CHAPTER NINE

"It'll have to be Michael," Garvey said, "No one will believe you're a dogfighter."

"Why not?" Faith asked.

"You're too pretty," Garvey said. "People will look at you and think you're a cute little girl. They won't take you seriously, and believe me, these men need to take you seriously for your own safety."

"Thank you for the compliment, but I can handle myself," Faith said. "If they want to treat me like a cute little innocent girl, they'll be in for a big surprise."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Garvey replied. "If you show up with Turk acting like you want to fight him, someone's going to make some joke about you being a nice piece of ass and suggest you show him how badly you want to be in the club. When that happens, you'll probably beat the hell out of him, and when you do, that will end any chance of us getting info on the gang, the dog fights or the murders. It has to be Michael."

Faith frowned, but she knew Garvey was right. "Okay," she said, "so how do we get Michael inside?"

After talking with Keenan the second time, the two agents concluded that the only way to get the information they needed to find their killer was to send one of them undercover. Turk could play the part of a fighting dog easily. In a way, he was a fighting dog, just a much better-trained one. And he had the scar on his face and the chipped tooth, wounds sustained from the Donkey Killer and the Copycat Killer respectively. Faith thought he was the handsomest dog that ever lived, but when he was ready to fight, he was terrifying.

Apparently, Faith herself wasn't. She didn't think of herself as the pinnacle of beauty, but she had to admit that her trim figure and relatively soft features didn't exactly scream hardass. Michael, on the other hand, didn't look particularly dangerous, but Faith knew he was tough and brave and more than willing to meet the eyes of anyone who wanted to test him.

And he was a very dangerous fighter. That wasn't a skill they had to call upon often, but unless their killer turned out to be a freak like the Cave Dweller from their last case, Faith was confident that if it came to a scuffle, Michael would be the one left standing.

"If we want to get Michael inside," Garvey said, "then we need to make him look dangerous. That means a haircut, no more facial hair, and he has to dress like a gangster, not like Dick Tracy."

Michael cast her an injured look and took off his fedora. "Is the shave really necessary? Ellie likes this beard."

"Ellie's your wife?" Garvey asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, your wife likes your beard because it makes you look adorable and harmless," Garvey said, "two qualities we don't want in a badass dogfighter. So the beard goes."

He sighed. "She's going to kill me for this."

Garvey cracked a smile. "I don't know about that. Sweet girls always think they want sweet guys until they meet bad boys. If I were you, I'd try to bring the badass look home. I'll bet you anything Ellie will be naked faster than you can close the door behind you."

Faith chuckled at Michael's blush. "Well, I suppose I'll have to let that be enough to comfort me," he said, "What about Turk? Is he going to be believable as a fighting dog? He's trained not to fight unless commanded."

"Can he look like he wants to fight?" Garvey asked. "He already looks scary with that scar and the snaggletooth."

"We can work on something," Faith said.

"Good." Garvey smiled again. "I have to say, you two have turned out to be a lot cooler than I expected. The feds I've worked with in the past are usually stuffy and holier than thou. It's nice to work with feds who don't mind getting their hands dirty."

"Always happy to help," Michael said with only the slightest touch of sarcasm.

"Good. Here's what we're gonna do."

***

Faith and Turk headed back to the hotel while Garvey took Michael back to Black Betty to pick up Keenan. Keenan would arrange a meeting for Michael with the leaders of the dogfighting ring. Michael was now Michael Ponce. He was from Los Angeles and was now in Atlanta looking for a place to ply his trade.

Meanwhile, Faith would teach Turk how to look like a fighting dog. The problem was that she had no idea what a fighting dog would look like. She knew what a dog looked like when it was fighting, but knowing what such a dog looked like outside of the ring was not something she was familiar with.

Fortunately, a few internet searches gave her all the info she needed. The dogs in the videos basically acted like animals whose only reason for existing was to tear other animals limb from limb. There was a lot of snarling, bristling, snapping, growling and posturing, especially when they were around other dogs.

The hardest part would be to get him to look simultaneously as though he were afraid of Michael, obedient to him and also as though he hated Michael to his very core and would tear his throat out if only he wasn't certain that Michael would hurt him if he tried.

