The Case of Dunc's Doll

by Gary Paulsen

  “It’s hokey.”

  “No—it’s the way the military does it. I saw it in a movie. You make a poem of the plan, and then it’s easier to remember. Now do it.”

  Amos took a breath.

  “We throw the meat to the dog

  and crawl over the log.

  We pepper to the left,

  and pepper to the right.

  And take very good care

  to avoid getting a bite.”

  “Good.” Dunc nodded. “You’ve got it.”

  “It’s dumb.” Amos held up his can of black pepper. “This isn’t going to work.”

  “I read that escaping slaves used to carry pepper and sprinkle it on their trail to stop the hounds from being able to follow them. It worked for them, and it will work for us.”

  “That thing isn’t a hound,” Amos said. His face was all streaks, and he looked like a clown. “It’s the Devil. And he’s just going to think the pepper is seasoning to make us taste better.”

  “Think of the reward.” Dunc put his hand on the doorknob and opened it silently. “Think of Melissa,” he whispered. “Now let’s go—we’ve only got six hours before Dad and Mom wake up.”

  Amos held back for a moment, then followed. He hissed at Dunc’s back.

  “Peppered meat

  is good to eat.”

  It took them nearly an hour to ride through the suburbs. They kept to the alleys until they were outside town, then took the road straight to the front gate. They passed a few cars, one police car, but they moved off the road in plenty of time to keep from being seen.

  When they arrived at the gate, they hid their bikes in the willows across the road and waited, watching.

  “He’s not there,” Dunc said.

  “He is—he’s just invisible. And bulletproof.” Amos shivered, remembering. “He dripped drool when he looked at me. Dripped it down on my head.”

  “Well, I don’t see him.”

  “Trust me. He’s there. Watching us right now. Probably looking right through us. At our internal organs. Counting our organs to make sure they’re all there before he— what’s that?”

  A sudden noise had come from the road, and Dunc sighed. “Just a cricket. Take it easy.”

  “I’ve changed my mind. Let’s go home.”

  “Amos.”

  “I hate it when you say ‘Amos’ that way. Like you’re talking to a kid.”

  “We are kids.”

  “I mean a real kid. A kid kid. There! What’s that?”

  Another sound.

  “It was another cricket. Come on, let’s get closer and see if we can see him.”

  They each had a can of pepper, and Dunc had a small pencil flashlight on a loop around his neck. Dunc also carried a plastic bag with three pounds of hamburger in it.

  The plan was simple. Dunc had explained it—according to Amos—about a thousand and four times. They would throw the meat over the fence to the dog, and while he was eating it they would run to a different part of the fence, climb over, sprinkle pepper on their tracks, and make their way to the house. Amos had drawn a map of the house from memory as soon as they’d gotten back to Dunc’s room. There was a set of windows in the front, and one of them had been open. If it was still open, they would go in there. If not, they would try to find another way. It was a good plan, as plans went.

  Except for the dog.

  They couldn’t find the dog.

  They were close to the gate, standing against the steel grating. “If we don’t find the dog,” Dunc said, “we’ll have to cancel.”

  “No problem,” Amos said quietly. “I found him.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Holding on to my thumb.”

  • 10

  “What?”

  “My thumb, you doofus,” Amos almost screamed. “He’s got my thumb through the gate bars here, and he’s holding it.”

  Dunc turned, tried to see down in the darkness. “Oh yes, there he is. Why did you give him your thumb?”

  “I didn’t give him my thumb—he took it. I had my hand close to the gate, and he kind of reached through. I didn’t see him in the dark. And now he won’t give it back.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “No. He’s just holding it tight. When I tried to pull it back, he grabbed tighter. Man, he’s got spit all over my hand.”

  “Don’t move.”

  “Get serious. If I leave here, I have to go without my thumb. I like my thumb. But I wish you’d do something.”

  “I don’t know what to do. Maybe if I tap him on the nose.”

  “Don’t get him mad!” Amos yelled.

