Underdog (3 page)

Cal cast a steely gaze back into the dilapidated barn as he spat onto the grey, concrete floor. Further in, beside the cut-away pit, he picked out Frank.

Frank, unaware that he was being watched, was kneeling by Tanner. His face was hidden beneath the mop of his hair, the hook of his nose just visible as he bent over and carefully inspected the cuts and punctures on the dog’s forelegs and muzzle. He was gently wiping a dirty sodden cloth over the wounds, trying to soak up the blood.

‘Alright, is he?’

‘Cal, mate.’ Frank sounded concerned as he looked up and called across the barn. ‘Got any needles?’

Nodding, Cal took a final drag and tossed away his cigarette. He called out into the car park.

‘Andy, got some cuts need fixing in here. Get the bag.’ Cal rubbed a hand over his throat as he considered the dryness in his mouth. ‘And bring us a beer.’

Andy slunk forward from the shadows as the keys were thrown to him. Light from the barn flashed off his glasses; fumbling the keys, he stooped to snatch them up and made his way to Cal’s car. In the boot he found a black leather bag and a case of beer.

‘Looks a bit far gone for stitching,’ he remarked on reaching the barn door, looking over at the bloodied pit. He handed over the bottle of beer.

‘They ain’t for Bane,’ said Cal, not trying to disguise the malice in his voice. ‘Frank needs them.’

Andy looked up, the inane grin wiped from his face as Cal’s dark, fierce eyes silently dismissed him.

‘Right. Course,’ he whispered, then darted over to help Frank, whistling at the sight of the bloodstained dog in front of them.

‘Need a bit of work, yeah?’

Andy dropped the cut-bag and knelt beside Tanner to get a better view of the damage. The dog was breathing heavily, exhausted by the fight. The spittle dripping from the corners of his mouth was stained pink from the cuts on his face. A steady stream of blood from his torn, swollen tongue spattered onto the floor.

Tanner seemed dazed and unaware of his surroundings. It wasn’t his first match, but the intensity of the fight had shaken him. He shivered then relaxed, again and again, as if intermittent electric pulses shocked through him.

‘Let’s get a look at that, mate.’

Andy put his hand under Tanner’s chin. The dog’s eyes rolled as his head was raised, but he made no complaint when his lower lip was pulled away from the large upper canine spiked through it.

Bending lower, Andy tried to gauge the severity and depth of the wound that ran from Tanner’s neck to his shoulder. Taking the cloth from Frank, he wiped away what he could of the blood. It was the most serious of the dog’s wounds, and needed to be treated quickly.

He ran his hands over the rest of Tanner’s body, bony fingers skilfully checking for swelling or breaks. Two claws were missing from the right foot, and the numerous tears and puncture wounds were no doubt painful, but apart from the injury to the chest, nothing else required stitching.

‘Good lad … You’ll live.’

He opened the bag and found the threaded needles.

‘Hold him up, Frank. I’ll sort it here.’

Frank pulled up the sleeves of his black leather jacket until they were midway to his elbows, tight against his muscled forearms. Wrapping one arm around Tanner’s throat, with his other hand he held the muzzle shut.

Grabbing the flaps of skin that sagged either side of the gaping wound, Andy squeezed them together, doing his best to keep hold of the blood-soaked fur.

‘Hold him firm, now,’ he advised Frank. ‘This is gonna hurt.’

Tanner jerked his head down and back, trying to pull away from Frank’s grip as the needle pierced his flesh. Wasting no time, Andy pulled the stitch tight.

‘Few more to go, yet. Hold on.’

 Andy continued working, keen to do a good job for Tanner, and, more importantly, for Frank. Whatever any of them thought, he was confident with the dogs and good with cuts. It was one of the things that made him necessary, and kept him in with Cal. Times were good. He was making money through the association and had more drugs than he knew what to do with. Being disliked didn’t bother him. If anything, he thrived on it. It made him who he was.

‘Keep on him, Frank,’ he snapped as Tanner tried to pull away again.

It took no more than a couple of minutes to complete the stitching. When it was over, Frank released his grip and moved around to take a look at the wound. It was neat, but still bleeding. Tanner’s head lolled forward, his feet shifting to keep him upright; the wound began to crease and open between the stitches.

‘It’s going to weep a bit. Give it a day or two to join.’

