Fiche went into the room to try and talk to the boy. Junior was even uglier close up. Crooked yellow teeth, welts from flea bites, sunken cheeks. Not to mention the boy's smell. Finche could guess the age with some accuracy now, probably a stunted six.
After about fifteen minutes or so of coaxing, Finche managed to get Junior to eat some nabs out of his hand. After about an hour of talking soothingly, and making the kid laugh with funny faces, Finche could get the kid to cautiously follow Finche around, though he would back off when Finche turned. But he couldn't get any get closer than an arm's reach from Junior, or get a name out of him. There was no indication he even understood simple English.
Junior started to mimic Finche after a while, parroting simple words. Finche would point at himself and say "Finche," to which the boy would reply "Fish" or "Fitch." Finche continued on this trend, and managed to get other words such as "pwate," "boy" and "maaan." Finche doubted John comprehended any of it, but was happy that they were making some sort of progress. He guessed that someone cared to teach him a few words when he was a baby, and that was why they had made the progress they did.
Then the folks from Mother's Grace Hospital came and took Junior away.

Some Mother's Grace Hospital official was livid at not being informed of Junior and the other children earlier. That afternoon the official called the DCW and Finche got an earful of what he had been dishing out that morning. Finche "disconnected" him by rattling the loose connection at the back of the phone, then hanging up. He then unplugged his phone and left his office, avoiding further bitching out -- he could dish out tongue-lashings but didn't like to take them -- and went to talk to Maricio, who was handling two other children found at the complex. Oddly enough, one of them was the girl John bit. Finche related the events of that morning to him.
"Sounds like you have a real mess on your hands," Maricio said, with his customary smirk.
"I came to that conclusion myself."
"The trickster works in odd ways," Maricio quipped. He was scribbling something in a legal pad.
With a scowl of confusion and annoyance, Finche asked "What?"
"The trickster, Coyote. He throws us a curve ball sometimes."
Finch scowled and rolled his eyes. "Oh, you're spouting that New Age Indian nonsense again."
Maricio nodded knowingly, with a wide grin. "Actually, it's Native American nonsense. The word 'Indian' should specifically refer to residents and things relating to India."
Finche sighed impatiently, then said, "Whatever, PC-boy. By the way, doesn't that 'Native American' stuff get old after awhile? You're about as Indian as John Gotti."
"Yeah, good point. And why don't you quit pretending to be white, man? Grow out a 'fro, wear one of those big Africa medallions and a Malcolm X tee. Eighty-six that tacky gray suit, Holmes. Buy some Nikes or Adidas." Maricio stood in a b-boy stance, cuppin his elbows in his hands, his face dead serious, the set of his chin out.
Finche tried to get angry at him, the little wiseass, but he couldn't help chuckling at the absurdity of the notion and Maricio's stupid expression. Finally, he simply said, "My suit ain't tacky. I paid $120 for this."
"And on a salary like ours, you can't afford to be throwing away your money like that." Cutting off Finche's retort, Maricio continued, "Anyway, I have an idea. I've gotta go see Jaunita, one of the girls whose case I'm handling. She's at Grace where Junior is. We can go together, because we're both going to the same place, and maybe we can help each other out on our cases."
Finche tried to find a good reason to say no, but couldn't.

Jaunita was foul-mouthed and rude. She wouldn't cooperate with Maricio beyond giving her name. She was on a nutrient drip, but had gnawed through her IV plastic tubing a few times, causing the nurses no end of grief. Finche could see why Junior bit her. After about fifteen minutes of enduring alternating verbal abuse and pouty silence from Jaunita, Maricio gave up on that visit and the two men left to go see Junior, who was five floors up in the psychiatric ward.
He was crouching in a cramped padded room, about a third of the size of the interrogation room at the police station. It was exactly the kind of room one would expect to see at a mental facility. Someone had given the boy a thorough washing and haircut, but he still looked utterly miserable and not that much better. When Finche opened the door and poked his head through, there was no indication in John's eyes that he even recognized Finche. Fiche walked in slowly and Maricio came into the room behind him, over the mumbled and ineffectual objections of the attending nurse.
"Hello? Hey there, remember me?" Finche put his thumbs in his ears, waved his fingers and stuck his tongue out at John who just blinked at him.
Maricio crouched, so he was on eye level with the child. He held his hands out and turned them over slowly: palms up, palms down, palms up again. He spoke slowly, softly and deliberately. "See, I'm not going to hurt you."
"He doesn't understand English," Finche remarked.
Maricio: "It's not what you say, it's intent that's understood. I'm trying to relate non-aggression to him. Kind of like talking to an animal."
"But he's not an animal, he's a human being."
"But he thinks he's a dog, so it makes sense to treat him like one. Right? At least for now."
Finche was taken aback by the concept. Why didn't I think of that? he thought. Finch shrugged and snickered. "Whatever works for you, Geronimo."
Maricio flipped him off, smiling, then looked back at John. He was pointing at Maricio's right hand. John uttered something which sounded like baby talk: "Oooooo..."
Maricio looked at his tattoo, and held it up. "It's a coyote. You like coyotes?"
John hopped once from his crouch, then landed in a sitting position. "Aaah-ooooo..."
Maricio looked at Fiche and said, "He's trying to imitate a dog. His family." He smiled broadly, and Finche returned it, happy in spite of his well-hidden jealousy. Maricio had made more progress with this boy in two minutes than Finche did in hours. But progress was progress, and he was glad Maricio came with him. And for the first time since meeting him, he didn't resent the child, who after all hadn't personally set out to disrupt Finche's schedule.
Maricio uttered a long, mournful howl. John smiled and laughed, and hopped up and down excitedly, and started howling back. They continued this canine banter back and forth for a few minutes. A beefy orderly looked in, eyeing everyone suspiciously.
"You're a little Coyote, huh?" Maricio asked John, smiling widely. The child responded with still more howls, and snorting laughs.
Finche said to Maricio, laughing, "You might want to stop, or I might be the only one leaving here today."
But as things turned out, they left together in about fifteen minutes. As they were leaving the hospital, Finche asked, "Just curious, what were you two saying to each other up there?"
Maricio shrugged. "Huh? How the hell should I know? Dude, I was just howling."

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