Disclaimer: I do not own All Dogs Go to Heaven or any part of it. Ownership of the characters, plots, etc. belong to MGM, if I recall correctly. However, the fan character Keith Wiles does indeed belong to me; do not use him without permission.

An All Dogs Go To Heaven Fanfiction

A Soul's Price

Chapter 1: Bloodshed

The skies above rained as if a host of angels were weeping down onto the earth above the skies of San Francisco. They would have good reason to, for the ground below them was stained in blood.

Keith stood, his master's dagger gripped in his paw, his paw and blade of knife covered in the blood of his victims. He was a German Shepard mixed with a Siberian Husky, but he was anthropomorphic enough that he could use one of the toes on his front paws like an opposable thumb. Many of the dogs in that world, so similar to our own world, could.

On the ground lay dead a pair of mastiffs. Their throats were not slit, but rather impaled; the knife which Keith had drawn was a stiletto, made especially for piercing. It was the favorite weapon of his master, who collected knives and other weapons as a hobby.

The dog had a black eye; he nearly lost it from the brutal punch of one of the mastiff's brass knuckles. Along with the black eye he also had a couple of welts and even managed to get cut by the other mastiff's cheap, 99-cent pocketknife.

The mutt bared his teeth and grinned at the dead dog, the pocketknife still clenched in its jaws. "Seems the better blade one, you mugger bastard".

The pitter-patter of the rain was silenced by clapping. To a human, it may seem as though it came from nowhere. But Keith was not a human; being a dog, his acute hearing told him the clapping came from further up the alleyway where the dog-slaughter had taken place.

"Nice job, pup", said the voice. Attached to the voice was of course the one who owned it, who walked out on all fours. Keith could have almost sworn that the creature's eyes were glowing for a brief moment. He shut his eyes and shook his head, looking over the voice's owner.

The dog walking out from the alley's darkness was a Pit Bull-Bulldog mix. He wore a purple shirt and a black vest. Clenched in his chops was a lit cigar, smoke billowing up from it.

"Hey, bub", said Keith. "You just happen to be too lazy to help me in that fight, or too chicken?"

The stocky cigar smoker grinned. "What if I told you I wanted to see the legend in the zone, in his prime? Ain't you that one do-gooder, Keith Wiles?"

"And if I am?"

"Then, I have a business proposition for ya"

Keith stared the Pit Bull-Bulldog down. His guard still up after the bloodshed, he warily sat up on his haunches and slowly, coolly gripped a red handkerchief he kept on his belt and wiped the blood off his master's blade with it. The handkerchief was wrapped around the right side of his belt, and Keith slid the bloody stiletto across it akin to a samurai cleaning his katana on its scabbard's cloth.

"Oh yeah? And, if I, for instance, was this Keith pup, just what would you want from me?"

"A chance to avenge your daddy, of course".

Keith dropped his dagger, the antique steel hitting the pavement below him. "What did you just say?!" he blurted.

"Easy, easy", said the stocky mutt. "By the way. Name's Carface. Nice ta meetcha, kid"

Keith grit and bared his teeth, growling with the rage of a provoked bear. Just how did this dog from nowhere know about his father? His father had died in New Orleans. He used to be a police dog, but off-duty was knifed. Keith had suspected it was a human, but of course, he back then didn't know how to brandish a blade, and didn't know a dog could at all.

"How on earth did you manage to learn about my dad?" snarled Keith.

"Let's just say", Carface spoke with a sly smirk, "I have my ways. Anyway, kid, I don't have a lot of time so let's get something straight. If you want to avenge your dad, you'll do exactly as I say. Otherwise, I ain't telling you a blasted thing, got it, bub?"

"Fine by me", said Keith, leaning over to pick up his stiletto. "Okay, pal, I think I'll trust ya for now. Who knows what friends you have in high places to know… that about me? My gut tells me this is an offer I can't refuse, ya dig? But let's get something ELSE straight".

Keith walked slowly over to Carface, his dagger clenched tight in his paw. "You may call the shots, but if you force me into something I don't find couth, I'm out of whatever it is you want like a bat outta hell, understood? No one and I mean NO ONE screws with Keith Gabriel Wiles and gets away with it"

"Woah woah WOAH, Keith", said Carface. "Who said I wanted anything from you? And if I were you I'd watch you mouth around the likes of Carface Carruthers". In a flash Carface drew from a pocket in his vest a rusty old switchblade and held it against Keith's throat. The German Shepard-Husky mutt knew he didn't have the reflexes to try and jam the knife into Carface's guts before his own neck would be slit. Keith immediately became submissive, whining a bit.

"Okay, okay", he mumbled, shivering, knowing death was only the slide of the rusted blade away. "Can we agree on something? I do as you say, but you don't own me? Ya dig, dog?"

Carface grinned, using his other front paw to remove his cigar and blowing a smoke ring in Keith's face. The cigar smoke smelt awful, and the stiletto wielding mix breed gagged. "I dig just fine, thanks". He removed the jack knife from Keith's shaggy neck and pushed him back.

Keith landed on his rear hard, splashing in a puddle behind him. "So", he said, sheathing his dagger, "Who's the dead creep who offed my dad?"

Carface chuckled to himself, and he wrapped his lips around the words he spoke: "Charlie B. Barkin"