“Did you see them with a dog?” I asked.

He looked at my eyes for a couple of seconds. “That’s your dog?”

“They took my dog,” I said.

“Describe him,” he said.

“He’s a bulldog with one leg.”

“Damn,” he said.

“What?”

“He’s in the washroom over there. The Secret Service brought him in and left him. He’s a sweet animal. I was going to take him home with me.”

Eigen went directly to the washroom.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Fat face,” I heard Eigen say.

“Is that his name?” the old man asked.

“His name is Trigo.”

“That’s a nice name.”

“Don’t you want to know why they had us tied up?” I asked.

“Nope. All I know is that they’re the bad guys and that makes you the good guys. So take your dog and get out of here. Here, take some food with you.” He grabbed some foil and started wrapping up the biscuits.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Eigen came out with Trigo in her arms and the empty bag over her shoulder.

The man reached over and scratched Trigo’s chin. “He’s such a nice dog. How old is he?”

“He’s thirteen,” I told him.

The man smiled. “He’s almost my age. In people years he’s ninety-one and I’m ninety-two.”

“And you’re still working?”

“Still gotta eat,” he said. “Still gotta eat.”

“Thank you so much,” Eigen said.

“No problem, baby girl.” He stroked the top of Trigo’s head. “I was gonna take him home and name him Signifier, you know, like the signifying monkey.”

“That’s a fine name,” I said. I looked at the door to the grounds. I studied the old man’s eyes and he looked back at me. His gaze let me in and I could see how sharp his mind was, how much he had seen, how much he had ignored and endured.

The yuk-yukking came from the other room. “Never trust anyone with a laugh you can spell,” the old man said.

“Sounds like good advice,” I said. “What is your name?”

“My name is Leon Coltrane, like the saxophone player.”

“You were going to take him home with you?”

“Sure was.”

I looked at Trigo and he nodded. I hoped my friend could see my sadness and my trepidation. “Will you?” I asked the man.

“Will I what?”

“Will you take Trigo home with you?”

“You’re serious?”

“Yes, sir.”

He beamed. “I sure will.”

Eigen looked at me and put the dog in the old man’s arms. He struggled a bit with the weight. He let Trigo lick his face.

“You gonna come back for him?”

I looked at Eigen and then at Trigo. “No.”

“Thank you,” the old man said.

“No, sir,” I said. “Thank you.”

Laughter erupted from the front room again.

“We’re going now.”

“Okay,” he said. “All I know is that y’all didn’t come through here.”

Eigen put her hand on Coltrane’s arm. “Thank you, Leon.”

I nodded a goodbye to Trigo.

“Go,” Trigo said.

3

To my surprise the sun was just coming up. I had lost all track of time. We sat on a bench just a couple of meters away from M Street. Eigen put a comforting hand on my back. That gesture was as surprising as the hour, showing an engagement with the moment that I had previously considered difficult for either of us.