A second piece for the blog today, more notes on the development of Spider. I’ve had an idea in my head for some time, churning away, concerning the loathsome business of dog fighting. Sadly, it’s growing in popularity – what a reflection on the ills of society in the 21st century that is. A character without any discernible redeeming features should have an appropriate ‘hobby’ – what could be more applicable than dog fighting?
Spider climbed out of his car and glanced around at his surroundings. He’d travelled way outside the city limits to an abandoned industrial centre. The anticipated urban renewal had never materialised and the purpose-built units had been long since abandoned. The buildings hemmed him in, red-brick warehouses and prefabricated units looming over the central courtyard like malevolent beasts around a jungle clearing. Even the air was unpleasant. The courtyard was a black oily square of tarmac, pitted with deep holes and strewn with broken glass and litter. There had once been a children’s play area here, but the sound of childish laughter had not been heard for some considerable time.
Spider walked briskly through the estate, shoulders hunched against the bitter wind until he reached a grim single storey building where he produced a key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock on a formidable metal door. The door swung open and he walked inside, locking the door behind him. Sections of the roof had collapsed inside the shell of the main building and Spider trod carefully as he walked swiftly through the debris. The central area had been subdivided into smaller units which were in a far better state of repair than the host building.
He heard a dog bark once, the sound echoing off the blank walls, and frowned. The unit at which he came to a halt looked just like all the others, but he took another key from his pocket and used it to open the rust-streaked door. He walked inside and looked at the row of cages. Each cage contained a muzzled dog, eyes staring malevolently at the intruder. The majority were pit bull terriers with the occasional Staffie. Dogs born with the urge to fight and a lust for combat. Spider whirled round as the attention of the dogs switched from him to the door behind him. His shoulders relaxed as he saw the man who had entered the unit. Spider ignored the snarling pit bull terrier that the other man held by the collar, restraining it with an ease that belied his slender build. The man spoke a single word of command and the dog was instantly still, but its small button eyes never left Spider’s face. The man slipped a muzzle over the head of the dog and locked the animal inside an empty cage. “Off his food,” he said, gesturing towards the caged dog. “I’ve given him a jab. I’ll keep my eye on him.”
Spider nodded. The slim man had an affinity with the dogs and their welfare was his main concern. He possessed sufficient medical knowledge to ensure each animal was at peak condition at all times and the ability to weed out and dispose of the weaklings. Most of the dogs bore the scars of combat and each of these animals had been victorious in battle. Only the strongest and most vicious dogs survived the fights which were always decided by the death of the weaker animal and these dogs were the gladiators of their day.
Spider followed the man along a corridor and into a small room no more than eight feet square. Apart from a single bed, the room was devoid of furniture. No headboard, just a plain mattress with a single sheet as the only covering. There were no curtains or blinds on the window and no view either. Just a six-foot gap between this room and the neighbouring block with nothing to see apart from row after row of red bricks.
Three nails hammered into the wall acted as a wardrobe and Spider knew that the only working toilet and sink in the building, next to the room holding the caged dogs, was equally minimalist.
The living area couldn’t have been more spartan in nature, but there was not a speck of dust in the room and the clothes hanging from the nails looked clean and fresh. Two black leather boots, polished to an immaculate shine, were hanging by their laces from one of the nails. Spider had known this man for a year and had never seen him look anything else than clean and smart.
This was a man who didn’t need any of life’s luxuries. Spider paid him far more than he could ever spend, but money had never been his motivation. A place to sleep and the company of the dogs that were his only friends satisfied most of his needs. He was well supplied with food for himself and the dogs, but the only other thing he needed was something that only Spider could supply. He was tense now, almost quivering. Spider’s visit had been unscheduled and that could only mean one thing: a job.
Spider let him wait a few moments before he spoke. “Someone is looking for me,” he said.
The other man said nothing, but his eyes were bright.
“Find out who they are.”
“”Yes.” The single word hadn’t been a question but the word hung in the space between them.
“Find them and hurt them.”
The other man’s expression softened. This was the work that he craved.
Spider spoke again, his eyes fixed on the face of the man before him. “Anything you need, let me know. When you find them, don’t kill them. Not until I’ve had a word.”
The other man nodded. “But hurt them?”
Spider gave a chilling smile. “Oh yes. Hurt them. Make them sorry they ever heard about me.”
He dropped a brown envelope on the bed. A bulky envelope stuffed with banknotes. Spider nodded at the other man, then turned and walked away without another word.
As he passed the open room containing the caged dogs he glanced inside. The animals were muzzled to ensure their silence and to prevent them damaging each other, but the air of collective menace in that room was overwhelming. Pure hate radiated out towards the man watching them. Only their handler had their trust.
Many of the animals had been treasured family pets in the recent past, but that veneer of civilisation had left them during their first fight to the death. Only the animals that possessed a true blood lust survived and their only motivation now was the opportunity to fight again and again. They were well fed and exercised and the nature of their surroundings didn’t concern them. The restraining muzzles and cages were a trivial detail. Only the opportunity to kill was important.
Their former owners may still be grieving the loss of the family pet, but the dogs had long since forgotten their temporary lapse into domesticity. They were killers once again. Reverting to the true nature of their bloodlines.
