In the crack between door and doorjamb, she could see him smiling wisely. A wrinkled old man with gray-white beard stubble, a terrified little dark-haired, dark-eyed girl on his lap, the double barrel of a shotgun against her head. If anything happened to that little girl . . .
"I'm afraid to come in there while you have that gun in your hands," Eileen said.
"Yes," the old man said.
What the hell does that mean? she wondered.
"But that is precisely why they've sent you to me, verdad?" he asked. "Because I have this gun in my hands."
Heavily accented English, but clearly understandable. And perfectly logical, too. The only reason they were submitting to the old man's wishes was that he had a gun. Give up the gun, he gave up his power to negotiate.
"Your granddaughter must be frightened, too," she said.
"I love my granddaughter," he said.
"Yes, but I'm sure she's terrified of that gun."
"No, she's all right. You're all right, aren't you, querida?" he said to the girl, and chucked her under the chin with his free hand. "Besides, I will let her go when you come in here," he said. "That is our understanding, eh? You come in, I let her go. Everybody's happy."
"Except me," she said, and smiled.
She knew she had a good smile.
"Well, I certainly don't want to make you unhappy," the old man said flirtatiously. "I will certainly do my best to make you happy."
"Not if you have a gun in your hands. I'm afraid of guns."
"Once you're in here," he said, "I'll let the little girl go. Then we can lock the door, and I'll put down the gun."
Oh, sure, she thought, Fat Chance Department.
"I'll make you very happy," he said.
Oh yes, she thought, I'm sure.
"Listen to me," she said. Her voice lowering conspira-torially. "Why don't you send out the little girl?"
Hostage first, weapon later.
All according to the book.
"When you come in, she goes out," he said. "That was the deal."
"Yes, but when they made the deal, they didn't know I'd be so afraid of guns."
"A pretty girl like you?" he said, flirtatiously again. "Afraid of a little gun like this one?"
Gently, he nudged his granddaughter's temple with the barrel of the shotgun. The girl winced.
Don't let it go off, Eileen thought. Please, God.
"I really am afraid," she said. "That's why, if you send her out, we can talk about the gun. Privately. Just the two of us."
"Tell me what else we will do privately."
"First send out the little girl," Eileen said.
"No. You come in here, and then you can tell me what we'll do privately."
"Why don't you take the chain off the door?" she said.
"Why should I?"
"So I can see you better."
"Why do you want to see me?"
"It's just difficult to talk this way."
"I find it very easy to talk this way," he said.
You stubborn old bastard, she thought.
"Don't you want to see me better?" she asked.
"Yes, that would be nice."
"So take off the chain," she said. "Open the door a little wider."
"Are you a policeman?" he asked.
Flat out.
So what now?
"No, I'm not a policeman," she said.
The absolute truth. A police woman, yes. A police person, yes. But not a police man. She guessed she could live with that.
"Because if you're a policeman," he said, "I'll kill the little girl."
Which she could not live with.
"No," she said again, "I'm not a policeman. You said you wanted a woman …"
"Yes."
"Well, I'm a woman."
In the wedge between door and jamb, she saw him smile again.
"Come in here and show me what kind of woman you are," he said.
"For me to come in, you have to take the chain off the door."
"Will you come in then?"
"I'll come in if you take the chain off the door …"
She hesitated.
"And let the little girl come out…"
She hesitated again.
"And put down the gun."
Silence.
"Then I'll come in," she said.
Another silence.
"You want a lot," he said.
"Yes."
"I'll give you a lot," he said, and winked.
"I hope so," she said, and winked back.
Double meanings flying like spears on the sultry night air.
"Open your blouse," he said.
"No."
"Open your blouse for me."
"No."
"Let me see your breasts."
"No," she said. "Take off the chain."
Silence.
"All right," he said.
She waited. He leaned forward. Did not get out of the chair. The little girl still on his lap. The shotgun still to her head. His finger still inside the trigger guard. Leaned forward, reached out with his left hand, and slid the chain along its track until it fell free. She wondered if she should shove the door inward, try knocking him off the chair. He was so old, so frail. But the shotgun was young, the shotgun was a leveler of age.
Gently, with the toe of her foot, she eased the door open just a trifle wider. She could see the old man more completely now, a blue wall behind him deep inside the apartment, blue wall and blue eyes and gray hair and grizzled gray beard. He was looking directly into her eyes, an anticipatory smile on his face.
"Hello," she said.
"You're even prettier than I thought," he said.
"Thank you. Do you remember our deal?"
"Yes, you're coming in here."
"Only after you let the little girl go and put down the gun."
"Yes, I know."
"So do you want to let her go now?"
