Authors: Betsy Byars
Death's Door (3 page)
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 watchingâMeat'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 windowâand if he had on the hatâhe 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 streetâwent in some private detective's house. Didn't have on any hat though.”
“Bareheaded?”
“Yeah.”
“Then that wasn't him. This guy never goes 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 tooâfor 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 hereâacross 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 himâhe owns a bookstore over on Fourth Street.”
“And?”
“He came over hereâto Meat's houseâhoping 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? YesânoâChico, 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 orâ”
“I suggested that but he got very insulted and said, âListen 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 areâHerculeah 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 wantâ”
“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 beenâ”
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 elbowsâtwo of his most vulnerable spotsâand 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 directionsâremember 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?”
“I'm still not convinced someone did.”
“Then why would I throw you to the ground?”
“Because ever since I tackled you that night in Madame Rosaâs, you have been planning to pay me back.”
“Meat!”
“Well, it's one explanation.”
“My mom thought they were shots, and my mom ought to know. Did you see how fast she came out of the house?”
Meat nodded. He put one hand to his head and realized his uncle's hat was missing. He turned his head and caught sight of it on the sidewalk.
He said, “Oh,” and began to move toward it.
“What are you doing?”
“My uncle's hat.”
“Leave it alone.”
“I've got to get it.”
“Leave it alone!”
“Uncle Neiman loves that hat. It's his good-luck hat. He'll kill me if I let anything happen to it.”
“And someone else may kill you before he gets the chance.”
She searched the shrubbery for a stick and handed it to him. She watched critically as he finally succeeded in hooking the stick under the hat.
He drew the stick to him, removed the hat and began to dust it off. He broke off to look at Herculeah.
She had the binoculars to her face and was peering through the shrubbery at the third floor of the old Beaker Building.
“Keep down, Herculeah. If you really think someone was shooting at us, why would youâ”
“He's not there.”
“Who?”
“The gunman.”
“He's gone?”
“I wouldn't say he's gone. I just don't see the gun at the window. He could be at another window. He could be anywhere.”
Herculeah heard a gasp of dread from Meat.
“Well, I don't mean that he's sneaking up through the bushes, orâ”
“Not that.”
She swirled to look at him, her long hair fanning out around her. “What?”
“That.”
He held up the hat. Wordlessly he showed it to Herculeah. To emphasize the point, he put his hand into the hat and stuck a finger out through the hole.
“And you still think we weren't being shot at?” Herculeah demanded.
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