ninety-pound retired police dog didn’t want me to leave the house. We had history. Four months ago, when a killer came after me, I’d locked Arthur in the backyard. He couldn’t protect me then, and I could see he still hadn’t gotten over it.
I grabbed his leash. “Okay, buddy. You win. Nobody said anything about not bringing a dog.”
This stretch of Burbank Boulevard, from Encino east to the 405 Freeway, was dark and deserted at ten. Deep shadows engulfed the golf course to the north and the heavily wooded Encino Creek bed on the south. After Woodley Avenue, the golf course gave way to a nature reserve, with native plants and trees on both sides of the street. This was Switch’s territory, where his people lived in small tents hidden among the trees and in the underbrush.
I pulled into a parking space next to the off-ramp, right under the single streetlight. Switch was nowhere in sight. A pair of headlights came down the off-ramp, briefly illuminating the bushes up there, before turning east on Burbank Boulevard toward Van Nuys. Crusher was right. I couldn’t see him from down below.
I grabbed Arthur’s leash and walked around the car to stand in the light. Anyone driving by would think I was just giving my dog a potty break.
Arthur stiffened and growled softly. We weren’t alone. My heart began to race, and I was glad for this big German shepherd by my side.
The bushes in front of me briefly rustled and out stepped a thin, wiry white man of medium height. His shoulder-length dark hair formed a greasy curtain over his eyes. He wore a dark, unbuttoned, long-sleeved shirt over a light T-shirt and black jeans. The pointed metal caps on the toes of his cowboy boots shone under the light. A swift kick from those bad boys could do some real damage.
Arthur refused to sit, pinned back his ears, and bared his teeth. I kept his leash short and bent to pet his head. “Easy, boy.”
Switch kept to the shadows, speaking in a gravelly voice. “Where’s the money?” He held out his hand, but I refused to walk toward the bushes.
I reached in my pocket and took out a pair of one-hundred-dollar bills. “If you want these, you’ll have to come and get them.” The bills fluttered from the shaking of my hands.
In one swift move, he darted forward, grabbed the bills, and retreated back to the shadows. “Make it quick.”
“I want to talk to the people who camped across the river from the baseball field where a man was murdered Sunday night. Hilda said you could tell me who they were.”
“What for?”
“I want to know if they witnessed the murder. To help out a friend of mine.”
“Two beaners.” He spat on the ground. “Javier and his woman, Graciela, rent that space.”
This guy collects rent from the homeless sleeping on public land?
“Do you know where I can find them?”
He said nothing. I reached in my pocket and took out another bill.
He still didn’t move.
I took out my last bill and stuck out my hand. “This is all I have.”
He held out his hand again, not moving from the shadows.
I stayed under the light.
He slowly walked toward me. “They’re down with my people. I can take you to them.”
Suddenly he grabbed my wrist and yanked me toward the bushes.
Several loud engines roared to life.
I let go of Arthur’s leash. He snarled and jumped, wrapping his mouth around Switch’s arm.
Switch let go of me and I stepped back. Then a sharp whine and Arthur fell to the ground, bleeding from a deep cut to his shoulder.
Oh, my God. This is going all wrong .
I bent to touch Arthur, but a strong pair of arms grabbed me from behind and pulled me to the other side of my car, out of harm’s way.
At the same time, the bikers arrived, four dark figures rose from the bushes below, Switch’s thugs. Soon fists and chains hit flesh.
All I could think about was getting Arthur out of the scuffle of so many pairs of boots and dragging him to safety. I crept back around my car toward the fighting.
I grabbed his leash. “Okay, buddy. You win. Nobody said anything about not bringing a dog.”
This stretch of Burbank Boulevard, from Encino east to the 405 Freeway, was dark and deserted at ten. Deep shadows engulfed the golf course to the north and the heavily wooded Encino Creek bed on the south. After Woodley Avenue, the golf course gave way to a nature reserve, with native plants and trees on both sides of the street. This was Switch’s territory, where his people lived in small tents hidden among the trees and in the underbrush.
I pulled into a parking space next to the off-ramp, right under the single streetlight. Switch was nowhere in sight. A pair of headlights came down the off-ramp, briefly illuminating the bushes up there, before turning east on Burbank Boulevard toward Van Nuys. Crusher was right. I couldn’t see him from down below.
I grabbed Arthur’s leash and walked around the car to stand in the light. Anyone driving by would think I was just giving my dog a potty break.
Arthur stiffened and growled softly. We weren’t alone. My heart began to race, and I was glad for this big German shepherd by my side.
The bushes in front of me briefly rustled and out stepped a thin, wiry white man of medium height. His shoulder-length dark hair formed a greasy curtain over his eyes. He wore a dark, unbuttoned, long-sleeved shirt over a light T-shirt and black jeans. The pointed metal caps on the toes of his cowboy boots shone under the light. A swift kick from those bad boys could do some real damage.
Arthur refused to sit, pinned back his ears, and bared his teeth. I kept his leash short and bent to pet his head. “Easy, boy.”
Switch kept to the shadows, speaking in a gravelly voice. “Where’s the money?” He held out his hand, but I refused to walk toward the bushes.
I reached in my pocket and took out a pair of one-hundred-dollar bills. “If you want these, you’ll have to come and get them.” The bills fluttered from the shaking of my hands.
In one swift move, he darted forward, grabbed the bills, and retreated back to the shadows. “Make it quick.”
“I want to talk to the people who camped across the river from the baseball field where a man was murdered Sunday night. Hilda said you could tell me who they were.”
“What for?”
“I want to know if they witnessed the murder. To help out a friend of mine.”
“Two beaners.” He spat on the ground. “Javier and his woman, Graciela, rent that space.”
This guy collects rent from the homeless sleeping on public land?
“Do you know where I can find them?”
He said nothing. I reached in my pocket and took out another bill.
He still didn’t move.
I took out my last bill and stuck out my hand. “This is all I have.”
He held out his hand again, not moving from the shadows.
I stayed under the light.
He slowly walked toward me. “They’re down with my people. I can take you to them.”
Suddenly he grabbed my wrist and yanked me toward the bushes.
Several loud engines roared to life.
I let go of Arthur’s leash. He snarled and jumped, wrapping his mouth around Switch’s arm.
Switch let go of me and I stepped back. Then a sharp whine and Arthur fell to the ground, bleeding from a deep cut to his shoulder.
Oh, my God. This is going all wrong .
I bent to touch Arthur, but a strong pair of arms grabbed me from behind and pulled me to the other side of my car, out of harm’s way.
At the same time, the bikers arrived, four dark figures rose from the bushes below, Switch’s thugs. Soon fists and chains hit flesh.
All I could think about was getting Arthur out of the scuffle of so many pairs of boots and dragging him to safety. I crept back around my car toward the fighting.
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