“Habeus canine. Counselor, this court does not sit as a monument to an individual attorney’s perverted sense of humor. Do you understand that?”

“Your Honor, with all due respect, I understand it fully. But were I to proceed along the conventional civil channels, I have no doubt but that my client would be deceased before I could even get on the calendar. Your Honor, no matter what we call a court, be it criminal court, supreme court, surrogate’s court, or family court, they are all courts of law and of equity. They are forums through which we the people exercise our right to justice. My client may be a dog-and I can say freely that I have personally represented individuals so characterized by this very court even when they possessed both first and last names-but my client is still a living creature. Is not life itself sacred and holy? Can an attorney asked to protect the life of a beloved pet refuse on the ground that some procedural nicety stands in the way?”

By now, Blumberg was riding the groundswell from the packed courthouse-humans who normally wouldn’t blink at accounts of babies tossed into incinerators were outraged at the tale of animal abuse. In the rare position of representing a popular cause, the fat lawyer pounded ahead. “Your Honor, I say to you at this time, I would rather be a dog in America that a so-called citizen of countries that do not enjoy our freedoms and our liberties. My client herein is not the first client I have represented who does not understand the procedures of this court and he will not be the last. My client did his job. He gave his all for his owner-must he also give his life? My client is young, Your Honor. If he made a mistake, the mistake was an honest one. How was he to know the people battering down his master’s door were lawful agents of the police? Perhaps he thought they were burglars, or armed robbers, or dope-crazed lunatics. Surely there are enough of those people in our fair city. Your Honor, I beg you, spare my client’s life. Let him go forth once more to frolic in the sunshine, to work at his chosen profession, perhaps to sire offspring that will carry on the proud name of Doberman. A life is sacred, Your Honor, and no man should tamper with another’s. That, Your Honor, I respectfully submit, is the work of the Almighty, and His alone. I beg this court, let my client go!”

Blumberg was actually weeping by then, and the watching crowd was clearly on his side-even the court officers’ ever-present sneers were replaced with looks of compassion for a young life threatened with extinction.

The judge tried once more, knowing he was doomed to failure. “Counselor, can you cite one single legal precedent in support of your arguments?”

“Your Honor,” Blumberg rang out, “every dog must have his day!” And he got perhaps the first standing ovation ever given in New York City night court.

The judge called me up to the bench, satisfied himself that I was the dog’s owner, and took us all back into chambers. He made a quick call to the ASPCA, informing a thoroughly cowed attendant of the potential liability they were facing if they killed my dog. Just to make sure, I typed a release order on engraved stationery from the secretary’s desk while the judge was being congratulated by Blumberg on his judicial wisdom. I picked up my dog and took him to the Mole at the junkyard, where he could join the pack. Nobody knows the name on the Mole’s birth certificate, but he lives under the ground and he’s reliable as death. I heard later that Blumberg picked up half a dozen cases from the gallery while I was gone. Most guys don’t even have the guts to reach back into themselves when they have to, but Blumberg actually had something there when he did.

While the Doberman’s successor prowled her rooftop, I set about making preparations for the coming hunt.

THE FIRST ISSUE was identification. If Wilson was really a Vietnam vet, he must be wise to the grab-bag of goodies Uncle Sam makes available. If he was scoring from the VA on a regular basis, for instance, he had to be using his righteous name. And that name would have to be connected to an address somewhere in the government computers. I knew a guy who specialized in that racket for a long time-a computer wizard who just liked to play with keyboards and telephones. He was the same guy who gave the Mouse the idea for his big social security scam (which, from my recent mail, was obviously still working). Unfortunately, finding that guy would be tougher than finding Wilson. He’d done me a lot of favors over the years, so when he came to me for help in disappearing, I showed him how to work the game and he vanished. He should have been satisfied making regular little scores, but he talked too much. One of the mob guys overheard him bragging in a singles bar about how he could get access to any government computer and approached him to get inside the Witness Protection Program. The mob guy wanted to find out the new identities of some of the informants who had been relocated by the government. It worked to perfection, but when people started turning up dead all over the place (especially in California-for some reason, most of the gangsters who opt for relocation have to try the Holy Coast), my friend decided to exit the stage. The mob made so much noise looking for him that they tipped off the feds-or maybe, in a touch of perfect irony, one of the mob guys leaning on my friend for information was a rat himself. Who knows?

Since the guy was a friend, I didn’t send him down the Rhodesian pipeline, but recommended Ireland instead. They’ve got no extradition treaty with the U.S., and he should be all right if he keeps his head down. Israel is another good choice, especially since my friend had such marketable skills, but those people are too serious and I don’t think they would have tolerated his nonsense. The guy had bad personal habits and no real sense of surviving by himself. Between the need to talk to the wrong people, which means any people, and the need for computer toys and telephones, he probably won’t last.

I sell a lot of identification, mostly to clowns who want the option to disappear but never will. The stuff looks pretty good-all you need are some genuine state blanks, like for drivers’ licenses, and the right typewriter. IBM makes a special typing element-one of those things that looks like a studded golf ball-designed for computer reading. They call it an OCR element and you can’t buy it over the counter but this is something less than a significant deterrent to people who steal for a living. I have a complete set in the office. A white dropcloth, a Polaroid 180 with black-and-white film, some state blanks, and I can put you in the driver’s seat in about half an hour. I also sell discharge papers from the army, draft cards (although there isn’t much business in them anymore), social security cards, marriage licenses, and a variety of firearms permits.

But none of that crap is really any good. The proper way (and the way I fixed up my computer-junkie friend) is simply to find someone who died soon after birth with an age and race similar to the person you want to fix up. Then you apply for a duplicate birth certificate in that person’s name, which becomes your name when it’s issued. This perfectly legitimate piece of paper opens the door to all the rest-driver’s license, social security card, you name it. And that paper is perfectly good. To get a passport, for example, all they want is a birth certificate, which you can get certified at the Health Department for a couple of bucks, and a driver’s license or something similar.

The finishing touch is to hire some local lawyer and tell him you want to change your name for professional reasons, like you want to be an actor or something equally useful. Then you put an ad in the paper announcing to the world, including your creditors, that you want to change your name. Most dead people don’t have too many creditors, especially those who have been in such a state for a couple of decades or so. When nobody comes forward to object to the change of name, the court will give you a certified order so you can change your name legally on all the other documents. This adds another layer of smog to what was phony to begin with, and it’s more than enough to keep a step ahead. The whole package costs less than $500 from start to finish. It’s a bargain-you’d pay more than twice that just for a phony passport.