Дэвид Балдаччи - A Gambling Man [calibre]

“Well, at least it doesn’t look like a place where we can get into too much trouble, Archer.”

The door was painted red and Archer had to pound on it for a full minute before they heard footsteps pecking on the floor toward them.

The door opened and there stood, presumably, Mildred. She was in her sixties with long, braided gray hair flipped over one granny-robed shoulder. She looked sleepy and annoyed at the same time.

“Yes?”

“We need a place to stay,” said Archer. “Just got in town. Katy at Clancy’s recommended you. I’m assuming you’re Mildred?”

Mildred nodded warily and then eyed Callahan with a severe eye. “I’ve only got one room available.”

Callahan said, “One is all we need.”

“Then you’re married?”

She said, “We’re driving in from Reno. Who goes to Reno except to get hitched?”

Mildred’s gaze swept down to their hands. “And where are your rings then?”

Callahan’s expression turned to one of despair. “Can you believe it, we were robbed on the way? We’ve reported it, but the police don’t hold out much hope.”

“If you were just married, you must have your certificate.”

“That was with the things that were stolen,” said Callahan mournfully. “Along with something borrowed and something blue. Crappy way to start a honeymoon, huh? I’ve had to work hard not to cry my eyes out.”

This stream of lies so confidently told seemed to soften Mildred up. She opened the door wider. “I have a place at the top of the stairs. Bathroom down the hall.”

“That sounds perfect,” replied Callahan. She turned to Archer. “Well, honey?”

“Well what?” said Archer.

“Aren’t you going to carry me over the threshold?” She looked at Mildred. “Men, right? They’re like little boys who have to be constantly told to blow their noses and to lift the seat on the toilet.”

Mildred gave her a knowing look and stepped back out of the way. “Okay, young man, go ahead. Do your duty.”

He picked Callahan up effortlessly, swung her through, and set her down.

“There you go, honey,” he said. “Hope you’re happy.”

Mildred said, “Well, aren’t you going to kiss, too? That’s all part of it.”

Callahan and Archer exchanged nervous glances. “Sure,” said Callahan. She leaned over and planted a kiss on Archer. She was about to pull away, but then didn’t. They wrapped their arms around each other and lingered. When they pulled apart, each looked as surprised as the other.

A breathless and flushed Callahan smoothed down her dress while Archer adjusted his tie.

Mildred said, “Well, you two are definitely married. I know love when I see it.”

On that comment, neither Callahan nor Archer would look at the other.

“There’s a pot of coffee on that table over there in the morning,” said Mildred. “Let’s get you signed in.”

Later, after they were in their room, they took turns changing in the bathroom down the hall. Archer put on dark pajamas and Callahan a long white sleeping gown with a slit of interesting elevation, a few fluffy feathers, and nothing on underneath.

They lay in the one narrow bed and Callahan said, “You really thought I’d just up and leave you to those killers?”

He turned to the side to look at her. She did likewise, perching her cheek on her palm as she studied him.

“It’s not like you owe me anything, Liberty.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“We just met.”

“So is there a rule that you have to know somebody a certain amount of time before they can be friends?”

“No.”

“And it seems to me that we’ve already shared a bunch of stuff that people who are friends their whole lives haven’t.”

“Well, being almost killed on three separate occasions over the span of twenty-four hours is unusual, I’ll give you that.”

“Do you consider yourself my friend?”

“Yes, I do,” he said.

“Okay, then it’s all settled.”

She lay back down. But Archer didn’t move. He just watched her.

She seemed to sense this because she said, “Under normal circumstances, Archer, I’d be having certain feelings for you lying here like we are. Especially after that kiss…” She shot him a glance full of curiosity. “Just so you know.”

“Nothing remotely normal about our circumstances. But I feel the same way, just so you know.”

This made her smile. She reached out a hand and he took it.

Archer lay back down. And they both fell asleep hand in hand.

Chapter 15

ARCHER WAS UP EARLY, and he brought a sleepy Callahan a cup of coffee from the pot Mildred had mentioned. After that he took the Delahaye for a gas fill-up. When he got back Callahan was dressed and ready to go.

“That’s some traveling outfit,” noted Archer as he observed the hip-hugging white dress that fell to above her knee and showed enough cleavage to make a man temporarily forget his name. Her heels were high and the color of lavender, and the slim leather belt around her waist was black. Her hair fell to her shoulders, and her head was topped by a turban the color of which matched her shoes.

“If I’m going to be a star, I have to look the part,” she replied. “So you think I look okay?”

“That would not be the adjective I would use.”

“What would be the adjective?” she asked, her eyes lifting to meet his gaze.

“I think I’ll keep that to myself.”

“And I have to compete with that damn car. I feel like such a second billing.”

“Don’t worry. Guys like cars, but they like beautiful women better.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all morning, Archer. Now, let’s blow this joint.”

He was loading the bags into the trunk of the Delahaye as a prowler drifted by. The two cops inside gave the Delahaye, and then Archer, long looks, before floating on to the next street.

By the time they were about to drive off, the prowler had drifted back downstream and docked next to them. The passenger’s-side window was cranked down, revealing the meaty face of a guy in his forties with a clean-shaven slab of skin that was sunburned and windburned around the neck and forehead. His brown hair was cut close to the scalp. Archer thought he might be ex-military. His shoulders were wide enough to swallow the window on the prowler. His partner was tall and reedy, and seemed not nearly as interested in them as Meaty was.

“Nice car,” said the cop.

“Yeah, isn’t it,” replied Archer with a friendly grin. He wanted this to go only one way, when it could so easily go the other.

“Where’d you get something like that?” Meaty had apparently read the name located on the chrome front of the car, because he said, “A Dela-haye? What the hell is that?”

“French made. But it was built for an Englishman, which is why the steering wheel’s on this side.”

“Where’d you get it, pal?”

Archer had been expecting this and said, “From a collector over in Reno. He had some money setbacks and needed to sell.”

“You look pretty young to have the dough to lay down for this piece of chrome.”

“Yeah, it was a sweetheart deal, but I have to keep paying on it for a while.”

The cop pushed back his cap and thought about this, his eyes going back and forth and then reaching to Archer’s eyes and holding like the searchlight bolted to the side of the prowler.

Archer didn’t like that look. It was probing and distrustful and seemed to be angling for any reason to bust his head open and put the cuffs on. Pretty much every cop he’d ever run into had, at some point, given him that very same look.

“You got papers that prove that?”

“If you really need me to get them, yeah.”