They're hungry right now."
"I know that Luis. I'm taking them to breakfast."
***
It's a beautiful day at Pebley Mansion. My chair makes slow progress on the gravel, but there's a winding cement walk skirting the building that isn't too bad. Sid wears his collar and leash, walking alongside my chair. I may be imagining it, but Bel Air clouds appear fluffier and whiter against the brilliant blue sky than they do in Venice. The mansion's carved front doors are wide open and a mop and bucket brigade is in full deployment.
Sid and I are almost at the grand front steps when we see them. The front gate is just closing—I catch a glimpse of a big SUV, a woman standing beside it, but my attention is drawn to two large pit bulls, walking unescorted through the gate as it closes behind them. One is brindle brown with half of a left ear. The other is black with a white stripe around its eye like a bad Mike Tyson tattoo. They're heading for us. It doesn't take a genius to figure trouble's coming. I reach to release Sid's leash, but he's already got it. The little bastard secretly knows how to unhook himself.
The pits catch Sid's scent and break into a lope. "RUN!" I scream. Sid skitters like hell but he's no match for well-muscled dogs. They're gaining, kicking up gravel as they run, digging in for traction with their powerful chests. Sid takes a hard left and shoots up the stone steps, through the front doors and into the grand foyer. Screams—a bucket of soapy water flies out the door and overturns down the stairs, soaking the dogs. They don't slow for an instant, right on Sid's heels. Sid takes a flying leap onto a suit of medieval armor.
Attached to the arm of the suit is a mace, one of those ancient clubs with the iron spikes all over the ball at the end. The dogs are right below, baying and snapping. Sid scrambles to the shoulder of the suit, knocks the helmet off. A hundred grand worth of historic hardware bounces across the floor. This enrages the pits and they start jumping at the suit, pushing at it with their paws. Sid holds on with all four hands but the steel is slippery. The dogs know they're onto a good thing. They jump at it harder and harder until it rocks crazily. Sid screams as the whole thing goes over. SMASH, it pins the brown pit's front paw on a spike. Blood spurts from his crushed limb. Frenzied, he gnaws at his own leg.
In a flash, Sid takes a long bound over the head of the black pit and flies down the steps. The black pit gives chase. I roll forward and block the dog for a split second which gives Sid a tiny advantage. He speeds for the back of the mansion and our dungeon. I roll frantically that way. Screams come from the cleaning woman inside and she rounds the corner waving a towel. I arrive just in time to see Sid cornered on the back wall, screeching bloody murder and clinging to the wooden torture rack. It's solid and sturdy, won't tip over, but the ceiling is low in here and the slavering pit leaps higher and higher, saliva dripping. One more jump and he's going to have Sid between his teeth.
The katana dagger is right beside me. I snatch it off the wall and throw. BOING, it stabs into the wood a foot away from Sid. In a flash Sid grabs it, and as the pit makes another jump, Sid shoves the blade right down the dog's throat. A sickening howl, a mighty belch of blood. The dog falls to the floor, gargling on the contents of his own artery.
Chapter Fifteen
Sources connected to the disappearance of Sherryl Lynn Hastings tell us authorities found her body yesterday, deep in Tuna Canyon. Sherryl Lynn, an actress with commercial credits for Diet Zero drink and Tidy White Cleanser was breaking into films and well-known to casting directors. "She had the kind of fresh looks and appeal that America loves," said veteran agent, Dolores Rhinegold, of Academy Booking Agency.
Pulling up at the Department of Coroner, Miles Davis and John Coltrane aren't quite finished blowing blue. Doug kills the Charger's
"I know that Luis. I'm taking them to breakfast."
***
It's a beautiful day at Pebley Mansion. My chair makes slow progress on the gravel, but there's a winding cement walk skirting the building that isn't too bad. Sid wears his collar and leash, walking alongside my chair. I may be imagining it, but Bel Air clouds appear fluffier and whiter against the brilliant blue sky than they do in Venice. The mansion's carved front doors are wide open and a mop and bucket brigade is in full deployment.
Sid and I are almost at the grand front steps when we see them. The front gate is just closing—I catch a glimpse of a big SUV, a woman standing beside it, but my attention is drawn to two large pit bulls, walking unescorted through the gate as it closes behind them. One is brindle brown with half of a left ear. The other is black with a white stripe around its eye like a bad Mike Tyson tattoo. They're heading for us. It doesn't take a genius to figure trouble's coming. I reach to release Sid's leash, but he's already got it. The little bastard secretly knows how to unhook himself.
The pits catch Sid's scent and break into a lope. "RUN!" I scream. Sid skitters like hell but he's no match for well-muscled dogs. They're gaining, kicking up gravel as they run, digging in for traction with their powerful chests. Sid takes a hard left and shoots up the stone steps, through the front doors and into the grand foyer. Screams—a bucket of soapy water flies out the door and overturns down the stairs, soaking the dogs. They don't slow for an instant, right on Sid's heels. Sid takes a flying leap onto a suit of medieval armor.
Attached to the arm of the suit is a mace, one of those ancient clubs with the iron spikes all over the ball at the end. The dogs are right below, baying and snapping. Sid scrambles to the shoulder of the suit, knocks the helmet off. A hundred grand worth of historic hardware bounces across the floor. This enrages the pits and they start jumping at the suit, pushing at it with their paws. Sid holds on with all four hands but the steel is slippery. The dogs know they're onto a good thing. They jump at it harder and harder until it rocks crazily. Sid screams as the whole thing goes over. SMASH, it pins the brown pit's front paw on a spike. Blood spurts from his crushed limb. Frenzied, he gnaws at his own leg.
In a flash, Sid takes a long bound over the head of the black pit and flies down the steps. The black pit gives chase. I roll forward and block the dog for a split second which gives Sid a tiny advantage. He speeds for the back of the mansion and our dungeon. I roll frantically that way. Screams come from the cleaning woman inside and she rounds the corner waving a towel. I arrive just in time to see Sid cornered on the back wall, screeching bloody murder and clinging to the wooden torture rack. It's solid and sturdy, won't tip over, but the ceiling is low in here and the slavering pit leaps higher and higher, saliva dripping. One more jump and he's going to have Sid between his teeth.
The katana dagger is right beside me. I snatch it off the wall and throw. BOING, it stabs into the wood a foot away from Sid. In a flash Sid grabs it, and as the pit makes another jump, Sid shoves the blade right down the dog's throat. A sickening howl, a mighty belch of blood. The dog falls to the floor, gargling on the contents of his own artery.
Chapter Fifteen
Sources connected to the disappearance of Sherryl Lynn Hastings tell us authorities found her body yesterday, deep in Tuna Canyon. Sherryl Lynn, an actress with commercial credits for Diet Zero drink and Tidy White Cleanser was breaking into films and well-known to casting directors. "She had the kind of fresh looks and appeal that America loves," said veteran agent, Dolores Rhinegold, of Academy Booking Agency.
Pulling up at the Department of Coroner, Miles Davis and John Coltrane aren't quite finished blowing blue. Doug kills the Charger's
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