The Dogfather

By ruining my reputation? This is your idea of a favor?” After I spoke, it occurred to me that the botched gangland “favor” actually could have been worse than the one I was enduring. Everyone involved was still breathing. Notice that I did not ask what the favor was supposed to be for. Keeping my mouth shut about Joey Cortiniglia’s murder?
    Zap said, “For helping the boss.”
    In an effort to supply a benign explanation of why Guarini owed me a favor, I said, “With Frey.”
    “Because you won’t take no money.” Zap was on the verge of elaborating, but Favuzza, as usual, told him to shut up.
    “That’s a gift,” I said. “If I wanted any kind of payment for it, I’d send a bill. And I want it clearly understood that my dogs and I win or lose on our own. When my dogs win, I want to know that they’ve won because they were the best. Period. And when they lose, all I want is to have a good time anyway.”
    “No dog favors,” Favuzza said.
    “Exactly. No dog favors. No dog favors ever again.”
     

CHAPTER 15
     
    No dog favors. Mistake. No favors. But that’s not what I’d said.
    The delivery was on my doorstep when Leah, Mary, and I, together with Kimi, Rowdy, and Mr. Wookie, got home from the show. In taking Best of Breed, Mr. Wookie had thereby become the Alaskan malamute’s representative in the Working Group competition, an event that obviously could not be held until after the judging of all Working Group breeds—the akita, the Siberian husky, the Bernese mountain dog, the Samoyed, and so on—and thus took place near the end of the show day. You occasionally hear people maintain that they don’t like having their dogs go BOB because the win necessitates hanging around all day for the group judging, which is to say that the Dog Fancy, like the rest of the world, has its share of liars. Mary was perfectly truthful about her pleasure at Mr. Wookie’s win, and all of us were outright delighted when her beautiful dog took the Working Group. Best in Show, alas, went to a breed I shall refrain from specifying lest I create hard feeling among fanciers of the nasty-tempered canines known affectionately, or so Leah remarked, as “the breed for owners who don’t have the guts to bite people themselves.”
    But Mary was nonetheless thrilled with Mr. Wookie’s Group I, so when we got to my house and found the case of wine and the big box of restaurant-grade steak on the doorstep with my name on them, I had to let her think I’d ordered the supplies in confident expectation of the need to celebrate. Leah usually has better things to do on a Saturday night than hang out with the dogs and me, but the sight of all that food and wine made her hungry, thirsty, and generous. With my permission, she called one of her roommates to extend a dinner invitation that was not only accepted, but passed along. Meanwhile I’d run into Artie Spicer and Rita, and I’d invited the two of them. Furthermore, when Kevin Dennehy happened along while Mary was unloading her van (she was staying with me), I could hardly let him haul in all the dog gear and Mary’s luggage, and then exclude him. By 8:30, Artie Spicer had my Weber grill going in the yard, and in my kitchen and living room were Mary, Rita, Kevin, Leah, and six or eight of Leah’s undergraduate friends, all drinking delicious Italian wine.
    “They’re not driving,” I told Lieutenant Kevin Dennehy of the Cambridge police, who said, “Driving? With me here, they’re not even drinking. I don’t see them drinking. Do you?”
    “No, of course not.” I was delighted to have Kevin’s attention focused on the wine’s illicit destination instead of its indubitably criminal source. In my innocence, I could only guess at how Guarini had arranged the delivery. Were the wine and beef stolen goods? Extortion payments? Kevin’s guess would be better than mine. I didn’t ask him. And everyone at my impromptu party was too polite to wonder aloud how an impoverished dog writer was paying for the feast. While Artie grilled the ill-gotten steaks, Rita raided her refrigerator and mine to put together a salad, and I transferred French bread from my freezer to the oven. The food was, I have to say, delicious. The party was a great success.
    As if to demonstrate that dog people are capable of conversation on noncanine topics, Mary talked with Artie Spicer about birds. Artie belonged to numerous birding groups, subscribed to birding magazines, and sometimes