Part 39 (1/2)
There was only the wind, rattling the dried-out palms.
A bird crying.
Somewhere, far on the other side of the park, a car driving lazily past on the way to the beach.
And the sizzling wires dangling in front of the theater.
46.
DOGS.
Harry Nesbitt was sitting up in the back of the arena, in a corner under a burned-out light. I stopped a couple of rows below him and checked out the crowd. n.o.body was interested in us; they were concentrating on the two dogs getting ready for the first fight. One was a dirty gray pug, its lacerated face seamed with the red scars of other battles. The other, a white mutt, part bulldog, was fresh and unscathed and an obvious virgin to the pit.
Two men, obviously the owners of the dogs, were on opposite sides of the pit but not in it, and they seemed to be was.h.i.+ng the dogs down with a white substance. One of the men reached over and nipped the bulldog's neck.
I moved up and sat down next to Nesbitt.
”I wasn't sure you'd show,” he said.
”I'm a real curious fellow,” I said. ”Besides, I like your pal Benny Skeeler.”
”Yeah, what a guy.”
”What are they doing?” I asked, nodding toward the arena.
”Checking out each other's dogs. That white stuff there, that's warm milk. They're checking for toxics in the dog.”
”Why's that one guy biting it on the neck?”
”Tastin' the skin. Some claim they can taste it if the dog's been juiced up.”
He pointed down at the small bulldog.
”Lookit there, see that little no-hair mutt down there, looks like a bulldog only uglier.”
”I really don't like dog fights, Nesbitt.”
”Call me Harry. Makes me feel secure, okay?”
”Sure, Harry.”
”Anyways, that ugly little bowser, that's called a hog dog. You know why? Because they use them kind of mutts to hunt wild boars. The dog grabs the boar by the ear, see, and he just hangs on for dear life, pulls that f.u.c.kin' hog's head right down to the ground and holds him there. Tough motherf.u.c.kers. I got a hundred down on that one.”
”You do this often?”
”Every week. Better than horse racing. The reason I picked the place, n.o.body'll ever go with me. So I know I ain't meetin' unexpected company, see what I mean?”
The owners retrieved their animals and took them into the pit. For the first time the two animals were aware of each other, although they were tail to tail across the arena. Hackles rose like stalks of wheat down the back of the scarred old warrior. The bulldog hunkered down, sleeked out, his lips peeled back to show gum and tooth.
Neither of the dogs made a sound, no growling, no barking. It was eerie.
The betting was done. The crowd grew quiet, leaning forward on the benches.
The referee, a lean man with a warty face and a jaw full of chewing tobacco, whistled between his teeth and the place was silent.
”Gentlemen,” warty-face said, ”face yer dogs.”
I turned away, looking over at Nesbitt, who was wide-eyed, waiting for two dogs to tear each other to pieces.
”So let's get on with it,” I said.
I heard the referee cry, ”Pit!”
The crowd went crazy. The dogs still did not bark. I was to learn later that they are trained to fight without a sound. It conserves energy.
My companion was really into it. He was on his feet. ”Get 'im, ya little p.i.s.sant!” he screamed.
”So let's get on with it,” I yelled to Nesbitt. ”This isn't one of my favorite things here, with the dogs.”
”You know what's goin' down, man. Do I look like I wanna end up a chopped liver sandwich?” he said, without taking his eyes off the pit. He was almost yelling so I could hear him above the crowd.
”Okay, speak your piece,” I said.
”Look, Kilmer, I din't have nothin' to do with Jigs gettin' pushed across.”
”What are you telling me for?”
His speech came in a rush. He was talking so fast he almost stuttered.
”I'll tell you why, see. Because I was eyeballin' you in the restaurant up until you left. You had breakfast with a couple of guys, then you talked with a couple of other guys, then you went down and got your own car, okay? I drive on out the highway ahead of you, see, wait at the place, at Benny's. You pa.s.s it goin' in. I was there when you come by. It was exactly five to eleven.”
”So?”
”So I couldn't of killed him. s.h.i.+t, I talked to him on the phone right after you finished breakfast. ”
”Why?”
”Why what?”
”Why did you talk to him?”
”Look, I don't trust none of this, okay? I mean, O'Brian says he wants to bulls.h.i.+t with you. Lay off, he says, I promised him I'd be alone. It's one on one, he says. So I keep an eye on you when you come down in the morning, I call to tell him where everything's at, he says go to Benny's and wait until you leave. I din't have time to nix him, fer Chrissakes.”
One of the dogs let out the d.a.m.nedest sound I ever heard. It was a cry of agony that seemed to go on forever. My eyes were drawn to the pit.
The old fighter had the little hog dog by the thigh and was shaking his head while the newcomer was trying desperately to back away.