Its claws would make a mess of the paintwork, though, and there was no saying it couldn’t bite right through the metal.
And it could definitely bite through foam padding and fake fur, regardless of what Tyler had managed to tell himself.
Standing his ground in the face of this wild beast was dangerous, though.
Standing his ground was madness, in fact.
“Boss, hurry! Get in, I’ll hold him off.”
The snarling missile streaked towards them, its barking so frenzied now that its eyes were threatening to pop right out of their sockets. It had seen Tyler, but had clearly decided that the best course of action was to completely ignore him.
An animal after Logan’s own heart.
Actually, given the look on the fucking thing’s face, and the size of its teeth, it might literally have been after his heart. But, there was no backing down now. No chickening out. Showing fear would only make the situation worse.
Which, considering how bad it was already shaping up to be, didn’t bear thinking about.
Logan stood tall, his feet planted. He stared the dog down as it chewed up the ground between them, its jaws slavering and snapping. The fur on the back of its neck was standing so tall it looked like someone had given the animal a Mohican.
It was ten feet away now. Eight. Five.
Tyler’s nerve went. He pulled open the back door of the car, and tried to climb in, but the cumbersome suit meant he ended up wedged in the doorway with his big furry backside presented like a delicious banquet.
“Shite, shite, not my arse! Not my arse!” he wailed from beneath the headpiece, twisting to give himself a view of the approaching beast.
But his arse remained untroubled. The dog was fixated on Logan. Its hind legs kicked, propelling it into the air as it launched its attack on the DCI.
There was a hand movement. It was fast, but through the fogged-up plastic lenses of Dinny the Drink-Driving Squirrel, it looked slow, deliberate, and calculated.
There was a yelp as Logan’s enormous hand clamped around the dog’s throat, jerking it to a stop in mid-flight. This was followed by a second louder yelp a moment later when the animal was slammed, back-first, onto the ground and pinned there.
“Get down!” he bellowed, staring into the dog’s bulbous, bloodshot eyes. He grabbed its collar to give him a better hold as it wriggled and thrashed beneath him, “And you can cut that shite out right now,” he warned it.
With his free hand, he fished in his pocket and produced a small handful of dog treats. He held them out to the mutt, his hand flat so his fingers were safely out of reach of its teeth, then nodded approvingly as it scoffed them down.
“There. See? Was there any need to throw a paddy like that? It’s not a problem.”
He let the dog sniff at his hand for a moment, then fished out some more of the treats. This time, though, rather than let the mutt devour them all at once, he let it have just one, which was gobbled down so quickly that it was practically inhaled.
“Right, you want more? Stop being an arsehole,” Logan told the animal, his voice a kindly sing-song designed to calm and soothe the beast.
He unhooked the hand that had been pinning the dog down by the collar, and ran the back of his fingers in circles on its chest, ready to grab again should the aggression return. It turned its head, but rather than locking on his throat, its eyes went to the treats.
Logan held out another. Then, when the dog went to lunge, he pulled it away. “Gently,” he said, then he held it out again. This time, the dog slowly brought its muzzle closer, pincered the treat between its front teeth, and carefully withdrew before swallowing.
“Good boy,” Logan said.
He stood and stared off in the direction of the house, pointedly ignoring the dog. It got up, looked around for a while like it wasn’t quite sure what was going on, then it sat at his feet and—gently—accepted another treat.
“You can come out now, Tyler,” he said.
Still wedged half inside the car, Dinny the Drink-Driving Squirrel shook his head. “Nah, boss. It’s a trick.”
“What do you mean?” Logan asked.
“It’s lulling me into a false sense of security. It’ll have my leg off if I make a move. Best if I wait here.”
“Except I need you to ID this Ally Bally character if he’s here,” Logan reminded him. “So, come on. Out. It’s not going to hurt you.”
Tyler’s groaning echoed around inside the headpiece of the costume.
“Right. OK. Fine. I’m coming out,” he announced.
He started to wriggle backwards out of the car.
The dog growled, showing its teeth.
Tyler stopped moving again.
“See? It hates me.”
“Maybe if you weren’t dressed as a giant bloody rodent he’d be less wary of you. Anyway, pretty much everyone hates you to begin with, son,” Logan told him. “But, that’ll all change once he gets to know you, and—just like the rest of us—he’ll come to begrudgingly tolerate your existence. Now, come on, out of the car before your man in there does a runner.”
Tyler groaned and pushed the head of the costume off, revealing a face that was bright red and slicked with sweat. “I get compensation from work if this thing attacks me, don’t I?”
“Aye,” Logan confirmed. He shrugged. “Or Sinead will. It really depends on the severity of the attack.”
“You’re not helping, boss!” Tyler wailed. Then, with a deep breath, he pushed himself backwards out of the SUV.
Down on the ground, the dog rose onto all four legs, its head lowering and hackles rising.
“Sit!” Logan boomed, and Tyler’s legs gave out from under him, plonking him onto the ground. “No’ you, for fu… The dog, Tyler. I meant the dog.”
Tyler’s cheeks reddened. “Eh. Aye. I knew that, boss,” he replied. Then, trying to salvage some tiny shred of dignity, he dragged himself to his feet using one of the car’s door handles, and dusted himself down.
He stared at the dog.
The dog stared at him.
“Don’t show it you’re scared,” Logan said.
“How’m I meant to do that?!”
“Well, maybe stop crying for one thing,” Logan suggested. “And don’t stand there covering your crotch like someone’s about to take a free kick.”
“I’m not crying, boss. It’s the wind. I wasn’t expecting the wind. It’s made my eyes water,” Tyler insisted.
He cautiously removed his cartoonishly oversized hands from where they’d been cupping his groin, but kept them close by in case the dog should make its move. It seemed content just to growl suspiciously at him for the moment, though, and when Logan fed it another treat it quickly lost interest in him altogether.
“See? It’s just a dog. Nothing to worry about,” Logan said. “Do you want to pat it?”
“Do I fuck!” Tyler ejected. “I mean… No thanks, boss. I’ll pass.”
“Right. Fair enough,” Logan grunted. He turned in the direction of the house, and the dog turned with him. “Now, let’s go see if any bugger’s at home.”
“Do you, eh, do you want to help me out of this outfit first?” Tyler asked, indicating the zip at the back.
Logan sucked in his bottom lip, spat it out, then shook his head. “No,” he said. “No’ really.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN