The Flip: Part 2

“There are three dogs in a kennel in the backyard. From what my guy says, the dogs are beaten up.

They are all skin and bones. He last saw them fight three days ago. The dudes that own the house don’t live there, and it’s in a seedy neighborhood over on Camp St. Head guy drives a late 70’s era, El Camino.” Ken stopped to look me in the eyes. “You sure about this?”

I glanced at the picture he had pulled up on his phone. The boxer was tiny, from the size, possibly female, and hadn’t eaten in days. “I’m sure. You get these guys out, and we're done. It will take me time and money to rehabilitate them enough to find homes. That means money. That means winning more races. Huge time commitments.”

“There’s one more thing, Jess, these guys are a little harsher than our usual guys. The head one, Lenny, he did time for drug trafficking.”

“Ken! Seriously? This is not good.”

“That’s why it’s the last job. I can’t keep putting our lives on the line for these dogs without help from the other side. Empty promises, you know?”

I knew all too well. We had heard it from the time Mitch got us involved. You get them out, and we’ll fund the rest. After the first two jobs, Mitch disappeared, and so did the money. But we had found a cause we couldn’t stop supporting, even if the police didn’t take animal abuse seriously. We did.

“So, what do you want me to do?”

Ken took a deep breath, “You circle the neighborhood, out to the main intersection. Any sight of the El Camino, you radio me. My sources say they will be out of the house most of the day, back for four because they have a fight scheduled tonight. So I load up the dogs, and we head for the hills, literally.”

“What do I do if I intercept them?” I doubt Ken had thought that far ahead.

“Distract them, cause a diversion, anything, as long as you don’t put yourself in danger.” He reached over and took my hand. “If anyone gets hurt, it should be me.”

His words gave me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. No one should get hurt, not the dogs, not us, no one but the sick bastards who were running the dog fighting rings.

“Drug dealers, Ken? This is a whole new level of shit.”

“I know.” He dropped the cage he was readying onto the tailgate of his truck and pulled me into his arms. “Just promise me, if things go south, leave me and get the hell out, ok?”

***

We pulled up in front of the rundown ranch house at three o'clock. One hour to get three dogs out should be plenty of time; I tried to reassure myself desperately. As I watched Ken quietly get out of the truck, I put my hand behind my back to ensure my gun was still there. I scanned the closest houses, but no one paid us any mind. I was sure the neighbors were used to all kinds of comings and goings. I put the Charger in reverse and said a prayer as I backed up and went around Ken’s truck, starting my rounds of the street and surrounding neighborhoods.

I saw nothing during the first two passes, and Ken was quiet on the radio. Then, finally, I drove past the house and saw him lifting the second of two skeletal dogs into the back of the truck. One to go.

It was then the neighbor caught my eye. She watched me zoom past and then talk into her cell phone. Shit! Had we been made? I accelerated onto the main street, a little faster than I should have, when I spotted the brown El Camino in front of me. I grabbed my radio. “Ken!!!! Brown El Camino is coming in hot, about three minutes away.” I tried my hardest to stay close while not calling attention to myself. The only response over the radio was a muffled “shit!”

“Ken, get the fuck out of there now! We just turned down Camp.”

I watched in horror as the car pulled to a stop behind Ken's truck. Three guys jumped out just as he came around the corner holding the small dog from the picture. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I saw the gun come out of the guy's jacket in the back.

In a split-second decision, I hit the gas and slammed my car into the back of the El Camino, creating the diversion I knew Ken needed. All three turned at once. The tallest guy, who seemed in charge, started toward me.

“What in the hell! Lady, what the fuck are you doing? Bill, watch the dick with my dog.”

As he got close, I put the Charger in reverse, praying it would still drive, and backed around Ken’s truck, I mashed down on the gas peddle and slammed her into drive, and my trusty girl lurched forward, steam pouring from the radiator. I saw the guy run for his car. Good, let him chase me, but then I saw Ken go down. As he did, another one of the guys ran for the car. Had Ken been shot?

I braked so hard I could feel it in my chest. I grabbed my gun from the small of my back, opened my driver's door, and started firing. I could hear sirens in the distance. And I swore I heard Ken’s voice tell me to drive. Whether real or imagined. I started forward again, tears clouding my vision as I pushed the car as fast as it would go, down the street, up the block, and into city traffic.

I had no idea what to do. My car was rapidly overheating, and its front bumper was dragging on the ground. I wasn't going to get far, and I needed a plan. Pulling into the nearest empty lot, I frantically scanned traffic to see if I could make out Ken’s truck. Nothing. An ambulance sped past me in the direction I had come. As I watched the steam pour out of my radiator, I cried helplessly. But I was better than tears. I needed a plan.