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Vivaldi looked up from his reverie. "What?"
"I said, you are bringing us more problems than we want to deal with right now," said Little Friend. "That explosion nearly killed several ov our members and we've got a lot of widdle to clean up"
"Well excuse me for exposing a nazi spy inthe midst of your organization! I could just go back to Panama City and let the dogs of war, so to speak, just run right over your littel enclave here." If he'd had his wish, that would have been the case, right now.
Little Friend was sitting on the back of an old couch, looking over the abandoned lot where the Chihuahua Cartel had its crib. There were so many small, nearly hairless dogs lounging around that Vivaldi couldn't count them all. Some were looking at him and growling. He was pretty certain that, individually, these were the kinds of dog fights he preferred to be in. But as they say, it's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the number of friends of similar size he can bring along with him.
"I guess we need to find the American Lady and warn her, along with the Taxi Boss. Although I'm pretty certain they can handle temselves."
"Yeah, that's a good idea, too," said Vivaldi, who was really just looking for a way to keep his own skin intact.
At that moment, a low, throaty growl was heard coming from the back of a pile of old tennis shoes. The pile burst into it's component pieces and there was Slite, foam dripping from his mouth. He was obviously a mad dog.
"VIVALDI! Come here!"
Vivaldi just barely stopped himself from slinking over to the Bernese. He was not so lucky with his bladder control.
"You're going to have to get through us, Big Dog!" said Little Friend, "Get him!"
Fifty chihuahuas launched themselves at the huge dog.
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