Death's Door

by Byars, Betsy

  The man was hatless, but the gunman followed him through the upper H of the gun sight. He watched as the man paused to look furtively both ways, as he hurried across the street, and, with another look both ways, disappeared into a house.

  The gunman hissed his disappointment.

  There was a sign in front of the house the man had entered. The gunman telescoped it.

  MIM R. JONES

  PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR

  A small cruel smile pulled the gunman’s lips at one corner. The man was probably his target—his actions had shown how afraid he was—but the gunman didn’t want to take a chance. He had been hired to kill only one man. He lit another cigarette and waited.

  An hour passed. The man came out of the private investigator’s house. Again he looked both ways before hurrying across the street.

  “Next time wear your hat,” the gunman said. “You need to protect your head.”

  The gunman reached for another cigarette. He lit it. His small reddish eyes glared impatiently at the empty sidewalk. He blew cigarette smoke out of both nostrils.

  Anyone seeing him at that moment, even not knowing what others called him, would have had only one thought.

  The Bull.

  3

  IN THE SHADOW OF THE GIANT PEACH

  “Your mom’s name is Sears?”

  “Yes, but don’t ever, ever let her know that I told you.”

  Meat reached up and felt his hat to make sure it was still there. He ran his fingers over the peacock feathers tucked inside the band.

  “Sears?”

  “Quit saying it please.”

  “You know what’s really odd? That I never stopped to wonder what your mother’s name was. I mean, I know every person’s first name on the street—Bernie, Bessie, Cheri—and all the time I was living across the street from a Sears!”

  “Stop saying—” Meat interrupted himself. “Let’s don’t cut through the park, all right?”

  “Why not?”

  “I always feel, well, threatened in the park.”

  “Yes, but today you’ve got on that wonderful hat. I thought it made a new person out of you.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “And you’re with me. You’re always safe with me.”

  Meat said, “Huh!” Then he relented. “Oh, all right, I’ll go through the park, but not by the giant peach.”

  In the center of the park was an enormous peach. It had been given by the Peach Growers’ Association for the children to play on.

  “What have you got against the peach?” Herculeah said. “I like it. I went in there one time. I used to see these little kids run in and holler, and I did it. Meat, if you go inside and yell your name—or anything you feel like yelling—it will echo a hundred times, no, a thousand.”

  “I know.”

  “You’ve done it?”

  “Not willingly.” He adjusted the hat as if to reassure himself that it was still in place and he was still feeling manly.

  “Go on,” she urged.

  Meat sighed. He had already told the biggest secret of his life—his mother’s name. There was no reason to hold anything else back.

  “This is something I never told you. It was too humiliating, but one time—this was two years ago—I was coming through the park and some boys—Ezra Cunningham, Fox Weir, and some boy about six-foot-fifty in a Falcon sweatshirt—cornered me. The boy in the sweatshirt held my arms behind my back, and Ezra pretended he was going to hit me in the stomach, only he stopped just like one micro-millimeter short.”

  Meat could still feel the exact spot where the blow had almost landed. He covered it with his hand.

  Herculeah waited. “And?”

  “And I fainted.”

  “Meat!”

  “I couldn’t help it.”

  “That’s the second time I know of that you’ve fainted in a moment of crisis. Remember the other time in Madame Rosa‘s, when the murderer was coming down the stairs and you were alone in the hall?”

  “Yes. I never faint without a good reason,” he said defensively. In Meat’s opinion, fainting was the only thing that had got him out of danger.

  “So, what did the boys do—run off and just leave you lying there?”

  “I wish they had.”

  “What did they do?”

  “They dragged me over to the giant peach and pulled me inside. Then they left me.”

  Herculeah glanced at Meat. Beneath the brim of his hat his expression was pained.

  “I woke up and I didn’t know where I was. All I could see was the color peach. I thought I’d gone blind. I moaned, and that moan went on—well, like you said, I know it was over a thousand times.

  “Finally, finally, a mother heard me and she came over. At first she thought I was that homeless man that sleeps in there sometimes, but finally she shook my foot—my feet were sticking out—and I realized where I was. It’s left me with an aversion to peaches.”

  “You have to learn to stick up for yourself, Meat.”

  “I know. I know.”

  “One time Billy Holland came up to me in the hall at school. He said, ‘How’s the weather up there, Giraffe?’ I said, ‘What did you call me?’ He said, ‘Giraffe.’ He had this smile on his face like he was being so cute. I said, ‘You got it wrong. Giraffes are peaceful creatures. They would never do this.’

  “And, Meat, I let him have it, hard as I could.” She re-created the jab in the air while Meat watched with admiration. “This happened right in front of the girls restroom and all the girls coming out had to step over him.”

  She smiled at Meat.

  He said, “Why are you smiling?”

  “Because we went right by the giant peach. Its shadow was so long it covered the sidewalk, and you didn’t even notice.”

  “Maybe I’m making progress. But for some reason I still feel threatened. If you want to know the truth, I feel like something terrible is getting ready to happen to me.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the giant peach. He shuddered. He wanted to be home where he was safe.

