by Linda Coles
“On the what?”
“Tell you about it later, but now, we need to get in touch with Kent and let them in on this. Looks like our local dognappers have found another line of business and this is where they’re ending up.”
“I’m on to it, forward that link to me and I’ll get the ball rolling. In the meantime, we need to get some men out there to survey the place on the quiet, see what we can find out, see if it is tonight so we can bust them. And if it is tonight, the RSPCA need to notified, they’ll want to take the dogs.”
“Right, I’ll organise this end and let the boss know, you liaise with Kent, and I’ll see if I can find out who sent the email. We’ll need to talk to them though I expect it’s sent anonymous for a reason.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“Right, looks like we’re all set then.” Tony was putting the final details together for the night’s entertainment. “What time is the final text going out?”
“At 5pm. They know it’s tonight, just not where exactly.” Tony’s sycophant Eddy was running the show with him as a learning experience. Tony was grooming him to take over the grunt work of organising so he didn’t have to, just take his cut and keep out of trouble, and Eddy was a reasonably bright kid for a dumb shit. Still, he hadn’t got to where he was without his many disposables, and Eddy was just one of them.
“Should be a good turnout tonight, if them from last month’s fight bring a mate, should be about 50 of them, should be a good bit of cash changing hands, eh Ed?” He slapped the kid on his back in appreciation. “You done good on this one, let’s see what the final total is tonight, might be a bonus in it for you.” Ed smiled an excited grin to his boss at the prospect of a bonus, and thanked him.
“Great. Would appreciate that, Tony. Could get meself a dog like, really get into the fight scene like. Make some proper dough.”
“Well, like I said, see what the final total is first. Now bugger off, I’ve got work to do,” and strolled over to a large matt black Range Rover that was just pulling up outside the barn.
Eddy took the direct hint and went back to what he was doing, preparing the raw meat for the dogs who weren’t doing any of the fighting tonight. Fighting dogs needed plenty of red meat to keep them mean and develop a taste for blood and it was part of his job as well as getting involved in their training, though tonight’s fight dogs wouldn’t be getting any. Being hungry and out for blood made them even more aggressive, and the angrier and more aggressive they got, the more the punters loved it. Another part of his job was to untie the dead bait animals that they tethered for the fight dogs to practice on, a part of the job he really didn’t like. While he wasn’t a soft touch, that bit always turned his stomach, but he supposed it was necessary. He glanced at the wheelbarrow with yesterday’s dead in, ready to be dumped.
“Shit, I’d forgotten about them,” he said to himself. “Bloody good job Tony ain’t seen ‘em,” and threw an old nearby sack over them until he’d finished prepping the meat, vowing to do it next. Voices broke into his thoughts.
“Okay Mac, I’ll see you in a few then, eh? Should be a good money night.”
“Yeah Tony, but remember, my bets are all placed, I ain’t betting in public view so don’t try your tricks to get more from me, eh? I’m just an observer remember.”
“Whatever Mac, I’ll see ya later.”
Mac left the building and climbed into his Range Rover that was parked just outside the big doors. He started the engine, putting his foot to the floor, spinning his wheels, shooting stones and dust behind as the tyres fought for traction. As MacAlister left the premises, Tony cleared his sinuses onto the dry dusty ground and walked back inside.
Chapter Thirty-Two
A short distance away, a camera fitted with a long-range lens captured the license plate of the vehicle as it left and fed it back to the station, though the policeman hiding in the bushes knew just who the vehicle belonged to, it was too distinctive. And that was the problem with private registration plates that were words not digits – they were easily remembered. He’d had dealings with the driver before. He was a slippery one, always seemed to have his bases covered, letting one of his men take the rap instead. He had loyalty as strong as the Mafia. He wondered what part MacAlister’s role was in this operation but it didn’t surprise him to see he was involved, it was just his type of shady shit.
Further back and behind the policeman in the woods was Jim, looking like he was just out for a stroll, Duke close by his side on his leash. He took his phone out of his pocket and sent a text to Pete:
“Good news. Looks like they’ve taken it seriously, men watching the building already.” He clicked send and waited to see if there was a reply on its way back. The immediate vibration told him yes. It read:
“Great. Fingers crossed it ends tonight. Thinking of coming to watch the action.”
Jim replied with: “I wouldn’t bother, bit risky but up to you, I’ll monitor anyway.” He put his phone back in his pocket and made his way quietly out of the woods and back home.
