
Danya locked Reggie’s eyes with a malevolent glare. After several moments she said, “Get up.”
He rose to his feet, and she stabbed the muzzle of the shotgun into his back to prod him forward. They stopped at the front entrance. The doors were closed to keep the cold out. To the right was what looked to be a horse stall. Straw was haphazardly spread across the dirt within the stall, suggesting that it might be a comfortable place for a farm animal to bed down in.
“Move the straw aside and open the safe.”
Reggie opened his mouth to speak but thought better and began scraping the straw away with the side of his boot. Danya took two steps back to allow him room to do his work while keeping the scatter gun outside his immediate reach. After half a minute, the edge of a concrete slab was revealed. He continued removing the straw and soon a steel safe door appeared. It was recessed into the concrete slab and about two feet square.
“I thought you said there wasn’t a safe?”
Reggie shrugged. “It’s not something I advertise. Bad for business.”
“Open it.”
He sighed and then kneeled and began to spin the tumbler. It was a four-number lock, and soon Reggie cranked the lever, freeing the locking bolts. He grasped the lever with both hands and muscled the door open. Danya glimpsed stacks of bills still wearing the bank wrappers.
No sooner had Reggie released his grasp of the lever when he thrust a hand into the safe.
“Don’t!” Danya ordered.
But Reggie’s hand came up with a snub-nose revolver. Before he could bring it to bear on Danya, she pulled the trigger and a load of buckshot ricocheted off the safe door, some of the pellets striking Reggie in his hand and arm closest to the steel door. He yelped and dropped the gun. Red lacerations marked the backside of his hand where lead pellets had ripped the flesh. “Damn, lady!”
“You’ll live. Fill the bag.”
Wincing, he reached into the safe and removed a dozen bundles of hundred-dollar notes. It was a good score, but Danya wasn’t done yet.
“Your jewelry, in the bag.”
“What?”
“Did I stutter? I said, take your jewelry off and place it in the bag. I want it all—rings, chain, Rolex.”
Reggie rolled his eyes. “Shit,” he muttered and removed the items as instructed. “You want my boots, too?” he added, sarcastically.
Danya thought for a moment. “Yeah, why not.”
“Are you serious?”
“Take ‘em off! Socks too.”
Again, Reggie complied, firmly convinced
that this woman would just as soon shoot him as not.
“Now, stand up and place your hands on your head.” She saw a coil of sturdy rope hanging from a nail beside the door and grabbed it. Stabbing Reggie in the back with the barrel, she said, “Move!”
He walked back toward the fighting cage, but Danya stopped him at the garbage can.
“Pick up that sausage.”
“Come on,” he objected. “I’ve done everything you asked.”
“And you’ll keep doing what I ask, or that nice jacket of yours will have a big hole in it.”
He reached into the garbage can and picked up the bratwurst between a finger and thumb, as if it was the dirtiest thing he’d ever touched.
“Now keep walking,” she ordered. When they reached the cage, Danya said, “That’s far enough.” She took two steps back. “Take your jacket off.”
Reggie dropped the half-eaten bratwurst and slipped off his leather jacket. “Throw it over there, against the fence.”
Aware of the minutes passing by and the need to wrap up her mission, she ordered Reggie to lie on his belly, hands out to the side. She removed a heavy-duty metal cable tie from a cargo pocket and dropped a knee hard into the small of his back. Although not as common as the plastic zip ties, she preferred the stainless-steel version for its superior durability. Even the strongest man was not going to break the fastener once it was locked tight around the wrists or ankles.
“Umpf,” he grunted as the air was forced from his chest.
“Left hand first. Behind your back. Then the right hand.” As Reggie complied, Danya placed his hands palm to palm, and then slipped over the steel cable tie, pulling it tight.
“Ow!” he complained. Next, Danya slipped the shotgun over her shoulder and then tied his bare ankles together with the rope. The rough cord bit into his flesh. She dragged him the three feet to the chain link fence, raking his face through the dirt.
“Damn! Take it easy,” he said.
“Sure. Like you took it easy on those dogs.”
Danya raised his bound feet, bending his legs at the knees. She then looped the rope through the fence and tied it securely. Lying on his stomach, hands bound behind his back, legs bent, and feet tied to the fence, Reggie wasn’t going anywhere. Danya retrieved the piece of bratwurst and rubbed it over the exposed side of Reggie’s face, rubbing it over his ear and through his scalp. Then she stuffed the greasy meat in between the palms of his hands. As a last measure, she flipped open Reggie’s knife and slashed the fleshy heal of each hand and the bottom of both feet.