  “Sears,” Herculeah said as they paused at the corner. She was unaware of his feeling of fear. “Sears.”

  “Stop saying that. We’re getting too close to my house. If my mother heard you say Sears...”

  “She’d just think I was talking about a store.”

  “Not my mother. She’d know I told.”

  They crossed the street and turned the corner for home.

  Meat wasn’t musical. He could hardly remember a single tune, but now his brain came up with a song. He began to hum.

  Herculeah joined in with the words.

  “Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street?”

  She laughed. Meat didn’t.

  4

  THE CAT IN THE HAT

  The gunman pulled his cellular phone from his duffel bag and pulled up the antenna. He punched in a number. It was the number of the house he was watching—Meat’s house.

  There was no answer.

  “Somebody’s got to be in there,” he said to himself. “I know you’re in there. Come on out.”

  He peered through the gun sight at the windows of the house, one by one. If he saw the guy in the window—and if he had on the hat—he could take him out there.

  The gunman sighed. There was no movement.

  He punched in another number.

  “Yeah,” he said into the phone, “I’m in place. I been here over an hour.”

  He glanced around. I’m in an old office building. Condemned. Third Floor. Corner window. I got a perfect shot at anyone going in or out of the house. I can even see the backyard, though it wouldn’t be as easy a shot.“

  “No cat in the hat?”

  “Not yet. A guy come out about a hour ago and crossed the street—went in some private detective’s house. Didn’t have on any hat though.”

  “Bareheaded?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then that wasn’t him. This guy never go
es out without that hat.”

  “I remembered you saying that. That’s why I didn’t take him out. I had a gut feeling he was the right one, though. He had a scared look like he knew somebody was after him.”

  “Well, somebody is.”

  “Ain’t it the truth.” The gunman paused and then said, “I just had a thought. What if he was going over to the detective’s because he just remembered what he saw?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “I can take out the detective too—for a price.”

  “Let’s talk about that later.”

  “I’m always open to suggestions.”

  “Yeah. Give me a call when it’s done.”

  “My pleasure.”

  At that moment, two people came around the corner at the end of the street. One was a girl with a lot of hair. She was laughing. The man in the hat was beside her. He wasn’t laughing.

  “Ah, the cat in the hat,” he said with a smile of anticipation.

  Then he spoke into the phone: “I got him.”

  He dropped the phone and threw his cigarette aside. His look sharpened as he picked up his gun and slid the barrel through the open window. He pointed his gun at the couple.

  He went down on one knee in a practiced move. He braced the M 16 on the windowsill. His eyes gleamed reddish in the dusty sunlight.

  The target was still too far away for a shot, but he was coming closer with every step. The gunman waited tensely, his eye never leaving the gun sight.

  The girl was looking at the cat in the hat, laughing, saying something that caused the man to attempt to quiet her. The cat in the hat glanced across the street.

  “No, you’re looking in the wrong place, pal,” the gunman said. “I’m up here.”

  A car came around the corner and pulled up to the curb. The Bull let out his breath in a snort of impatience. He watched as the girl bent down to speak to someone in the car. The man was momentarily blocked from the gunman’s view.

  “Get outta there. Get outta there,” the gunman said between his teeth.

  The girl glanced up and pointed as if she were giving directions.

  Focused on the hat he did not notice that the girl had stopped pointing, that she had drawn back a step, that she had lifted binoculars to her face, that the binoculars were trained on him.

  The car moved and once again the cat in the hat came into view.

  “Right there,” the gunman said. “That’s perfect. Now don’t move. Just keep talking to the pretty girl. It won’t be so bad, pal. The last thing you’ll see in this life will be a pretty girl.”

  He remembered the man who had hired him saying, “Take him out through the feather.” He remembered saying, “I aim to please.”

  The gunman smiled.

  His finger tightened on the trigger.

  5

  GUNFIRE

  “Zone Three Police Department. Sergeant Mallory.”

  “Sergeant, this is Mim Jones.”

  “Hi, how’re you doing?”

  “Fine. Listen, I need to speak to Chico if he’s not busy.”

  The sergeant was used to judging from people’s voices when something was urgent. He said, “I’ll put you right through.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mim Jones waited, twisting her finger nervously in the telephone cord.

  “Mim, what’s happening?” Chico Jones said.

  “Chico, I hate to bother you, but I think I’m into something I can’t handle.”

  “I didn’t think there was such a thing,” Chico commented.

  She grimaced at his tone. “Chico, this concerns our daughter.”

  “Herculeah.” Now both his tone and his face got serious. “Shoot,” he said.

  “Meat’s uncle called me this morning.”

  “Meat’s uncle. I didn’t know he had one.”

  “Well, he does, and he’s here—across the street. He asked to see me, and so I sent Herculeah off on a wild-goose chase. I knew she’d get involved. You know how she is.”

  “All too well.”

  “It turned out that the uncle is terrified. He was shaking like a leaf the whole time he was here.”

  “Did he give any reason?”

