“It’s like the Wild West around here.”
It’s only mid-December. Things are only getting started.
He latched the dogs to the fence just outside the deli as he had done hundreds of times over the past five years. Small store, easy to keep an eye on them.
The man he’d never seen before, about 5’8″, 40s, reddish hair, some of which was on his face. He waltzed in. He spoke with authority.
“These your dogs out here?”
“Come with me.”
The two went outside. The dogs were there, wearing additional protection from the cold.
“Where’d you get these dogs?”
“Rescue. This one was on deathrow in Kentucky. Found her online. They shipped her up here with another dog in a horse trailer.”
“These dogs…look well taken care of…”
No s***, Sherlock.
“Know what I am?”
Wonder why there was no badge… Still possible, but also doubtful.
“The Mayor’s office has made some new rules… No leaving dogs unattended in public.”
He had heard a rumor less than a week before. Wall Streeters were gambling online for dog fights. The people running the fights were using semi trailers, cameras and Internet feed. Since the game kept moving, it was difficult or impossible for LEOs to catch them. The gamblers could watch on their computer screens and not even be present in case of a bust.
He wasn’t sure he believed it. People talked s***, he knew, but the coming months would show him just how powerful that could be.
“These dogs look well taken care of!”
“Yes, they are.”
Why did he expect otherwise?
Attempt to rattle and undermine. A gentle headf***ing based on some phony report of involvement in dogfighting.
And, of course, more waste. Proof that these people don’t give a goddamn about anything but money and power. The common defense and domestic tranquility? They don’t care at all.
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