The cop car was rolling down the alley, its searchlight cast on the yard adjacent to the Barlows’. Dan scooted toward the chain link, hopped it in a loud jangle, and made his break for it, darting across the alley in front of the cop car. The spotlight followed, and he was now in a dead sprint as the cruiser pulled up behind him. He booked it around the side of the house, almost tripping on the knotted roots of an unpruned peach tree growing sideways and south.

Around the corner, Dan veered left and stayed low as he scurried across several front lawns. There was a streetlight at the end of the block, which he avoided as he cut across. He looked over his shoulder—there was no spotlight following him yet. He kept running, hugging the hedges of the fancy houses and looking for another cut-through. Another block or two and I’ll be clear.

And just then, the patrol car came roaring around the corner, full cherries lit. Dan ducked into the nearest side yard and hopped another fence. He wanted to hunker down, but something was moving in the backyard. Footsteps—no, it was something rushing toward him, huffing, panting.

Shit.

It was a dog, but not just any dog—a fucking red-eyed Rottweiler was on its hump careening straight toward him. Dan froze. The beast had him cornered. I’m so dead. The dog launched itself at Dan, who at the last second rolled to the side. The dog went flying and let out a bloodcurdling yelp as it slammed jaws-first into the fence. Dan took off across the yard as the dog shook off its concussion and growled. Now it was really riled. Dan sprinted ten steps and—Goddamn it—he almost went straight into a pool, which he tightroped and tiptoed around. The demon dog was back on his tail, barking. The patio lights went on, which were sure to draw the cops’ attention. He hopped the next fence in two adrenalined steps and flew over onto the canvas cover of a Mercedes coupe. The car alarm went off, the Rottweiler howling while trying to hurdle the fence, and all the lights in the house went on. All Dan needed to make more noise was a spoon and a pot to bang on. The cops pulled up to the driveway of the house, and Dan rolled off the car and ran down the alley, back against the direction they were coming. Four doors down he found another yard without a fence and kept going, cutting over again and again until he was five or six blocks away. There he found a big ball of maiden grass and he rolled behind it, nearly hyperventilating, nearly vomiting. He wiped what felt like slobber from the dog off his face. It was that close.