Free Apocalypse Cow by Michael Logan Page B

wouldn’t have been smoking furtively in a seedy alleyway and worrying about whether he was having the piss taken out of him. He would have bagged the story or kicked Colin in the balls. Probably both. She imagined her father in his study full of journalism awards, which he had the maid from the slums of Mombasa polish each day so they gleamed, like his reputation, with a phone stuck to his ear and his lips kinked downward in disappointment.
    To hell with it
, she thought.
Let’s do it
.
    Lesley threw her cigarette to the ground with the intention of grinding it out purposefully. It rolled away from her. In her hurry to stamp it out, she brought her foot squelching down on the condom, which she then had to scrape off on the step before hurrying back into the office.
    Alexandra stuck her head out of her sanctum as she passed. ‘Lesley, do you have a second? I’ve got an assignment for you.’
    ‘I’m just about to head out to chase up on something,’ Lesley said.
    ‘Really? What exactly?’
    Lesley didn’t reply.
    Alexandra sighed. ‘Let’s not make this more awkward than it has to be.’
    ‘Fine. What do you want me to do?’
    ‘A puppy attacked a wee girl at a cat and dog home near Bearsden.’
    ‘A puppy?’
    ‘A poodle puppy, no less. The pound’s only a few miles away from the abattoir, so I need you to check it out in case it’s linked. I emailed you the address. Oh, and go to the Western Infirmary as well. The girl was taken there. If there isn’t an abattoir connection, we can run it as a curiosity piece.’
    While this was exactly the kind of shitty job that normally drove Lesley into alternating fits of despair and apoplexy, she was grateful for the task. It gave her the chance to check out the facility without having to cook up an excuse. Maybe things were starting to go her way. Alexandra withdrew into her office, leaving Lesley to return to her desk for the address and to collect her camera and other paraphernalia.
    ‘Make sure you get some good quotes from the poodle,’ Colin called as she headed for the exit.
    She held a single digit aloft over her shoulder and marched out of the door.
     
    Lesley heard the pound before she saw it. The building was tucked behind a run-down and largely disused industrial estate, but the barking and yelping carried as far as the two oddly grandiose stone columns that flanked the estate’s entrance. The combined smell of piss, shit and wet dog hit her when she parked. She lit a cigarette and sat in the car for a few minutes, steeling herself for the coming olfactory assault.
    At least the visit with the little girl had been short. She was all blonde curls and big brown eyes, although her cuteness was reduced somewhat by the teeth marks in her swollen nose. Once Lesley had finished asking a few desultory questions and taking some pictures, the girl asked her to make sure the poodle wasn’t put down. Lesley had promised to do what she could, thinking she would happily kick every yappy dog in Scotland to death.
    Once the cigarette was reduced to a lonely filter, Lesley headed over to the metal gate leading into the pound and rang the bell. The chorus of barks grew louder.
    A thin young man with bedraggled hair and bad teeth opened the gate.
    ‘You from animal health?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes,’ she lied brazenly, extending her hand. ‘Agnes.’
    ‘Carlo.’
    ‘What exactly is the problem?’ she asked quickly, moving the conversation on in case he asked for ID. ‘The poodle thing seems pretty minor.’
    ‘There’s more to it. Let me show you.’
    He ushered Lesley in, and then stood aside to let her precede him through an internal door into chaos. Metal cages flanked the walkway that stretched out before her, each one containing a howling, snapping dog. A sausage dog in the first cage flung itself at the metal grille, only to bounce off. It growled then relaunched, blood spraying from its snout as it hit. Lesley went down on her haunches with the camera,