Rachel Alexander 03 - A Hell of a Dog

to room. No answer knock I think he stay asleep. Too much drink. Weak system. Not like Russian man, can drink wodka day and night and—”
    “Boris!”
    “I ask desk to call. No answer phone. I go to Columbus Street—”
    “Avenue,” Rick said.
    “Whatever,” Boris said, waving Rick away as if he were an annoying insect, “I get coffee, I come back to place he tell me to meet him, no here. Maybe he lay track. Maybe not. Who know?” Boris shrugged. “Not reliable. Russian man give his word—“
    „Did anyone see him after dinner?” I asked, looking around the circle. That’s when Cathy Powers showed up, running across Central Park West against the light, but not in much danger at this hour. The only traffic was a taxi, and that was several blocks away.
    “Did you see Alan this morning?” Chip asked.
    “Me?” Cathy asked, her face flushed from running. “What do you mean?”
    “He wondered, we all wonder, if you might have seen Alan Cooper. He’s not here, as you can see, dear, and it appears he may not have laid the track for Betty’s demonstration,” Beryl said.
    Cathy looked around at each of us and shook her head. I noticed she’d taken the time to blow-dry her hair. It was light brown, long, and smooth. Too smooth, if you ask me. She was wearing a pair of to-die-for suede boots that were going to be ruined die minute she stepped into the park. Didn’t they have mud in California? The rest of her outfit was equally ill-suited for tracking, skintight Calvins and a revealing white sweater that was sure to be appreciated by several, if not all, of the gentlemen present. In feet, when I looked around again, several of them were appreciating her sweater while waiting for Alan to show up and tell us where the track began.
    “Why don’t we assume he laid the track,” Chip said. “Wait here. I’ll go back to the hotel and see if Sam can get me into his room. I can cue Betty with the socks he wore last night, and we can have a much more interesting lesson than I’d originally planned. If he was out here, Betty will find the track.”
    There was a murmuring in the group, some of us starting to look alive, even awake, at the thought of seeing Betty start her search from outside the park without blowing where the trail began, if indeed there was one.
    I watched Chip crossing the street toward the hotel, Betty at his side.
    “Oh, please,” Bucky said. He put the last piece of his Danish into his mouth and continued talking around it. “They planned this.” He hadn’t shaved. In fact, the only man who had was Martyn. “It’s just like those jerks to do something like this, high drama. ‘Oh, golly, there’s no marker, but Betty the Wonder Dog will find the track anyway, from a pair of the track layer’s dirty socks.’ Does this smell like a setup, or what?”
    Woody began to laugh. “Leave it to Pressman. No one loves a goof better than he does. We were doing Schutzhund, oh, ten years back, and he was supposed to be the guy hiding in the blind. We had really green dogs, beginners. So my turn comes. I have a young Dobie, a red male, barely one and a half, still not too sure of himself but coming up nicely. He begins his search, and we get to the blind where Pressman is, and he’s got a paper bag over his head. Damn dog emptied his anal glands all over my pants. I never got the stink out, had to throw them away.”
    “He wasn’t goofing,” Bucky said. “He was just showing you your boy wasn’t ready. Didn’t have it yet.”
    A couple of veins hitherto not visible were sticking out on Woody’s neck and forehead, but he said nothing.
    “I don’t think he lay track. I would have seen him,” Boris said. “If not going into park, coming out from park. I wait long time.” He had what looked like a fresh grease stain at the bottom of his windbreaker. Coffee, my ass. He probably had a steak for breakfast, something to stick to his big, fat ribs while he made a major production about eating only salad at lunch.
    “You said you went for coffee,” I said. “You said you went back to the hotel to—”
    “I watch here, this spot, like he tell me, all time,” Boris said. “Hey, who’s to say?” Bucky said to no one in particular, “maybe Superman isn’t the only one with X-ray vision.”
    “Perhaps he simply got up earlier. Perhaps you misunderstood the time, Boris. Or the place. Perhaps he went another way,” Martyn said, “downtown, or further uptown. The way we were