CHAPTER TWELVE

Two of the men chuckled briefly, rather impressive considering their expressions didn't change. The man who didn't chuckle said, "He's too small. Even if he's mean, he's not going to make it in there with a hundred-twenty-pound Rottweiler."

"He's fought Rottweiler's before and won," Michael said, which was technically true even if the dogs in question weren't actually trying to kill him.

"So you say," the woman said, "but what you say doesn't mean shit. We don't know you."

Michael grinned cockily. "Hi. I'm Michael Ponce. I train champion fighting dogs. This dog is going to kill your champion Rottweiler and any other bitch you throw in with him."

"Really?" one of the men said sarcastically. "Right now, he's wagging his tail like he's waiting for a treat."

Turk was indeed wagging his tail, but not like he was waiting for a treat. He was staring directly at the only man who hadn't spoken yet, his eyes boring into him. Michael glanced over him and said, "Looks like he found one."

The man curled his lip contemptuously. "You threatening me, white boy?"

Michael whispered, "Be mean."

Turk didn't respond.

Michael turned his grin at the man and lifted his hands. "I'm not threatening anyone. Don't worry, Turk will do what I say. I won't let him hurt you."

The four of them laughed. The woman said, "We haven't seen him hurt anything. You say he can fight. Well, show us."

Michael shrugged. "All right."

He looked at Turk and said, "Turk. Be mean."

Turk still didn't respond. Michael felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

The men looked at each other. The woman scowled at Michael.

"What is this, a cartoon?" one of the men asked derisively. "Come on, man, show us something or get your bitch ass out of here before we shoot you."

Come on, Turk , Michael said.

He met the man's eyes and said, "Bad idea. Turk? Be mean."

This time, thank God, Turk did what he was told. He lunged at the man, teeth bared, jaws snapping, so quickly that Michael himself was terrified. The four organizers all jerked backward, eyes wide with alarm.

"Stop!" Michael cried.

Turk stopped inches from the man's face. He whined and growled, and when the man eased back slightly, he barked and snapped at him.

"Don't kill him, Turk," Michael said, his cocky grin returned. "He needs to pay us money."

Turk growled and bunched his shoulders in a perfect imitation of being irritated at holding back.

"All right," the man said, wide eyes fixed on Turk. "We get it. Call him off."

Michael hesitated just a half-second. Then he said, "Easy, Turk. Come on back."

Turk backed off and stopped growling, but never took his eyes off of the man as he trotted back to Michael.

"Well," the woman said, "He's got the spirit, that's for sure. How many fights has he had?"

"Good fights or crapshows that didn't even last thirty seconds?" Michael asked.

"Easy, Michael," Faith said in his earpiece. "Don't lay it on too thick."

Sure enough, one of the men narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. "You have your dog," he said, "We all have handguns. Not to mention thirty men outside with more guns. Show some respect."

Michael lifted his hands and said, "No disrespect intended. He's had seventeen fights. Most of them ended within a minute. The only time he had trouble was a Tibetan Mastiff some visiting Yakuza brought. Took him almost three minutes to break the mastiff's neck."

Michael's stomach turned as he thought of the fights he had just seen. God, he hated this.

The woman chuckled. "A part of me still thinks you're lying to us," she said, "but we'll give you a shot. Actually, Roman here has a dog he wants to try."

The man Turk had threatened narrowed his eyes. "You sure you want to lose Turk that fast?"

Michael grinned humorlessly. "No disrespect intended," he said, "but Turk will utterly obliterate your dog. Whatever it is."

Roman glared and said, "You talk a lot of shit, white boy. Maybe I should throw you and your dog in with Ceasar."

"Calm down, Roman," one of the other men said, "he's just backing up his dog. You sure got a lot of faith in that little shepherd. You have other dogs?"

"A few," Michael said, "I had more, but I made the mistake of letting them eat dinner together. I learned that lesson the hard way."

"Let me guess," Roman said sarcastically, "Turk killed them all?"

Michael grinned again. "All of your doubts will be erased when Turk makes Ceasar bleed out just like his namesake."

Roman glared at him and said, "Maybe you and me will go after the dogs go."

