Dog Tags

CHAPTER 4

“DO YOU HAVE THE RING?” The minister’s question takes me by surprise, because I was waiting for the part where he asks if anybody knows any reason why the marriage shouldn’t take place. Could it be that only movie ministers use that line?

I rise smoothly to the occasion and take the ring out of my pocket, and then hand it to Kevin. In doing so I am graceful but deliberate, focused but with the apparent calm assurance of someone who has been taking things out of his pocket for years. It is a standout performance.

After the ceremony we head into the main ballroom for dinner. There is a DJ who plays music way too loud and spends most of his time begging people to go out on the dance floor.

Dancing, other than slow dancing, makes absolutely no sense to me. I don’t understand the enjoyment anyone could get from standing in one place and wildly gyrating. If it’s such a blast, do these people turn on the radio when they’re alone at home and start doing contortions? I don’t think so.

So if they only do it in public, it must be because they’re being watched by other people. They clearly think they look good doing it. They don’t. If rooms like this were ringed with mirrors, 95 percent of all dancing would be eliminated.

This kind of dancing also violates my space-alien principle. I judge things by the measure of whether aliens, landing on earth for the first time, would observe something and deem it stupid. And unless the aliens were from the Planet Bozo, dancing would land squarely in the “stupid” category.

But Laurie likes to dance, so I cave in about once every four songs. I do this because I’m a terrific guy, and because I think on some level that it will increase my chances of having sex when we get home. Sex would also look stupid to aliens, but who cares what they think? They’re aliens, are we going to let them run our lives?

Sitting at our table are Vince Sanders, Willie and Sondra Miller, Pete Stanton and his wife, Donna, and Edna Silver. Vince, Pete, and Willie are my three best friends in the world, with the notable exceptions of Laurie and Tara, my golden retriever.

Pete is a lieutenant on the Paterson, New Jersey, police force, which is where I grew up and where Laurie and I live. Willie is a former client and my partner in the Tara Foundation, a dog-rescue operation that we run.

Edna is what I used to call my secretary, but she now refers to herself as my administrative assistant. She’s in her sixties, though she’d never admit it, and has occasionally talked of retirement. Since she doesn’t do any actual work, I’ve got a hunch that her retirement isn’t imminent.

“You going to write this up for tomorrow?” I ask Vince, the editor of the local newspaper. I’m sure Kevin would like it, but he’d never ask Vince, who can be rather disagreeable approximately 100 percent of the time.

“This wedding? Only if somebody gets murdered on the dance floor.”

As the evening is nearing an end, Kevin comes over and says, “I just want to thank you again for being my best man.”

“It was an honor. And I thought I handled the whole ring thing flawlessly.”

He smiles. “Yes, you did.”

“So, are you guys going to stay in your house, or move?” Kevin has a small house in Fair Lawn, where they have been living.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” he says. “We’re going to move to Bangladesh.”

I do a double take. “Bangladesh? Is there a Bangladesh, New Jersey?”

“No, I’m talking about the real Bangladesh. Andy, I should have told you this earlier, but Kelly and I are leaving the country. She’s going to practice medicine where people really need her, and I’m going to offer whatever services I can.”

I’m having trouble getting this to compute. “Bangladesh?”

He nods. “Bangladesh.”

“You know how hot it is there? You can throw a Wiffle ball and hit the sun. The cement sweats.”

“I know.”

It’s an amazingly selfless thing that they’re doing, and since it doesn’t seem like I can talk him out of it, I might as well try being gracious. “That’s incredible, Kevin. Really remarkable.”

“Thanks for understanding,” he says.

“Really, I totally admire it, but aren’t there other, closer Deshes that you could go to? Maybe a Desh with plumbing?”

“We’ve researched it pretty well,” he says. “And since we haven’t taken on a client in six months…”

“We’ll be okay.” I smile. “Edna will just pick up the slack.”

“If you need help, you should bring Eddie Lynch in. I think he’s left already, or I would introduce you.”

“I met him. He’s a real room brightener. When are you leaving?”

“A week from Wednesday.”

“So this is the last time I’m going to see you?”

He nods. “You want to hug good-bye?”

I smile, because Kevin knows I’m not a big fan of guy-hugs. “No, but Laurie will want to.”

“Good,” he says. “She was my first choice anyway.”

On the way home I tell Laurie about Kevin’s decision. “I know,” she says. “I think it’s wonderful.”

“He told you tonight?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No… maybe two months ago. He asked me not to tell you.”

“I can’t believe he told you before me,” I say.

“He told pretty much everybody before you,” she says. “I think he was afraid you’d be disappointed in him.”

This is annoying me no end. “For devoting his life to helping people? I’d be disappointed with that?”

“I’m not sure I’d put it that way,” she says.

“How would you put it?”

She thinks for a few moments, then smiles. “I guess I would put it that way.”

As we get near the George Washington Bridge, I get off the Palisades Interstate Parkway and take city streets to Route 4. Like everybody else who lives in northern New Jersey, I wear my knowledge of back streets and shortcuts in the area near the bridge as a badge of honor.

Suckers take highways.

We’re on Lemoyne Avenue in Fort Lee when we see flashing lights from at least five police cars down a side street.

“I wonder what that’s about,” says Laurie. As an ex-cop, I think she’d like to help out in whatever is going down. As a non-ex-cop, I want to get home and go to bed.

My point of view changes when I see that there are three animal control trucks intermingled with the police cars. As a certified animal lunatic, I want to know what could provoke such a massive government response.

“Let’s check this out,” I say.

Having seen the animal control trucks, Laurie knows exactly why I’m interested. “Why, you think a bunch of Chihuahuas might have broken into a PetSmart?”

The incident must have just begun, because the police have not yet set up a perimeter. Laurie and I get out of the car and walk right into the middle of it. She recognizes one of the cops and asks what’s going on.

He shrugs. “Beats me. A dog got loose, and the alert went out for all cars in the area. You’d think it was Osama bin Laden.”

At least fifteen people, mostly cops and the rest animal control officers, have cornered a German shepherd whose back is literally against the wall of a building. He is an absolutely beautiful dog, well built and powerful, with two of the coolest ears I’ve ever seen.

Two of the officers are pointing guns at him. They are strange-looking weapons, and I assume they’re some kind of stun guns. Even in his cornered position, the dog does not seem afraid, or even hostile. In fact, he almost looks bored.

I certainly don’t want to see this dog hurt, so I yell, “Relax, everyone! Calm down! No reason to hurt that dog!”

One of the officers says, “Who the hell is that? Get him out of here.”

I take out my cell phone and point it in the general direction of the dog and the officers surrounding him. “I’m videotaping this,” I say. “Anything happens to that dog, it’s going viral.”

Of course, I barely know how to use the cell phone, and I can’t imagine it has video capabilities, but it’s dark out, and the officers would have no way of knowing that.

This time the officer is more insistent. “Get him out of here.”

Two officers move toward me, including the one Laurie knows. “That dog is not going to hurt anyone,” Laurie says. Then she yells out to the others, “Just put a damn leash on him. Give one to me and I’ll do it.”

As I’m being led away, one of the animal control officers approaches the dog with a leash, and the dog calmly lets him slip it around his neck. The officer then leads the docile dog away toward an animal control van.

When I get to the car I look back and see Laurie talking to some of the officers. Having been in the Paterson Police Department for a number of years, she pretty much knows everybody.

When she finally joins me at the car, I ask, “What was that about?”

She shrugs. “Nobody seems to know, but it was made very clear that the dog was not to get away.”

We get in the car. “I don’t see how Kevin could leave this kind of excitement. You don’t see drama like this in Bangladesh.”