Mr. Contreras watched us jealously, talking me through every detail of Peppy’s days during my absence—how much she’d eaten, how she didn’t mind his picking them up, didn’t I think we could keep one or maybe two—the male with one black and one gold ear seemed to have a special liking for him.

“Whatever you say, boss.” I stood up and picked up my papers from the couch arm. “Long as I don’t have to run them when they’re grown, I don’t care. Is that what you wanted to discuss?”

“Oh …” He broke off in the middle of an expostulation on how he could keep up with three dogs, and anyway, who walked Peppy while I was fooling around in Pittsburgh?

“No. No. It’s kinda personal.” He sat on the edge of his shabby mustard armchair and looked at his hands. “Thing is, doll, I could use some help. I mean, some of your kind of expertise.”

He looked up at that and held up a hand to forestall me, although I hadn’t tried speaking. “I ain’t expecting charity. I’m prepared to pay the same as those bluenoses downtown, so don’t expect I’m asking any favors.”

“Uh, what is it you need my expertise for?”

He took a deep breath and got his story out in a rush. Mitch Kruger had disappeared. Mr. Contreras had thrown him out on Monday, exasperated by his drinking and mooching. Then my neighbor’s conscience started bothering him. On Wednesday he’d gone over to the rooming house on Archer where Kruger had found a place to sleep.

“Only, he wasn’t there.”

“Don’t you think he might’ve been out drinking?”

“Oh, yes, that was my idea too. At first I didn’t give it a second thought. In fact, I turned around and was heading straight for the bus stop when Mrs. Polter, she’s the owner of the place, you know, it’s a real boardinghouse—just sleeping space for seven, eight guys and she gives ’em breakfast. Anyway, she hollers at me, thinking I’m looking for a room, and I tell her I’m looking for Mitch.”

It took him a good ten minutes to get the whole story out. Boiled down to the bones it seemed Kruger hadn’t been back to the boardinghouse since checking in Monday afternoon. He’d promised to pay Mrs. Polter on Tuesday morning, and she wanted her money. Or she wanted Mr. Contreras to take Kruger’s belongings away so she could give the bed to someone else. Mr. Contreras shelled out the fifty bucks to hold the bed for a week—retroactive to Monday, he pointed out bitterly—and took the Damen Avenue bus back home.