An Ordinary Decent Criminal (21 page)

“. . . I used the dog to catch the mouse.”

“And, how did that go?”

The mouse glanced at the dog and then crawled into an empty toilet paper tube to sulk.

“Well. The dog was very good but he held the mouse in his mouth
for quite some time. We had a Sylvester and Tweety moment of back-slapping to free the little bugger.”

She went on brightly. “So. Are you hungry?”

“Not after that story. I have some work in the backyard if you want to help.”

“Sure. Oh. I dropped off invitations to our neighbors on both sides and across the street, asking them to RSVP. We received another note at the front door, though.”

Claire followed me as I retrieved the blowpipe from the basement and headed up to the bathroom on the second floor. There was a narrow, little, dormer window there that overlooked the backyard and the panes of glass were tinted to provide privacy, but when the hinges were oiled they would open without too much difficulty. I opened one and rested the blowgun on the sill, which was covered in flaking white paint.

“What are you doing?”

The dart went into the end of the pipe and I put my lips in place. “I need some dark so I’m gonna shoot out that light on the telephone pole out there.”

She looked over my shoulder. “No way. I’ll give you two to one.”

“Two to one what? Sex or money?”

She thought about it for a minute. “That really puts some meaning into the saying.”

“Which saying?”

“Put your money where your whatever is. No, I need the money. I’ll bet five bucks.”

“You’re on. Watch me. This is going to be the second easiest ten bucks I ever made . . .”

I pointed and exhaled fast.

Chuff.

Nothing happened. I tried again twice more.

Chuff.

Chuff.

The light remained brightly shining.

“Let me try.”

I loaded it for her and she looked down the length the pipe.

“What are the darts made from?”

“This and that.”

She looked at me suspiciously so I went on. “Okay. I used some of your darning needles. I’ll replace them with the ten dollars I’m gonna win from you. Now you don’t aim, you just point and . . . You’re doing it all wrong. Hold on a second.”

Chuff.

I heard the tinkle of the dart hit the metal post the light was on and then I shut up. Claire reloaded and grinned at me.

“And for my next trick . . .”

Chuff.

The light went out in a tinkle of glass and I went down to go to work, somewhat subdued. Halfway down the stairs, I figured out that I could take the money from Claire’s purse and pay her that way.

In the backyard it was as dark as pitch and I stood listening as I thought about what I wanted. I certainly didn’t want anyone to die. That would be bad. I also didn’t want anyone to end up in the hospital, which would be bad as well. There was a bit of military doggerel I said under my breath as I prepared. “Mines and booby traps can kill so be alert and stay alive . . .”

I put the lengths of thin plastic down on the grass along with a carpet-cutting razor to cut them into strips.

“If possible, don’t be in too much of a hurry . . .”

Well, my neighbors would definitely be in a hurry and they wouldn’t be looking for traps. I ran a length of thirty-pound-test monofilament line from one side of the yard to the other. It was maybe eight inches off the ground. I measured from that and scratched my head.

“Never take anything for granted: it might look harmless, but it might be a killer . . .”

Figure the visitors were five feet plus tall. They’d come in over the fence and then head to the house fast and on their way they’d hit the line and trip. They’d go down and their arms would go forward to try to catch themselves so their hands would probably end up about . . . here. I ran a single strand of barbed wire from one side of the yard to the other and thought about the wounds that would cause. If my visitors were lucky, they’d have tetanus shots kept up to date.

“Evidence of old camouflage may indicate mines and booby traps . . .”

If they missed the wire and line, then they’d reach the stairs and head up. All the notes had been left on the door or on the mat just before the door. I cut one length of plastic to fit exactly on one step and then hammered in the carpet tacks in an irregular pattern pointed up. When I was done, I spray-painted it black and let it dry.

“Suspect all objects that appear loose or out of place . . .”

Almost forgot about that one. I took a five-dollar bill from my pocket and put it beside a paving stone leading up to the back porch. It looked good there so I dug a little hole underneath it and put in the big rat trap with a thread running from the bill to the trigger.

“Always look for trip wires . . .”

A second and third monofilament line went on both sides of the house in case the neighbor went that way. I’d collected some of Renfield’s bowel movements so I scattered those on both sides of the line and then went back to the yard.

“Never bunch up and become a good target for command detonated mines . . .”

I took some shards of broken glass from some water glasses broken during the move and crushed them fine with a rock. Then I cut one of the plastic strips into a half-inch-wide length and emptied a tube of glue on it. Before it hardened, I dribbled the glass onto the surface and then put that aside to set. When it was done, I’d spray paint it white and put it on my side of the fence where I’d seen my neighbor climb over.

“Destroy mines and booby traps in place or mark, report, and leave them alone . . .”

Small plastic tiles cut from the strips served to hold more nails pointed upwards and I scattered forty or so of them across the yard, after giving each a quick shot of black paint. They’d be invisible at night and easily picked up during the day.

“Before cutting trip wires, check both ends for booby traps . . .”

I coated some lengths of the fishing line in more glue and draped them in the bushes near the end of the yard. The glue would dry on the surface and make a film that would remain sticky, and anyone disturbing it should pick up a memento. It would be annoying and embarrassing but hardly lethal.

“Objects should not be disturbed without checking for booby traps . . .”

I tied both ends of the glued line to some empty cans and dropped a few pebbles into each can. With luck, the noise would scare the neighbors and they’d run, which would make more noise so they’d run faster, which would make more noise and so on.

