The Waiting Game
by Gef Fox
I hate dogs. I never liked them before, but tonight it's official: I f---ing hate dogs.
He isn't even mine. Some kind of bulldog--ugly as s--- too--that Marty won at a card game. Marty should out here walking this thing up and down the beach. But no, I've gotta do it.
Why Marty even kept it after he won it, I'll never know. He's never owned a dog before. Hell, he can barely take care of himself. If he wasn't so good with locks, Chaz and I wouldn't even need him.
Why the hell didn't Chaz put his foot down and tell him to leave the dog when we picked Marty up? We're just lucky it didn't start barking up a storm when he hit that old man's house.
This wouldn't even be an issue if they hadn't gone back in to grab that damned flatscreen. They dump the loot in the backseat and say they'll be right back, meanwhile I'm sweating bullets behind the wheel just waiting for the cops to roll by.
And since when does a dog eat jewelry? Did he think it was puppy chow?
I didn't even know a dog did that kind of thing. And the balls on Marty to say I pocketed the jewels while they went back inside. Now, just to prove myself, I have to--God, I hate dogs!
How long does it take for a dog to s--- twenty grand worth of diamonds anyway?