  “Shhh …”

  “Give him the meat.”

  “The meat?” Dunc said. “We need that for later to distract him.”

  “If you don’t give him the meat, I’m going to kill you.”

  “Wait—I’ve got a better idea.”

  “Do it soon.”

  Amos heard a ruffling and then a clicking sound, and suddenly the pungent odor of pepper filled the air.

  Dunc sprinkled pepper through the gate bars on the Rottweiler’s nose.

  “Oh,” Amos said, “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

  The effect was immediate. The Rottweiler wrinkled its face, wrinkled it some more, took a great breath through its flubbery side lips, and exploded in a spray of spit and snot that covered Amos from the middle of his chest up across his face.

  And he let go the thumb.

  “Arrrghhh! I’m snotted, I’m snotted!”

  “Don’t complain.” Dunc grabbed his collar and pulled him away from the gate. “He let you go, didn’t he?”

  “I’m snotted,” Amos repeated. “He snotted me all over.”

  “Come on.” Dunc took the plastic bag of meat and threw it over the gate. “While he’s eating this, let’s get in down the way.”

  He took off running, and Amos followed him, half dragged. Down the fence a short distance, there was a wooden bench where walkers could take a rest. It was close to the wall, and Dunc jumped on it, bounced once, and pulled himself up on top of the wall. He reached back and helped Amos up, and they dropped inside the property.

  Dunc had memorized the map, and he made for the house at a good run, sprinkling pepper in back of them as he ran.

  It was a huge stone house with high windows peaked like church windows. There was one yard light on over to the side, but the front and other parts of the house were dark.

  “It looks spooky,” Dunc said.

  “Yeah. It was bad enough in daylight. It looks worse now.”

  “Where was that window again?”

  “On the right side of the front. There— it’s still open.”

  “Well, let’s get going before the dog finds us.”

  “It’s too late.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s here. He must have swallowed the meat whole.”

  “Where is he? I don’t see him.”

  “In back of me.”

  “He’s not growling.”

  “He can’t. His mouth is full.”

  “Full—of what?”

  “Me. He’s got me by the butt.”

  • 11

  “Lucky I’ve still got some pepper left.”

  “Couldn’t we just talk to him?” Amos said. “I mean, he’s not hurting me. He’s just hanging on. Couldn’t we talk before we do the pepper again? Couldn’t we—”

  It was too late. Dunc reached around to where the Rottweiler was hanging on the back of Amos’s pants.

  He opened the wrong hole on the pepper can, and instead of sprinkling through the small openings, he dumped half a tablespoon of pepper right on the dog’s nose.

  The great lips wrinkled, flubbered, wrinkled again, and the dog blew snot all over Amos’s back.

  “Yeeccch!”

  “Run!” Dunc said. “To the window—get in the house.”

  They made it.

  Dunc clambered in, and Amos followed.


  Inside, the house was dark, pitch black. The boys stood just inside the window while Dunc found the penlight. He flicked it on once, for half a second, then off.

  In the sudden glare the room looked huge, filled with hulking furniture, high shadows.

  “Wrong room,” Amos whispered. “It’s the next one toward the back of the house.”

  Dunc started walking, and Amos moved next to him.

  “Why are you limping?” Dunc asked.

  “The dog,” Amos said. “He got my shoe when I came through the window.”

  “Oh.”

  They crossed the room carefully, slowly, and moved through the doorway into the next room.

  “Flick the light,” Amos said.

  Dunc turned it on and off at the same time. In the quick flash they saw more furniture, couches and tables—all antiques— and in the back the glass case with the curtain.

  “There,” Amos said. “That’s it.”

  They moved to the case, or tried to. Halfway across the room Amos caught a chair leg with his foot and tripped.

  He went down forward, tripped Dunc on the way down. Dunc fell over onto an end table next to a large chair. The end table held a glass lamp with dangly crystals all around. The table and lamp went over with a sound loud enough to stop traffic during rush hour.

