Dogs Read Online Free PDF Page A

laugh of a man who enjoyed life.
    â€œWell, shoot, sure they—”
    â€œJess?” came Suzanne’s voice on the dispatch. Billy grew attentive. He’d been after Suzanne since she’d been hired. And she went after Jess, who went after nobody, an endless little game of musical chairs with no movement and one chair empty.
    â€œYes, Suzanne,” Jess said.
    â€œNew call, you better take it right away.” No flirtatiousness in her voice, no teasing. “Pit bull attacked two kids. One of them might be dead. Kids and parents are on the way to Community, but the dog’s still in the house, got an older kid cornered on top of the sink.”
    â€œChrist,” Billy said.
    â€œIt’s the Wright place again, 1649 North Edmond. Are you near there?”
    â€œNot far. Thanks, Suzanne.” She sounded scared. Jess didn’t blame her.
    All Billy said on the ride over was, “Some weird shit going down, Jess.” Jess didn’t answer.
    1649 North Edmond, unlike their previous calls, was not out in the country. A small dilapidated house surrounded by a chain-link fence, it was part of a neighborhood that had once passed for Tyler’s industrial section. At the end of the street stood a cluster of empty buildings, once a small factory and associated warehouses, long since closed. The site was endless trouble, a magnet for vandals, drifters, and teenage pot parties. The Wright house was endless trouble, too. Jess, like the county sheriff and Tyler town police, had been here before. He parked outside the fence, where a knot of neighbors had gathered. Inside the house a dog snarled and barked.
    â€œWhat’s going on, Officer?” asked a woman in a duffel coat over a nightgown.
    Good question—Jess wished he had the answer. Before he could speak, another woman said shrilly, “It’s clear what’s going on! That damn dog finally killed somebody! I filed complaint after complaint and you people never did nothing so now—”
    Jess shut her out. He and Billy went through the gate, latching it carefully behind them. They’d worked together so long they didn’t even need to talk. Billy, the better shot, went first, Jess behind him. On the porch, they looked through the windows. One gave onto the kitchen.
    A boy, maybe twelve or thirteen, stood on top of the sink with his back to the wall. The sink wasn’t designed to support his weight. Old, porcelain, free-standing, it was basically a basin and drain board on three metal legs, the whole connected to two pipes. On the floor a pit bull jumped and snarled, reaching as high as the front rim of the sink.
    Pit bulls were always the worst. Many were sweet-natured, but the breed had originally been developed for bull-baiting and dogfighting, and it still showed. Many pit bulls would attack without provocation, warning, or noise, and they would keep at it no matter how badly they hurt themselves. They bit, held, shredded, and tore, and very little would make them let go.
    The boy saw them through the window. “Help me! Help me!” he screamed at them. Evidently the dog, too, sensed they were there; he turned briefly and snapped in their direction, then returned to the boy.
    â€œJesus,” Billy repeated. “That bastard got blood on his jaws already. Come on, Jess.”
    Abruptly the sink sagged to the left. The boy screamed and tried to grab at a shelf beside him. It tore loose from the wall and crashed down, sending Palmolive and sponges to the floor.
    Jess and Billy tore open the front door and sprinted to the kitchen. The boy, balanced precariously on the tilting sink, screamed nonstop and kicked at the pit bull, whose lunge just missed his ankle. At their entrance, the dog turned and leapt for Billy, who fired once and got him square in the brain. The dog dropped and the sink crashed to the floor with the boy, who screamed once more and lay still.
    â€œSon, you all right?” Jess