Pete looked at his phone, trying to decide what to do. There was still plenty of time to get across to Chatham but would it do any good or was he putting himself in the wrong spot needlessly, in danger as Jim suggested? Something was drawing him to go and he knew it wasn’t morbid interest; it wasn’t the fights he wanted to see. As long as the police did their job and had followed up on his anonymous tip, all should be under control, but still something niggled at him, making him feel like he needed to do something. He looked around his dingy bedroom, the simple mattress on the floor in the corner, the old makeshift desk with his laptop on top, about the only thing of value in his life. That was something he had been thinking about a lot of late. He didn’t particularly like the others much, Niles was a bully and Vic? Well, Vic just wanted to hang around Niles, something Niles could never see. They say three is a crowd, and he knew he wanted out, but how could he now, would Niles let him go? And doing what for a living exactly? Once upon a time he’d dreamt of being a mechanic, get a trade so he always had something to fall back on when he left school, but his dad’s actions had put paid to that and he’d dropped out of school soon after. With no parents around to guide him and in his early teens, he’d rebelled, and that’s how he’d found himself in juvie the first time. The second time? Well, he hadn’t learned his lesson from the first time so it was just more of the same. Now he wished he’d done things differently and taken up the offer of help when the authorities had given it. But what foster family wanted a troubled teen lad? This was his life now, the route he’d chosen, but he wished it wasn’t. He was just about to close his laptop down when he saw a now-familiar face looking back at him from the footage he’d been watching again and he knew what he was going to do.
Chapter Thirty-Three
It was 6.30pm and cars and vans were making their way up the gravel track towards the makeshift ring that had been set up outside the big barn. A large circle of barriers lined with ply wood literally took centre stage and mainly men gathered in small groups, laughing and joking, introducing their mates to one another and generally revving up for the evening’s entertainment. Cigarette smoke floated on air mixed with bad language and male hormones, the intense barking and yelping adding to the charged atmosphere. From their place high in a tree away from it all sat Pete and Jim, not daring to get any closer and not daring to watch via drone. They knew the police were up ahead watching and waiting and they were as close as they felt comfortable with.
“Shit Jim,” Pete whispered, “how long are they going to leave it before they make their move? It’s got to be nearly time!”
“Shhh Pete,” Jim whispered back angrily. “Keep quiet and just watch, will you.” Pete was a bag of nerves waiting and wished he’d stayed in his room and left them to it, it had been tricky enough to nip out as it was. He’d have some explaining to do when he got back. Niles would be pissed at him for sure for taking their only vehicle without asking.
He lifted
the binoculars to his eyes and looked across at the big barn where the dogs were all ready. There were 12 obvious fighting dogs that all looked like they’d had an intense and heavy training life. Judging by the size of their necks, they had spent some considerable time strengthening hanging from tyres by their jaws. Even from his distance away the old scars on the dogs were evident, as were their clipped ears. Pete moved the lenses around further to the other paraphernalia that was visible. He could see the swim tank – something else used for training and muscle building – and the rotating wheel that the dogs chased live bait on to build stamina. It was a grotesque sight and he prayed it would all be stopped, that this illegal pastime would soon be busted wide open before another animal got badly hurt. How these spectators could think this was good old sport he’d never know.
He carried on scanning the cages along the back wall that were still filled with the small bait dogs. Their mouths had been taped shut. He hoped it was to keep the noise down, and not so they couldn’t defend themselves, though in his heart he knew it was probably the latter. In the third cage along was a little trembling white face with a tan patch across his eye, looking terrified. It was Jack. Without saying a word, Pete mentally sent a message to the dog to hold on in there, he’d be safe soon. Pete turned his attention back to the yard and the makeshift ring where the referee, a heavy-set tattooed man, was taking bets on the first two dogs that would be fighting. He was laughing and jeering, with a stump of a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He looked as hard as nails, and someone even a strong confident man wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of. Pete counted 45 people gathered altogether, and he hadn’t seen any more vehicles drive up the track for a few minutes so it must be close to starting. He looked at his watch. It was 7.15pm. His attention shifted quickly as a bell rang to get the spectators’ attention. Everyone fell silent. The referee was about to start the first fight.
“Come on! What are they waiting for?” Pete said in an urgent whisper to Jim, who was also thinking the same thing. Surely they weren’t going to let the first dogs start? They both watched in the distance as the first two dogs were brought out, each snarling and baring teeth to antagonise the other. Their half barks and yelps almost turned Pete’s stomach, he couldn’t face being this close if they were going to let them in the pit together, but he couldn’t leave now either. He’d have to do his best to control himself.
Then all hell let loose.
Chapter Thirty-Four
From out of nowhere it seemed, a heavy mob of police officers sprang into action and it was organised chaos. As Pete and Jim watched the mass of black uniforms surge forward in a large circle, people tried to flee on foot in all directions, some heading for their vehicles and what they hoped would be a quick escape, and some into the nearby woods, but they were outnumbered and rapidly apprehended. The two men that were each holding a fight dog tried to use them as weapons to keep from being arrested but the officers had come prepared and the dogs were soon temporarily restrained, allowing their handlers to be apprehended along with the rest of the onlookers. Jim spotted MacAlister slipping away towards the back of the barn, obviously hoping to get away unnoticed, it wouldn’t do his reputation any good to be arrested, but it was too late. Focusing his lenses further out, he saw more police circling around behind the barn and it wasn’t long before the big arrogant man was tussled to the ground and handcuffed like the rest.
