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Chapter 28

His lead hadn't panned out, but it would be a shame to waste the trip. "Here, doggy, doggy. Here, doggy, doggy," Glibspet called, and clapped his hands. He was stopped at the curb, with the door of the Lincoln open. He was in a residential neighborhood—fairly nice, and far enough away from the Triangle's hotspots to lack most urban paranoia. Too bad for them. He smiled.

The dog was a plump poodle, and it seemed nervous about leaving its front yard. Glibspet was taking great pains to smell like a freshly cut steak. The dog danced forward, then backwards, as though it could only hold a single imperative at a time in its one-ounce brain and kept swapping gluttony for fear. Finally, it got close enough, and Glibspet grabbed it. It let out an anguished yip, shrill enough to shatter glass; then Glibspet stuffed it in his sack and slammed the car door.

"Hey!" There was a yell from the house as Glibspet gunned the Lincoln. A fat woman stood on the porch, shrieking after him. He turned the corner and she disappeared from his rearview mirror. The heavy sack on the passenger's seat gave a whine of terror, and Glibspet grinned. Life was good on Earth.

 

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Framed