Herrera couldn't even begin to count the wasted hours he'd spent in this neighborhood. The high-tech security systems in these houses went off whenever some damn rodent ran across a floor or a lightning storm came too close.

He keyed his handheld radio, reported he would be on foot at the Terrell residence, and climbed over the four-foot gate. A snarling dog came out of nowhere. Before Herrera could retreat, it nipped hard at his leg. He shook it free, his trousers tearing as the dog let go. The mutt backed up, snarled again, and started another run at him. Herrera squirted it with pepper spray and scrambled back over the gate. The dog yelped, went prone, whined, and started working both paws at its eyes, trying to clear out the spray.

Herrera looked down at his leg and lifted the torn flap of fabric. His skin had been broken by the animal's teeth. He decided he hated fucking dogs and thought about shooting this one, but instead called for animal control.

The dog had wandered off by the time Matt Garcia, the animal control officer, arrived. After getting his snare from the truck, he looked at Herrera's leg. The puncture wound wasn't deep and the blood had stopped running.

Garcia raised his eyes to Cloudy's pinched, sour-looking face.

"What breed of dog was it?" he asked.

"How the hell should I know?" Herrera said.

"Big, about sixty pounds. At least knee high. Short hair. Black with a white chest. It just looked like an ugly mutt."

"You better hope I find it, and it has a current rabies vaccination,"

Garcia said.

"Otherwise, you're not gonna like what happens next."

"I don't want to hear that shit," Herrera said with a worried glance at his leg.