Turk barked enthusiastically and Faith turned to see him wagging his tail and bouncing up and down as a dog on tv ran through an obstacle course. He turned to her, his goofy open-mouthed smile and exuberant eyes the polar opposite of the dogs Faith saw online.

Faith admired his strength. He had been hurt badly by West, and worse by Trammell before him, but he was still a puppy at heart. Even though he was a Marine Corps dog turned FBI K9, Faith imagined he would be more at home playing hide and seek with some kids than fighting other dogs.

But here he was, after suffering at least as much trauma as Faith herself, and he was still joyful, still happy just to be around his human, no matter what they were doing.

Faith's smile faded as she thought of him fighting some massive dog in the ring. She trusted Turk to come out on top in any fight, but what if he didn't? West had shown her that Turk wasn't invincible. If he slipped or ended up with the wrong dog, he could get hurt or killed far too swiftly for Michael to intervene.

God, she hated this.

But it was their best chance at solving this case. If Turk could understand, Faith knew he would tell Faith to let him help, to let him do what Faith had done so many times and put himself at risk to help catch a killer.

She thought of David's words to her earlier. He told her that it worried him to know that she regularly put her life in danger for the sake of her job, but that she would never ask her to quit because he knew she wouldn't. She took her job seriously and had long since understood that it might mean she died someday.

Turk was no different. Just because he was a dog didn't mean he didn't know what danger was. He had already put his life in danger for Faith's sake dozens of times. Faith knew he wouldn't shy away from this job either.

She got up and switched off the tv. Turk protested with a whine and Faith said, "I'll put the show on later. Right now, I need to teach you something."

She made a little space in the hotel room, pushing the chairs and the bed apart. Turk cocked his head questioningly, and she said, "This will all make sense in a moment. Okay, Turk. Heel."

Turk cocked his head again, but other than that remained completely still.

"Sit."

Turk sat.

"Listen."

Understanding crossed Turk's face. That was the same sequence of commands they used when they were training him for Faith's K9 certification. He dutifully sat and paid attention.

Faith turned the laptop to him and said, "Be mean."

He cocked his head, and Faith played a video of a dog snarling and snapping at someone through a fence. The dog was chained and straining against the leash. Turk watched intently, and Faith repeated the command. "Be mean."

She played the video again. When it concluded, she paused the laptop and said, "Be mean."

Turk stared at her, concentrating hard. Finally, he took a tentative step forward and placed his paw on the laptop. He looked at her questioningly, and she sighed. "Let's try again."

She closed the laptop and pointed at herself. "Faith, be mean."

She growled at Turk, snapping and biting. Turk stared at her as though she had suddenly gone crazy and barked in concern.

"Yeah, I don't blame you," she said. She side and said, "Okay, one more try."

She opened the laptop and played the video again. "This dog is mean," she said.

Turk stared intently at the screen, and Faith said, "this dog is mean."

Turk barked to indicate understanding, and Faith said, "All right. Turk, be mean."

Turk looked at her for a long moment. Then he barked tentatively. He bared his teeth uncertainly, and Faith said, "Yes! Be mean, Turk! Just like that."

Turk growled a little more convincingly. Faith glared at him to demonstrate the anger she wanted to see. "Be mean."

Turk barked loudly and growled more angrily. "Good," Faith said. "Be mean. Be really mean.

Turk lunged at her so suddenly and convincingly that she cried out and stumbled backward. Turk glared at her and barked and snarled, ears flat back on his head. He lunged at her again, stopping himself just before reaching her so his jaws snapped inches from her face. He continued this for a few moments, then sat back and barked in a much more friendly and calm manner.

Faith smiled at him. "Good boy. Be mean."

He resumed the act, so convincingly that even though Faith knew that he was pretending, the hair on the back of her neck still rose. "You're good at this," she said.

Turk barked happily at the praise and looked up at her with the soft, beautiful brown eyes that had stolen her heart two years ago.

"Okay," she said. "I think we're ready. But just in case, let's practice again. Be mean."

Turk grinned in excitement, then barked and snapped threateningly once more.

Faith's heart pounded with fear, but she pushed her fear aside and smiled. "Good dog."

She tried to keep her smile, but all she could picture was Turk in the middle of a pile of vicious dogs as they tore him limb from limb.

She knelt down and pulled him close. "Good dog."