  “Oh, yes. Someone is trying to kill him.”

  She paused for breath, and Chico asked, “Did he say who?”

  “No. He doesn’t know. A series of near-accidents have happened. A car almost ran him down. He just took that to be an accident, but then he got shoved into the path of a bus. Then a whole shelf of books fell on him—he owns a bookstore over on Fourth Street.”

  “And?”

  “He came over here—to Meat’s house—hoping to get away from it, but now he thinks it’s followed him. He’s convinced there’s someone in the neighborhood who’s going to kill him.”

  “And were you?”

  “Convinced? Yes—no—Chico, I just don’t know what to think. The man was genuinely afraid. There was no question of that. He was almost blind with fear.”

  “He could be paranoid.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You think I ought to talk to him?”

  “I think that’s a good idea. If he really is in danger, I can’t help him.”

  There was a pause while Chico checked his schedule. “Maybe he saw something he shouldn’t or was in the wrong place at the wrong time or—”

  “I suggested that but he got very insulted and said, ‘Listen I’m an expert on murders and mysteries. I sell murders and mysteries. I never read a mystery I couldn’t solve.”’ She paused and then added, “One other thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I want Herculeah out of this neighborhood. I want her to spend a few days at your place.”

  “That wouldn’t be a problem. I can pick her up at the same time I talk to him.”

  “It may not be easy to convince her to go. Just the fact that I sent her on a wild-goose chase this morning has aroused her interest, but I think we have to stand together on this.”

  “I agree.”

  “When can you come?”

  “Right now if you think it’s necessary.”

  “I do.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Maybe I’m being overprotective ...”

  “If anything, you’re too much the other way.”

  She gave a light laugh. “Let’s just say that if I were Herculeah, my hair would be frizzling.” She glanced up and out the window. “Oh, there they are—Herculeah and Meat. I am so relieved. I’ve really been worried. I have a bad feeling about this. You can make fun of me all you want—”

  “I’m not making fun. I don’t have a good feeling about this either.”

  “I’ll call her in. I’ll have her packed by the time you get here. I appreciate this, Chico. I owe you one.”

  As she spoke she moved away from the window toward the desk to hang up the phone.

  Blamblamblam

  Her head jerked up. Three rapid-fire shots, fast as a three-round burst of a submachine gun. She gave a shrill cry of alarm.

  “What is it, Mim? What is it?”

  “A shot. Shots. Chico, I heard three shots.”

  “Are you sure? It could have been—”

  She moved quickly to the window, the telephone clutched to her heart. She drew back the curtain and gasped at what she saw.

  “Oh, no. No!”

  “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “No, Chico, no!”

  “What?”

  “It’s Herculeah! Meat too!”

  “What about them?”

  She couldn’t answer.

  “What about them, Mim?”

  “They’re down.”

  She dropped the phone and rushed to the door.

  “What are you talking about? Down? Answer me, Mim!” Then Chico Jones said, “I’m on my way!”

  But nobody heard him.

  6

  A HOLE IN THE HEAD

  “Keep down,” Herculeah hissed.


  “What did you push me for?” Meat began. He attempted to lift his head, but Herculeah forced it back.

  “I said, keep down!”

  Meat said, “What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?”

  A moment before, just after the woman’s car had pulled away, Herculeah had shoved him to the sidewalk, and it had not been a mistake, Meat thought darkly, she’d done it on purpose.

  He had landed hard on his face and elbows—two of his most vulnerable spots—and Herculeah had cushioned her fall by landing on him. And the one good thing he could say about his body was that it made a good cushion for a fall.

  “Those were gunshots,” Herculeah said.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I’m not kidding, Meat. Someone was shooting a rifle at us.” Although there was no one to overhear the conversation, Herculeah found she was whispering.

  “How do you know?”

  Meat blotted his mouth on his sleeve and looked disappointed when he didn’t see a bloodstain.

  “While I was giving that woman directions—remember I was pointing down the street? Well, I noticed the sun reflecting on something on the third floor of the Beaker Building.”

  Meat’s expression was still one of disbelief.

  “I looked through the binocs and saw the barrel of a gun.”

  “Right. You’re just trying to find an excuse for knocking me down.”

  “Meat, this is serious. Didn’t you hear the gunfire?”

  “I heard noises,” he admitted.

  “That was gunfire.” She swallowed. “Meat, let’s work our way back to the shrubbery, but we’ve got to stay down, so he can’t see us.”

  Herculeah began to inch her way back into the shelter of the bushes. Meat followed reluctantly. They were almost concealed when Herculeah’s mom came bursting through the front door.

  “Mom, get back, get back,” Herculeah called. “There’s somebody with a gun.”

  “Where?”

  “On the third floor of the Beaker Building.”

  “Are you all right, Herculeah?”

  “Yes.”

  “Meat?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you’d been shot.” She broke off. “Herculeah, I’m going back inside. I’ve got to call your dad back. You and Meat stay where you are.”

  When the door had closed, Herculeah said, “But why, why would anybody shoot at us?”