When he'd first come out of prison, he'd been contacted with a written notice and follow-up phone call, and told to report to a Miss Lopez, his probation officer, out in some office building in Prince George's County, over in Maryland, within seventy-two hours. After going through a metal detector, he sat in a waiting room like a doctor's, had girl magazines all round: Rosie, Good Housekeeping, stuff like that. He was wondering why they didn't have any reading material for men, car magazines or SI, 'cause it had to be mostly men waiting out in this lobby. Then Miss Lopez came in, wearing a middle-age lady outfit like she had on now. She shook his hand, her eyes cool, telling him that this was business and she was all business, and that was how it was going to be.
They went into a room, looked like any interrogation room he'd been in at any police station, scarred table, blank walls, all of them like the rest. She didn't offer him coffee or a soda or nothing like that.
Miss Lopez then went over form number 7A, which described the conditions of his probation, point by point. Most of the rules any fool could have guessed. He couldn't commit any more crimes, couldn't own a firearm or any other 'dangerous device' or weapon, and had to 'refrain' from the use of controlled substances. As he was a convicted drug felon, he also had to submit to regular drug testing. He couldn't leave the judicial district (for him that meant D.C., Maryland, and Northern Virginia) without permission, was required to notify his parole officer as to any change of address, refrain from frequenting places where illegal substances were being distributed, refrain from excessive use of alcohol, notify his PO of any arrests (including traffic violations), and meet his 'family responsibilities,' which meant child support. He was to tell the truth at all times. And, Miss Lopez said, the most important requirement was he had to maintain lawful employment.
'It means you've got to hold down a job,' she'd said, like he didn't understand the official words.
'That's not gonna be a problem.'
'I know it's not. You have to work.'
'What I mean is, I'm close to gettin' something already.'
Miss Lopez sat back and folded her arms, the universal don't-bullshit-me sign. 'What would that be?'
'I'm about to get a position with the Animal Rescue League,' said Lorenzo.
'Over there on Oglethorpe?'
'Yeah. Yes. They gonna hire me, I expect. I'm pretty sure I gave a good interview. And I didn't hide nothin', either. The man in charge there, he knows all about my incarceration.'
Miss Lopez pointed to number 13 on the form. 'He would have to. Understand, any job you get, I'd visit you from time to time at the site.'
'I figured all that,' said Lorenzo. 'Anyway, I should know if I got it or not real soon. Couple of days, tops.'
Miss Lopez had looked at him different right about then. The cool in her eyes kind of melted away. She didn't act all nice to him sudden or anything like that. That would come later. She'd do her home visit, and then he'd start to meet with her in her own personal office, not in that box. And she'd gradually begin to treat him like an acquaintance and, later, almost like a friend. She was like those teachers you'd have back in grade and middle school, the ones you didn't think you were gonna get along with. The ones who acted the toughest in the beginning, who laid down the ground rules from the start. Those were the ones you ended up respecting most, and remembering long after the school year had passed.
'Why?' said Rachel Lopez.
'Why that job?'
'Yes.'
'I believe I can do it, for one. Matter of fact, I know I can.'
Lorenzo went on to explain about the program he'd gotten hooked up with in prison. They had this thing where the inmates could get involved in the training of dogs. These were animals that had been selected to be guides and companions to blind folks, handicapped, the elderly, shut-ins, and the like. Lorenzo had signed up for the program and, once involved, found he had the aptitude for it.
'You like animals?' said Rachel, her arms now uncrossed, the tone in her voice less hard.
'Always did,' said Lorenzo.
'You grew up with dogs?'
'No, I never did own no animals myself. Well, that's not right, exactly. I did have this kitten I hid for a while, from my mother, when she was around. Before I went to stay with my grandmother.'
Lorenzo shifted his position in his seat. The chairs they had in that room were hard. Plus, he was uncomfortable talking about himself to this stranger. But he had started it now, and the words, for some reason, were tumbling out.
'I found this kitten in the alley where we stayed at the time, in Congress Heights. Down there near Ballou, in Southeast?'
'I know the neighborhood. I've had a few offenders down there over the years.'
'That ain't no surprise.'
Rachel Lopez, with an uptick of her chin, told him to keep talking.
'I was just a young kid,' said Lorenzo. 'Seven, somethin' like that. This was just before my mother went away. Before I moved over to my grandmother's in Northwest. I came up on these kids in the alley, they were gonna drown these kittens in a washtub back there, said one of their mothers had told them to do it. I snatched one out of there right quick and ran to my house. I couldn't save them all, so I just took the one.
'I knew my mother would get all siced if I brought an animal into our house. She was… she couldn't handle much of nothin' by then, you want the truth. An animal in the house, I knew that would set her off. So I kept it hid for a while. Looking back on it, wasn't no way my mom didn't know. You can't hide that smell. I was takin' tuna fish and bits of chicken out the fridge for that kitten too.'
'What happened?'
Lorenzo shrugged. 'Kitten got out. I suspect my mother put it out. Dog in the alley got hold of it, killed it dead. My first lesson in the laws of nature. I wasn't angry at that dog or nothin'. Dog was just doin' its job.'
Seemed like Rachel Lopez stared at him a long while then. Finally she said, 'Well, I hope you get that position.'
'I aim to get it,' he said.
He did. But he didn't last more than a few months on Oglethorpe Street. They were just warehousing animals there, doing nothing active about helping the ones in peril on the street, and he was no more than a paper pusher. After all that time in a cell, he didn't want to be walled in, sitting behind some desk. From a coworker at the Rescue League, Brown heard about an opening at the Humane Society, where officers were honest-to-God investigators, empowered through a charter of Congress to seek out violations and violators of animal health and rights.
Irena Tovar, the woman who ran the Humane Society office on Georgia Avenue, gave him an extensive interview. First thing off, she asked him about the specific nature of his criminal charges. Brown figured she wanted to know if he had a rape or domestic abuse or something like it on his record. He told her of his drug offenses, leaving out the violent acts of his past and anything else for which he had never been arrested or charged. She said she had no problem with the fact that he had done time or that he was under supervision. She said that she believed in redemption and she hoped that he believed in it too.
Miss Tovar had hired him, and he had been at it since. He had found it odd, at first, to be wearing a uniform and a badge, especially while he was still on paper, just strange to be on 'the other side.' Strange too that he took to it so quick. From his first day out there, it was like he had slipped his hand into a broke-in glove.
'Lorenzo,' said Rachel Lopez, pulling him back into the present. He stared out across the parking lot at the Capital City Market, where all those Asians and other ethnics had their wholesale food businesses.
'Yes?'
'You been by the clinic lately?'