Drama City

'I know it.' Mark stared at the blood seeping through the gauze on his hand. 'I was trying to get through, is all. Irena's getting ready to sign off on him.'

'She has to. That dog's not adoptable. You see that, right?'

'Yes.'

'Some animals just got to be put down, Mark. Not every one of 'em can be saved.'

Lorenzo stepped over to Mark, unwrapped the gauze, and examined his hand.

'He didn't go deep.'

'I'm fine.'

Lincoln had backed himself to the rear of the cage. He looked up at Lorenzo shyly.

'What've you got today?' said Mark.

'Gonna check my answering machine first. Take a cat back to some old lady. Make some follow-up calls. I'm gonna try to catch a meeting round lunch time. You know, see how the day goes.'

'I'll be out on calls too,' said Mark. 'You need me, you can get me on the radio.'

'Leave me the Tahoe,' said Lorenzo.

'Yeah, all right.'

'I mean it, man. I know you like that CD player, but you can listen to the radio for a change. I'm tired of gettin' bounced around in that Astra.'

'I said I would.'

Mark went up to the lobby area. Lorenzo stayed behind and crouched in front of Lincoln's cage. He whistled softly and put his knuckles near the grid. Lincoln moved forward, snapped at Lorenzo's hand, growled for a few seconds, and stepped back. The other dogs in the kennel began to bark.

'You can't help who you are, can you, boy?' said Lorenzo, looking into Lincoln's eyes. 'It's gonna be better soon.'

Up in his office, Lorenzo sat at his desk and washed down two ibuprofens with house coffee while he checked his messages. A man named Felton Barnett had called the day before to complain about a dog barking in an apartment in his building. He had phoned Lorenzo directly because he had dealt with him on 'another matter' and been satisfied with the service. Also, the old lady off Kennedy Street had called about her cat. Jerry, a huge multitattooed Humane officer who had a desk nearby, dropped the Metro section of the Post on Lorenzo's desk without comment before walking heavily from the room. In the morning, Jerry left the newspaper for Lorenzo, section by section, as he finished it. Lorenzo automatically went to Metro's page 2, where they had the Crime and Justice feature, which many called the Roundup and some cynical types still called the Violent Negro Deaths. Lorenzo read this feature religiously, even in prison, back when it was just called Around the Region. There, under the heading The District, and then under the subheading Homicides, he read the following:

A twenty-four-year-old man and a seventeen-year-old youth were found fatally shot in an alley off the 500 block of Crittenden Street, N.W., late last night. Police said the man, DeEric Green, and the youth were both pronounced dead at the scene. The identity of the youth is being withheld until notification of relatives. Police are treating both fatalities as homicides.

Lorenzo dropped the paper on his desk. He reached for his coffee cup but did not lift it. He moved the cup in small circles.

He didn't have Nigel's number anymore. But he did still have his mother's memorized. Lorenzo picked up the phone and punched her number into the grid.

'Hello.'

'Miss Deborah?'

'Yes'

'Lorenzo Brown here.'

'Lorenzo! My goodness, it's nice to hear your voice.'

'Yours too. I'm trying to reach Nigel. I was hoping you could give me his number.'

'Nigel kinda funny about that, Lorenzo.'

'I understand. Let me give you mine, then. Maybe he can get up with me, he has the time.'

He gave her his cell number and listened to her chewing on something as she wrote it down. The woman loved to eat. She enjoyed feeding guests, especially kids, too. She'd filled him with plenty of good food in that warm kitchen of hers when he was a boy.

'Thank you, Miss Deborah.'

'Come visit, Lorenzo.'

'Yes, ma'am. I will.'

Lorenzo gathered his files and accessories, put them in a backpack, and went downstairs. Queen, the old lady's calico, had been delivered by the spay clinic to the cat kennel, situated behind the lobby. The cat was docile, lying on her side in a cage. Lorenzo took her out and found a portable carrier.

'You ain't so frisky now, are you?' he said, placing her in the handled box. 'Don't fret. You goin' home.'

Passing the pegs by the back door, Lorenzo saw that the keys to the Tahoe were gone. He mumbled under his breath and took an Astra key off the peg. He stepped out into the alley with Queen in hand, going up the small hill to Floral Place. Mark was there in the court, standing in front of the Tahoe, grinning, swinging the keys from his bandaged hand.

'Looking for these?'