Shaw was closing in on the puppy. He was lifting one tiny leg to spray the flowers.

“Shaw?”

“Mmmhmm?”

“It sounds like you’re outside.”

The puppy raised his head. He looked around.

“Shaw?”

“Uh huh,” Shaw said quietly.

“It sounds like you’re out of breath.”

Ten yards. The puppy stared at Shaw. Cocked his little head.

“Shaw, are you still there?”

“Yes,” whispered Shaw.

“Why does it sound like you’re out of breath?”

“I’m in terrible shape.”

The silence on the other end of the call was electric. “You know what I think?”

Five yards. Shaw was pretty sure he could jump and tackle the dog, but he thought he might hurt him. He just needed to get a little closer.

“Shaw?”

“You know, with string theory, multiple universes, quark variance, it’s impossible to really know what you’re thinking.”

“I’ll tell you.” The words were clipped. Controlled. “I’m thinking that you let the puppy outside without a leash.”

“No.”

“Against my explicit directions.”

“I’d never do something like that.” Shaw took a careful step. Five feet. Maybe six.

“I think you might have had the brilliant idea that leashes are an anthropocentric construct. I think you might have decided that dogs don’t really need leashes. They’re animals. They have finely honed instincts. I think you figured the dog would actually be better off without a leash.”

“That’s silly,” Shaw said. Three feet.

The puppy’s ear twitched.

“Shaw, so help you God, if you lost my dog—”

“Your dog.”

“If you lost the dog—”

Shaw bent down. Slowly. Carefully.

The puppy shot off.

“Mother of fuck!”

“Shaw? What the hell is happening, Shaw?”

“I stubbed my toe,” Shaw shouted. “Gotta go.”

Disconnecting the call, he took off after the dog.

4

THE NEXT TIME SHAW got involved in a high-speed pursuit, he was going to bring water. He jogged after the puppy. The October day didn’t feel as crisp anymore. Everything smelled like Shaw’s sweat—no more aroma of pizza. The leaves were ugly, brown, squishy death traps, sliding out from under Shaw every time he took a step. And the puppy just kept trotting along, staying a good hundred yards ahead of Shaw no matter how Shaw raced to catch up.

For the moment, they were still moving along the quiet, tree-lined residential streets of Southampton. But if the puppy went too far, they’d run into a major road. Shaw had a vision of the lunatic dog rushing into the middle of traffic. Boom. Splat. North would probably throw Shaw off the Eades Bridge as punishment.

So Shaw jogged a little faster.

His phone began to ring again. It was North again. The fourth call, actually. Shaw ignored it. Again.