The Dogfather

ones you see at the airport. If we have an accident, the dogs could be thrown against the windshield. Or,” I added maliciously, “their heads could collide with yours.”
    As I was about to elaborate, the limo glided into a left turn.
    “Munford,” I said. “Right?”
    The man with the widow’s peak nodded. True to stereotype, his nose was a little crooked. His weirdly long fingers were encrusted with heavy rings.
    “Thank you.” And I smiled, too.
    As if fate were responding to the power of positive reinforcement, the limo obediently turned into a driveway. I peered through the tinted glass at a brick colonial that was admittedly big, but otherwise disappointing by comparison with the baronial abodes of Mafia pooh-bahs in movies and on TV. The house had only two noteworthy features. One was the startling absence of the usual suburban rhododendrons or, indeed, any other foundation shrubbery, flower beds, or anything else; the lawn ran right up to the front wall of the house. You know how someone who always wears eyeglasses looks denuded and disoriented without them? That was how Guarini’s house looked: naked and confused, as if it were groping around and muttering, “Where on earth did I leave my rhodies?” The second distinctive feature was the blinding illumination cast by industrial floods mounted on the roof and sides of the house and the adjoining two-car garage. Homesick for his former residence, Guarini had nostalgically turned his home into a little prison away from prison. Or maybe he was paranoid. Or smart.
    When the engine stopped, I reached over and grabbed Rowdy’s leash while tightening my grip on Kimi’s. I knew enough about Guarini to feel confident that the dogs would be welcome. The favor Guarini thought I’d done for him had consisted of helping to close a wholesale dog brokerage operated by his son-in-law, a piece of scum whom Guarini senselessly blamed for the cancer death of Guarini’s daughter and justifiably loathed for villainously trafficking in dogs. Although I’d had nothing to do with the death of Guarini’s son-in-law, Guarini had nonetheless credited me with it. He’d also applauded my small, if genuine, contribution to animal welfare. So, Guarini loved dogs: If I crossed him, he’d kill me or have me killed, but he’d never hurt Rowdy or Kimi. Just in case I’d somehow offended Guarini, I intended to barricade myself behind my dogs. So what else is new?
    Although the limo had stopped, the goons waited for the driver to open the door for them before they clambered out. The dogs and I followed. I guess I could’ve tried to escape, but I liked my heart the way it was. Beating.
    Joey must’ve noticed that I was a bit goggle-eyed at the overilluminated barrenness of the place. “So’s no one can’t hide nowhere,” he told me.
    Before I’d finished sorting out the negatives, the driver distracted me by commenting on Rowdy and Kimi, albeit in an obnoxious way. “Tough,” he said with approval. The driver himself looked anything but tough: He was scrawny and pasty faced, with a dissipated air that made his age hard to estimate. I settled on a guess of twenty-two, but an aged twenty-two. His short brown hair was barbered, as opposed to styled, and perhaps in imitation of old-time-movie thugs, he wore a trench coat belted tightly around his skinny middle. Pointing a stubby finger at Kimi, he said, “How much you want for him?”
    “Her. She’s not for sale.”
    The attraction was understandable. Kimi’s facial markings make her look tough. Her “full mask,” as it’s called, the combination of a black cap, eye goggles, and a bar down the nose, creates a banditlike appearance. In contrast, Rowdy’s all-white countenance, an “open face,” suggests candidness and honesty. Both dogs, however, have soft, dark eyes and warm, gentle expressions, and neither Rowdy nor Kimi is in the least bit deceitful, by which I mean that instead of sneaking around waiting until your back is turned, these dogs will snatch food off your plate and otherwise brazenly do what they’re going to do right before your very eyes.
    As the driver was beginning to make an offer on Rowdy, the vampire cut him off by saying, “Zap, shut up.”
    “Hey, Al, I was only asking,” Zap whined.
    “Don’t ask, you moron. Just shut up.” Al blew his nose.
    Al and Joey headed across the lawn toward the front door. As soon as their backs were turned, Zap muttered, “Shut up yourself, ya