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The man ambled to the fence, squinting and blinking. He said, “Booth Conklin. You in the market for a good pit hound?”
Da
Conklin said, “I kin do better than that,” waddled to a speckled dog’s pen and flipped the latch. The beast made a dash, hit the fence with his front paws and started licking the wire. Da
Booth Conklin waddled back, holding a long piece of wood. “First lesson with pits is don’t talk baby talk to ‘em or they won’t respect you. Rape-o here’s a leg pumper, just wants to get your trousers wet. My cousin Wallace named him Rape-o ‘cause he’ll mount anything with bad intentions. Down, Rape-o, down!”
The pit bull kept nuzzling Da
Conklin spoke calmly, like holding seventy pounds of dog at the end of a stick was everyday stuff. “Pits dish it out, so they gotta be able to take it. I won’t sell you no dog if you go
Rape-o was hanging stock-still, groans vibrating from his throat. Every muscle was perfectly outlined; Da
“You just come out to look and jaw?”
Rape-o’s groans were getting deeper and more pleasured; his balls constricted and he popped an erection. Da
Conklin squinted, his eyes slits behind coke bottle glasses. “You ain’t a policeman, are you?”
“No, I’m an insurance investigator. I’m working a death claim and I thought you could help me with some questions.”
Conklin said, “I’m the helpful type, ain’t I, Rape-o,” moving the stick up and down, wrist flicks while the dog humped the air. Rape-o yowled, yipped and whimpered; Da
Rape-o slinked over to the fence and tried to rub his snout up against Da
Conklin stuck a toothpick in his mouth and worked his words around it. “Mister, I know the canine family real good, and coyotes and wolves is out—’less the killer captured and starved them and left the dead guy out for them to pick clean someplace amenable. What kind of damage on your victim?”
Da
Conklin snickered. “Then you rule out coyotes and wolves— they’d go crazy and eat the fucker whole, and you can’t exactly keep them inside the house. You thinkin’ pits? Dogs?”
“If anything, yes.”
“You sure them teeth marks ain’t human?”
“No, we’re not sure.”
Booth Conklin pointed to his pit pens. “Mister, I run these three farms for my cousins, and I know how to get what I want from dogs, and if I was crazy enough to want one of my pups to eat a man’s guts, I imagine I could think up a way for him to do it. I’ll tell you though, I’ve got a real taste for blood sport, and I couldn’t imagine any human being doin’ what you just told me.”
Da
Conklin petted Rape-o’s hindquarters; the dog lazily wagged its tail. “I’d starve him and pen him and let bitch dogs in heat parade around in front of his cage and make him crazy. I’d muzzle him and bind his legs and put a restrainer around his dick so he couldn’t get himself off. I’d get me a rubber glove and tweak his dick till he just about got there, then I’d clamp his balls so he couldn’t shoot. I’d get me some doggie menstrual blood and spray it in his eyes and nose for a week or so, till he came to think of it as food and love. Then, when I had me that dead man, I’d spread a big puddle of pussy blood right where I wanted him to bite. And, mister? I’d have a gun handy in case that tormented old dog decided to eat me. That answer satisfy you?”
Da
“Boys who love blood sport, and I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout your crazy shit either.”
“Isn’t dog fighting against the law?”
“You know who to grease, then there ain’t no law. You sure you ain’t a policeman?”
Da
Conklin gave Rape-o a gentle kick; the dog stirred, got up and trotted back to his pen. “Mister, my customers are young studs in pickup trucks and niggers lookin’ to have the toughest dog on the block.”
“Do any of your customers stand out as different than that? Unusual?”
Booth Conklin laughed so hard he almost swallowed his toothpick. “Back durin’ the war, these movie types saw my sign, came by and said they wanted to make a little home movie, two dogs dressed up with masks and costumes fightin’ to the death. I sold them boys two twenty-dollar dogs for a C-note apiece.”
“Did they make their movie?”
“I ain’t seen it advertised at Grauman’s Chinese, so how should I know? There’s this sanitarium over on the beach side of the Canyon, dryout place for all the Hollywood types. I figured they were visitin’ there and headin’ to the Valley when they saw my sign.”
“Were any of the men tall and gray-haired?”
Conklin shrugged. “I don’t really remember. One guy had a fu
Ninety-five percent against on the blood bait theory; maybe a quash on his nightmares; useless dope on Hollywood lunacy. Da
“My pleasure, son. Come back sometime. Rape-o likes you.”
Da
“Norton Layman speaking.”
“It’s Da
“Just the man I was going to call. Your news first or mine?”
Da