Page 213 of Devil’s Disciples

I hurled the brick with every ounce of energy I could harness. I watched in horror as the event played before my eyes like a slow-motion scene from a low-budget black comedy movie.

The brick hit the center of the truck’s back window. The glass flexed but didn’t break. The brick changed directions, seeming to gain speed as it did so. Then, it plowed into the shin of my good leg.

I stumbled backward, almost toppling over the tailgate and into the street. “Son-of-a-bitch,” I shrieked, reaching for what was left of my mangled shin. “That hurt like hell.”

After steadying myself against the edge of the truck’s bed, I glanced at George and tried not to burst into tears.

“You know how I hate repeating myself, but I’ll ask again.” He opened the truck’s tailgate. “What in the hell are you doing?”

He was frustrated with me. I could clearly see – and hear – it. I swallowed heavily, and then took a deep breath.

“There’s a puppy locked inside he was bouncing around and looking out the window when I came in for lunch when I came out I noticed the truck was still here the windows are rolled up tight he’s on the floor and looks like he’s dying I need to save him,” I said in one breathless sentence.

He extended his arms toward me. “Let’s get you out of there.”

“He’s going to die,” I pleaded, my voice cracking from emotion. “I need to get him out of there.”

He hopped into the back of the truck with ease and then lifted me from my feet. After lowering me gently onto the street he gestured toward his restaurant. “Go stand on the sidewalk.”

Before I hobbled to the edge of the curb, I heard the glass shatter. While the shrill sound of the truck’s alarm filled the air, George disappeared through the broken window and into the cab of the truck. I limped to the passenger door and pulled against the handle frantically. After three or four yanks, the door lock clicked.

The door flew open.

The brown and white bull dog puppy George cradled in his arms looked to be exhausted. He was alive, and that was all that mattered.

“Thank God he’s not dead,” I said.

“Hey, shithead!” someone shouted. “What the fuck are you doing in my truck?”

George handed me the puppy as he climbed out of the truck’s cab. With the shivering pup held tightly in my arms, I turned toward the angry voice.

A lanky young man stood between us and the restaurant. He was dressed in khaki work pants, canvas boots, and a black sweat-stained tee shirt. He raked his sun-bleached hair from his face and shot me a sunken-eyed glare. “Gimme my dog.”

I had all the patience in the world unless stupid people were involved. He’d proven his stupidity when he parked the truck beneath San Diego’s summer sun and rolled up the windows.

“Go to hell,” I snarled. “You locked this dog in that truck with the windows up and left him there for two hours, you dumb jerk. He’s not yours any longer. You’re too stupid to take care of an animal.”

After my tirade, his cheeks went red with anger. “Gimme the dog.”

“F-you,” I hissed.

I wouldn’t give him the dog if he held a gun to my head. While I made plans to knee him in the balls and make a run for it, George stepped between us.

“If you take one step in our direction, I’ll pull off your arms and beat you with the bloody stubs,” George growled, puffing his massive chest as he spoke. “You’ve got two options. Hop in your truck and leave or get those skinny little arms of yours pulled off. I’ll let you pick which one.”

The man studied George, but not for long. Upon realizing it was a fight he simply couldn’t win, his shoulders slumped.

“That dog’s a dipshit anyway,” he muttered.

He stepped into the street and stomped toward his truck. As we walked past, George eyed the man over his shoulder. The thought of such a foolish person having control of an animal’s welfare had my blood boiling. I followed George toward the diner, glaring at the animal abuser the entire way.

As he got in his truck, he gave his parting comment under his breath.

“Asshole,” he murmured.

I flipped him the middle finger over my left shoulder while clutching the pup to my chest.

George glanced at the puppy and then at me. He brushed his palm along the edge of his freshly buzzed scalp and shook his head lightly before looking away.