“Give it back!” screamed the Mexican, voice hoarse with excitement and smoke. “You damned rat bastard, give it back!”
My hands were gripping desperately to the rocking horse; sure as shit I was not going to be giving it back. If I gave it back, what would stop me from falling? Above me, Fat Steve clung on to the head of the horse. Behind him, Chang and Jim and the others heaved on Fat Steve, trying to pull us all onto the roof.
The bulldog growled and sunk her teeth further into my behind.
In the distance, cop cars wailed, getting closer.
How the hell had I gotten into this mess?