“Luck,” said Ted. She watched him leave, the wind whipping his tie back over his shoulder, and she closed the red door. When he came home she would be gone and the house would be full of gas. He’d light a cigarette — filthy habit, really — and the whole house would go up like a rocket.
Witnesses were not popular in the Laurel Heights district, but when God commands, His servants disobey at their peril. “Look at Jonah” was the company motto stencilled on every pamphlet. “Trust in God and help yourself” was another, decidedly unofficial saying, and so the Witness Protection Program was started. Brother Dunstan was keen and clear-eyed, and trusted God much more than he trusted people. He was unobtrusive — most Witnesses never knew he was there, unless something went catastrophically, blasphemously wrong.
Down the block the two missionaries turned up a neat cobblestone path. “Lord above,” Dunstan whispered. “RED DOOR!”
He started running but the flames licked out even as he started to move.
“Nothing more lucky,” said Grant. “You see a red door, you’re in.”
“Why’s that?” asked Rico.
“Don’t know, don’t care,” said Grant. “You just watch for those red doors, boy.”