Part Three of Wounded Arrow:
Hammer held me up, turning me this way and that, as if trying to see the GPS chip I had implanted in the back of my neck. The Boar said, “He needs to get rid of the big mangy one, too, right, boss?”
Koops said, “Both dogs need to go! The quicker they are in the wind, the less chance we have of getting caught in the city-wide sting taking place all over Lincoln. Local cops and Animal Control are cracking down on the fighting rings in the county! And that chip will lead them right here to you!”
Hammer leaned down and dumped me next to Grunge. “Okay, okay,” he said, glancing back at Koops, a flash of anger in his eyes. “I’ll get rid of Goblin, but why should I dump Grunge? That beast has won the last twelve matches! He’s made me a rich man in the circuit! Why get rid of him, too? Ain’t getting rid of the pup good enough? What about the upcoming fight?”
Koops made a gesture with one hand, and the Boar hauled off and hit my master on the chin. I scampered out of the way as Hammer fell on his rear on top of Grunge’s bedding. I was terrified of the giant black man and I wanted nothing to do with the beating he was going to give my master. Grrrrr! came from deep within Grunge’s thick chest, as he automatically slipped into protection mode. As a fighter, he had no love for Hammer, but still he was obligated to defend him when such aggression was being shown. Grrrr! he warned the Boar.
I watched in terror as the Boar reached beneath his jacket and pulled out a pistol. I could not just sit there if he intended to harm my big buddy Grunge. I had to do something, so I barked.
Rowwr! Roof! Rooowwrrr! All three sounds came pouring out of my small mouth, and rather than sound all scary and threatening, they sounded rather pitiful and pathetic.
Laughter burst from Koop’s lips. “Well, ain’t he the spunky one? Too bad you can’t keep him, Hammer. With a gutsy pup like this, you could turn him into a real champeen one day!”
He waved a hand at the Boar, indicating he should holster his pistol. “Do as I say, Hammer. Get rid of both hounds before the bleeding heart investigator comes calling. He might be on his way here even now, seeing as how that chip is active. Because if the cops connects the dots, and those dots lead to me, you will not have long to live. Mark my words.”
The next thing we knew, me and Grunge were loaded into Duce Hammer’s old black Pontiac. As he drove us out of the junkyard he owned, he kept nervously checking in his rearview mirror as if he thought he was being followed. You would think he might be sad having to get rid of Grunge like this. But he appeared more angry than sad. He did not like being told what to do, especially by Koops who considered himself the King of the Ring, when it came to dog fighting in Nebraska. Hammer was also angry that someone had the good sense to plant a GPS implant inside of me. He was furious to know that this implant might eventually lead cops directly to his junkyard.
Hammer dumped me out of his car first. One minute I was seated in the backseat next to big Grunge, and the next, Hammer squealed to a stop in the middle of a downtown city street. He stepped out of his Pontiac, opened the back door, latched onto the scruff of my neck, and none too gently planted me on the sidewalk. “Good riddance, Snitch dog,” Hammer muttered as he slammed the back door closed. I found myself engulfed in the black smoke from his peeling tires as he hastily drove away.