Savage Rage (29 page)

“What the fuck?”

Horns blared behind him and he swung to the curb, then slammed the car into park. He couldn't believe it, just could not believe it. Jack got out of the car and headed for the baseball diamond.

The diamond sported bleachers and in front of the metal stands some asshole was tormenting a dog. The dog, a young German shepherd by the looks of it, was tied to the stands. The asshole was standing just out of reach, jumping in and out, teasing the dog. At least that's what Jack hoped he was doing. If the owner was doing anything worse, someone was headed for the hospital.

As Jack reached the curb, his worst thoughts were confirmed. The owner, a red-headed shrimp, darted in and landed a heavy kick to the dog's ribs. The dog yelped, then snapped back, barely missing the owner. Cackling with laughter, the owner feinted a kick, then slapped the dog on the head. The dog screamed — Jack didn't know dogs could scream — and flopped to its side. It was up in an instant, snarling teeth flashing, but the rope snapped tight and its lunge was jerked short.

“Hey!” Jack roared as he got nearer. “What the fuck are you doing?”

The man stopped his scampering and turned to face Jack. The dog strained at the rope, snarling in defiance.

“None of your fucking business, asshole,” the man growled. Or tried to. His voice was as intimidating as his five-foot-nothing frame. His clown-curly red hair and disfigured nose didn't help.

It was the hair that clicked in Jack's memory. “Horner. You're the fucking asshole we've been looking for all week.” Jack headed straight for the dog. There was no way he was going to let this piece of shit keep the poor dog.

“Yeah? Tough shit.” The little twerp leaped at Jack, his left hand — the one he had slapped the dog with — swinging wildly at Jack's head.

Jack got his arm up to block the blow and pain lanced through his forearm. He grabbed Horner by the jacket and pulled him into a crushing head butt. The little man crumpled to the ground, blood from his newly broken nose gushing over his mouth and chin. He was on his knees and Jack knocked him onto his back with a nudge of his knee. Then he stomped on the guy's left arm, pinning it to the ground. Horner had been palming a metal pipe tucked up his coat sleeve. Jack grabbed the pipe and tossed it away. He left the tough guy curled up on the ground, crying over his shattered nose.

“Hey, buddy, you okay?” Jack spoke softly, crouching as he neared the dog. It was a German shepherd and young, no more than six months old. Its ribs were painfully visible. “It's okay, it's okay,” he murmured, slowly inching closer to the dog.

The dog backed up, growling softly in its throat, but Jack kept on talking quietly and calmly. The real test would be when he moved inside the reach of the rope.

The dog's fur was matted with dirt and blood clotted the fur around the right ear. He — Jack could tell it was a male when the dog began pacing in front of him, uncertain of this new human — was in rough shape and in need of some loving care.

“C'mere, buddy. I won't hurt you. No one's going to hurt you anymore.” Slowly, patiently, Jack coaxed the dog closer.

After a few minutes, the pup reached out to sniff his hand. Jack held perfectly still and let the dog come to him.

The dog growled and lunged. Jack threw himself out of the way, but he wasn't the dog's target. Horner had been sneaking up on Jack, his retrieved metal pipe held high over his head for a skull-bashing blow. The dog smashed into his chest. Horner fell backward, just out of reach of the dog's claws.

Jack's anger, on a tight leash most of the day, exploded again. Sanity was washed away in a sea of red and all that was left was a rage, primal and pure and it wanted nothing more than to beat this little piece of shit to death.

Jack threw himself at Horner and drove a knee into his ribs as he landed on him. Horner howled in pain, and Jack grabbed him by the throat with one hand and squeezed. He cocked his other arm, ready to smash Horner's face into bloody pulp. A small part of his brain screamed at him to stop; the last thing he needed was to be arrested for assault.

Jack froze, his body quivering with the desire, the need, to pummel Horner into the ground. The red haze clouding his vision slowly receded and Jack dragged Horner by the throat over to the dog and dumped him just out of fang reach. With the dog's bared muzzle inches from Horner's face, Jack eased off on his throat, then crushed a knee on his chest.

Jack lowered his face so he was as close to Horner as the dog was. “If I ever see you with a dog again, I'll fucking feed your balls to him, got that?” Horner didn't answer. “Got that?” Jack yelled.

The dog barked and Horner flinched, then nodded frantically.

“This dog is leaving with me and if you're smart — which I doubt — you'll stay down until we're gone.” Jack stood.

“Who are you?” Horner asked as Jack untied the dog's rope.

Jack glared at him. “You don't want to know who I am or what I am capable of.”

Horner cringed back as the growl in Jack's eyes was echoed by the dog. “But . . . but what about my nose?” he cried.

“Consider it street justice.”

Jack headed for his car, walking slowly as the dog limped along beside him, favouring his right front leg.

“I hate to take you to the Humane Society, buddy, but anywhere is better than with that asshole.”

They reached the curb and the dog sat down as they waited for traffic. The dog nuzzled Jack's thigh and looked up with big brown eyes. And that's when Jack fell in love.

“Well, my friend, if Karen can have a baby behind my back, then I can bring home a dog. What do you say?”

Jack's new friend thumped his tail in agreement.

copyright © Brent Pilkey,
2011

Published by ECW Press

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Pilkey, Brent

Savage rage / Brent Pilkey.

978-1-77090-089-9

Issued also as:

978-1-55022-968-4 (print); 978-1-77090-088-2 (epub)

I. Title.

PS8631.i479s28 2011 C813'.6 c2011-902908-1

Cover: Tania Craan

Cover images ©: Nuno Silva/iStock (man in hoodie); Marcus Lindström/iStock (blood)

Typesetting: Mary Bowness

The publication of
Savage Rage
has been generously supported by the Canada Council for the Arts which last year invested
$20.1
million in writing and publishing throughout Canada, and by the Ontario Arts Council, an agency of the Government of Ontario. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities, and the contribution of the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit. The marketing of this book was made possible with the support of the Ontario Media Development Corporation.