The scene resembled a disturbed ant nest, black uniforms were running and gathering and returning with prisoners back to their vans, which had now been driven in closer and were filling up fast with men shouting obscenities. Not far behind them were the animal rescue vans, RSPCA clearly visible written down the side. If the dogs inside the barn only knew what those particular vans represented, they would have sighed a collective sigh of relief at the prospect of being set free from their hell. Pete and Jim stayed put high up in their vantage point, not daring to move until everyone below had been rounded up and were safely imprisoned in a police wagon. But it was the dogs that were concerning Pete, were they all okay, and in particular, was little Jack okay? He strained his eyes to see what was happening but with so much activity and the fading light it was near impossible.
He counted six animal rescue vans. Quite clearly they hadn’t known exactly what they would be dealing with. Heavily protected animal rescue staff were waiting for the go-ahead to move in and get to work. As fully loaded police wagons edged their way back down the gravel track, rocking slightly from side to side as they went, the activity slowed from the previous chaotic pace to a more manageable investigation level and both Pete and Jim finally felt a sense of relief. There were just the animals to take care of now, and then the police could catalogue their findings. He knew from what he’d seen himself, there was plenty of evidence of an organised and professional ring, and the two of them had managed to bust it wide open. Pete turned to Jim with his palm in the air and high fived him heartily, giving a loud cheer as he did so, forgetting the fact they were still hiding in the tree. They’d been so focused on what was happening in the distance, they hadn’t noticed the police officers below them checking for absconders, and now their cover was blown. As an officer called up to them to both come down, all Pete could think of was that he was in for another stint inside, only now it would be far worse than juvie.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Amanda took in the sight with bewilderment. She’d seen some bad shit in her time but nothing had prepared her for something so grotesque it was barely imaginable. But the human race would never cease to surprise her with what they were capable of. She turned to Jack Rutherford, seeing a look of bewilderment on his face too. Even though he’d spent a good few years more in the force than Amanda, it didn’t make his stomach any stronger, only his resolve.
“Holy hell.”
“Holy hell alright, this must be one of the biggest, most organised we’ve ever come across. Usually it’s a few blokes in a garage or a field some place with a couple of dogs, nothing like this operation.” Jack was incredulous as he took in the scene around him. The spectators and organisers had been captured and were now travelling in the back of police trucks to be processed. The only people now present were the scene technicians, a handful of uniformed officers and the RSPCA, who were still busy checking the animals, having had to first wait for the scene guys to photograph their findings. As there were no dogs apparently in immediate stress, they’d had to sit tight and wait, otherwise convictions could have been at stake. Nobody wanted the culprits to fall through a stupid loophole. Amanda pointed at some of the equipment – some she could guess what it was used for, but not others.
“I can guess the treadmills are used for exercising the dogs on, for hours at a time I expect, but what is that circular one for?” Jack unfortunately knew the answer, as it was not his first dog-fighting ring gig.
“See that post next to it? That’s where they tie the fight dog and then antagonise it with live bait, usually a small dog or a cat even, then when the dog’s wound up enough, they let it have the bait as a reward. All part of its training. Sick bastards.”
Amanda had to agree with that. The chains and pulleys, packs of protein powder, breaking sticks to separate fighting dogs, thick weights on chains, and the swim tank were all evidence of a sick and rather grand enterprise that probably supplied other sick operators all over the country, possibly even Ireland and beyond. It was big business, though the trick was to keep it as secret and exclusive as possible. And they had until now.
“Who would want to come and be entertained by this kind of thing, Jack? Who in their right mind?” Amanda was still struggling with what she was seeing.
“Well, it’s not all your working class as you might expect. Big money changes hands at these events, and the average Joe in the street doesn’t have that kind of dough lying around. Tends to be those a bit better off, or those with a gambling problem.”
“That surprises me. You see rough-looking youths in the street
with pit bulls, I’d just assumed it was the likes of them.”
“Afraid not, they’re just the ‘chain rollers’, the ones that get together in parks or their street usually, and set their dogs at each other for fun and status, but the dogs are on chains rather than let loose. Still damn cruel and the dogs will often lose an ear or an eye. But it’s status, see? Who wants to mess with someone that has the strongest most vicious dog on the street with them? No, this is the big time stuff,” he said, waving his arm around at what was around them both.
Amanda slowly walked further into the old barn. What a dump. The old wooden sidings of the building let long thin strips of dying light in, like dim strip lights placed vertically instead of horizontally, and that meant the place was probably wet and drafty in colder weather. She felt for the dogs’ misery at being held captive in this place as well as their purpose in life. She walked along further to the cages that still contained some of the animals, the RSPCA now able to remove some and treat them. She looked at the small metal confines a large pit bull had been kept in, its faeces evident in the back, its water bowl contaminated, and no evidence of any food. Her stomach rolled, and not for the first time tonight. There must have been 20 of the same style of cages, but there were only a dozen or so fighting dogs evident. That probably meant others had once lived here, if you could call it living, and had either died or been transferred out further afield. The even smaller cages along the back wall took her attention and she approached slowly, still finding it hard to take in the sights and putrid smell. An RSPCA woman was examining a little Bichon Frise that was trembling beyond belief. It had parcel tape around its mouth that the officer was gently trying to remove.
