Authors: Betsy Byars
Dead Letter (11 page)
“I'll check. Anybody in there?” Cobby called. “You need help in there?”
“Maybe she's unconscious and can't answer. Maybe she's tied up or gagged. Maybeâ”
Cobby raised one hand to cut him off. He put his head against the door.
“Yeah, I hear something, all right.”
“Breathing?” Meat asked.
“It's more like a low rumbling. Growlingâsomething like that. Check it out, Sam.”
Sam put his head against the door.
“There's a dog in there. That's a growling dog.” He stepped back. “We can't open that door. That's an attack dog. I've seen him with the watchmanâbig, strong Doberman. Teeth like a crocodile.”
“If you'll break the door down, I'll help,” Meat offered.
“Kid, you haven't seen this dog.”
“I've seen dogs before.”
“Not like this.”
Again the two workers turned away. Meat followed, keeping up with them, saying, “Please! I think my friend may be locked in with the dog. My friend's in there with that dog. We can't leave her.”
“What makes you think your friend's in there?”
“That's where I heard her voice.”
Meat wiped his hands on his pants. “Listen, will you do me one favorâjust one favor?”
Cobby held up both hands. “I don't want anything to do with that dog.”
“Me either,” Sam said. “I mean, this is an attack dog, kid. Attack dogs go for the throat. They don't shake your pants leg like the average ticked-off dog.”
“I know that.”
“I am not taking on any dog,” Cobby said forcefully. “That's final.”
“You won't have to.”
Meat eyed the tools on Sam's belt. “I just want you to take that hammer and smash the lock. Then you can go on, and I'll take the blame. I'd do it myself if I could.”
Sam came forward. “Just break the lock, huh?”
“Yes.”
“And you won't open the door till me and Cobby are ten miles up the road?”
“Yes.”
Sam pulled a hammer from his belt. “I want to get one thing straight, kid. You never saw me and you never saw this hammer.”
“That's right.”
Sam lifted the hammer and in one incredible, well-aimed blow, sent the lock flying. At the noise the dog was at the door, barking fiercely, frantically. His claws dug at the wood.
Sam said, “It's all yours, kid.”
25
BACK AGAINST THE WALL
Herculeah could not move. She could not call for help. Her back was to the wall.
Up until the moment when Sam smashed the lock, the Doberman had been directly in front of her, letting out a low, continuous growl. The room reeked of his breath.
With the crashing of the lock, the dog had left her and gone to attack the door. Still, Herculeah dared not move or speak. Before Roger Cole and the watchman left they had told her that the dog was trained to attack if she did either.
Even now, with the whole length of the room between her and the dog, she dared not cry out.
“Herculeah, I'm out here!” Meat called. He was wiping his hands on his pants. “I'm going to help you.” He dried his hands again. He felt he could dry them for the rest of his life and not get the sweat off.
He heard footsteps behind him and froze. He couldn't bring himself to turn around. He knew the watchman and Roger Cole were back. Now they would throw him into the room with Herculeah and the dog, and he was just the kind of person dogs loved to attackâsweaty and scared andâ
“It's us again,” a voice said.
Meat turned and faced Cobby and Sam. He almost crumbled to the ground with relief.
“Yeah, we never did know when to leave well enough alone.”
“Thank you,” Meat gasped. It was the most inadequate phrase in the English language. “I mean really thank you.” That still wasn't good enough.
“Sam here was mentioning that he noticed some loose boards on the back of the building when he was walking around. He got the idea we could pry one off.”
“Yeah, the building's going to be torn down in a week or two anyway.”
“We get one board off, we can look in. If we don't see your friend, we nail it back on.”
“What if we do see her?” Meat asked.
“We'll worry about it then, okay? Let's get going, kid.”
Meat followed the construction workers around to the back of the stable. To Meat, construction workers were the heroes of the world. If he could have chosen any profession for his missing father, it would have been construction. These weren't big men, but they had a certain power in their movements that he admired.
