"Bet your life," agreed Stiffy, licking his chops.
Men were slapping Meek on the back, yelling at him. Yelling friendly things, calling him an old he-wolf.
He tried to thrust out his chest but didn't succeed too well. He hoped they wouldn't insist on his drinking of lot of bocca.
A hand tugged at Meek's elbow. It was the Reverend Brown.
"You aren't going to leave that beast out here all alone?" he asked. "No telling what he might do."
"Ah, shucks," protested Stiffy, "he's gentle as a kitten. Stands without hitching."
But even as he spoke, the Prowler lifted his head, almost as if he were sniffing, started down the street at a swinging trot.
"Hey," yelled Stiffy, "come back here, you cross-eyed crow-bait!"
The Prowler didn't falter in his stride. He went even faster.
Cold fear gripped Meek by the throat. He tried to speak and gulped instead. He'd just thought of something. The power plant that supplied Asteroid City with its power and light, the very oxygen it breathed, was down that way.