If only I were so lucky , Michael thought.

"You'll have to forgive Roman," one of the other men said, "He's still pissed that Franco got eaten alive by that pitbull."

The three others laughed. Roman continued to glare at Michael.

"Hey, didn't Vinny find that dog?" the woman asked.

Michael forced himself not to react.

"Yeah, he did. He was really proud of himself, too. That was the last dog he picked up for us, huh?"

"Yeah. That was Vinny."

Well, well, Michael thought. So Roman lost a fight because of a dog Vincent Mariano found.

In his earpiece, Faith said, "Got it, Michael. That our guy?"

"Yeah?" Michael said, answering Faith's question and framing it as a question for the benefit of the gangsters. "What happened to them?"

"Someone killed them," one of the other men said, "bad. Hey, that wasn't you, was it, Roman?"

Roman sneered, and in his earpiece, Michael heard Faith say, "Two minutes, Michael. When you hear us get inside, act like you're running away with the gangsters. Then find us. We have your handgun and fifteen officers that Garvey assures me will be more than enough for thirty gangsters."

Michael really hoped it didn't come to shooting, but it was nice to know that if it did, he'd be able to participate. "All right, boys," he said, "let's talk business."

***

Faith heard a yelp of pain and a cheer as she and Garvey burst into the warehouse. She had just enough time to see a surprised Rottweiler lift its head from the corpse of a pitbull before the officers on the other end of the warehouse started firing.

It was a perfect raid. Most of the outlaws scattered, never even thinking about their weapons.

But a few did, and as Faith's luck would have it, they were on her side of the warehouse. She and Garvey dove behind some crates that served as makeshift bleachers and fired back at a half dozen gangsters who, like so many did, somehow felt that holding their guns sideways would make them more deadly.

Fortunately, all it did was make them less accurate, allowing Faith to subdue them without having to kill them. She and Garvey rushed forward and Garvey pointed her own handgun at the wounded gangsters and warned, "I'm Satan with a sunburn compared to her, and I can't aim for crap, so if you decide to get stupid and fight me, I'll just aim for the chest and keep firing until you stop moving, capisce?"

Faith left her and moved across the warehouse. A few other groups of criminals had found cover and were engaging with the officers. Faith's path brought her to a group of four officers engaging with seven such criminals.

She looked around wildly for Michael and Turk as she took cover and returned fire. They were nowhere in sight.

"Come on, Michael," she said, "For Heaven's sake, hurry up."

One of the gangsters lifted himself above his cover and aimed his weapon squarely at her. She fired once, the bullet impacting his shoulder and sending him spinning to the ground with a cry of anguish.

The other criminals dropped their weapons and lifted their hands. Faith left them in the care of the officers and moved on.

She saw Turk and Michael then, running vaguely in their direction while trying to make it look like they were running away. When they drew close, they veered directly toward Faith. One of the gangsters shouted and pointed, and Faith had enough time to see three men and a woman turn to Michael in shock. They glared, and Faith realized those were the organizers."

"Roman is the one who looks like a bodybuilder."

Faith identified him and radioed Garvey. "Michael and I are going after the suspect. Have your officers cover us."

She handed Michael his gun, and the two of them ran after Roman, who glared at them a moment before turning to run.

Too long a moment. Turk caught him before he made it five steps. Roman had seen what Turk was capable of during the meeting with Michael, so he didn't even try to resist. Fear replaced the anger in his face. He lifted his hands and said in a high-pitched voice that was utterly incongruous for a man his size, "Please don't hurt me! I surrender!"

"On the ground!" Faith called, keeping her weapon trained on him.

He complied, and Michael stepped forward to cuff him. Once the cuffs were on, Faith called Turk to her side. A flash of anger returned to Roman's face. "You're a coward, Mike. If that's even your real name."

"It's my name," Michael said, hauling him to his feet, "and if it helps you feel better, you can call me whatever you want. In the meantime, you're under arrest for cruelty to animals, running an illegal gambling operation, and a lot of other charges I can't think of off the top of my head. Oh yeah, and we suspect you of murdering Harvey Harris and Vincent Mariano."

Roman, showing a touch of foresight for a change, clammed up.