Bait Dog An Atlanta Burns Novel - By Chuck Wendig Page 0,70
of the concrete and from an eye-bolt hangs a long lean chain, and a skinny raccoon is attached to the chain via a collar. All around the pole in a circle are little footprints, wet and red.
The coon gapes and pants. Eyes glossy. Blood mats its side.
A dog sits off to the side. Not a pit bull, by the looks of it. All white. Flat black nose—comical, like a Snoopy nose, like it was put there by a blob of paint. The ears are cropped, and they don’t just stick up—the tips of the ears each turn inward, like the points of Batman’s mask.
“Fuckin’ dog,” Bodie says. He turns toward them. Atlanta sees he’s got a lockback knife in his hand. Like her own. The blade greasy with blood. Coon’s blood, she figures.
“Bodie,” Bird says. “This chick was totally lookin’ for you, bro.”
Bodie’s disgruntled face brightens. A mean smile spreads like a puddle of gasoline across his face just before someone lights it on fire. His blue eyes—little sapphires—seem to flash and catch the light. “What’s up?”
She thinks to haul off and hit him right now. Baton out, crack him across that asshole smile. Teeth broken.
Instead, she says, “What’re y’all doin?”
Bodie laughs, “Ohh haha, shit, listen to that accent. That’s cool. I like that Southern thing. Sexy. What am I doing here? Just trying to train this dumb piece of shit dog of our uncle’s to take the fuckin’ bait.”
“But he won’t,” she says.
“Nah. Stupid bee-yotch just sits there staring. I stuck the fuckin’ coon, ran him around the pole. Nothing. Not a goddamn thing.” He turns and screams at the dog: “Kill the coon! Kill it!” He suddenly leans in, lunges for the raccoon with the knife, stabs it a couple times in the meat of its haunches. The coon screams, tries to get away, but the chain on the pole only lets it run in a circle back to Bodie. Fresh red dribbles to the concrete.
The dog just watches. Looking a little confused, if Atlanta’s reading that right.
“That dog won’t frickin’ hunt,” Bird says, shaking his head. “Uncle’s gonna be pee-oh’ed, bro. He paid a lot for that one, tell you what.”
“Uncle shouldn’t have bought a dumb cur.”
Atlanta’s hands are twitching. She shoves them in her pockets to hide them. “Doesn’t look like a pit bull.”
“That’s cause he’s not. He’s a rare breed or some shit. Uncle paid a lot for him. Supposed to be good at fighting but to me he ain’t good at doing anything but being a—“ And here again Bodie gets mad, screaming at the top of his lungs: “—a fuckin’ retard.” The dog cocks his head. “Yeah. You heard me. I think you’re a fuckin’ retard, retard.” Bodie turns his full attention to the dog. “Maybe you need a little encouragement. Maybe you’re the one I should be sticking with this knife. Huh? Huh? How’s that for a motivator—“
Flash of the blade. Bodie movies toward the dog.
Bird says, “Dude, bro, wait—“
But Bodie raises the knife.
She can’t let this happen.
Baton in her hand. Thumb on the button, snap of the wrist. Atlanta moves fast. Bird starts to say something else but all he really gets out is a mizzle-witted “Whuh?” Bodie goes at the dog with the knife but before the blade lands, she brings the baton hard against the side of his head, right against his ear, bam.
Bodie staggers sideways. The knife drops, clatters against the spattered concrete. He cups his ears and wheels, a look of betrayal and horror on his face. A line of blood snakes down his jaw-line.
Bodie growls. Comes at her. She swipes the baton in open air—and he backs away.
“You’re dead,” he says.
“You like hurting animals, don’t you?” she says.
“I’m gonna like hurting you.”
Again he comes at her. Swish, swish. The baton connects with the back of his hand and he recoils, hissing breath.
“Gah! Fuck. You dumb crazy bitch. You have no idea what you’ve done. Bird. Get her.”
But Bird’s eyes flick back and forth. He shifts nervously from foot to foot. His heart’s not in this. “Bro, she’s got a… whatever that is. She’s gonna frickin’ hit me!”
The dog sits back, watches it all.
“I’m here for Sailor,” she says.
“Who the hell is that?” Bodie asks.
“Little white dog. Terrier. No teeth. No claws. Chewed half to death. Died on his owner’s floor.”
“Who cares about a stupid little creampuff piece of shit?”