Аннотация
James Rollins
The Pit
The large dog hung from the bottom of the tire swing by his teeth. His back paws swung three feet off the ground. Overhead, the sun remained a red blister in an achingly blue sky. After so long, the muscles of the dog’s jaw had cramped to a tight knot. His tongue had turned to a salt-dried piece of leather, lolling out one side. Still, at the back of his throat, he tasted black oil and blood.
But he did not let go.
He knew better.
Two voices spoke behind him. The dog recognized the gravel of the yard trainer. But the second was someone new, squeaky and prone to sniffing between every other word.
“How long he be hangin’ there?” the stranger asked.
“Forty-two minutes.”
“No shit! That’s one badass motherfucker. But he’s not pure pit, is he?”
“Pit and boxer.”
“True nuff? You know, I got a Staffordshire bitch be ready for him next month. And let me tell you, she puts the mean back in bitch. Cut you in on...
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