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I didn't much like my chances with the Dirty Dozen, lupine division. I knew that once a woman is in an attacker's vehicle, her survival chances plummet to less than zero. I figured I'd be better off eaten or offed than driven away.I h-h-heard about h-h-her, one underling muttered through his fangs. All those overgrown teeth didn't do much for stage diction.She worth something? To who?Aw, those porn movie and snuff film guys. Even some amateur freakos. Big-money collectors. Whole bunch of, you know, people with money.I waited. Maybe rabbits had the best idea. Freeze, then run like hell. 'Course, they didn't survive too long and had to reproduce very soon and fast, at which I was lamentably behind.The leader of the pack twisted his clawed, hairy hands... paws... on the Harley handlebars, revving his bike until it bucked to be off and running down something.Like me.I eyed my feet. I was wearing my meeting-Ric-in-the-park spike-heeled slides. Not great for rabbiting in. I wondered if my maybe-prince would eventually dowse my body up from some desert wasteland.Meanwhile, Dog was trouncing the inside of my Caddy, to no avail.What's that racket? Leader demanded of his minions.A domestic slave.Worthless. Balls of a wombat.It seemed to me that Dog was getting really, really riled, but I'd locked him in and unless he could develop an opposable thumb, we were both sucked. Maybe the shelter would notice the nice stainless steel bowls and leash that came with him when they were called in to take charge of the dog at the murder scene in the morning. At least we'd had a good, greasy last meal together...Leader was swaggering off his cycle to control or kill me, mincing a bit, because the two-footed strut just didn't go nfl jersey wholesale with his circus-dog-on-hind-legs act.I waited until he was within three feet.You worth delaying my dinner for? he was snarling when I kicked one rear foot out from under him, looped Dog's chain around his hairy neck and crossed my fists at his greasy, long-haired nape. Then I stomped his spine with my spike heel.He howled his pain and anger, impressively, and the pack was circling for the kill-me!-roaring closer and closer.I heard a crash of broken glass and glimpsed a huge shadow racing straight for the nearest Harley, which went down in a spark shower of chrome scratching pavement.Dog took them out, Mohammed Ali at his prime on four feet, snapping jaws good for snapping necks, spinning out motorcycles like ducks getting dunked in a carnival game. One by one.This supernatural quasi-human dogwatch crew was no match for a magnificent canine using all of his animal instincts unclouded by any other agenda than saving the human who'd saved his ass. Which was decidedly not wombat-balled. I resolved then and there to break the first rule of responsible animal ownership and not to fix him. Call it an emotional decision.I figured that by now he kind of owned me.Chapter FourteenThe cops came, when it was all over, in cars. Dog had taken off. The scarifying biker gang had shriveled into a dazed clot of scraped, bleeding werewolves. Apparently they'd managed to eat the Geeks, for the only victim still left standing on the site was me.I babbled a little about visiting the pet store and being accosted when I came out. A woman officer took me into the back of a cop car and got my very confused statement, giving me a card for a place where I could get counseling for victims.I'd gotten enough counseling during my orphaned childhood to give it myself, so smiled and stashed the card, collected my goods, and accepted Officer Smith as a ride-along while her partner brought up the rear.Kinda rough welcome to Las Vegas, she said as we headed out, the wind whistling through Dolly's broken window. Where was I going to get a '56 Caddy Eldorado Biarritz window replaced in Las Vegas? Not even Irma had an answer to that one. Why're you staying at the Araby?'I can't afford much until I get a job.Get outa there as soon as you can. And collect that dog you mentioned adopting from the shelter. If you'd had one with you tonight, he might have scared off those cheap punks. Maybe.Tomorrow, I said, glancing into the rearview mirror. A gray lupine shadow was pacing Dolly and the squad car. At thirty-five miles an hour.