The Pinnacle of Violence
Detective Nathan Chambers found he was panting as though he had run several miles non-stop, and his heart pounded, so that he could feel it jump and slap against his rib cage. It almost felt like fish out of water. However, he had not been running at all. The only source of exercise he got was the long walk from his unmarked cruiser to the basement of a two story shit pile over on East Main Street near the 24 hour bodega owned by Indians.
A voice of despair rang out from the basement's darkness. That voice shrilled and echoed through Chambers' subconscious mind. His brain was rattling like a ping pong ball being shot across the table by two professionals in a win take all tournament.
There were over two hundred dead pit-bulls covering most of the basement floor. Some of the dogs were still fresh while most had already dried. It was such an ugly, horrific scene. The smell was rancid, but it was the visual that made Chambers throw up. He had never seen such cruelty in his entire time as lead detective. The crime of violence to these animals was so appalling he couldn't think at all. No words entered his mind, and no words exited. His mouth just stayed opened.
Two uniforms came down the stairs and when one of them turned on the lights, her scream flooded the air. In that heart stopping ululation of a good old fashion scare her body convulsed. She had to be helped by her partner who too wanted to fall flat on his face.
"Goddamn it!" Chambers growled. "Get her out of here if she can't stand the freaking heat!"
The uniforms understood the tone, but not the words. They knew that the scene was also troubling for the lead detective. He barked out those words to slow down his racing heart. They knew Chambers too well, as they turned and left the scene.
Chambers closed his eyes and he heard movement coming from the pile of rotting flesh. Fear streamed out of every pore on his skin and floated around the basement like smoke. He moved through the mass and came across one of the fresh dogs. It was a a black and white mid size pit-bull with half of his insides spilling on top of another dead dog. The dog was actually half dead clinging on to instincts alone. A nervous Chambers pulled out his service revolver and fired a shot into the suffering animal. He bowed his head and dropped the gun, all in one motion.
Detective Peter O'Brien didn't want to go into the basement. He didn't have the heart to see the inhumanity, the cruelty, the heartless results in which humans treat animals. Instead he wanted to find out who was responsible as he took the long walk up the rotting wooded stairs and down a hallway of cluttered human failures.
No one saw anything, and no one knew how the dogs ended up in their basement. The residences of the two story shit pile fell silent, staring as O'Brien passed them slowly.
"Over two hundred dead dogs!" he screamed.
He was heard, but they didn't bother to listen.
Several hours after a meat truck cleared the scene Chambers gathered all the people living in the two story down in the basement. He wanted them to smell the death in the air. He wanted them to see the blood stained floor. He wanted them to feel the anguish he felt when he came down into the basement. But it did nothing to them, but agitate as he wasted their time. There was no feelings, no remorse, nothing.
"Fuck you!" Chambers screamed and just walked out.
© 2014 Frank Atanacio
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