Brenda, Kennel Bitch – Part I

There was still ice on the puddles in the alley, black tipped piles of snow crunched under her shoes. Brenda looked around again and shivered. It was getting dark and she could hear the vicious snarls, yelps and growls coming from the garage that she was watching. She was a first year journalism student and wanted a story that would catapult her into recognition. She had dated a boy last semester who kept talking about the money he was winning at these dog fights he went to on the outskirts of Detroit. A few weeks ago she had followed him here and tried to go inside.

Brenda had brazenly walked up to the door that time, but one of the men standing at the door asked for a password. Her eyes widened and she shook her head. She hadn’t thought anything through. All four of the huge black men gathered close around her. There questions and comments were rapid and hostile.

“Who are you?”
“What are you doing here?”
”Did someone tell you to come here?”
“What do you want?”

She backed up until she bumped into one of them and he backed away letting her squeeze between him and one of the others. She ran back down the alley and out into the street. Breathlessly she let herself into her car and sat there shaking. Her heart was racing in fear and excitement. There was definitely a story here, animal cruelty and gambling, possibly other illegal activities. Then, she sucked in her breath and stared in disbelief at the man walking quickly into the alley. He was wearing sunglasses, on a mid February evening, but the arrogant bastard was still recognizably Senator Garrison.

He was followed by two men in suits who looked up and down the street. Brenda dropped her head hoping they hadn’t seen her. After they had all disappeared down the alley she started her car and drove away. Last year, Senator Garrison had barely come out on top after being implicated in a gambling scandal. Brenda was really excited now. She would go back to her dorm room and the next time she came, she would be better prepared.

Well she had come back, this was her third time. The last time she was here she had taken notes and some pictures through a window at the back of the garage after she had scraped the black paint away. What she saw inside that garage sickened her and frightened her. The dog fights were horrendous, but there were also fights between men that people bet on between the dog fights and there were scantily clad women moving among the crowds and now and then one of them would go off with one of the on-lookers into a part of the garage she couldn’t see.

She was back tonight hoping to see Senator Garrison again. She already had all she needed to bring this place down, but if she could get pictures of Garrison here, maybe she could skip the rest of college go right to CNN. She had been hiding behind a bunch of boxes and crates at the very back of the garage and she was cold, the dirty snow had soaked her shoes and feet. Finally the action was underway and she used her cell phone to video as many of the people as she could. Her heart started jumping when the tall bald black man in sunglasses entered the garage. His power was immediately evident in his stance and in the way everyone deferred to him in one way or another.

She made sure that she had the senator on video, as he walked up to the pits and shook hands with various people, then lit a cigar and roared with the rest of the crowd while the dog they called Bruno brought another vicious pit bull to the ground. Brenda shuddered as his jaws snapped and slobber flew from his bloody teeth, then froze when she heard one of the men walking up and down the alley.

“Did you hear that?”

Brenda dropped down and huddled behind a crate. She forced herself to breathe slowly. Her scream was abruptly cut off when she was snatched from behind the crate by one of the guards and his big hand clamped down over the lower half of her face. A few seconds later she was struggling for air, kicking frantically at his shins. He carried her into the alley and passed her off to another. This one at least held just her mouth so she could at least breathe. The one that had handed her off talked gruffly into a cell phone and then snapped it shut.

“Take her to the kennels. He’ll be there when he gets there.”

She struggled again and the huge man holding her wrapped his hand around her throat and squeezed until she was still. They took her further down the alley and into a large metal warehouse. He half-carried and half-dragged her down makeshift hallways between rows and rows of cages and penned areas housing what looked and sounded to be nearly a hundred dogs, rottweilers, pit-bulls, shepherds and mixed breeds of all kinds.