The Bone Field by Debra Bokur (top e book reader txt) 📕

hurling into the air the large, angry rooster she had been holding. As the woman turned and fled, the bird splayed its taloned feet, its flapping wings spread wide. It screeched as it was released, an ungodly shriek that filled the night. Instinctively, Kali raised one arm to protect her face. The rooster’s spurs ripped through the sleeve of her shirt and through the skin on the back of her arm.

“What the—!” she cried out, trying to recover her sight line. She knocked the enormous bird aside and sprinted down the path past the spot where Walter was holding the two men at gunpoint. She ran down the slope toward the parking area, stumbling in the darkness on uneven footing. As she passed the first row of cars, she saw movement above her. She turned just as the large woman launched herself from the bed of a pickup truck, tackling Kali and bringing her to the ground, knocking the gun from her hand.

The woman was spitting and snarling, her weight holding Kali pinned on the soft ground. Again Kali was struck with her agility, and twisted beneath her. As the woman leaned forward, lips drawn back, teeth exposed, Kali contracted as far as she was able and slammed her head upwards just in time, headbutting the woman as hard as she could from her position.

It was enough. The woman’s trajectory was interrupted, giving Kali the time and momentum necessary to twist out from beneath her. She scrambled on her knees to where her gun could be seen lying by the truck’s rear tires. She grabbed it and turned, holding it with both hands, and pointed it at the woman again.

“Right now, lady, I really want to shoot you, so I suggest you DO NOT MOVE AT ALL,” she warned her. Over the woman’s shoulder, she could see Walter jogging toward her, followed by another officer holding a wide-angle flashlight.

Walter slowed his pace as he drew close. He was grinning. “I see you’ve met Bitty Benga,” he said.

“Bastard!” shouted the woman.

Ignoring her, Walter nodded to the officer holding the flashlight. “Give me a little light over here, if you will. I want Detective Mhoe to have a good view as the cuffs go on.”

As Walter fastened the handcuffs around Bitty’s wrists, Kali holstered her gun. She rolled back the torn, bloody sleeve of her shirt and surveyed the cuts on her arms. There were two gouges, both bleeding. She winced as she examined them.

“I hope you bleed to death!” snarled Bitty.

“You should be worried about your pet rooster,” said Kali. “I might make a soup out of him. I’ll bring you some. It will help break up the monotony of prison food.”

Bitty was enraged, her face twisted with fury. She lowered her head and rushed one more time at Kali, but was stopped short by Walter, who grabbed her joined arms behind her back and jerked her to a halt.

“Enough of that,” he said, sternly.

“That was Elvis Feathers, my champion rooster!” yelled Bitty. There was real distress in her voice. “Don’t you dare hurt him!”

Walter nodded to the officer beside him. “She’s all yours,” he said, watching as the officer led Bitty away.

Kali looked from the woman’s retreating back to Walter, incredulous. She glanced again at the cuts on her arms, wiping at the congealed blood.

“Me hurt him? Is she nuts?”

“You have mud in your hair,” said Walter.

“That crazy bitch tried to bite me, you know.”

Walter looked at the cuts on her arm. “Then you got off easy. I’ll take the rooster claws any day. And you might want to put something on those scratches.”

“Yeah,” she said. “So we get bulletproof vests, but nothing to protect us from birds.”

“Well, you should have let the bird hit you in your middle. Bad judgment on your part, seems like.”

She glared at him. “Funny. So who was the guy with Angelo?”

“Bitty’s brother Johnny. They weren’t too happy to see me.”

She rubbed at the blood on her arm as they walked back toward the barn. The place was brightly lit now, and the doors stood propped open. A large group of people milled about just inside, surrounded by uniformed police and members of the vice squad. As she and Walter neared the opening, Kali could see the interior space. There was a large open area on the lower level, surrounded on three sides by an upper balcony that rimmed the hayloft.

They made their way inside, pausing at the edge of the dirt floor space, where a shallow, circular pit had been dug roughly in the ground in the middle of the opening. Someone had located the main light switch, and the illuminated scene was depressing. There were loose feathers everywhere, and the noise from a long row of caged birds in the back of the space created a chaotic atmosphere.

“You ever been to one of these?” Walter asked.

She shrugged. “Sure. Growing up, you know? Not everyone thinks it’s a bad thing.”

“Yeah. A lot of people are quick to point out that roosters naturally fight one another anyway, and who are we to tell them they’re misbehaving?”

Kali frowned. “This is orchestrated violence, though. Fights to the death, not little scuffles over who gets to jump the pretty hen.”

“You’re right about the footwear,” said Walter. He walked over to the cages. Clipped to the outside of one of the mesh containers was a pair of fighting spurs made of razor blades. “Like these,” he said. “Pretty gruesome. Just as sick as people who get their kicks out of watching animals shred one another to death. Very messed up.” He turned to her and grinned. “Watching them in a farmyard, though. Can’t say I don’t enjoy a bit of testosterone-driven courting.”

“You’re such a romantic,” she said.

He ignored the sarcasm. “Regardless, it’s against the law, and so is the gambling that goes along with it.” He looked over toward the group of people who had been assembled for questioning. “Looks like at least three underage kids in