Bodie laughs, “Ohh, haha, shit, listen to that accent. That’s cool. I like that Southern thing. Sexy. What am I doing here? Just trying to train this dumb piece-of-shit dog of our uncle’s to take the fuckin’ bait.”

“But he won’t,” she says.

“Nah. Stupid bee-yotch just sits there staring. I stuck the fuckin’ coon, ran him around the pole. Nothing. Not a goddamn thing.” He turns and screams at the dog: “Kill the coon! Kill it!”

The dog just watches, looking a little confused, if Atlanta’s reading that right.

“That dog won’t frickin’ hunt,” Bird whines, shaking his head. “Uncle’s gonna be pee-oh’ed, Bodie. He paid a lot for that one, tell you what.”

“Uncle shouldn’t have bought a dumb cur.”

Atlanta’s hands are twitching. She shoves them in her pockets to hide them. “Doesn’t look like a pit bull.”

“That’s ’cause he’s not. He’s a rare breed or some shit. Supposed to be good at fighting, but to me he ain’t good at doing anything but being a—” and here again Bodie gets mad, screaming at the top of his lungs: “—a fuckin’ retard!” The dog cocks his head. “Yeah. You heard me. I think you’re a fuckin’ retard, retard.” Bodie turns his full attention to the dog. “Maybe you need a little encouragement. Huh? Huh?”

Flash of the blade. Bodie moves toward the dog.

Bird says, “Bodie, bro, wait . . .”

But Bodie raises the knife.

She can’t let this happen.

Baton in her hand, thumb on the button, snap of the wrist. Atlanta moves fast. Bird starts to say something else, but all he really gets out is a llama-bleat, “Whuh?” Bodie goes at the dog with the knife, but before the blade lands, Atlanta brings the baton hard against the side of his head, right against his ear, bam.

Bodie staggers sideways. The knife drops, clatters against the spattered concrete. He cups his ears and wheels back, a look of betrayal and horror on his face. A line of blood snakes down his jawline.

Bird backs up, waving his hands. “Whoa! She’s frickin’ crazy, bro!”

Bodie growls, comes at her. She swipes the baton in open air—and he backs away.

“You’re dead,” he says.

“You like hurting animals, don’t you?” she says.

“I’m gonna like hurting you.”

Again he comes at her. Swish, swish. The baton connects with the back of his hand and he recoils, hissing breath.

“Gah! Fuck. You dumb crazy bitch. You have no idea what you’ve done. Bird, get her.”

But Bird’s eyes flick back and forth. He shifts nervously from foot to foot. His heart’s not in this. “Bro, she’s got a . . . whatever that is. She’s gonna frickin’ hit me!”

The dog sits back, watches it all.

“I’m here for Sailor,” she says.

“Who the hell is that?” Bodie asks.