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“Out,” he said, staring straight ahead.
“Out. Boy, you’re gonna have to do better than that,” said Baptiste. He said nothing, sitting stone still, just waiting it out. “Okay, you can have it your way.” He turned, nodding at Otto.
“Jimmy Allen Pritchard. Thirty-seven years old. High-school dropout. Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he said, shaking his head. “Four juvenile charges for cruelty against animals, and one for attempted rape of a fourteen-year-old girl.”
“Those records are sealed,” he said, staring at the men.
“Not for us,” said Baptiste.
“Eleven arrests for burglary, misdemeanors, traffic tickets unpaid, and – oh! Look at this. Cruelty against animals. You got a thing for animals,” said Otto. “Are you and Frances buddies?”
That got his attention. His head popped up, staring from one man to the other.
“That fucking cunt! I’ll make sure she goes down for this,” he growled.
“Fucker, in case you missed it, you’re going down for this,” said Pork. “Where are they keeping the puppies?”
“We know you have more,” said Otto. “Where are you keeping them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Now, that doesn’t seem to be the truth,” said Baptiste. “Surely, they would have told you.”
“We’re in different places every day. If we don’t sell the puppies, we move on. If they get too sick, we get rid of ‘em.”
“Get rid of ‘em,” repeated Baptiste. “You mean you kill them.”
“It’s better than what’s happening to them in that lab. Who gives a fuck? Those dogs are breedin’ left and right, poppin’ out new ones all the time. She’s got a whole stable of bitches gettin’ pregnant.”
“She?” frowned Otto. He looked up at the men.
“Yeah. Dr. Marks.”
“Dr. Marks? She’s the one asking for the puppies?” asked Pork.
“She’s the one doing it all. She breeds them in the lab, pushes out dozens all the time. Uses the ones that meet her needs, then gives us the rest to sell. She don’t give a shit if they’re healthy or not. She’s just cuttin’ into them to take what she wants.”
“And you see nothing wrong with that?” asked Pork.
“They’re fucking dogs, mister. I don’t give a shit about a damn dog.” Otto stepped forward, cocking his pistol.
“Funny. I feel the same about animal-hating pieces of shit.”
They all stared at the man, now shaking on the sofa. His pants were suddenly soiled, the smell filling the room with the other unsavory odors.
“I-I’m sorry. Okay. I’m sorry. Look, she hired us to rough up the dogs. Make their hearts beat faster and shit like that. Then she tests them, takes the ones she wants, and we take the rest.”
“How many does she have?” asked Otto.
“Hundreds. Like I said, she’s got bitches pregnant all the time. Gives the males somethin’ that makes ‘em want to fuck all the time. Big dogs only. That’s how we found out about Frances. Took her up there with us to see what we were doin’. She got all excited watchin’ the dogs.”
“And you thought that was normal?” frowned Baptiste.
“Hell, no. Ain’t my business, though. She can fuck whatever she wants.”
“He’s a waste of air. Let me kill him,” said Otto. “Please. It’s been a while. I can kill this one, and you guys get to kill the others.”
“It’s gonna make a mess,” frowned Pork. “Tape him up, and we’ll throw him in the trunk. Maybe we let Sema handle him.”