  For a second, almost two, Dunc thought they’d gotten away with it.

  Then they heard steps upstairs. Heavy steps. Two men, coming from two different rooms.

  “What’s that?” one of them said.

  “I don’t know. I think something fell downstairs. Did you let the dog in?”

  “Not likely—we’d have heard long before this. I can’t even leave him in the garage. Last time, he chewed one of the tires off the car.”

  “Well, get down there and check it out.”

  Dunc and Amos had been frozen in the dark on the floor, and when the speaking stopped they heard steps moving toward the top of the stairs. Dunc grabbed Amos by the collar and dragged him across the room.

  There was a large chest next to the wall covered with a small Indian rug. Dunc tried it, and the lid came up. It was empty.

  “Inside,” he said into Amos’s ear. “Hurry.”

  They both climbed in, and he tried to hold the rug in place as he let the lid gently down.

  “It’s dark,” Amos whispered. “Your elbow is in my face.”

  “Shhhh.”

  They heard the light switch click on.

  “Oh,” the man said. “Oh, great.”

  He turned away, facing back up the stairs. “The window was open, and there must have been a gust. The end table and lamp blew over.”

  “Check the cabinet.”

  The boys heard steps, then the sounds of the glass case opening.

  “It’s all right.”

  “Fine. Close the window and get back to your room. We have to move the doll early tomorrow morning.”

  Until then everything had been going well. Or sort of well. The dog wasn’t so good and the table wasn’t so good, but Dunc and Amos still had luck on their side.

  Until then.

  At that moment the pepper container in Dunc’s windbreaker pocket fell to the side. It was still open from the last sprinkle on the dog’s nose.

  It was almost empty. But some pepper had caught on the lip at the top, and when it fell sideways, the pepper dropped out and down.

  Directly into Amos’s nose.

  It wasn’t just a sneeze. The sound was more like a machine gun going off inside the trunk.

  “Cha! Cha! Cha! Cha!”

  The trunk lid opened almost immediately, and Dunc looked up to see a large man leaning over them. He looked like a human version of a Rottweiler.

  “What are you doing in there?”

  This could be going better, Dunc thought. The man was not smiling. Amos was upside down with his nose buried in the corner, still sneezing.

  “We’re refugees,” Dunc said, thinking fast, making his voice sound foreign. “We got lost.”

  “Get out of the trunk.”

  “Is this where we fill out our papers?”

  “Get out of the trunk now. Slowly. Don’t try anything funny.”

  “What does this mean—funny?”

  “Out.”

  Dunc stood and stepped out of the trunk, and Amos sat up. The man saw his face.

  “You look familiar. Why is that?”

  “Cha!” Amos sneezed.

  “What is it, Grant?” An older man with gray hair came down the stairs.

  “I found these two in the trunk.”

  “Oh, my—now what do we do?”

  “I think,” Grant said, “we have to get rid of them.”

  • 12

  “Tell me”—Amos rubbed his nose, leaned close, and whispered in Dunc’s ear—“was this part of your plan?”

  “No.”

  “That’s what I thought. This isn’t good, is it?”

  “Not very, no.”

  “Shut up, both of you,” Grant said.

  “Why do you want to get rid of us?” Dunc asked. “We didn’t do anything.”

  “Exactly, Grant,” the older man said. He was wearing a silk cloak with dragons up either side and silk pajamas beneath the cloak. “Why be hasty?”

  Grant turned and stared at the older man. “What do you think we should do?”

  “Why, the same as with any other burglar. We’ll call the police and have them arrested.”

  “What?”

  “I said—”

  “I heard what you said. Have you forgotten about the—”

  “I haven’t forgotten anything. These two boys have broken into our house, and the police will come and take them away. There is nothing here that anybody cares or knows about to complicate matters.”

  “Oh—I see what you mean.” He nodded and grabbed a phone from a nearby table and dialed the police. “Yes, officers, two boys have broken into our home. We’re holding them for you. I’ll have the gate open for you.” He hung up and went to the wall by the front door and pushed a switch.

