Finding Francis

I found a dog the other day. Huddled under the 59^th street bridge. I was out early, around five AM, out in the cold and I see this scrawny little dog crouched up against a wall. Yeah you know me, when I can't sleep, I wander. So anyway I look around for its owner, right? It's below freezing so it's not like I could just leave it there. And there's no one in sight. Well, I mean no one nearby. You know, it's the city. There's always someone around. But I can't see nobody whose dog it was, so I go over to check this little mutt and he's not wary at all. Just whimpers and looks up at me, lets me pet him and everything. So I bend down—well I half-kneel, you know my bad knee and all, and I read the name off the little metal tag hanging from his collar and get this: it just says "Francis" in fancy letters. Yeah. No phone number. No address. Nothing. So I say okay Francis, I guess you're coming with me now.

So I pick up this dog all gentle-like and I can just feel him shivering. But he's still pretty warm so I don't know if it's the cold or if he's just scared to death but anyway I carry him down the block and stop at that little market, you know the one with the green awning? Yeah. Terrible food. I never go in there either, but it's the only place open, so I bring him in there and the owner, he gives me a mean look on account of the dog but I say hey relax, I'm gonna buy something. I need some dog food okay? And he swears at me in Pashtu I think, but he goes in the back and brings out a bag and I'm pretty sure he doubled the price on me but I don't want this poor dog to starve right? I can feel his ribs through his skin. He's gotta eat.

So I buy the overpriced food and I leave that stinking place and I start heading back to mine, and as I'm walking along I notice this car creeping up real slow next to me. Black car, tinted windows. I don't know what kinda game this guy's playing, so I start walking a little faster, but then he pulls up ten feet in front of me and before the car even stops there's this guy out the door. Tall guy, crew cut, real business like, and I can see he's wearing one of those earpieces, you know, like the Secret Service? So I say buddy I don't know what this is about but I don't want no trouble and he says all matter-of-fact, "Sir. It's very important that you let me inspect your dog." Now I don't think there's any chance I could've taken this guy in a fight, but I'm also thinking, no way pal, I ain't handing over my dog to some spook just cause he asked nice. Spook. Like a spy. C'mon, you know I'm not like that. And besides, this guy looked like he crawled straight outta Salt Lake.

As I was saying, I'm standing there pondering what I should do when a second car rolls up, and to tell you the truth it looked like a Rolls. Real official. Had these diplomatic flags on the hood and everything. And before I could say a word out steps this guy—I say guy, but this guy was a gentleman. Dressed to the nines. Looked like he was born in that suit. And he walks up and smiles and says, in this sort of... Eastern European accent—I couldn't place it, but he says, "My good man. You've rescued our Francis. Such a relief!" and at this point I know it must be his dog because how else would he have known the name otherwise? But still, I'm shaken up by the whole thing so off the cuff I say if he's your dog, then what's so special about his collar? And I don't know why I said that. I figured he'd tell me what color it was or exactly what the tag said, but without missing a beat he says to me: "It's platinum with diamonds on the inside."

So I look down at this thing and sort of pull it back against the dog's neck and lo and behold there's actual diamonds on the inside of the collar. And now I'm sweating, because who puts precious gems on the inside of a dog's collar? I'm thinking what have I got myself into?

But before I have time to figure things out, a third car comes screeching to a halt halfway up on the sidewalk. And you'll never believe this, but I swear on my mother's brother's grave, out jumps the mayor in his pajamas. I shit you not. Hizzoner hisself. Now I can see the mayor's in a panic, hair messed up and everything, but when he lays eyes on the dog he goes: "Oh thank God" like he means it. Doesn't even glance at me. Pulls out his phone, makes a call, clears his throat and says, "Yes, Your Highness. We found him. No signs of injury." Then he hangs up and stares at that dog like it's a live grenade.

Anyway he walks over to me and leans in so close I can smell the coffee and cigarettes on his breath. He just about whispers to me that "This visiting princess, she's been, uh... unwell. And now she's out there somewhere, and we're driving around looking for her. Because she's running around looking for the dog. And she won't tell any of us where she is until she finds it." And he gives me this look like he's trying to say yeah I know this is crazy too but what can you do right? And then the Slavic gentleman, he joins in and says that he'd be oh so grateful if I were to give him the dog so he could take care of him and make sure he was safe and all. I hesitate a bit because I've grown kind of protective of him, but I figure there's not much I can do, so I hand over little Francis.

And the window rolls down and he puts the dog in the passenger seat and then he turns back to me and reaches into his coat and pulls out a paper bag. He just had this bag ready. And he holds it out to me and says very seriously that it's "imperative" I breathe not a word of this. And that he's going to compensate me for my trouble. So I take the bag and look inside and there's a couple thousand bucks in there. I counted it later, but I could tell it was a lot. So I swear up and down that I won't tell a soul—I mean, except you, but I know you won't tell nobody. And then he claps me on the shoulder, calls me a "good man" and then they all get in their cars and the three of them speed off just like that.

So there I am holding a bag of money in one hand and a bag of dog food in the other. And on TV the next day, who do I see? Her Royal Highness, Princess of Whatchamacallit. And she's sitting there with her little dog Francis all curled up on her lap just happy as a clam.

I knew you you wouldn't believe me! But I'll prove it to you. See, here's the paper bag. I took most of the money out of course, but there's still a few bucks left. Which is to say, the next round's on me. And look—see that tiny little logo printed on the bottom of the bag? Royal seal, my friend. Royal seal.