He knelt in front of Brando. The dog remained still.
Beck carefully slipped the leash around Brando’s neck. He stood and took up the slack. The dog slowly padded out of the cage.
Beck smiled. “Good. Let’s go.”
They walked out into the night. It was late, the streets were deserted, and he was tired, but strolling with Brando invigorated him. He was a pleasure to walk. The dog kept to heel. No, heel wasn’t right. Brando stayed alongside him the same way a friend or equal would. Yes, he could see Brando getting his reprieve. The dog was a remarkable creature. He wasn’t sure he’d be so forgiving if he’d endured what Brando had.
They walked in silence. He wanted the dog to enjoy his freedom and take in the world around him, which he’d been denied for so long. Get used to it, buddy, he thought.
After twenty minutes, he started his conversation with his friend.
“Zo? wasn’t home tonight. I’m afraid she might have skipped town on me. I don’t think so, though. Most of her stuff is still at the apartment. She’ll be back, even if it’s to collect her things, but it makes me wonder what to do now. Do I stick with Zo? or move on?”
He paused for some reaction from Brando, but the dog kept going.
“Part of me says to move on. It might be all the sweeter to focus on someone else and let Zo? suffer with the uncertainty of whether I’ll come for her or not.”
A couple coming the other way gave them a wide berth. Their reactions disappointed him. Did they see him and Brando as a threat? They weren’t, as long as the couple acted with honor and respect. Or maybe the couple recognized them as alpha males. He liked that.
“Time to get you home for the night,” he said and circled the block to take the dog back to the center.
“I can afford to put Zo? Sutton on hold. If she wants to hide for a while, let her. I can wait. I need to focus on someone else. But whom?”
He’d been lucky with Laurie Hernandez. She’d fallen into his lap by displaying contempt for the animals where he worked. He had no one else on his radar. He’d do what he’d done for all the others. He’d fade into the background and observe the world. He’d hang out in the bars and clubs. He’d read the newspapers for evidence of the contemptuous. He’d hunt down the violators and teach them a lesson. Show them there was a price for bad behavior.
He looked to Brando for guidance and found it. They hurried back to the center, and he flicked on the computer in his office. He looked up the dog-fighting case and got the name Javier Mu?oz. He was the alleged promoter of the dog-fighting ring. Promoter designated him as a professional organizer, as opposed to an amateur hobbyist. Latest reports said Mu?oz was out on bail. That put the bastard in his hands. He smiled over at Brando.
After twenty minutes of revving a search engine, Beck had Mu?oz’s home address in Hayward along with a number of other vital statistics about the dog fight promoter. Beck loved how much of people’s lives were readily available these days. It made his work very easy.
“C’mon, Brando. We’ve got somewhere to be.”
He put Brando in his Honda. The dog sat up front as they drove out to Hayward.
Mu?oz lived in a crowded and rundown neighborhood, which Beck found surprising. According to news reports, Mu?oz made tens of thousands a year from running dog fights. He wondered if his home choice had something to do with image.
He stopped the SUV a half block from Mu?oz’s house. It was a small ranch-style dwelling with a flat roof. Except for music pouring from one home, Mu?oz’s, the street was quiet. Most residences were in darkness. The lights were on at the Mu?oz home.
He would have liked to have gotten a close-up look inside, but he needed a better handle on these surroundings. He didn’t like the close proximity of all the homes. It made it hard to walk up on someone unnoticed. With places that were always in motion, people were too preoccupied to focus on a single person. Quiet neighborhoods were different. Unfamiliar faces always stood out.
That wasn’t a problem. A closer scrutiny of the house wasn’t vital. He just needed to get a firm grasp of Mu?oz’s movements, look for an opening, and swoop in when he was at his most vulnerable. Right now, he had a starting point—Mu?oz’s home. Everything would develop from this place and point him forward.
A white Dodge Challenger roared past them and pulled into the driveway. A short, squat man in his late thirties climbed from the car. It was Mu?oz. Beck recognized him from his picture in the news reports.
An ugly growl leaked from the seat next to Beck. He turned to Brando. The dog had been so cool and calm at the center, but here, face to face with his tormentor, he was a tense knot of anger. Beck smiled.
“Don’t fret, my friend. You’ll get your revenge. We just have to bide our time.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN