Meanwhile, Wilson Kramer, the retired Navy SEAL, was visiting the Smoky Lake Police Department--which, including the Chief of Police and two office workers, employed exactly twenty-three persons. The Chief of Police, Tomas Costamesa, was the man Wilson was here to see.
It was about the Rottweiler which Wilson had been forced to kill to save a neighborhood teenager.
"Thanks to the big-time laboratory boys, we got the animal ID'd," said Tomas, "and yes, it _was_ the one that was used in those attack-dog-as-weapon robberies up in Richmond. We think that the owner had an 'inspiration' for getting rid of evidence: turn the dog loose without tags or a microchip in a small town, count on it to get killed, and assume that us country hicks won't know how to trace it."
Wilson frowned thoughtfully. "Is the drop-off of an inconvenient Rotter the _only_ reason for a city crook to wander our way, do you think?"
"Could be. But we both know that urban gangs like to use smaller towns as hideouts to get away from urban cops...and places to recruit new members who have no record in the city." Tomas drew a deep breath. "I'm glad you had a weapon to use on the Rotter. But remember, you _have_ a lawful concealed-carry permit. I think it's time you _started_ carrying again, full-time; I couldn't find a civilian who's _more_ careful and responsible with firearms than you are, and--these days, with the Mara Salvatrucha gang running wild on the East Coast, you never know what might happen."