At the back of the stable Sam and Cobby made quick work of the loose boards. But all they could see was the terrible snarling face of Brute that filled the opening.
“Get out of the way, you,” Cobby said, punching the dog with the handle of his hammer.
In a movement so quick it took them all by surprise, the Doberman turned his head sideways, snapped at the handle, and pulled the hammer through the hole.
“Hey, that's my hammer,” Cobby said.
“Man, that dog'll even attack a hammer.”
The dog dropped the hammer, and his face appeared almost instantly in the opening, but in the second it had taken him to drop the hammer, Meat had seen the pale face of Herculeah against the far wall.
“I see you, Herculeah,” he cried. “We're going to help you.”
Cobby said, “Sam, you keep the dog occupied.”
“With what? He's already got my hammer.”
“With sticks, anything. What'd you say the girl's name was?”
“Herculeah.”
“Hey, Here,” Sam called into the opening.
Meat knew that Herculeah did not allow anyone to call her that, but he thought she might make an exception for construction workers.
“We're going to keep the dog occupied, hon. You slip on around the wall if you can. Just inch around, real slow. Get right by the door. We'll give you a count and then we'll open the door just enough for you to slip through. Don't try to answer me. Just try to do it.”
“Get me some sticks, kidâbig ones.”
Glad for something to do, Meat ran around gathering up the biggest sticks he could find and bringing them to where Sam stood at the back of the stable.
“I hope this works.”
Sam shoved one of the sticks into the hole and instantly it was yanked out of his hand. The dog's snarling face appeared in the hole, his teeth bared, saliva and foam dripping from his mouth.
“Man, he is tough on sticks,” Sam said, feeding him another.
“Can you see my friend?” Meat asked anxiously.
“I can't see much of anything but dog,” Sam said. “Ugly dog.”
He fed him another stick.
Sam said to Meat, “This is like a machine my wife ordered that crunches up sticks to make mulch. Man, this dog can make mulch. Look at that.”
“You got the dog occupied?” Cobby called from the front of the stable.
“As long as my sticks hold out.”
“Can you see my friend?” Meat tried to peer around the dog.
“Yeah, she's making her way toward the door. More sticks! More sticks!”
Herculeah inched slowly toward the door. Her heart pounded. Her legs were like rubber, too weak to support her. She was aware that at any moment the Doberman could turn and attack.
She had heard the construction worker say, “Attack dogs go for the throat.”
Back against the rough wall, she inched toward the door. She was at the corner now. She turned.
Still the dog had not looked around. At his feet was a pile of shredded sticks. His antagonism with the man seemed to be growing.
Another inch.
And another.
Herculeah kept her eyes on the dog. Don't turn, she willed him. Don't turn. I'm almost there. Whatever you do, don't turn.
“She's at the door, Cobby,” Sam called.
Meat ran around the stable and waited at Cobby's elbow.
Cobby said, “I'm going to count, hon. And when I get to three, I'm going to push the door open and pull you out. Ready?”
Herculeah wasn't sure. Her knees were weak. Her throat was dry. Her heart pounded in her ears.
“One!”
Herculeah tried to ready herself. She knew she would have to make the move of her life.
“Two!”
Herculeah took a deep breath. Power flowed into her weak legs, her trembling arms. She had never been readier for anything in her life.
“Three!”
26
THE THREE OF THEM
The door opened.
Strong fingers encircled Herculeah's arm, and in a move that was so fast Meat couldn't see it even though he was standing right there, Herculeah came hurtling out the door.
Cobby pulled the door shut behind her just as the dog hurled himself against it.
“If this door had opened out instead of in, that dog would be on top of us, strong as he is.” He looked down at Herculeah. “You all right, hon? I didn't mean to pull you so hard.”
“It was just right. They were going to kill me,” Herculeah said. “They were really going to kill me.”