Andy dipped a hand into the bag and retrieved the iodine and cotton wool. Soaking a ball of wool, he rubbed it carefully over each cut, making sure to place more pressure on the deeper wounds. He admired Tanner’s resistance to the pain.

‘Hard as fucking nails, ain’t ya?’

He smiled as he placed a hand on Tanner’s head. Taking a pre-loaded syringe of antibiotics from the bag, he administered the injection.

‘All done,’ he said as he got to his feet. He looked down at Frank. ‘Wash the wounds and get some salt into them over the next few days. Pull those stitches in a week.’

‘Fucking vet now, are ya?’ Frank’s cold eyes stared Andy down. He forced a grudging smile. ‘Nice work.’

Tanner panted and shook. Every few seconds, the unsteady rhythm of his breath was broken further as he swallowed the blood and saliva filling his mouth. Frank led him out of the barn as Cal waited for them by the door.

‘Looks like you owe me some money, mate.’ Frank smiled, casually adding, ‘Too bad about Bane.’

‘Yeah, he was a good dog. Game,’ said Cal, looking down at Tanner. The dog’s shaking was becoming more pronounced and constant. ‘Just not good enough for you, eh?’

‘Come and get him,’ called Frank, handing over the chain when Andy reached them. ‘Stick him in the back of the motor.’

As Tanner was led away, Frank placed his arm conspiratorially around Cal’s shoulder as they followed a few steps behind.

‘It went well tonight, Cal,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m going to give him the call.’

The news lifted Cal’s mood instantly. He bit at the inside of his lip, dampening the smile from spreading further across his face. The match, and the win, had clearly been to Frank’s liking.

‘We’re on, then?’

The light from the barn dimmed as they headed towards the trees, further into the darkness. Frank stuffed his hand into his pocket and brought out a packet of cigarettes. He handed one to Cal.

‘You need to know what we’re dealing with on this one, Cal. If we do this, there’s no room for fuck-ups. Northern ain’t one for pissing about.’ Frank watched as Cal lit his cigarette. ‘I need to know that I can trust you. I need to know you can handle it.’

‘You know I can.’

Cal was well aware of the risks and could understand Frank’s need to be sure about his commitment. But he wasn’t about to mess anything up. There was too much at stake. It was what he had worked so hard for: a way out, the chance to set up with the wife somewhere else, somewhere with a future.

‘You should know me better. I won’t fuck it.’ He stared into Frank’s eyes. ‘For either of us.’

Then he smiled. The penetrating look in his eyes softened.

‘We’re going to make a lot of money, Frank. It’s going to be easy. What can go wrong?’

This was it. Frank could have asked for his winnings, picked up Tanner and gone with nothing more said. But he hadn’t. This was the moment, and Cal knew it. He pitched his shoulders back, straightening himself as they stood toe to toe.

‘Nothing’s going to go wrong, Cal. That’s the point.’

Frank gave him the once-over. For a man in his late thirties, Cal was in good shape, his looks not too compromised by the livid scar that ran down his forehead, splitting his eyebrow. It was a constant reminder of a pub lock-in that turned nasty years before. The glass smashed into Cal’s face that night had sparked a brawl that left a man fighting for his life, his head stamped and beaten beyond recognition. It was a fight that Cal had made his own, a moment of composed and bloody violence that everybody remembered him for.

Frank knew he wasn’t going to find a better man. Cal ran things well and his contacts stayed loyal. More importantly, he knew how to work the dogs. The Game was in his blood. He needed him to make it happen.

‘There’s no going back, Cal,’ he said, taking the phone out of his pocket.

‘I’m looking forward, mate.’ Cal’s smile broadened into a grin. ‘You want to stop worrying; you want this as much as I do.’

Frank flipped open the mobile and punched in the number. He moved away as the telephone started ringing.

Cal took a final few puffs on his cigarette and threw it onto the ground, trying to second-guess what was being said. He turned his back and waited as Frank made the deal.

‘Okay, then … Yeah, we’ll be ready. No problem, Northern.’ Frank listened to the final instructions. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

He punched the off button, sucking in the air from his cheeks then puffing them out as he exhaled, wide eyes exaggerating his relief.

‘Well?’ asked Cal.

‘We’re on,’ came a cautious response. ‘But there’s been a slight change of plan.’

‘Yeah, what?’

‘He’s bringing Mick with him.’

Cal looked blank. He waited for Frank to elaborate.

‘He’s bringing the boss. Mick. “The Waltz”.’