“Only the enemy’s imagination limits his use of mines and booby traps . . .”

With the plastic end of the can of black spray paint removed, it would spray in all directions, so I took it off and then placed it in a hole under one of the paving stones. Small clumps of earth held the stone in place at each corner but stepping on it would still give a healthy dose of paint out each side. It would also make a hell of a loud hiss, and strange noises and sights in the night are discouraging to the untrained.

“Be especially careful in areas where you are expected to slow down, bunch up, or become a good target . . .”

I made running nooses in four lengths of the line and hung them under the windows around back, just in case anyone decided to come look in. I tied them off with two yards of line to nails driven into the windowsill. If they looked in, then they’d probably get their hands
caught and the reflex would be to yank them, which would close the noose, which would scare the snot out of anybody.

“You can learn a lot from the local people: seek their help locating mines and booby traps.”

More nooses went out in the yard, these about a yard around to catch feet and tied to pieces of sharpened dowel I pushed into the ground to act as anchors.

“Trails and roads should be suspected: check refilled holes, areas covered with straw, littered with dung, pavement repairs, and other suspicious spots . . .”

With that done I tied a piece of plastic stripping into a circle about six inches in diameter. In each strip I pushed nails through and angled down so that anyone reaching through would be fine until they withdrew their hand; then they’d get nails in the wrist. These went around the stakes the foot nooses were attached to.

“Report mines and booby traps immediately . . .”

Of course, there was a way out—they’d have to release the stake, though, and then they’d still be stuck by a noose attaching their leg to the ground and they’d also have a bunch of small holes in their wrists.

“Always check your area for evidence of mines and booby traps when you set up your defenses . . .”

I went around and scattered dirt and leaves over my works.

“Probe gingerly when mines are suspected; don’t depend solely on mine detectors . . .”

Claire was standing in the doorway and staring at me and I suddenly realized I had no idea how long she’d been there.

“Do you always talk to yourself?”

“Beats singing. You take the first letter of each sentence and it spells ‘MINES AND BOOBY TRAPS.’ ”

She thought about it and I added, “But I forgot the S at the end. That stands for, ‘since there was nothing in the area yesterday, don’t assume there is nothing there today.’ ”

I put the final pieces into place and then went back inside and Claire followed.

“How do you remember where you put all that stuff?”

“Practice.”

She gave me a hug and I kissed her.

“In addition I’m very talented, skilled, lucky, smart, wise . . .”

“That explains all the jail time.”

I ignored her and cleaned up before we went to bed.

At quarter past four I heard the screams start, but they were quickly silenced as though someone put their thumb on the mute button during a scary movie. At the first peal of noise I’d rolled out of bed and was crouched at the door with the bayonet in hand. By the time I started to think, the screams were just echoes. Listening carefully, I could barely hear
sotto voce
cursing, so I relaxed and put the bayonet back under the pillow. Claire rolled over and threw an arm onto my empty side of the bed.

“Whazamatta?”

I kissed her and she rolled back. When she was breathing deeply again, I went to the bathroom and stood off to the side of the window where I’d cut a slit in the drapes. Through it I could see most of the yard but anyone down there wouldn’t be able to see me. The dog came in and I scratched him behind one ear as I let my eyes adjust to the dim light. In the middle of the lawn, there was a large, pale shape lying prone. As I watched, the figure crawled a body’s length forward towards the fence and then paused.

“Good boy.”

I scratched the dog some more and knuckled his ear until his rear legs started to spasmodically kick. The figure in the yard was moving like a half-squashed bug and I began to admire its perseverance as it finally reached the right-hand fence. That would mean that the visitor was one of the Kilpatricks, either the big, fat husband or the equally big, fat wife. I wondered if it might be one of the big, fat children but I decided against it, the two girls and a boy were all in their early teens and they weren’t as big as the figure seemed to be in the dim light.

The figure had reached the fence and levered itself upright when suddenly it began to spasm wildly before dropping to the ground and shaking its arms wildly.

“Hmmm. I’d forgotten that one.”

Renfield looked up at me uncomprehendingly and I scratched him some more.

In the first light of morning I went out and gathered up the traps. I found the note the intruder had left in the middle of the yard. It was butcher’s paper again and it had “LEAVE, YOU FUCKING KILLER!” written in yellow crayon. As I was reading it, Mr. Kilpatrick, senior, came over to the fence and put his arms gingerly on the top. He was moving very slowly and carefully, like an old man dealing with new pain.

When I noticed him, I waved cheerfully. “Good morning.”

“You know . . .” His arms and face were covered in small, flesh-colored Band-Aids, and he had a pronounced limp. He swallowed audibly and started again. “You know . . .”

He stopped and his wife edged out of their back door and peered at me. They were both big people and looked quite alike, both over two hundred pounds and squatly built. They had pale skin, frequently washed, that was rarely exposed to the weather, and lank brown hair that was rapidly graying, although they seemed to be in their early forties. I walked over to the fence and gestured with the folded note.

“Know what, sir?”

I looked into his eyes from an extremely close distance. Mr. Kilpatrick
found it uncomfortable so he started to back away until his wife made a
harrumphing
noise and he froze in his tracks and continued.

“You know, it might be a good idea for you to leave.”

It almost came out as a question and I shifted my weight onto the other foot and ignored his statement entirely. Their house was beautifully kept with aluminum siding and bright red paint on the lintels and around the edges of their windows.