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It had been only a small step from getting the idea to organizing things properly. He creamed off sixty per cent of the take for himself. The rest was used to pay back bets and give the winning dog owner a few bob. Ferguson had two animals of his own, but he would not unleash them in this arena until he felt the time was right. He’d bred them himself, mating a dog with a bitch from a litter which the dog itself had fathered. This incestuous inter-breeding had spawned another litter of six, four of which had been blind or deformed. Those were useless to Ferguson and he’d taken them straight from their mother, still dripping from the womb, and drowned them in a bucket of water. The other two, though, were savage beyond belief and, as such, perfect for his needs. He kept them in cages in the cellar of his house, feeding them on the best meat he could afford. Training them. Moulding them into perfect killing machines. Soon they would be ready and then he’d clean up with side-bets.
    As Ferguson stood in the middle of the barn the spectators scuttled to find the best vantage points. Hay bales not used to construct the fighting area itself were hurriedly employed as seats and a hush descended as Regis and Hardy led their dogs forward.
    As they drew closer to each other, the two animals began snarling and straining in their eagerness to fight. Both men removed the restraining muzzles and a cacophony of loud barking filled the barn.
    ‘Let them go,’ said Ferguson, quietly.
    As the collars were tugged free the dogs hurled themselves at each other, all their pent-up fury now finding vent.
    Ferguson, Regis and Hardy vaulted to safety behind the low barrier of hay bales and turned to watch as the two animals locked jaws.
    The sound of barking was replaced by a succession of snarls and growls of anger and pain.
    The brindle dog gripped the black terrier’s bottom jaw and pulled, tearing away a long sliver of skin from its lower lip, but the larger animal pulled loose and lunged at its opponent’s head. It snapped off the end of one ear as easily as shears cutting through grass, and the taste of blood seemed to inflame it even more. Like two steam trains crashing head-on the dogs smashed into one another again, and this time the smaller dog succeeded in fastening its jaws on the other’s shoulder. Its powerful neck muscles tensed as it pulled the black dog down, ripping a sizeable chunk of skin and fur free. Blood burst from the wound and the larger dog drew back slightly. But the respite was short. The two dogs locked jaws once more, scrabbling with their paws to get a grip on the slippery ground. There was a loud crack as the brindle dog broke a tooth.
    Ferguson rolled a cigarette as he watched, apparently oblivious to the shouts of the other men. The thick roll of notes nestled comfortably in his trouser pocket. He lit up the cigarette and drew on it.
    The black terrier lunged forward and managed to bury its powerful canine teeth in the back leg of its opponent, but in so doing it exposed its own sleek side to attack and the other animal was not slow to respond. It fastened its jaws firmly into the bigger dog and began shaking its head back and forth.
    Blood from both animals began to fly through the air and the ground beneath them turned crimson.
    Vic Regis grunted indignantly as several hot red droplets splashed his face. He hurriedly wiped them away.
    The brindle terrier drew back an inch or two and then bit down even harder, chewing into the side of its opponent, causing it to loosen its grip. But the bigger dog struck at the other animal’s head. Its despairing lunge caught the brindle below an eye, one razor-sharp tooth gouging up through the eyeball, almost ripping it from the fleshy socket. Both dogs drew back and Rob Hardy cursed as he saw a gleaming fragment of bone sticking through the pulped and torn mess that was his dog’s side. Each time it exhaled a dribble of thick red foam spilled from its