cage beside his igloo-style doghouse, quietly eyeing Lorenzo. The cage was in the shade of a magnolia tree. Winston was healthy, well fed and watered, and had a clean, shiny coat that was fly free. There were minimal droppings on the cage's concrete floor.
Winston barked one time at Lorenzo and, having done his job, opened his mouth to let his tongue drop out the side.
Victoria Newman answered the door after parting the curtains on the ground floor. She wore a bathrobe over a low-cut nightgown; both barely contained her lush figure. She was light skinned, green eyed, and had big features that suited her. She leaned on the door frame as Lorenzo reintroduced himself.
'You again,' she said in a not unfriendly way.
'Yes, ma'am,' said Lorenzo. 'Just doin' a follow-up on… It's Winston, right?'
'That's my boy. He lookin' good, isn't he?'
Her eyes were unfocused. That and the sound of her television and stereo system both playing at once told Lorenzo that she was high. But a blind man could have seen that, as she stank of weed. The cigarette burning between her fingers did not hide the smell.
'No doubt, he looks fine,' said Lorenzo. 'But we still got the same problem I spoke to you about last month. That space you got him in is too small. He needs to be in an enclosure that's at least eight by ten, not including the shelter within it.'
'You mean the house where he sleep at?'
'Exactly.'
'Eight by ten, that's the parameter.'
'Yes,' said Lorenzo, seeing no point in correcting her.
'Wasn't like I disregarded what you told me,' said Victoria. 'I'm in the process of takin' care of it right now.'
'You need to do it.'
'I been waitin' on this handyman I know to come over here to make the cage larger, only he been busy.'
Lorenzo filled out an Official Notification form on his clipboard.
'Winston's healthy, though,' said Victoria.
'Yes, he is.'
She dragged on her cigarette. 'You healthy too.'
'I'm hangin' in there,' said Lorenzo.
He held out the form. She touched his thumb and gave him a hungry smile as she took it.
'You must be thirsty, all this heat. I got some cold water inside.'
'I got water in my truck,' said Lorenzo.
'You sure?' said Victoria.
'Thank you for asking,' said Lorenzo. 'Take care of Winston for me, hear?'
Driving away, his dick semihard, his mind a mixture of relief and regret, Lorenzo thought about Victoria Newman, high at nine-thirty in the morning, alone in that house, not yet out of her bedclothes on a workday. All the people he met in the city on his daily runs, and all those he didn't know but saw, standing on corners, drinking out of paper bags, lighting their cigarettes, all of them with nothing, absolutely nothing, to do. He didn't know how folks like that got up in the morning and faced the day.
The speaker below the dash crackled. He listened to the voice on the other end. It was Cindy, from the dispatch desk, informing him of a call.
'A Felton Barnett, in Anacostia. Dog's been barking in one of the apartments he manages. Says it's been going on for the last two days.'
'Congress Heights,' said Lorenzo. 'Man already left a message on my machine.'
'You gonna take it or should I call Mark?'
'You can call Mark, you want to,' said Lorenzo. 'But I'm gonna take it. Matter of fact, I'm on my way now.'
He replaced the mic in its cradle. He did not notice the silver BMW parked on the corner of 46th and Hayes as he passed.
Lorenzo squinted and reached for his shades. His headache had returned.
CHAPTER 16
Rachel drove into town. She was looking for a man named Carlton Sims and a bottom feeder named Tyrone Meadows. Both stayed in the same facility, a halfway house in Northeast.
The halfway house was not a house, but rather a warehouse with a couple of trailers grouped around it, off New York Avenue in an area that was zoned for commercial as well as residential use. It was run by a private contractor based in Michigan and funded by the federal government through the Bureau of Prisons. Men and women just out of the joint used facilities like this one to get acclimated to the world for the first two or three months of their straight life.
The contractor had been under fire from neighborhood residents since the facility had opened, quietly, the previous year. The city had approved the site, and the mayor and the police chief had been briefed, as required by law, but no one had thought to consult the neighbors. Every day, kids walked by the halfway house, now referred to as a 'community corrections center' by its contractor, on their way to school. They stood at the same bus stop and
