The man took a drag and exhaled slowly as he watched them. One boy — the one with the taped shoes — caught his eye and stopped a few feet away.
“Buenos dias!” he cried, and then held out a hand, asking for something. Anything. Begging is rarely specific. The man studied him with narrow-eyed appraisal, then dug into his pocket. The other boys, alert as wolves, caught the movement and flocked around the first boy, jostling for position, wanting and needing to be close enough to grab a coin. The man removed the silver from his pockets, saw that there was a little over a dollar’s worth in American coins, and tossed it high. The boys rose like hungry koi, their colors swirling, as they lunged for the money, elbowing and hip-checking their friends to snatch nickels and dimes and quarters out of the air.
Laughing aloud, the man flicked his cigarette into the street, jumped down from the truck, and walked around the kids, who were now wrestling one another for the last coin. He went to the back of his small panel truck, unlocked it, and pushed the roll door up. He unhitched the metal cargo ramp and pulled it out, placing it just so on the ground at the best angle for removing cargo.
“Okay,” he said aloud. “Playtime.”
Immediately a dog walked out of the shadows of the truck. It was big and barrel-chested, with a bull neck and the blunt face of a mastiff. It came down the ramp with surprising care and delicacy, taking small steps until it was on the blacktop. The man nudged it to one side with his thigh, and the dog lost its balance and skittered for a moment before righting itself. It didn’t bark or snap at the man. A moment later a second dog came down the ramp, then two more. All four were identical except for embroidered vests in different festive colors — red, blue, orange, and yellow.
The children stopped fighting over the coins — each having rightfully been claimed and pocketed — and stared at the dogs. The duct-tape boy leaned close to a companion with whom he had been wrangling over a nickel ten seconds ago and spoke in a confidential whisper. The other boy nodded. Whatever they said was lost on the driver, whose Spanish was indifferent.
“Hey,” said the man, “any of you kids speak English?”
They all swore that they could, though that was mostly a lie. Like most poor kids in tourist towns, they knew enough English to work their street scams and to beg for money. But the duct-tape boy said, “I speak some little.”
“Yeah? Good,” said the man. “What’s your name?”
“Israel Dominguez,” said the boy.
“Israel,” repeated the man, amused. “Nice. Well, tell me, Israel, do you like dogs?”
“Oh, yes, very much like! We have un perro pequeño—”
“English, kid,” the man corrected.
“We have a little dog. Su nombre es… I mean, his name is El Cerdo — pig, because he is muy gordo. Very fat.”
“Do your friends like dogs, Israel?”
The boy was immediately cautious, wanting to cooperate but not willing to share if there was some money involved. The man could read that on the kid’s face, and he admired the self-preservation. It was always good to look out for oneself. He always had.
“Maybe they do,” said the boy.
“Would you and your friends like to make a few bucks?”
Israel stiffened. So did the other kids. They all knew that word. Bucks.
“Oh, yes. Very much. How much?”
“You see my four pups here? You know what they are?” asked the man. The boys all shook their heads.
“These are party dogs. You know what that means?”
None of them moved, but their eyes became wide in anticipation of learning something new and amazing.
“They do tricks,” said the man. “That’s why I brought them here. They know all the best party tricks, and, let’s face it, there’s one hell of a party going on around here. Am I right?”
“Yes, señor,” agreed Israel. “There is much party here.”
“Now listen closely,” said the man as he reached into his back pocket and removed his wallet. The kids watched with absolute fascination as he opened it and withdrew a thick sheaf of bills. He looked up and did a quick head count, and then peeled off eleven ten-dollar notes. American currency. “I’ll give you and every one of your friends ten dollars each if you’ll do me a favor. And there’s an extra ten for you, Israel, because I’m making you the boss. What’s the word? Chefe? I’m making you the chefe, Israel. You get twenty U.S. dollars.”
The boys stared at him with huge eyes. Ten dollars was an incredible amount of money to them. The man had driven through the suburbs of this town. He saw the hovels these people called home. These kids were all half-starved, and ten bucks would buy a lot of tortillas and beans. Ten bucks was huge money. Twenty dollars was impossible.
“Do you want to earn that money, Israel?”
“Yes,” said the boy quickly, his voice cracking a little with excitement. The other boys all shouted agreement, but the man patted the air to make them quiet down. The adults passing by cut looks at what was happening, and a few even stopped to watch, but the man ignored them. The boys did, too, except for the occasional uneasy glance for fear of seeing a parent or a cop.
“It’s easy money, kid. All you have to do is take my party dogs into the plaza.”
The boy frowned, looking at the huge dogs.
“Oh, don’t worry,” the man said, laughing. “I told you, they’re friendly. They won’t bite. They’re part of the entertainment.” He turned to the dogs. “Isn’t that right? Give me a wag.” All four dogs wagged their tails. “Okay, knock it off.” The wagging stopped. “See how well behaved they are? Now, all you need to do is take the dogs to the best places.”
“Best places…?”
“Sure. I want you, Israel, to pick the spots where there’s the most people. I mean really packed and popular places, you understand what I mean?”
The boys nodded.
“Then you leave a couple of your friends with each dog. You make sure you pick the right spots, Israel, because I’m counting on you.”
Israel nodded, though he looked confused.
“Then I want you to take the last dog with you to the best spot of all.”
“But… why?”
“So we can all make some money, kid. Mucho dinero.”
Now they all stared at him like attentive schoolchildren. A shrewd look crept into Israel’s eyes, and it was clear that he was getting the idea.
“The perros will do… tricks?” he ventured.
“Right,” said the man. “They’ll do lots of tricks and people will love it, and they’ll throw some coins. Maybe pesos. I want you to collect all the money, you understand? All of it. And then when the party’s over I want you to bring it back to me. I’ll count it, and then you get ten percent. If you don’t cheat me, I’ll give you a bonus.”
“I would never!” cried the boy, raising a hand to swear to God and the Virgin Mary.
“My dogs won’t like it if you cheat me.”
“I swear, I swear.”
The man grinned at him. “Okay, then that’s all there is. You do that and after a couple of hours we’re all going to have a lot of money. If you’re really good at it, we can do it again tomorrow. What do you say, partner?”
He held out his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation Israel took it and shook. Each of the other boys shook it, too. The man gave them some additional minor instructions and handed out the ten-dollar bills. The children stared at the bills and then stuffed them away in secret pockets where even their parents wouldn’t find the money. The man had Israel make teams out of the ten other boys, and had the members of each team let a particular dog sniff their hands. Each sniff resulted in a single sharp tail wag. The dogs went and stood with the boys on their team.