Excerpt from Honky Tonk Samurai by Joe R. Lansdale, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Apologize to the dog?"

"Yeah, apologize."

"I'm not apologizing to any goddamn dog."

"I would if I were you," I said. "He means it."

"Fuck you. She's my dog."

"Not anymore," I said.

Leonard crossed the yard then. He moved swiftly. It was like those old Dracula movies when the vampire glides over the earth with the ease of a windblown mist. The man let go of the dog's leash. The dog, a young German shepherd mix, maybe a year old at the most, remained cowed. I hated to see that. I loved dogs. I loved animals. People I'm a little more mixed on, so I didn't hate what was about to happen to the asshole in the yard, though I had to consider the cops might take a different view if the guy lived long enough and was strong enough to call them. Or maybe some neighbor looking out the window had already given them a call. Probably filming the whole thing on a cell phone.

The man put his hands up, clenched his fists in what he thought was a boxing position.

Shit, I could tell from the way he stood this wasn't even going to be a good fight.

Leonard didn't even put his hands up, just walked right up to the guy. The man threw a haymaker so slow and cumbersome we could have damn near driven home, had a cup of coffee, and come back before it landed.

It didn't.

Leonard looped his arm over the strike as he stepped in, most of the guy's force going around Leonard's back, the arm itself trapped to Leonard's side. Leonard lunged forward and shot out a palm that caught the guy in the nose and knocked him to the ground, or as close to that as he could get with Leonard still clutching his arm, partially lifting the guy's side off the ground.

The dog started to slink off on its belly like a soldier crawling in high grass. I went over and took the dog's leash. When I did the dog winced.

"It's okay, doggie," I said. "Uncle Leonard is kicking the bad man's ass."

By this time Leonard had let go of the man's arm and was kicking him sharply in the ribs, way that bastard had done the dog.

"How you like it?" Leonard said. "Enjoying that, asshole? Bark for me, cocksucker."

The guy didn't seem to be enjoying it. He started yelling, not barking. Hell, the dog had only yelped a little, this guy, you'd have thought was taking a real beating. And for him, I guess he was. Leonard actually seemed a little altruistic, I thought, considering it was all about animal mistreatment. Maybe he was getting old. Though actually he hadn't had much breakfast, so it might have just been his blood sugar was down.

After a bit, I guess Leonard got tired, because he quit kicking the guy, bent down, and retied his shoe, the string having come loose. When that was done I thought he'd go back to it, but he didn't.

The man, not learning his lesson, his face covered in blood from his nose to his chin, said, "That's assault, nigger."

"Couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?" I said.

Leonard had already grabbed him by the ears and was picking him up just enough to knee him in the face. Blood went everywhere, and the guy lay on the grass without moving. I hoped he had fallen in dog turds. I thought I saw one of his teeth gleaming wetly in the grass, like a cheap Cracker Jack prize.

Leonard came over to pet the dog. The dog let him. The dog seemed to know we were on her side. Leonard said to the dog, "When he wakes up I'll get him to apologize and maybe lick your ass."

"You didn't kill him, did you?" I asked.

"No, but I wanted to."

"Well, yeah," I said. "Me, too. But maybe it's best not to."

Reckon so," Leonard said. "Still, not nearly as satisfying. Goddamn, what's that smell?"

Excerpted from Honky Tonk Samurai by Joe R Lansdale. Copyright © 2016 by Joe R Lansdale. Excerpted by permission of Mulholland. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.