– Tell me about Lattie’s friend, says Laws.
– His name is Keeshawn and he’s a good dude. Keeshawn’s visiting from L.A. He lent me this ride so I could get us some beer. You will find that exhibit in the seat behind me, not getting colder, by the way.
– Whose dog is this?
– My dog, rescued from bad people and now living the good life in beautiful Antelope Valley.
– What’s the dog’s name?”
– She a bitch, not a dog. And her name is Delilah.
– So that makes you Samson?
– That is not the connotation. She’s beautiful and desired by other pit bulls. It’s got nothing to do with me.
– Step out of the car, Londell.
– Yes, sir, Mr. Lawman.
“I watch Londell climb out of the little car, and I see that the dog is eager to follow him, but she holds herself in check. She leans toward the now empty driver’s seat, tail wagging hopefully. The door slams and the dog climbs into the driver’s seat and watches her master. I wait until Laws has Dwayne up against the car before I walk back to our unit and call in the plates. I watch Laws and Dwayne bathed in the cruiser headlights. Their figures are exaggerated by the lights and the shadows cast beyond them. They look like stage actors illuminated from below. Dwayne is slender and of medium height, but he looks huge in the bright lights.
“I see Laws, steadying Dwayne’s back with one hand and running his other hand down Londell’s rib cage. Then Terry switches hands and sides. He reaches around under Dwayne’s sweatshirt, at the waistband of his baggies. Then all of a sudden, Laws hops back with a gun in his raised right hand, then hops back again, quickly out of range in case Dwayne turns and lunges for it.
– Londell? Homes! What is this?
– That’s my hundred percent legal, twenty-five-caliber semiautomatic self-defender I got at a gun show at the fairgrounds.
– But you concealed it. That’s against the law. Makes me think you might want to use it on my partner or me.
“The plate check comes through, so I hook the radio handset back in its cradle, and walk back to the Nissan.
– Hot ride, I say.
– No! You cannot make a case against Keeshawn owning this car! It cannot be!
“Laws hands the gun to me. Then he cuffs and Mirandizes Londell, and spins him roughly around. The sudden movement sends the dog growling. It’s a scary sound. I can see her breath against the window glass. Her jaw muscles ripple into chevrons and her ears go flat to her head.
– You fight that dog, Londell? asks Terry.
– No way! She’s my beauty girl. She’s no fighter.
– I think you’re lying. I think you fight her to make money. Look, she’s chewed up.
– She’s chewed up because she used to fight. She never been in a fight ring since I got her. Never.
– I’ll bet you breed her for it, too. To make more dogs you can fight with, make more money.
– If I ever made one dollar off Delilah I request that you show it to me.
– I got a fighting dog at home, says Terry. I rescued him from the pit. I’ve seen people shot and stabbed, but you know what? Most every one of them either asked for it or deserved it. But that little dog of mine, just about ripped apart? He didn’t ask for any part of it.
– You arrest me, what’s going to happen to my dog?
– You don’t deserve that dog.
– Deputy, things regarding Delilah can seriously piss me off. She’s the one part of me you shouldn’t mess with.
– I’ll take care of her.
– No, man! No you won’t! You think she’s a fighter and she isn’t. You leave Delilah alone.
– Or what, Londell?
– Or I’ll smoke your white ass.
– You just threatened a police officer, Londell.
– I sure did, Deputy Lawman.
“Laws yanks Dwayne away from the Nissan and toward the cruiser. Skinny Londell looks like a straw man in Laws’s grip. Delilah bares her teeth and her lips quiver and her only sound now is a soft, guttural rumble. I hold open the left rear cruiser door and Laws shoves Londell in. Dwayne can’t move his arms, so he pitches forward and hits his head on the steel protection screen. When he rights himself and looks at us, I see on his face a powerful desire for violence. It surprises me. I can see that whatever Dwayne is thinking, he would do it. He has fully given himself over to the idea of it.
“The jail transport unit shows up ten minutes later and two deputies move Londell out of the cruiser and into the transport van. And while he makes that walk, Dwayne gives Laws a long killah stare. He’s got a deputy clamped to each arm. He’s singing something to himself and shuffling his feet and weaving and bobbing his shoulders like a boxer entering the ring but his hands are still pinned tight behind his back and his black eyes never leave Terry. I was impressed by this. Very impressed.”
“But why?” asks Bradley. “There’s nothing impressive about fury.”
“Because I’ve never been truly angry at anybody in my life. Not angry enough to do what Londell wanted to do. To me, anger had always seemed a primitive and distracting emotion. But to witness it untethered and wild, as in Londell, gave me a new respect for its power. And all of this anger, because of a dog!”
“I understand the anger,” says Bradley. “It’s a simple reaction. Like ripples in a pond when you throw in a rock.”
“Then you probably believe that Londell murdered Terry.”
“Of course he did. The description in the papers was Londell. Right down to the Tigers hoodie. He had motive, motive enough to impress you.”
I smile and relight my cigar and signal the waitress. I order a bottle of Napa Valley Claret that I’ve had before.
“Of course, Animal Services arrives and they can’t figure out how to get a furious pit bull out of a car. Delilah is snarling and snapping at them-dogs know the true enemy when they see him. There’s a black dog catcher and a white one. They have a noose and a tranquilizer gun. White says if one of them cracks a door and tries to lower a window for the noose or the gun, the dog is going to chew his arm off. Black says if they break a window the dog’s going to run away and get hit by a car or bite someone, or maybe both. White says they could tow the car to impound and take it in the high bay and close the bay doors, then break the window and the dog couldn’t run off.
– I’ll take care of the dog, says Laws.
– How? asks Black.
– You guys just piss her off. Beat it. I’ll take care of this animal.
– We’ve got a job to do here, says White. We’re trained to do it.
– Clear out, ordered Laws. Do it now.
“When those clowns are gone, we go get Terry’s truck at headquarters and then head back to Londell’s Nissan. The dog is sitting in the driver’s seat, watching us. We stand a few feet away and wait awhile; Terry says Delilah needs a few minutes to get used to us. Then Terry goes to the car and reaches for the driver’s door. The dog hops over the center console and settles neatly in the passenger seat, and Terry gets in.
“He shuts the door and starts talking in a deep and calm voice. I can’t hear the words. Terry talks on and on, like he’s telling the dog the details of a baseball game or the Dow Jones. A moment later he gets out of the car, steps back and kneels down and claps his hands once softly. Then Laws says, Come on, honey, and he claps his hands again and Delilah bows her head and wags her tail and climbs into the driver’s seat, then, very ladylike, she steps down into the dirt and goes to Terry. He doesn’t touch her. He stands and walks to his truck with the dog following, and he opens the passenger seat like she’s his date, and he taps on the front seat and Delilah jumps in. Terry comes over to the unit and stands with me, and the dog watches him. A few minutes later our tow truck angles off the road and stops. The driver gets out to size up the Nissan.