I looked out over the patchy grass and clumps of weeds scattered around the dirt yard. There was an abandoned shopping cart with no wheels stuck in one corner. A couple of trees looked like they hadn’t been trimmed in years. Their limbs grew out to unusual lengths and dipped so low they brushed the earth. A giant oak stump loomed like a barricade in front of the house.

I thought of different ways to gain entry, but decided knocking on the door was my best course of action. I’d wing it after that if I had to. It wasn’t like I was a cop. I had no real authority.

I knocked three times. Steady. Too loud, and they might think I was a cop. Too soft, and they might miss it. I was thinking about what I was going to say, not paying as much attention as I should. I thought I heard something inside. Just some movement.

Then came two quick gunshots from inside the house.

As I heard the shots, two holes burst out of the door. At the same time that I heard the shots, I scrambled off the cement pad in front of the door. I scurried a dozen feet to the oak stump. I yanked the pistol out of my belt as I tried to catch my breath. The stump was big enough to cover most of my body.

My heart pounded as I held the gun, ready to return fire. I glanced behind me to make sure no one was trying to sneak up on me from another direction. Not only was all clear, no one in the neighborhood seemed to have noticed the gunfire. Were things really this bad in West Nyack?

I heard a voice shout from one of the windows. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I hesitated. Should I shout the girl’s name? I decided I had nothing to lose. “I’m a friend of Ellen Guidry. She sent me to check on her daughter.”

There was a long pause. I knew there was a discussion going on inside.

I was surprised when the door opened tentatively. A black man in a collared oxford button-down stuck his head out cautiously. His hair was cut neat with a little fade.

He glared at me next to the stump. “You almost got your head blown off.”

“No shit.” I stuck the gun back in my pants and stood up slowly to show my hands were empty.

The man motioned me to come forward. He had nothing in his hands, either.

As I reached the cement threshold, he said, “We didn’t know Lizzie’s mother was worried.”

He didn’t sound like a drug dealer.

I was still pissed. “Why’d you guys shoot at me, dammit?”

“We’ve had some trouble. Local gang is catching onto us. Thought that might show them we mean business.”

I glared at him.