There's nothing nobler than man's best friend.
In The Gutter, some men don't deserve nobility or friends.
In The Gutter, some men don't deserve nobility or friends.
Lesser Creatures by John Teel
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Ferland
studied the man on the basement floor with unblinking eyes.
The
man, Phil, tried to stand, but a quick blow to the nose with the butt of
Ferland's pistol fixed that. His nose shattered, exploding in a torrent of
thick, dark blood that painted the concrete floor like spin art.
When
Phil started whimpering, Ferland said, "If you keep that up, I'm gonna do
worse than a broken nose. Now shut your mouth and don't get up again. I mean
it."
Phil
was still crying but he kept it pretty quiet, so Ferland didn't hit him again.
Anybody else would've been buried by now. It was only business, after all. Something
about this one bothered Ferland.
He'd
done creeps like him before, but the things he found at Phil's house got to
him. The video tapes, the torture, bodies piled up in the shed with more flies
buzzing around than a dumpster at a seafood restaurant. The unlucky ones, still
clinging to life in the basement, were caged, starved, and beaten.
Just
shoot him and be done with it, Ferland thought.
Phil began to pray.
Ferland
chuckled, shaking his head. "I should've known. You're a big Jesus guy,
huh?"
Phil
kept his eyes closed and his palms together. "I'm a sinner, just like you.
But we're all His children. He made me. And you."
"Give
me a fucking break," Ferland said. "You think He made you like this?
Why? To challenge you to reject the wickedness in your heart and stay on His
righteous path? Well, let me break the news to you, dick head. You failed. Big
time."
Phil's
lips began to tremble.
"You
think he loves you unconditionally? He doesn't. You know how I know that?
Because he left you here to me." Ferland holstered his pistol. "I'll
make you a deal. I'll give you twenty minutes. If you can get that cunt up
there to show me a sign, I'll let you go. Just like that. If not, well then,
I'll just have to finish off what I came here to do. I wouldn't count on His
help, though. Jesus hasn't had much to do with me in quite some time."
Ferland sat on one of the empty cages and checked his watch. "You got
twenty minutes. Pray."
...
"Time's
up," Ferland said, pushing himself up and drawing his pistol.
Phil
was still kneeling, still praying, blood soaking the front of his shirt.
Ferland
almost felt guilty. "I shouldn't have done that to you," he said.
"There was only one way this was going to end." Ferland's ears were
ringing from all of the barking in the basement.
Most
of the fighting dogs down there were severely malnourished; skin stretched too
thin over bones too big, gaunt faces pock-marked with fresh puncture wounds.
Most of them would soon end up on the pile out in the shed. One Pit bull stared
out from its cage. It was a good looking dog besides the chunk of meat missing
from its lower jaw, white bone jutting from its brindle muzzle.
Ferland
felt the anger swelling inside of him again. He pointed the silencer at Phil's
leg and pulled the trigger, tearing his kneecap.
Phil
screamed and tumbled over, slamming into one of the cages, the crash and the
scent of the blood sent the dogs into a frenzy.
Ferland's
eyes fell on a particularly mean-looking dog. He didn't bark but his teeth were
exposed and a rumble was coming from his chest. A thin line of saliva dribbled
onto the floor. He was in much better shape than the others. "This must be
the prized horse," Ferland said, dragging the cage out to face Phil.
He
wasn't praying anymore. Phil huddled against the wall, eyes pinched tight,
sobbing and moaning while holding his shattered knee.
Ferland
opened the basement door and gripped the latch on the cage. "The Good Book
calls animals the lesser creatures," he said as he freed the dog.
"Let's just see how true that statement is."
Ferland
closed the basement door and waited until the screaming stopped.
It
didn't take long.
