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A Dog Day for Laura Kimber
If you missed Laura Kimber's first short tale click here:
And if you enjoyed this quick crime fiction you may enjoy these:
It was going to be a dog day for Laura Kimber. Somehow, deep down inside, she knew it. The scene on Maple Avenue over on the eastside was a wild one, with a young girl shot dead and her two pit bulls wounded. The wanted man was the dead girl’s uncle. He trained pit bulls to fight in underground arenas. Papo Guzman hated losing and her dogs lost easily. That cost him a great deal of money, and something inside of him just snapped.
Detective Laura Kimber and her new partner was at the scene for two hours trying to talk some sense into the girl’s uncle as he held his fighting dog on them.
Prying witnesses from that Maple Avenue scene were sent downtown, where they could tell their side of the story to the desk suits. There were dozen of wounded dogs carted out and a dead girl on the street. It was a dog day for Laura Kimber indeed.
On Maple Avenue Papo Guzman had a black and brown pit bull on a very short chain linked leash. The animal had scars all over its body and several fresh ones on its face. It was oddly protecting its owner and looked very aggressive. Kimber thought about just shooting the dog, but somehow that didn’t seem right. She knew it wasn’t responsible for the situation it was forced into. Pit bulls were very gentle dogs if the training was done correctly. She knew that, and for that reason alone she kept her gun holstered.
She really didn’t know what to do if he made that dog attack. She struggled against panic. Kimber looked up at Papo Guzman, who was smiling at her exposing a mouth full of gold. She then watched him unleash the pit bull. Instantly, it bounded across the street right towards her.
Detective Laura Kimber’s eyes flapped. She saw the dog coming in slow motion. The pit bull opened its jaws, baring a row of pointed teeth, frothing salvia falling from its tongue. Small haunting eyes glittered like the North Star and she could see her tiny frame in them. It uttered a growl of hungry anticipation.
Her partner had thrown himself in its path, taking the impact of the pit bull’s charge. The animal showed no mercy as it sunk its teeth into warm flesh. Kimber had to act quickly as she jumped on the dog wielding her fist like a weapon; she hammered at the animal until it unloosened its grip on her partner’s arm. She grabbed her night stick and slammed it into the face of the pit bull and with a sickening crunch, the dog didn’t even yelp before toppling over, skull crushed.
Papo Guzman was standing in shock, trying to paste together everything that just happened; the death of his niece, the wounded dogs, and now the demise of his favorite fighting animal.
Kimber, night stick still in hand, charged Papo Guzman. The rest just happened quickly: Guzman regained his senses and went for his weapon as Kimber reached him and swung at it knocking it out of his hand. A fury rose in her for what he made her do. Rage kicked in for the killing of a young girl, and hate for the assembly of innocent dogs, trained them to fight to the death.
Laura Kimber swung her leg in a vicious kick that landed against the side of Guzman’s head, and she felt the primal satisfaction rise in her when she heard bone break and saw blood shooting out of his nostrils. She swung to kick again, but she heard the voice of her partner shouting to her.
“Stop it Laura!” he muscled. “You don’t want to be like him.”
She froze as she felt the anger within her just topple over. She listened as her partner continued.
“We came here to establish order,” he continued in forced breath. “We did just that. Look around you.”
Kimber looked around and saw the dog dead, by the curb. She also saw Papo Guzman trying to regain his composure. She saw her partner limping toward her.
Confusion clawed at her mind. There was something perplexing about the situation. She wondered why they call dogs animals, and yet we behave just as bad. We kill for pleasure, they kill for survival. We kill because it’s easy, they kill for food.
Who is really the animal?
© 2013 Frank Atanacio