Дэвид Балдаччи - A Gambling Man [calibre]

The cop’s features turned to stone at this slight pushback, and the glare he shot Archer was all official and aggressive and the look of a dog who’d just found a dinosaur bone to crack open and then devour.

“Let me tell you something, buddy—” he began sharply.

Callahan stuck her head around Archer’s. “Are you from Coalinga, Officer?” She smacked him with an ear-to-ear smile.

He eyed her features and grinned. “Born and bred, ma’am.”

“I’m from back east, but I wouldn’t have minded growing up here.”

“Yes ma’am.” Then the cop’s grin faded as he looked at the Delahaye’s damaged windscreen post where the bullet had struck. Next his gaze dropped to the door panel and held there; his expression grew even more serious. Felony serious, thought Archer, who was noting every changing nuance of this little confrontation.

“What the hell is that?” the cop asked, pointing.

Archer dropped his gaze and saw it. His first instinct was to hit the gas. His second was to look up to see the cop watching him closely.

“Looks like blood to me,” said the cop. “What’s it look like to you, mister?”

Archer knew that blood was exactly what it was. The car had been parked in the picnic area near the shoot-out. The blast from the shotgun had obviously driven some of the dead man’s blood spatter onto the Delahaye’s metal. Archer hadn’t noticed it in the dark and, for some reason, hadn’t noticed it in the light of morning, either. It was, unfortunately, clearly revealed to him now.

“We hit something on the road last night. A deer, a coyote, some animal. Banged the windscreen and then I guess it brushed the side of the car.”

“But no dent,” said the cop, getting out to look closer. His buddy joined him, coming around the side of the prowler, his hand on the butt of his leather-holstered Colt .45. He looked like he wanted something to shoot.

“You’d expect a dent, right, Jimmy?” Meaty said, looking at his partner, who had an Adam’s apple so pronounced it looked like a tumor. “Ain’t no dent that I can see. You hit a deer or a big cat, you’re gonna have a dent or at least some paint scratches, yes sir. Something weird going on here. I got me some questions, mister.”

He bent down to look closer, while Jimmy kept his distance, probably in case he had to draw and shoot Archer on the fly. Meaty looked up and said, “Step out of the car, buddy.”

It was right then that Callahan got out of the car and came around to them.

Both cops took a whiff of her nectary perfume and came to rigid attention, like a bailiff had just called the court to order. Archer was gratified that their full focus was on the lady and her tight dress rather than the blood and absence of dents.

“I was driving at the time when we hit something. Scared the bejesus out of me,” she said. “Didn’t it?” she added, looking at Archer.

“The bejesus,” repeated Archer.

“‘Bejesus,’ that’s an Irish term,” said Meaty. “Hey, are you Irish, Miss?”

She put out a gloved hand for him to shake. “Name’s Callahan, Liberty Callahan, so that would be a yes. I am most definitely Irish, officer.”

His grin threatened to run off both sides of his face. He pointed to the name sewn onto his uniform. “I’m Sean, Sean Regan . My parents came from the county of Offaly.”

“My grandparents were from Cork.”

“Talk about a small world.” He turned and looked at his partner. “Hell, Jimmy, this gal’s family is from Cork.”

Jimmy couldn’t take his gaze off Callahan’s prominent bosom. “Cork,” was all he managed to say.

Archer noted that Callahan stood so that she was entirely blocking the door panel.

“I’m heading to Hollywood. I want to be in the pictures.” She put a hand on her hip and bumped it out and placed the other hand behind her long neck, turned into a profile shot, curved that long neck back like a swan’s, and hit them with a dazzling smile. “Think I have a shot? Tell me the truth now, fellas.”

Regan said, “Hell, you’re lots prettier than Rita Hayworth.” He glanced down at her stockinged legs. “Ain’t that right, Jimmy?”

Jimmy looked like he had downed two bottles of Old Forester as a warmup to really hitting the juice. “Cork,” he said throatily.

Jimmy was down for the count, Archer concluded. He’d probably forgotten about his Colt .45, or the fact that he was even a cop. And Regan wasn’t far behind.

“You are so sweet.” She gave Regan a hug and Archer watched the cop’s hand slide down to her buttocks. He made his landing and dug into her soft flesh. She made no attempt to move his fingers back to a respectable spot. Archer had to appreciate the lady’s self-control.

When Callahan stepped back, she said, “I was so nervous, but you’ve cheered me up no end. So thank you and now I’ll let you go on your way. I know how important police work is. My uncle’s a cop in Boston.”

Regan beamed. “Now there’s a big city, all right. They say on Saint Paddy’s Day every bar in Boston gives free drinks to every Irishman. Is that true?”

“Every Irishman and Irish woman ,” she added, giving him another broadside of a smile fired right from the biggest quarterdeck cannon she had.

He chuckled and tipped his cap at her. “Best of luck to you, Ms. Callahan.”

She did a little curtsy. “Thank you kindly, Officer Regan.”

They climbed into the prowler, Regan gave one more enthusiastic wave, and they were gone, just like that. It was hard for Archer to believe everything that had just happened was not a by-product of his imagination or a drunken binge.

Callahan watched them until they were out of sight and then got back in, tugging her dress sharply so the hem wouldn’t get caught in the door as she closed it.

“Okay, now I’m convinced,” said Archer.

She looked at him curiously. “Of what?”

“That you actually might make a go of it as an actress.”

“That wasn’t acting, Archer, that was just lying.”

“Isn’t it the same thing?”

“I don’t know. I’ve done a lot of one, but not necessarily the other.”

“It was lucky about the Irish thing.”

“What lucky? I saw Regan’s name sewn into his uniform. And I am Irish. I thought I would give it a shot. What could we lose, right?”

“ Is your family from Cork?”

“Hell, who knows? Now, let’s get out of here before that dumb mick forgets the pleasure of grabbing my ass and remembers the blood and no dent. So hit it.”

And so Archer hit it.

Chapter 16

HOURS LATER CALLAHAN AWOKE WITH A START and looked over at Archer. Only he wasn’t there. The car was empty except for her. The Delahaye was pulled off to the side of the road, next to a river. She looked out the window and saw Archer skimming rocks across the water.

She slipped her heels back on and got out, walking carefully over to him across the uneven terrain.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Just taking a break. You were asleep, seemed like a good time to stop.”

He reached down and picked up an opened bottle of Coke. “Got this back in Coalinga at the filling station. Just cooled it in the river for a few minutes.”

She took the bottle from him and took a couple of swallows before handing it back.

“So where are we?”

“Salinas Valley.” He pointed at the water. “That’s the Salinas River. Its mouth is way up at Monterey Bay.”

“It’s beautiful around here.”

“It’s farmland and very fertile. Nearly a hundred miles of it in the valley. Mountains on both sides. They raise a lot of crops here.”

“Were you a farmer?”