She trembled, and Cobby patted her. “You're safe. Don't collapse on me now.”
“I won't.”
“We're not out of here yet.”
Sam came around the stable. “That is one mad dog. He's trying to chew the stable down. He's gnawing at those boards. I don't want to be around here when he breaks out.”
“Let's get out of here,” Cobby said.
“Fine with me,” Meat said quickly.
“Can you make it to my truck, hon?”
Herculeah nodded.
Now that Herculeah was up and out of danger, Meat felt useless. Sure, he had been the one to get the construction workers, but they were the heroes.
Ahead of him, it was Herculeah who had a construction worker on either side of her. He watched her give a shaky laugh as if to belittle her fears.
Meat could appreciate the terror of being locked in a room with an attack Doberman. Meat had never had a dog and didn't particularly care for them. He wondered sometimes about people who actually chose to have an animal living in their house.
Meat had gotten a whiff of the air that Herculeah had breathed for the hour she awaited rescue, and that had been enough to turn him off dogs for life. The phrase “dog breath” had a whole new meaning for Meat.
Ahead of him Herculeah cried, “Oh, there's my mom, my mom! And my dad!”
Herculeah struggled up the hill toward them. Meat continued his lonely progress up the hill. He hoped he would be able to get a ride home with the Joneses. Herculeah was getting all the sympathyâwhich she certainly deservedâbut his legs were weak, too.
Herculeah's mother was out of the car now, running toward her. “Are you all right?” She hugged Herculeah and then pulled back to look at her.
“Oh, Mom.”
“Don't âOh, Mom' me. I've been frantic. Where were you? Where was she?” She decided she had a better chance of getting the truth from the construction workers.
“I don't want to worry you, maâam, but she was locked up with a Doberman. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.”
“A Doberman? A dog?”
“Attack dog.”
“Oh, Mom, Dad, I have so much to tell you.” She broke away from her mother's embrace to hug her dad. “Dad, Roger Cole did it.”
“What?”
“Killed Amanda Cole. And when he knew I knew, he locked me in with the Doberman. They were coming back later to kill me, if the Doberman didn't do it for them. These guys saved my life.”
“Slow down,” her father said.
“Well, remember I found that letter in the lining of Amanda Cole's coat?”
“Well,” Cobby interrupted, realizing it was going to be a long story, “hon, if you're taken care of, me and Sam will be on our way.” He turned to Herculeah's father. “If you need us, we'll be here tomorrow, on the jobâjust ask for Sam and Cobby.”
“From what little Herculeah's said, I understand you helped her, and I'd like to thank you.”
“Our pleasure. She's quite a gal.”
“I'll check with you tomorrow.”
Meat joined the scene just as Herculeah turned to Sam and Cobby. And then she said something Meat would remember for the rest of his life.
“You men were just wonderful.” Her gray eyes, shining now with tears, turned to include him. “All three of you.”
27
DOUBLE DUTY
“Meat,” Herculeah said, “do you think that somewhere in the world there is someone exactly like you?”
“Oh, I hope not,” Meat said without thinking, “for their sake.” Then he added quickly, “I mean, one of me is enough.”
Herculeah was talking on the phone to Meat. “Now don't talk long. Your father's going to call,” her mother had said.
“I'll hang up as soon as I hear a beep.”
Herculeah continued. “Well, Meat, the reason I was asking is because I felt such a kinship with Amanda Cole. It wasn't just that she was my size. It wasâoh, I can't explain it. If you haven't had the feelingâand you obviously havenâtâwell...”
“Do you think your dad's going to nail Roger Cole and the watchman?” Meat said, abruptly changing the subject, because he wasn't enjoying the one they had.
“Yes.”
“But I remember that your father said it was sort of a policeman's belief that if he didn't nail his killer inside of a week, his chances of ever getting him were divided by half for every week that passedâsomething mathematical like thatâand this has been years!”
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