Brick, by BRICK

Brick accidentally shut the car door loudly enough to wake Dale on purpose. Dale came to, somehow already in the passenger’s seat. He was sitting on top of a pile of towels and had a tiny, shaking dog in his lap. Its oversized, side-set, watery, black eyes made it look like an adorable praying mantis.

“You pissed yourself, Wimpy,” said Brick disapprovingly. “Not very cop-like. I had to use one of my good blood towels to protect the upholstery.”

“Blood towels?” asked Dewey through the haze in his aching head.