Mr. Floyd grunted. He turned back to the table.
“Did he get bit?”
“I couldn’t really see,” Topher said. “It tried, but I think Zorn got there before it got a chance.”
Mr. Floyd grunted again. He shot a look at Zorn.
“You were closer. You saw it bite him, right?”
Zorn shook his head.
“No, no bite.”
“’Course it did! You seen it. Bit him right there on his shoulder.”
“No, I didn’t. It was slashing at him with its claws, but it didn’t bite him.”
“Bullshit.”
“I saw it happen, Mr. Floyd. He wasn’t bitten.”
The old man squinted at him, waiting for him to change his story, or modify it even in the slightest. When that didn’t happen, he said, “Okay. So he’s not one of mine.” He nodded at Topher. “You. Hand me that bottle over there.”
Topher looked around him. There were at least a doze
