Scars (Part II of J.H. White's Puss in Boots)

Chapter Eleven: Den of Dogs

"So, O, where is the machine?"

The robot turned its mechanical head and stared at him.

"The machine is located in Barcelona; in the house of Mr. Alan Trudam." Puss swore. Alan Trudam was notorious in the thief community. A dog that had started out with small burglaries, and then moved on to larger, more dangerous jobs. Gold reserves. Stealing diamonds from palaces. Assassinations. Now, he was neck deep in pesos, women, and fame, throwing money away like it was trash.

Another thing about Alan, he never got caught. If the police surrounded him, he would kill them all in the blink of an eye. He was especially partial to killing people in nasty ways. If he was killing a crime boss, the victim's wife would wake up and find her husband's bloody torso lying next to her. A prince? There usually wasn't enough of the man left for the policía to find.

Puss shuddered. Walking into this mutt's house uninvited would be a suicide mission. Hopefully it was just him. Because if he had his friends around, they were royally screwed.

It was just a few more miles to Barcelona. Puss had a reputation of fearing nothing, but now he was becoming increasingly worried. Don't be stupid, Puss told himself. You are Puss in Boots, and we're doing this for Kitty.

For Kitty.

Before Puss knew it, they had arrived in the city of Barcelona. O interrupted Puss' thoughts yet again. "Be prepared. This isn't going to be easy."

Puss looked back at him as he drew his sword. "Yeah, no kidding."

****

Puss was filled with dread as soon as they stepped into the pitch black town square. It was too quiet for Puss' liking. Way too quiet. Suddenly, Latino music blared from what sounded like only twenty blocks away.

"Mr. Trudam's residence is the source of the music," O said.

Puss stared into the darkness. "Let's go." They arrived at Trudam's house two minutes later, and they got stopped by a bodyguard at the door.

"I'm going to need to see some ID from you two," he said gruffly.

O shot him in the head and Puss looked at him irritably.

"I am sorry, Señor Puss. I couldn't resist." Puss groaned as they opened the door and were instantly blinded by neon lights and the silhouettes of dancers.

"Don't draw any attention to yourself," Puss whispered. "If Trudam knows why we're here, he'll execute me and sell you to the scrapyard."

"Noted," O responded. They slowly walked through the bustling crowd when somebody spilled leche on Puss.

"Sorry about that, hermano," a scruffy male cat slurred drunkenly.

Puss drew his sword, throwing aside what he had said to O. "Out of my way."

In response, the intoxicated guy pulled out a handgun and blasted a hole in the floor. His goofy drunk tone was gone when he said, "Do we have a problem here?"

Puss, trying to be as discreet as possible about it, gored him and he fell, cracking his skull on the porcelain floor. Puss hoped nobody had seen, and he whispered to the cat, "Now we don't."

They continued through the swarm of dogs, cats, and all kinds of other animals and creatures committing all sorts of debauchery until they saw him, surrounded by beautiful women, sipping wine from a goblet.

Trudam.

He saw Puss and stopped flirting with the females. "Puss in Boots. What brings you here?" Alan said, adapting a false benevolent role. Puss growled.

"Cut the mierda, Trudam. We're here for your time machine, so hand it over and there won't be any trouble here."

Trudam stood up from his throne of sorts, walked over to Puss, and got up in his face.

"Let me tell you something, amigo. You're not welcome here, and I would rather have my cojones cut off than hand that machine over to you of all people."

Puss hissed at him. "Well, then myself and my comrade here will have no choice but to rip you and your guests to shreds." Trudam smiled.

"Are you sure about that?" Trudam leaned in closer and whispered.

"I have an army of my brethren in the crowd ready to attack at any second. You think you have the upper hand here, Puss? You are garbage."

Puss was infuriated, but that was when he felt a sinister chill ride down his spine. He could feel them approaching. The dogs.

He turned around on instinct and cut one of them to pieces with his sword, splattering red all over himself and the party's guests.

Trudam turned a shade of purple. "ATTACK!" he shouted into the crowd, and on cue dozens of mutts and assassins moved out of the chaos, knives and firearms at the ready. Puss cursed loudly.

Puss spun around, surveying the attackers, trying to calculate in his head if he and O could take all of them on. These were mostly trained mercenaries, but on the other hand, O had a lot of firepower.

Before Puss had time to strike, Trudam kicked him in the side of the head and sent him flying into the hoard of dogs. They started stabbing at him and throwing punches, but then Trudam motioned for them to stop, taking one of their guns.

He stood over Puss. "Back off. You can have the robot; I'm putting a bullet in this one's head myself." He cocked the gun and aimed it between Puss' eyes.

"I'm going to enjoy this," he said sneering.

Then he and every other dog in the room were shredded to pieces by gunfire.