Packs came up, Bernie says. I ran with a pack once. This was before Bernie, before Mesquite Road and the Little Detective Agency, but after the crack house. That was a bad time, my earliest days in a crack house with gangbangers and perps. I didn’t even have a name back then, can you believe it? One day I escaped – that was the first time I discovered the kind of leaper I was. This one huge guy chased me down a dusty alley, waving a machete. I’d felt the flat side of machetes plenty of times. Anyway I got away. A race between me – even back then, not fully grown – and any human isn’t really fair. I got away, yes, but was completely lost right from the get-go on account of I’d never been out of the crack house except to do my business in the awful back yard. Lost, and sniffing around the worst part of town: that was when I met up with the pack. But Bernie’s spinning the dial on the safe right now, meaning some kind of weapon is coming out, and we’re off.
More on the pack tomorrow. I won’t forget.
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