"Best run is one where you don't fire a shot, neh?" Mato says, repeating the oft-heard line from the trids without really believing it. He can't help but privately bemoan the absence of stabbing, shocking, punching, choking, or otherwise physically incapacitating a Halloweener or two, especially since gangers are so guilt-free. He thought for sure he was going to at least throw one off the balcony, or land on one after jumping off the roof, or maybe clothesline one while sprinting as fast as a car.
"I'm not sure how much we're going to get out of him," Mato says to Bobby. "He was dazed and confused beforehand, and transforming him into a dog isn't going to be any easier on his mind. He lost a hand, probably traumatically, and needs medical attention. Unless one of our finger wigglers can coax the information out of him without his say-so, I doubt he'll give us much."
Then, out of an abundance of precaution, he texts the rest just in case the dog is conscious enough to hear:
<<Let's talk about what we want to do about that card though.>>