Ridley Pearson - The Angel Maker

"Out! Get out of my house!" She stepped forward and the two of them were face to face, though Daphne stood taller. The girl smelled like a combination of department store perfume and peanut butter.

Given Daphne's present situation, there was nothing more to be done. She ached with this realization. Was Pamela strong enough to act on her own? Daphne decided she wasn't. With Boldt keeping an eye on Maybeck, that left only Elden Tegg. Pamela would have to turn to one or the other. "You can still save yourself, Pamela."

"Get out."

Daphne slid the photograph into her pocket. As she stood in the open door, the sun now fully set, she said, "If you let her die, if you help him, what kind of person does that make you?" She added, "You're the only one who can save her. Tell me where she is. Tell me about Tegg. Tell me something. Think, Pamela, think!"

"Go away." Pamela pushed the door closed. Daphne kept her foot wedged in it briefly and the two met eyes. Then the door pushed shut completely. She heard crying on the other side of that door. She lifted her hand to knock-to try one last time, but thought better of it. The phone was quicker than the car.

She had to get to Tegg's as quickly as possible.

J When Donnie Maybeck returned from his ordeal with the police, he found an unusual delivery awaiting him. Outside his apartment door in the drearily lighted hallway sat a dog cage containing a pit bull. His name and address were written on an envelope taped to the outside of the cage. This cage helped explain a smaller parcel that had arrived earlier, a parcel he had received just prior to heading off to the pit bull fight that had ended in such complete and total disaster. In that earlier package he had found a padlock key and a remote device for a shock collar. The accompanying note, printed by a computer printer, read: More To Come.

Had to be from the Doc. It was just like him to It do something this anonymous. The Doc didn't trust anyone. Didn't trust the phones. Didn't trust nothing. Did he intend for him to use the dog on Pamela? Something like that? No one needed to warn Donnie Maybeck about the danger that these dogs represented.

Donnie lugged the cage inside and shut the door, taking a second to lock it as well. He tore the envelope off the outside of the cage and ripped it open. The note inside read: Travel money.

His heart beat a little quicker. Cash? The payoff? The Doc was telling him to get the hell out of Dodge and do it now.

Maybeck practically dove at the cage. He peered into the dark hole, the dog growling at him, and spotted a manila envelope taped to the back wall. Then he understood: If you tried to open the cage without the key, without the remote wand to this shock collar, you were toast-you were never going to see that money. Genius! Leave it to the Doc!

Maybeck was beside himself with excitement. He had never been long on patience, and now he found himself moving so quickly he was bumping into things. Fifty? Would the Doc pay him the full fifty? Half would suit him fine. Even ten grand would make him happy for a long time. Why be greedy? But it was greed that drove him to act with such haste.

He found the key and the remote device by the telephone, where he'd left them. He rushed to the cage, the electronic wand at his ready, and frantically went about unlocking the wire door. He was so excited that he forced the key, and damned near broke it off. He tried again and the lock came unsprung. He kept one hand firmly against the cage, to hold the dog inside, and readied the shock collar's wand.

How was he going to do this? He needed to get the dog out, the money out, and then the dog back inside. He hit the button, just to make sure it worked. The collar buzzed. The dog looked terrified in there. It looked mad as all hell. /istay," Maybeck commanded. He showed the dog the remote device, believing this would serve as a warning. The dog growled.

Maybeck swung open the cage door.

The dog sprang out of the cage like a thirty-pound bullet.

Maybeck triggered the wand. He heard the collar buzz, but the dog was on him now and had him by the forearm. Maybeck let out a roar and hit the button again. Again the collar buzzed, but there was clearly no shock delivered. As a training device, the remote could be set either way-to deliver just the sound of the warning buzz or the sound and the shock. The Doc never set the remote to buzz the collar without delivering a shock, because the dogs weren't that well trained.

But he had this time. Maybeck knew how a pit bull worked its opponent: fast and dirty. It went for your arm if you were holding an object. Once that object was dropped, it went for your heels and calves. Once you were down, it went for your throat.

it was for this reason he seized the dog by the collar and pulled, struggling with his wounded hand to maintain hold of the wand. The dog's jaws were gripped onto him like a bear trap. How many times had he witnessed this death grip in their backwoods contests? How many times had he wondered what it must feel like to have one of these things locked onto you? And now he knew! If he let go of the wand, if he dropped it, would he have time to get out that door? If not, then what were his choices?

The teeth were through the muscle now and into the bone and nerve, like two saw blades heading for each other. On his knees, Maybeck continued pulling against that collar, trying to choke his adversary to pull him off, but it was useless. The thing was like a pain machine. Instinctively, Maybeck sounded the collar repeatedly, until his fingers stopped working. The remote tumbled out of his hand.

Before the wand reached the floor, the pit bull was already going at the rest of him. It got a good piece of his front thigh. Maybeck deflected its next attempt and made it to his feet. He completed two full steps before the dog severed his right Achilles tendon. Maybeck cried out again, but fear stole his voice. No sound came out. His right foot flopped uselessly, like it didn't belong there. The leg dragged behind him. He stumbled, but bounced back up; if he went down, it was all over.

He danced his way toward the window, trying to give his adversary a moving target, but the dog's reactions were ten times as quick as his. When he swung his leg left, he felt a bite. The calf muscle. Kicked it right. Calf muscle again. He fell to his knees. The fucking dog bit him right square in the ass and held on tight.

He rolled hard to his left, right on top of the thing. It yipped and briefly let go. Free! Maybeck used every last bit of his strength to come to his feet. He aimed his head low and dove, throwing himself out of the second-story window. Nothing out there but sidewalk, parked cars, and pavement.

The last thing he heard was breaking glass.

It Lou Boldt was watching Maybeck's apartment when the guy came out of the window doing a swan dive. He was followed by some kind of dog. It seemed to him to happen in a kind of eerie slow motion. The guy was waving his arms as if it might slow him down. Good luck. He looked bloody, he looked bad, even before he hit the fire hydrant.

Boldt didn't have the kind of reactions necessary for field work; he didn't have any business being out here on surveillance. He sprung open his car door, pivoted, and was going for his gun when it occurred to him that maybe it was a bomb that had made the guy jump. Maybe the place was about to blow.

Boldt ducked behind the shield of his car door, waited a beat, and trained the gun on the window from which Maybeck had just exited. Maybe someone had thrown him out. That was more how it looked, now that he thought about it. In situations like this there was no explaining the way he thought. Fragments of ideas attached themselves and then let go, replaced by another consideration. This by another and another. He considered his own self-defense, he considered the welfare of the innocent people on the street around him. The dog flew out the window like a smart bomb. Straight down.