Part 20 (1/2)
She turned her battered eyes toward Hagan and attempted to look sympathetic. It wasn't that difficult, what with all the bruises around her eyes. ”You know how much we need to run this race.” Her face may look broken, but her voice was steely and threatening.
Did he? Was she referring to her possible financial problems?
”That's not the whole story,” Lenny growled.
”Gia, I saw you sneak behind the tents,” I chimed in. Good grief, if Hagan didn't make a decision soon, there would be another brawl. Only this time Gia would not come out the victor. Lenny would pummel her into dust with one swing.
”You were spying on me?” she screeched. If she'd had something to throw at me, she would have.
”Not at all. I was minding my own business when I saw you and Zippy slink behind the Feline and Me tent. After your brawl with Fallon Keller, I noticed the same water bottle Zippy had dug out of your bag. I grabbed it. I unscrewed the cap and recognized the smell-an energy drink.”
”You busy body,” she hissed. ”Why can't you stay out of my business?”
”Is this true?” Hagan finally spoke. ”Did you give Zippy an energy drink?”
She threw her shoulder back in defiance. ”I don't have to answer that.”
He nodded, his face tight. ”You're right. You don't. Mrs. Eriksen, I regret to inform you that Zippy has been disqualified for suspicion of unsportsmanlike conduct.”
”Yes!” Lenny punched the air. ”Let's get this race started.”
”You can't do that. I-Zippy has to race. You agreed,” Gia yelled. She charged after Hagan and grabbed the back of his s.h.i.+rt. ”If you exclude us, you'll regret it.”
”No, Mrs. Eriksen. Don't threaten me. Or you'll regret it.” His face hardened like granite, but his smile was pure satisfaction. ”Do I need to call security?”
Gia let go of his s.h.i.+rt as if it had suddenly caught fire. She stepped back, but she didn't stop glaring at him. ”You'll be sorry,” she promised.
”I don't think so.”
MacAvoy's warning about Hagan Stone roared through my head.
”Can we run this race before another fight ensues or someone else drops dead?” Betty asked.
”I'm not particularly fond of your phrasing, madam, but yes, we can start the first heat. Racers to the gate.” Hagan waved his hand in the air commanding that we all follow.
My heart was already racing. It had been years since I'd been in a bar fight, but if I needed to, I could hold my own. Unlike my cousin and Betty, I'd learned to defend myself through real-life situations and not in a cla.s.sroom. For a couple of minutes I'd thought that's where the confrontation between Gia, Hagan, and Lenny had been headed.
Who'd have thought an innocent wiener race would incite such hotheaded compet.i.tion?
THE DARK CLOUD drifted onward, allowing a sliver of sunlight to s.h.i.+ne dimly on us. Hagan called security and had Gia and her dog escorted off the field. Lenny watched with a pleased smile plastered across his face. I was surprised he hadn't broken out in applause or his version of a happy dance.
Hagan grabbed the microphone and called for all the racers to report to the starting line. The race would begin in five minutes.
Betty and I joined Darby on the sideline.
”What was going on over there?” she asked. ”I stayed back and took a lot of pictures. The whole scene looked intense.”
”Gia and Zippy got kicked out for cheating,” Betty explained.
”Technically for unsportsmanlike conduct,” I added.
Darby whistled. ”She didn't take that well.”
Betty stretched up on her toes to peer at Darby's viewfinder camera. ”You got some good shots there.” Betty nodded, impressed. ”I bet you could sell those to a celebrity tabloid and make some fast cash.”
”I'll keep that in mind,” she said, in all seriousness. Once Betty turned her attention to the track, Darby and I exchanged an amused look over Betty's head.
The three of us watched Lenny hand Pickles to the gate attendee in lane two. Luis and Barney were a.s.signed gate five. The other contestants quickly took their places. After a murder, a fistfight, and the smack-down Hagan had just handed Gia, a wiener race felt, well, a little anticlimactic. Does that make me a bad person?
”I still have a chance to win big. Especially now that Zippy's been disqualified for doping.” Betty patted her purse. ”If I win big I'm buying an outfit off that shopping channel.”
”Grey said to leave the money,” I muttered.
She hugged her purse up against her tiny body. ”No way.”
This wasn't the time to convince her otherwise. Darby paced along the sideline snapping pictures.
”Darby, have you seen Stephanie? Shouldn't she be here?” I had a hunch there was more to the girl with the dachshund tattoo than her dogumentary.
”I haven't seen her.” She lowered her camera, tucking a lock of blond hair behind ear. She surveyed the area quickly. ”It's odd that she hasn't been around. Especially if she really is a filmmaker.”
”Stop jabbering over there,” Betty jeered good-naturedly. ”The race is about to start. Darby, we can watch at the finish line, right?” Betty rubbed her hands together greedily. Okay, it was possible that was a show of excitement. But I was sticking with greed.
”Sure. Stay back and don't interfere. Remember, no matter what happens, you can't touch the dogs.”
”You got it, sweet cheeks.” Betty swung her handbag up on her shoulder and led the way.
Luis, Lenny, and the rest of the owners moved to the finish line. Each pulled their racer's favorite item out of a pocket or bag. Luis dug the chicken strips wrapped in tinfoil out of his f.a.n.n.y pack. Lenny unearthed a squeaky toy monkey from somewhere. A couple other owners had b.a.l.l.s. The owner in lane three had a box of Bowser treats.
”Last call,” Hagan's voice carried over the loud speakers.
The excitement for the race filled the air as the crowd cheered for their favorite doxie. Cries of well-wishes and encouragement blasted toward the field. I couldn't help but feel excited too.
The starting gate looked like a row of cubbyholes, open on the back side to place the racer inside. The front side was covered with a clear plastic door so the racer could see the owner at the finish line but not leave the block until given the signal. Once the starting gun fired, the designated volunteer at each end of the gate would pull the handle and the plastic door would lift up, releasing all the dogs at once.
”Racers are present,” Hagan announced into the microphone, his energetic voice pumping up the crowd.
The cheers grew louder. Betty jumped up and down, alternating between squeals of excitement and ear-piercing whistles. Darby and I looked at each other and smiled.
”Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce our racers for the first heat in the heavyweight event. In lane one, we have Chloe from Long Beach. In lane two, is Pickles from Yreka. Lane three, is Dutch from Irvine. Lane four, is Maverick from Newport. And in lane five, our very own Barney from Laguna Beach.”
We whooped and hollered as Barney's name was announced.
”Wouldn't it be awesome if Barney won?” Darby lifted her camera and snapped pictures, prepared to watch the race through her camera lens.
”That'd be great,” Betty agreed halfheartedly. She wasn't as genuinely supportive as Darby. I knew she was thinking about her wager and possible windfall.