“Sir, please.”
Beck detected the hint of fear in the deputy’s voice. He made no move for Brando and let the dog continue edging toward the cop. “It’s OK. You’re a stranger, and he just wants to check you out. I can make this a lot simpler. Let him come over there and sniff you and then he’ll be as good as gold.”
The deputy swung the gun to aim at Brando. Beck liked that the gun was off him, but not at Brando’s expense.
“Just secure your dog. I don’t want to be forced to shoot it.”
Beck bottled his sudden flare of rage. “There’s no need for that.”
“Then secure your dog, sir.”
Brando had covered half of the forty yards between him and the deputy.
Beck held out his hands. “His leash is in the car, so I need to come over there to get it.” He took an exploratory step closer to the deputy. “Is it OK if I come over there?”
The deputy swung the gun back to Beck. “Hold it right there.”
Beck did. He watched the deputy play through his options. He didn’t have any. It was two against one. No solution worked to his benefit.
“I’ll get the leash and throw it to you. Just tell me where it is.”
“Backseat or passenger seat. You should see it. It’s not locked.”
“Don’t move.”
Beck raised his hands again in confirmation.
The deputy went to the side of Beck’s Honda, his gaze and aim vacillating between Brando and Beck. Brando was less than ten yards from the squad car now.
“Tell the dog to stop moving.”
“Brando, stop.”
Brando ignored Beck, as he’d hoped.
“Like I told you, he’s curious.”
The deputy had to take his gaze off them to search for the leash. The moment he turned his head to open the door, Brando bolted for him.
Beck grinned. The dog was a true friend. The truest he’d ever known.
Brando moved with speed and stealth. The deputy had his head in the SUV and was totally unaware the dog was closing in on him until the animal was upon him. He had about a second’s notice before Brando slammed him into the side of the vehicle. He crumpled under the dog’s charging eighty-pound weight. The deputy yelled out when the dog bit down on his gun arm.
Beck took the yell as his cue and ran at the downed deputy. Brando had him pinned against the side of the SUV. The dog continued to chew on the deputy’s arm, thrusting him forward and slamming him into the side of the vehicle. The deputy smashed Brando again and again with his free arm with little effect. He tried kicking, but it was also pointless. The deputy was fighting an animal that knew one thing—killing.
Brando changed tactics and yanked at the deputy, dragging him away from the vehicle and out into the open. He was also hauling him away from his weapon. The deputy lunged for his dropped gun, but it was out of reach. The cop had lost this one.
Then the deputy reached for his belt and pulled out his Taser. He pressed it to Brando’s neck and pulled the trigger. The dog recoiled from the electric shock with a yelp, confusion and pain on his face. He stopped, appraising the deputy. That was all the edge the deputy needed.
Beck saw how it would all play out before it happened. “No,” he screamed.
The deputy rolled toward his gun. He snagged it, aimed it at Brando, and fired twice into the pit bull’s chest. The two rounds dropped the dog where he stood.
Seeing the dog go down, the deputy let the strength go out of his body and lay on his back, trying to catch his breath.
Still running, Beck yanked his knife free from his waistband. “You bastard.”
The deputy popped back up with his gun aimed, but Beck loomed over him and kicked the pistol from his hand before dropping on top of him. The deputy yelled something at him that he didn’t register. All he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears, fueled by his rage and hate. He rammed the knife into the cop’s stomach, where the bulletproof vest didn’t cover it, and jerked it up in the search for vital organs.
The deputy screamed out. Shock overwhelmed his expression, then froze it. His body stiffened, his back arching. Beck intensified his pressure on the knife, twisting and turning, forcing it that little bit deeper, letting it do that extra bit of damage.
“You shouldn’t have shot my dog,” he said, then yanked the knife out. Blood poured from the devastating wound, but the deputy did nothing to stanch it and neither did Beck.
He clambered to his feet and went to Brando’s side. The dog was still. He dropped to his knees and put his ear to the pit bull’s chest. There was no heartbeat.
He wept, the sobs racking his body. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried for anyone. He hadn’t even done that for himself in his worst moment.