They stood silently as the news sank in. It was something neither of them anticipated. Frank paused.

‘And it’s a dog of Mick’s that they’re going to match, not Northern’s.’

It was unusual for someone of his status to make a personal appearance. Dealing with Northern Jack was one thing, but getting into bed with Mick was another. It raised the stakes an unwanted notch.

‘Okay, so they’re coming; we’ve got a match,’ said Cal. ‘What about the gear?’

Frank moved in closer, his face and attitude serious.

‘Northern wants to go ahead, but he says it’s all down to Mick. Mick wants to check us out, make sure we’re okay. If he’s happy and likes what we’ve got to show him, it’s done.’

‘So what’s going to make him happy, Frank? What’ve we got to do?’

Frank ordered his thoughts.

‘We put up a purse of two grand. Northern wants a dog for Mick’s that’ll go the distance, but it’s going to have to lose, and lose good. Good enough to make Mick think the fight ain’t no fix. The purse and the dog is just a buy-in. A gesture.’

In his head, Cal picked out the dog for the job. One that wouldn’t need to be fouled but had the physique to impress, and the lungs to carry it: an underdog with no chance of winning.

‘They’re going to be bringing a few others with them that they want to impress,’ Frank continued. ‘Give them a good show and we’re sorted. All goes well and they’ll start us off with a thirty grand drop. Kilo of coke and half a key of brown.’

The inside of his mouth was beginning to dry up. ‘If we’re organised, we’ll be able to double up on the cash in a couple of weeks. If the first one goes well they’ll drop whenever we need them to.’

‘Nice.’

Cal clenched his fist by his side, but couldn’t stop a satisfied smile spreading across his face. Frank had done better than he had expected: the buy-in was reasonable and the prices excellent. Despite the original plan changing, he was keyed up, ready for it.

‘Don’t get too excited,’ Frank warned. ‘Northern’s putting his head on the block with this one, and he let me know it. Part of the deal will be a payment to him for helping us out and a retainer on each drop that Mick won’t know about. Piss about and it’s not just Mick we’re fucking with.’

Cal was not going to let what little he knew of either Mick’s or Northern Jack’s reputations worry him. He was sure he and Frank could handle whatever came their way. A bit of organisation and he was sorted. Within a year he could be out of it forever.

‘We’re going to need some more lads to make up on the extra.’

‘It’s already being taken care of,’ said Cal. ‘Some good boys wanting to get on the books. I’ll arrange a few meetings.’

As they headed out of the shadows towards the barn, Frank turned, a threatening look in his eyes.

‘Don’t fuck me on this, Cal. No slip-ups.’

‘It’s going to be okay, Frank.’ Cal was brimming with confidence, smiling as he stuck out his hand. ‘We’re there, mate.’

They shook on it.

When Andy saw Cal and Frank approaching, he got up from his seat on the tailgate of Frank’s car and came forward to meet them.

‘I’ve wrapped and watered him, Frank. You want to get him home and warm him up a bit. He don’t look too good.’

Frank peered into the back of his car. Tanner was lying on his side, still struggling for breath and shivering under a thin white sheet spotted with bloodstains. Frank walked to the driver’s door, opened it, then turned to face Cal.

‘You got a dog ready?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, I got one. The missus got a call from a mate checking the sanctuaries. Irish down as a Staff. Best dog we’ve had like that in ages. More than do for your man Mick. We’ll meet up next week and you can take a look at it.’

‘What if it gives his dog a run?’

‘No chance,’ grinned Cal. ‘But it’ll last. Leave it to me.’

Frank got in the car and started it up, turning on the headlights as he reversed away from the grassy bank. He stopped as he drew level with Cal and wound down the window.

‘I’ll see you then, Cal. Should know all the details in a couple of days. It won’t be too long. Have that dog ready.’

As Frank drove away, Cal remembered the money in his pocket. He thought better of shouting, figuring he’d hand it over if Frank should call him up on it. The car stopped again. Frank stuck his head out of the window.

‘What size is it?’

‘About fifty pounds. Fifty-five max.’

The tail lights of Frank’s car dwindled then disappeared as it drove down the track, winding its way towards the village road. Once it was out of sight, Cal began to walk back across the empty parking area. Stepping inside the barn, he wandered over to the pit and looked down at Bane, the dog’s torn chest barely moving, his eyes fixed and glazed. A swollen, red tongue hung out of his hideously chewed muzzle and lay flat in the dirt.