"Sitz!" I meet the dog’s brown eyes, unwavering, and she obeys my command and sits. "Achtung!" He commands, and the dog jumps to its feet, its eyes riveted on me. Unless you're snorting baby powder over there." "And it looks to me like you might not want the cops here. "No, but we work with them and could have them here in about ten minutes if you don't cooperate," Tanner says. "You the fuckin' cops?" He steps back, almost tripping over one of the several beer bottles on the stained carpet. They're fucking gnarly terrors, man, and they go for a few grand if you're serious." We got puppies you can train yourself or we got experienced dogs that will fight to the death and win every ring. "How much you asking for a fighter?" Tanner asks, lighting up a cigar. His eyes shift from me to my boys and it's evident he's not sure he can trust us. You lookin' to buy or to bet? Shit goes down on Friday and Saturday." The guy nods, and his suspicious expression shows he's not quite sure how he wants to react to us. "We heard you have fighting dogs." Tanner says, moving to my right. She has no visible scars, so she's most likely a pet or a guard dog. A fawn pit bull is sitting beside the ratty mustard yellow couch, watching our every move. I've already noticed the white lines on the coffee table, the pill bottles, and the drug paraphernalia littering the house.
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