  And Dunc thought, great, the cops will come, and we’ll tell them about the doll and—

  “No,” Amos said suddenly, interrupting Dunc’s thought, holding up his hand, “that won’t work either. See, without the doll we’re just breaking and entering, but as soon as the police get here we tell them about the doll, and that gives them probable cause for a search and they’ll find the doll, and there you’ll be …” His voice trailed off, and he looked at Dunc, who was staring at him in horror. “I screwed that up, didn’t I?”

  “A little,” Dunc said. “Well, maybe a lot. I don’t think you had to tell them.”

  The two men looked at Amos, and the older man nodded. “Quite right. If there were such a thing as this ‘doll’ you’re talking about. I’m sure I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” But his eyes flicked to the case against the wall, and Dunc knew he was lying.

  Dunc had been studying the case while the two men talked. It had curtains covering the glass. There didn’t seem to be any real chance to escape—the men were between the boys and the window, or near it. But there was an opening toward the case. If they could break the glass, grab the doll, and run, they might be able to cause enough confusion to escape. Or at least make a mess of things until the police arrived.

  “Why don’t you lock our friends into the other room while I handle the situation here?” The old man’s eyes went to the case once more.

  Now, Dunc thought. It has to be now. Grant’s hand was next to his shoulder, half an inch away, and he suddenly slammed sideways into Amos and yelled.

  “The case—break the glass. Grab the doll. Now!”

  Amos was moving before he knew why. His hand went down automatically and grabbed an ashtray off an end table by the couch, threw it overhand, and smashed the glass in on the curtain.

  Dunc’s hand was right in back of the ashtray. He slid the curtain aside and grabbed the small doll from a stand i
n the middle of the case.

  “Run!” Amos turned, fell sideways, and used his body to block into the legs of Grant, who went down like a wall falling. His hand brushed Dunc’s back. The older man made one grab for him, caught his ear, and twisted it before he pulled free, and he was at the window.

  It was still open.

  Just enough. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Amos just to his rear. He aimed his head at the opening and dived, at a full run, out the window.

  Dunc hit the ground hard and next to him sensed a dark form, a large dark form covered with hair and snarling snot, and before either he or the form could move, Amos shot through the window and landed directly on the huge shadow.

  Which was the Rottweiler.

  There was a moment of stunned silence, half a second, then another half, and Dunc was up, the doll in one hand, his feet moving. “Come on—run for the gate!”

  Another sound, this time like somebody trying to swallow a bowling ball.

  “Gackkk!” Amos said.

  Dunc stopped. He was almost away, almost free, he had the doll and was almost gone, and he stopped. Amos wasn’t coming. He couldn’t leave without Amos. “What?”

  “Ummmpphh, gackkk!” Amos said.

  “We have to leave, Amos.”

  “Gackkk!”

  It was impossible to see in the dark, but Dunc leaned down over the Rottweiler, and it seemed that he had Amos’s whole head in his mouth.

  The men were coming. They had gone back around through the door and were coming. Dunc threw the doll back into the bushes alongside the house and turned to meet them.

  Amos was on all fours, his head and face in the dog’s mouth.

  “Oh,” Dunc said, “I’m sorry. I forgot. I still have some pepper left.”

  “Ummmpphhh, gackkk, no!”

  But it was too late. Dunc sprinkled the last of the pepper on the dog’s nose. The sneeze blew Amos back four feet.

  “Oh, man, I’ve got snot under my eyelids!”

  “Run—” Dunc started to say, but it was too late. Grant had him by the arm, and the older man grabbed Amos.

  “Where is the doll?” the old man asked.

  “What doll?”

  There was a small moment when Dunc thought Grant would hit him, but before he could raise his arm or Dunc could duck, sirens seemed to come from all directions, and three squad cars came down the driveway and they were surrounded by flashing red lights and police.