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Back Atlanta Burns Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication Page
  4. CONTENTS
  5. PART ONE: SHOTGUN GRAVY
  6. Sometimes she wakes…
  7. CHAPTER ONE
  8. CHAPTER TWO
  9. CHAPTER THREE
  10. CHAPTER FOUR
  11. CHAPTER FIVE
  12. CHAPTER SIX
  13. CHAPTER SEVEN
  14. CHAPTER EIGHT
  15. CHAPTER NINE
  16. CHAPTER TEN
  17. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  18. PART TWO: BAIT DOG
  19. CHAPTER TWELVE
  20. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  21. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  22. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  23. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  24. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  25. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  26. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY
  28. PART THREE: THE FARM
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  35. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  36. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  37. PART FOUR: KISSING FIRE
  38. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  43. PART FIVE: BAIT GIRL
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  45. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  46. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  47. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  48. EPILOGUE: THE MESSAGE
  49. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  50. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Wayman walks over. “Your fight’s in about an hour, provided the one before doesn’t go long. First up is Jasmine versus Tuco, and that’ll be an interesting one. Jasmine’s a boxer, though some folks call her ‘the poodle’ because she’s got bows around her ears. Tuco’s a straight-up bull terrier run by the spics.” He snorts. “You, well. You’re going up against the Nazis—they’re running a new dog this time around. Amstaff mix. Name of some German World War Two horseshit. Charlie, what in the hell’s the Nazi dog’s name?”

“Panzer,” Charlie says. “Though I heard one of the Nazi boys call the dog ‘Jew-Biter.’”

Wayman shrugs. “There you go, then. Boss versus Jew-Biter.”

“Boss?” It takes her a second to realize that’s what Wayman calls Whitey. “I call him Whitey.”

“He’s not your dog to name, Miss Burns.”

“In training, I called him Whitey, so he’s Whitey.”

Wayman laughs again. The sound calls to mind an avalanche just starting up—ground shifting, trees breaking. “Whitey it is, then. Have a good fight. I’ll be watching you two in the ring, sure as shit.”

Then he’s gone. No longer eclipsing the sun or taking up all the oxygen in the room.

Atlanta takes one last look at Whitey, whose pointy ears flatten back. He makes a sad face.

“I’ll be back,” she says.

It rips a hole in her heart as she exits the barn.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Whitey will never get to fight. This’ll be over before that happens, if Atlanta has her way.

She mills around outside. Licks her lips. Feels the electric buzz of adrenaline pushing back the grabby fingers of her hangover, loosening its grip. Time to make sure all the pieces are in place, then.

Yesterday, she made a call. To Orly Erickson. Told him before he could get a word in edgewise that if he wanted the Dogo he could have the Dogo and she’d meet him here. Then she hung up on him.

Atlanta hurries over to the parking lot. Peers at row after row, feeling her gut sink further and further as she’s not seeing what she’s looking for—

Ah.

Hell yes.

There it is: a big white Tahoe. The front headlight shot out, the chrome around it peppered with dings from the .410 scattershot. A surge of joy and triumph jolts through her.

Gotcha, you sonofabitch.

She goes to make a call.

Flips through her contact list.

Under H—ahh, there we go.

Detective Holger.

Same cop who helped her through the thing with Donny. Same cop who made sure she got time at a mental-health facility instead of in juvie (or worse).

Atlanta makes the call.

Only problem. The phone’s not dialing. It’s not doing a damn thing.

It makes an angry beep beep beep. On the screen: NO SIGNAL.