With the envelope of cash tucked safely away into the jacket of his suit, the Penguin was satisfied. The dog's agitation grew exponentially as it began to strain against its handler's lead, letting out a sharp bark that made everyone wince.
Alan Jennings took a step closer to the Penguin, fingers wrapping around the gun holstered on his right hip. He spared a glance for the dog and its handler, voice low. "We should leave, boss," he whispered to the Penguin.
"How is the question," the Penguin replied just as softly. He looked to the handler, beady eyes glittering with danger. "Release the dog." The handler hesitated, looking down at the dog as if unsure of the command. But there was no disobeying the Penguin. As he reached down for the dog's collar, the black-and-white gangster looked around the room, voice firm yet low. "Weapons ready. We aren't alone."
The second the leash left the dog's collar, it took off. Its large paws thudded on the floor as it loped towards the back of the abandoned bar, nubby tail erect and gaze focused. 130 pounds of sinewy muscle barreled out of sight through an open doorway, intent on finding its prey.