This Dog for Hire

back into their pants, and were running for home.
    I was only six at the time, but I learned two valuable lessons. First, if you really want to do something, don’t waste your time waiting for someone else’s permission. Boys always say “You can’t play this.” If you believe then), you’ll end up a teacher or a nurse when what you really want to be is a dog trainer or a detective.
    Second, sometimes you have the edge. Sometimes you don’t. Either way, life’s unfair.
    It was the second lesson I was reminded of when I heard the voice on the other end of the phone say, “Bailey House. Can I help you?”
    I had gone to the bank of pay phones on the higher tier, the ones hardly anyone used, and listening to the phone ringing on the other end, I had wondered who I’d ask for, but the moment someone answered I knew. I asked for Ronald.
    Patients didn’t have bedside phones, but Ronald was ambulatory and had no trouble coming to the phone.
    “Ronald, it’s Rachel. Listen, the list Sabotini gave me of patients to visit, it had John down as John . Doe.”
    “Yeah. They do that when guys come in all drugged out from the street. He was, you know, a user. He couldn’ta said his name if he knew it. So they give him one.”
    “Does he know his name now? Does he at least remember his street name?”
    “Now? Yeah, sure. But they ain’t going to change the record. I mean, it’s not like he’s getting family or anyone visiting him, you know. And like we all got used to calling him John before he got cleaned up, so, you know, it’s hard to change, Rachel. How’s Petey?”
    “He’s fine, Ronald. I’ll bring him by again soon if you like, to see you and John. But tell me now”—I closed my eyes and inhaled—“Ronald, what name does John remember?”
    “His name that he had when he was a little kid. You know, when he was growing up. But he don’t care if you call him John. He don’t get upset or nothing.”
    “So, Ronald, when John was a little kid, what was his name?”
    “Oh, I thought I said. It was William. Willy was what his mama called him. That’s what he told me, Rachel. You know, when he could.”
    “Did he say where he grew up, Ronald? Do you know where he lived when he was little?”
    “Yeah. Sure. He likes me, John. He tells me everything.”
    “So, where was it?”
    “Oh, right. Pittsburgh.”
    My heart Hopped.
    “You know,” Ronald added. “In P. A.”
    I was hyperventilating. He hadn’t parroted me, saying “Will he?” He was telling me his name! And he had seen Magritte. That was why he wanted to hear Dashiell bark. Magritte couldn’t, so he thought that meant he’d bite.
    “Ronald, you’re the best. I’ll be there in the morning. What can I bring you?”
    “A milk shake. Chocolate, Rachel. If you would."
    “I would.” Then I fairly shouted into the phone, “I will.”
    I Will. I had found Billy fucking Pittsburgh.
    I made one more call, to my friend Marty Shapiro, at the Sixth. The Sixth is home to the bomb squad, and Marty handles Elwood, the yellow Lab whom Dash adores, which is how we met. Billy had been in such bad shape when he had come in, the guys had gotten him a bed at Bailey House. No way they were going to let him back onto the street like that, Marty told me, no fucking way.
    Small wonder I hadn’t found him, waking up the homeless in the dead of winter, talking to crazy people so I could feel justified I was earning my fee.
    On the other hand, for all the good it had done me, Mary Perry had seen him, saw him with KS, spotted him. Wasn’t her, she said. But someone sure had. Someone who had been kind enough to offer him the use of a needle most likely.
    I sat with Dennis for the evening judging, but I had trouble keeping my mind on the show.
    “Where’s Magritte?” I asked Dennis after the Iasi group was judged.
    “At home. Why?”
    “When and how does Gil get him, for the show tomorrow?”
    “I bring him in the morning. I’m meeting Gil at the benching area at eight-thirty.”
    “What time does he go up?” The damn catalog was sitting right on my lap, and I had already looked it up at least twice, and now I couldn’t remember the ring or the time.
    “Eleven-thirty. Ring three.”
    “Look, I know this is going to be tight, but I need you to meet me at Bailey House on the corner of Christopher and West streets—do you know it?” He nodded. “With Magritte, before you bring him here.”
    “Rachel—you know the dogs have to be benched all