Free Dog Tags by David Rosenfelt

“What are you going to do with the dog when you get him?”
    “I’m not sure. You got any ideas?”
    “Nope,” he says, and leaves.
    Thanks, Hike.

B ILLY DOESN’T LEAVE INTENSIVE CARE UNTIL THE MORNING, SO I ’M AT THE HOSPITAL AT NINE AM.
    The decision has already been made to keep him in the hospital for at least the next few days, rather than transferring him
     to the prison infirmary. I support the decision and would have fought for it if there was resistance. If solitary confinement
     in the prison couldn’t prevent this attack, the infirmary would be a shooting gallery.
    There are two guards outside Billy’s room when I arrive. He looks like he’s been through a meat grinder, but he does not seem
     the type to complain about it. “You okay?” I ask. “Are they treating you well?”
    “No problem, although what the hell is the deal with this male nurse thing?”
    “You’ve got a male nurse?”
    “Damn straight; he’s gotta be six foot two. He wanted to sponge me down. I told him if he tried it, he’d be taking my bed
     in intensive care.”
    “Do you need anything?”
    He nods. “Yeah. I need you to get me out of here.”
    “The hospital?” I ask.
    “No… prison. But first tell me about Milo. I heard you got him off.”
    “Yes. We prevailed.”
    “Man, Pete was right. You must be good. Where’s Milo now?”
    “Still at the shelter. I should have him out by tomorrow. Which brings up the question of what I should do with him.”
    “Can you hold on to him until you get me out?”
    “What makes you think you’re getting out?”
    “If you go to the prosecutor, I think he’ll be willing to make a deal.”
    “You’re going to plead?”
    He shakes his head. “I’m going to trade.”
    “Billy, I don’t think you get it. First of all, I’m not your lawyer; I only represented you for the purpose of getting Milo
     out. Second of all, if I was your lawyer, I wouldn’t put up with this cryptic bullshit.”
    He is aware that I’m angry, and backs off immediately. “Okay, I’m sorry, you’re right. I need you to be my lawyer, full-time.
     I want you to do for me what you did for Milo.”
    “No thanks. I’ve got all the clients I need.”
    “Do it as a favor for Pete.”
    “Been there, done that. Besides, he hasn’t asked me to represent you,” I point out.
    “He will.” When I don’t respond, he says, “Come on, man, I’m a wounded veteran. Don’t you care about your country? What do
     I have to do?” he asks. “Sing ‘God Bless America’?”
    There’s something obnoxiously charming about Billy, but I’ve always been able to resist obnoxious charm. Maybe it’s because
     I possess so much of it myself. The truth is, I don’t want this case; in fact, I don’t want any case. But I also can’t leave
     him confined to this hospital bed with no one to help him.
    “All right,” I say. “I’ll compromise with you. I’ll handle your plea bargain—”
    He interrupts to correct me. “Trade.”
    I nod. “Trade. But you’re going to tell me what it is you have to trade. I’m not going in there unless I know what I’m talking
     about.”
    He thinks for a moment, weighing his options, and then nods. “Okay. Jack Erskine… the guy that was killed… if there was ever
     someone on this planet who deserved to die, it was him.”

A LAN L ANDON WAS LISTENING TO THE MOST BORING SPEECH EVER DELIVERED WHEN HIS CELL PHONE RANG. More accurately, it didn’t ring; it vibrated. And it wasn’t his cell phone, at least not his main one. It was his second
     phone; the one he always answered, no matter what.
    Since he was sitting on the dais next to the mayor of New York, and it was the same mayor who was giving the boring speech,
     answering the phone took some delicate maneuvering. He quietly got up and walked off the stage, hoping that everyone would
     assume he was going to the restroom. Since the mayor was twenty minutes into a talk on the intricacies of educational reform,
     the