Burning Man

patches of chamisa, and I followed him through the obstacle course.

The wind was driving an ever-more-muscular fire. Embers and sparks were being lifted and sent sailing. I raised my head and watched as hundreds of cinders came parachuting down around us. Most of the fiery offshoots were burning out before hitting ground, but I could see a few were getting footholds. Soon I’d have more than one fire to worry about.

No one would fault me for calling off the search. It was possible, maybe even likely, that if we kept going the fire would outflank us and cut off our escape route. And yet I was sure if we didn’t continue the Strangler would get away, and once free he would kill again and keep killing. The Strangler was twisted, evil, and smart; in short, law enforcement’s worst nightmare. There had been few breaks to come out of his cases; this was our chance to nail him.

Sirius sneezed, and without thinking I said, “God bless you.” My partner acknowledged my words with a little wag of the tail and then he put his nose back to the ground and started sniffing. He wasn’t thinking about quitting. Judging by the bounce in his step and his vigorous pulls on the line, he was locked on his target.

I took the leash in one hand, and with the other I pulled my Glock G28 from my holster. The glow from the fire allowed some limited visibility, but it was still difficult to see because of the curtain of smoke hanging over the canyon.

Sirius started tugging harder and making excited sounds that indicated he had the suspect on target lock. I was tempted to release the missile, but that would have violated protocols. Sirius wasn’t the only one that had been trained. The department had pounded it into our heads to announce our presence and the imminent threat we presented. Opposing lawyers always argue that police dogs are just as much of a weapon as a firearm. Most of LA’s canyons have squatters, transients, and undocumented workers that throw their bedrolls down in the midst of the brush. It was possible, with the smoke and bad conditions, that Sirius had mixed up the Strangler’s scent with some other human’s. As unlikely as that was, I couldn’t take a chance.

I reined Sirius in and huddled with him in the darkness, making us as small a target as possible.

“K-9 unit!” I shouted. “Come out with your hands up or I’ll send the dog!”

Over the crackling fire, I tried to hear or see any signs of flight. There was no answer to my summons. I called out again, this time in Spanish. My bilingual attempt also met with silence.

My right hand rested atop the crest of my partner’s neck. Sirius’s hundred-pound frame was tensed and ready to go. I never liked sending him into the unknown, but that was sometimes part of the job.

“Still,” I whispered, telling him to be quiet in German.

As silently as we could, we closed in on a formidable stand of chamisa. The thicket was a perfect spot in which to hole up, offering up a barrier to anyone seeking entrance. As we crawled closer, Sirius began doing his pointer imitation. He knew where his prey was. We moved another five feet forward. I wanted to be as close to my partner as possible when I sent him in. You never let your partner hang out to dry.

We stopped and listened. Growing ever closer was the raging fire. It was difficult hearing anything over its roars. I raised myself from a crouch and gave the command that Sirius had been waiting for: “Geh voraus!” Go ahead!

Sirius charged into the undergrowth. I saw a blur of black and tan, and then out of the darkness it looked as if there was a rapid blinking of red eyes. I threw myself to the ground; someone was shooting at us.

“Fass!” I screamed. “Fass!”

People are always surprised to hear that police dogs need to be taught to bite. Thousands of years of domestication and breeding have taken the bite out of Bowser, but by using bite suits and training, and essentially making the biting into a game, K-9 handlers can reverse a dog’s inhibition to biting humans. I was calling for Sirius to bite. If there’d been a command to tear off the Strangler’s head, I would have been shouting for that. My partner heard the urgency in my voice and tore through the chamisa.

More shots rang out, at least a half dozen in rapid succession, and then I heard a man screaming “Call him off! Call him off!”

By the panicked quavering of his screams, I knew he was being shaken around like a rag doll. I had been on the receiving end of attacking police dogs dozens of times, and I was always glad that the padding of the bite suit was between their teeth and me. It was a humbling-and frightening-experience to be in the grip of those jaws.

The shaky screams grew even louder. The man was afraid he was going to be eaten alive.

“Pass auf!” I shouted; Sirius was now being told to guard.

The screaming stopped but not the whimpering. Sirius would stay clamped down on the suspect and not let him move.

I patted around for the dropped Maglite and found it. Only after starting to rise did I realize that blood was flowing down my leg. “Shit,” I said. I was hit. The adrenaline that was still pumping had masked the pain. That wouldn’t last, I knew. I was afraid of what the light would reveal and started sucking down air. What I saw made me breathe a little easier. The bullet had struck my upper thigh but missed my femoral artery. There was plenty of blood, but I didn’t appear to be in any danger of bleeding out. I took a few measured breaths, fighting off light- headedness. My partner didn’t need me fainting.

With an effort I got to my feet and then started limping forward. I shone the light into the brush and caught the glint of Sirius’s eyes. Further maneuvering of the light showed that Sirius’s jaws were clamped down on a wrist. His captive’s face was so white as to appear spectral. Even the thick smoke couldn’t cover the man’s stink. Sirius had scared the shit out of him.

I moved the light back to Sirius’s eyes. There was something wrong. His eyes weren’t sparkling.

“T-tell your dog to let me go,” the man said. “There’s been some kind of mistake here. I’m a firefighter.”

He moved his shoulders to show off his fireman’s slicker. I said, “Shut up.”

I fought through the brush, ignoring the inconvenience of my leg. Branches grabbed and clawed at me; I took them on in a frenzy of panic, and what I couldn’t push through I snapped away, finally making it to Sirius’s side.

My praise sounded so inadequate: “Good boy.”

He was hit in several places but responded to my words with a wag of his tail. I tucked my flashlight under my arm and kept my gun up and ready. I scratched Sirius behind his ear where he liked it best and my fingers came back bloody.

“Your dog broke my arm I think. It hurts like hell.”

I didn’t reply other than to put the light on the suspect and then scope out the area around him. Sirius’s attack had knocked his gun out of his hand, but not before it had done its damage. I pushed aside some brush and pocketed the weapon.

“This is all a misunderstanding,” he said. “I came out here to set a backfire. I thought you were the arsonist.”

“If you say another word without my leave to speak I will shoot you dead.”

He could hear that I meant what I said. All my attention was on Sirius. “What a good dog,” I told him, and he wagged his tail once more, but this time the motion was weaker.

“Aus,” I said, telling him to let go.

Sirius released his hold on the hand, and then let his head drop to the ground. His body language told me he was pleased he had done his job. It also told me what I didn’t want to see.

“No,” I said to him. “You are not going to die!”

Sirius didn’t understand my words but heard their urgency. He tried raising himself up but couldn’t do it.

“You’re going to help me carry him out,” I told the Strangler. “If you try to escape, I will shoot you. If you stumble, I will shoot you. If he dies before we make it out of here…” My voice caught a little, but I managed to finish the sentence: “I will empty my gun into you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

It wasn’t Miranda, and I didn’t give a damn. He nodded.

The fire was closing in all around us. I didn’t give a damn about that either. My partner was dying.

We lifted Sirius up and started moving in what I thought was the direction of the houses. It was a guess, though; the smoke was that thick. I didn’t even notice my bleeding leg. Time was precious. With every step my partner was losing more and more blood. The smoke was a thick, stinging curtain. We were walking in a blinding fog that allowed no clue as to where we were, or which way to go. It was possible we were walking around in circles, wasting time we couldn’t afford to lose. Sirius was making sounds I’d never heard before-scary sounds that came from a body failing him-and then he had a seizure or a series of seizures, and we had to stop walking to put