“Breaking the law, breaking the law, breaking the law,” we hear Hopper chant as their old VW’s engine rattles to life.
“Anders, next time Hopper is yours,” Omar says, and we all laugh.
Anders and Max reach their second target and announce they’re going in. Thirty seconds later, Anders comes back on the comms. “Target acquired and destroyed,” he says, accompanied by the slam of an old rusty car door.
We roll up to our second location and call it in. It’s a small trailer stacked close to other small trailers, and the front yard is fenced in with cinder blocks and steel-reinforced gates. Erik takes the lead, and when he approaches the gate, a vicious-sounding dog goes off on the other side.
“Hey, wait,” Hopper says. “Where are you? Dogs love me.”
Erik and I see the large brindle pit bull at the same time, and he backs away. “Hop, I’m going to take you up on that.”
He gives Hopper the information, then slides into the driver’s seat and takes off toward our third location. A few minutes later, we hear barking as Omar and Hopper pull to a stop in front of the house.
“Shit,” Omar says. “Hopper went over the fence.”
The barking goes quiet, and Hopper’s voice comes across the line. “Opening the gate for you, Omar.”
“How did you get the dog to do that?” Omar asks.
“Do what?” I ask, curious.
Omar’s voice is a bit awed when he answers, “The dog is sitting at attention and smiling at us.”
“I told you. I’m good with dogs.”
Erik and I crack up. Fucking Hopper.
“Hey, what are you two doing in my yard? What did you do to my dog?” a guy asks in Spanish.
“Are you Miguel Selena?”
“Yes, who the fuck wants to know?”
That’s followed by an eerie silence on the line. After several moments, all we hear is the sound of walking and panting.
Omar comes back on the line, his voice tired. “Hopper took care of the guy. And, apparently, he and I have a dog now.”
Erik laughs. “Hopper loves dogs. His husband is going to be so mad.”
“Liam said I can’t bring home any more dogs from ops.”
“Can I have a dog?” Ant asks as Anders and Max announce they’ve reached their third location.
Max’s takedown is silent and quick.
Erik and I end up in a horseshoe-like grouping of trailers for our third assignment. These aren’t separated by fences, and there’s a sort of makeshift, overgrown courtyard in the middle. It consists of a rusted-out card table and equally rusted-out folding chair, all being quietly overtaken by grass and weeds.
A single electrical pole stands off to the side of the trailers, and it’s dotted with various kludged-together outlets and long lengths of orange extension cords snaking from the pole to the trailers. At the far end of the property, just past the last trailer, are two small buildings made from scrap material. It takes me a minute to realize they’re outhouses.
Everyone’s inside—likely to escape this oppressive heat—TV shows, radio stations, and family conversations all spill into the sad little courtyard.
“Javier, this feels like a bad place,” Erik says, looking around.
“It does, but you need to stay in the car. You’re too conspicuous. I’ll take care of it.”
“I’d rather not.”
I place a hand on his shoulder. “I thank you for your concern, but this is what I do.”
