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“While she was dying, the only thing I could give my sister was false hope that she and our mom would be okay.”
Heather didn’t say a word and Dale looked toward the sky, hoping there would be another star to wish on. He wanted to take back everything he’d just dumped on a woman he barely knew.
“You gave her all you had,” she said. “It was—”
The low rumble of an engine interrupted her and the introspective mood dissipated from one heart beat to the next. It took him a moment longer than it should have to return his focus to the problem at hand. Some youthful part of his soul wanted to know just what she thought his pitiful efforts amounted to.
His emotional needs would have to wait. Gathering footage of every aspect of the dogfight along with pictures of as many spectators as possible mattered now. He knew this would be a challenge for her, knew her sympathies would lie with the animals about to be used for the pathetic, inexcusable form of entertainment.
It’s why she had the camera and he had the gun. He didn’t trust her not to just pick off the despicable humans.
Two men climbed out of a dark SUV. From their vantage point Dale and Heather had a clear view of the process as the men assembled a low-walled ring of chain-link fencing, presumably so the dogs couldn’t escape their fate.
“Breathe,” he whispered to Heather.
A generator was wheeled out and lights came on, making their job easier. “Use the camera.”
“I am.”
The emotionless reply reaffirmed his decision. She might despise what they were about to witness, but she wouldn’t cave under pressure. Two more high-end SUVs joined the first and as the doors opened, the modifications behind the dark windows became clear.
Each of these SUVs had been transformed into a luxury dog trailer. Finally an explanation of why no one had seen the dogs coming and going from main park entrances. More than likely the set-up crew, handlers, and spectators were using an access road anyway, but Dale had wondered why there’d only been signs of animals around the areas used for fighting after the fact.
DNR park staff had filed reports of wounded and dead dogs, but everyone assumed they were strays. Everyone but Heather.
As more cars rolled in, Dale noted times, makes and models, along with license plates whenever possible. He recognized a few faces and somehow managed not to puke or shoot anyone as the action began.
Cruelty, as a definition, wasn’t a strong enough word for the dreadful scene. Dale had seen more than his share of violence and criminal behavior between people, but this was worse. Bile churned in his stomach. He pushed aside the disgust and kept right on documenting. The only way to stop this was to stand witness and give the prosecutor enough to build a case. He could hear the soft whirr of Heather’s camera under all the shouting of bettors and odds makers.
Lester had not appeared by the first break following the preliminary fights. During the lull winners collected on the early rounds and looked over the dogs that would fight next.
The spectators were getting restless when at last another car, a sleek sedan in gleaming silver, pulled right up to the edge of the crowd.
One of the men who’d been part of setting up strolled over to the new car and exchanged a few words with whoever occupied the back seat. Moments later the action resumed and voices were raised in cheers and shouted bets as a dog was led into the ring.
It had to be Lester in that car, but with no license plate on the front end of the vehicle, there was no hope of making an identification from their current position. Dale swore softly. He wanted that ID so they could put the evidence on a prosecutor’s desk. Tonight.
“I’ll be right back,” he whispered to Heather. “Document everything.”
He didn’t wait for her acknowledgment. This was their only shot. It had to count. He couldn’t stay away from the office indefinitely and he knew she couldn’t keep up the act of being engaged for long either. Ignoring the sounds of the gathered crowd and the snarling dogs, he crept around the perimeter.
Using the trees and darkness to his advantage, he avoided the sentries stationed at regular intervals around the fight.
He gave the group points for security protocol planning, but the execution fell short. They were too comfortable out here in the woods. More evidence, though completely intangible, that Lester had DNR and high-ranking law enforcement personnel in his organization.
A man with a fist full of cash moved around the circle with the ebb and flow of winners and losers. Expensive jewelry flashed. It might have been a luxury casino by the way the men and women were dressed. Dale’s instincts hummed, feeling the sick excitement as the main event loomed closer. Toppling this heap of new money would cripple Lester’s organization at last.
His leg protested the quick crouching run he used to dart from place to place. He ignored it. Plenty of time for pain in death or retirement and he wasn’t planning on hitting either milestone anytime soon.
Reaching his goal, he stared hard at the silver sedan. He pushed back his sleeve and wrote the license plate number on his wrist. It was a start, but it could be registered to any person or business. The soft glow of the interior light wasn’t enough to identify faces. They needed to know who was inside that vehicle.
He watched the guard posted near the driver’s door. The man was close enough to intervene if necessary and yet he didn’t block the view of the fight ring.
Dale twisted around, looking for the guard positioned to protect the road. Unable to spot any movement, his frustration mounted. He would have to take the chance and pray he wasn’t falling into a trap.
He’d never taken on something like this without a trained team at his back. In the Army, and later the FBI, he knew any tactical operation was more effective with the right kind of help. What had he been thinking, taking on Lester’s operation this way? They were two people—one and a half really—against a select unit with serious motivation to fulfill their orders.
He and Heather had plenty of their own motivation, different as those motives were. For several long seconds he debated between arming himself with the knife or the gun and how best to use either. There was too much open space between his new hiding place and the sedan. He couldn’t get close enough to slash a tire and force out the car’s occupants.
