Дэвид Балдаччи - A Gambling Man [calibre]

“It’s a crowd pleaser, Archer, and that’s the business I’m in,” said Callahan.

Her face was flushed with her triumph, and Archer had to admit it was a good look on the woman.

“Well, well, what’s all the fuss here? Good tidings, I hope.”

The tall man had appeared in the doorway.

Archer saw that Dawson’s smile faded and her confident look eroded. She took a step back and stared at the floor.

“Hello, Mr. Armstrong, I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

Sawyer Armstrong stood an impressive six feet five. He was lanky and loose-jointed, with long white hair and a beard of the same color that dipped slightly off his lean face. His nose ran a long, crooked line down to nearly his top lip. He wore a brown slouch leather hat, dark denim pants, a white vest with a blue collared shirt under that, and a brown corduroy jacket with green elbow patches. His skin was weathered and tanned, and the man’s features seemed carved with the most precise of instruments wielded by talented hands. The eyes were flints of blue surrounded by a sea of shimmering white. He sort of looked like Walt Whitman, thought Archer, that is, if Whitman had been a throat slitter instead of a poet.

Armstrong put out a hand to Archer. “I’m Sawyer Armstrong. I believe you’ve talked to my son-in-law, Mr. Archer.”

Archer shook hands while casting a look behind Armstrong, where two bulky figures lurked in pinstripes with bulges at their chests where large weapons presumably perched.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Armstrong, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’m sure you have, Archer. You saw my daughter as well, I heard.”

“Your hearing is real good, then,” said Callahan, drawing Armstrong’s attention to her.

“And you are?”

“Liberty Callahan. I’m Archer’s best friend. We came to town together. Miss Dawson just hired me to work here.”

“Did she now?” said Armstrong.

Dawson glanced up, her face full of trepidation as Archer watched this exchange warily. He had never seen a person change so much as the woman had, and there must be good reason for it.

In a timid voice she said, “I did, Mr. Armstrong. She’s quite good. I think she’ll really bring in the crowds.”

Armstrong studied Callahan for a moment before turning to Archer. “And how is Willie Dash doing?”

“He’s fine.”

Armstrong put out a thin, long-fingered hand and gripped Archer by the arm. “Let’s have a chat, Archer. I have a private room here.”

“You want some company, Archer?” said Callahan quickly and looking uneasily at him.

Armstrong answered. “I’m sorry, Liberty. Maybe another time.”

Archer said, “I’ll meet you back at the bar. We’ll toast your new career.”

Callahan gave him a half smile that sank off her face as quickly as a cement block dropped over the gunwale of a boat. “Sure, okay.” She glanced behind Armstrong as the two men stepped forward. Both were as tall as Armstrong but far bulkier, and their faces held nothing approaching human. “I’ll come looking for you if you’re not there soon,” she added.

Armstrong said, “Let’s go, Archer.”

The two sides of beef immediately stepped forward and marshaled Archer out.

Armstrong eyed the two women. “Mabel, we’ll talk later.”

“Yes sir.”

He glanced at Callahan, who stared resolutely back at him. Then, without a word, he followed the others out.

Chapter 32

THE ROOM WAS SMALL, DARK, AND LOCATED in the bowels of the place where, Archer presumed, only the rats typically lurked. He was feeling like a trapped one right now.

The single bulb illumination overhead gave him no comfort.

One of the men, on a sign from Armstrong, searched him, found the .38, pulled it out, and placed it on a table out of Archer’s reach, before the other man pushed Archer into a chair.

Armstrong sat down in the only other chair in the room, which faced Archer. He glanced at the gun. “Going around armed already? Do you feel that necessary? Are we that dangerous in Bay Town?”

Archer glanced at the men. “And what do they have under their jackets? Lollipops?”

Armstrong lifted out paper and tobacco from a pouch taken from his jacket pocket, dexterously rolled a small cigarette, and lighted it with a match struck against the table.

“The best tobacco in Mississippi,” he said in a soothing tone as he sucked in a throat full and then let it ease out into the small space. “Have it shipped in monthly. You should try it.”

“Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?” said Archer. “Or am I supposed to just watch you smoke?”

This statement earned him a staggering blow on the side of the head from one of Armstrong’s men that knocked him from his seat. The other man lifted him up and slammed Archer back into the chair.

Armstrong made a clucking sound. “Tony is overzealous sometimes in his loyalty to me, Archer, though I can hardly fault him. You understand loyalty, do you not?”

“When it’s explained to me,” said Archer, rubbing at his face. A searing pain went from his head to his toes, and the ringing in his ears made it impossible for him to hear the accelerated beats of his own heart.

“Well, I can provide that explanation, then,” said Armstrong, scooching forward a bit on his chair. “First of all, loyalty starts at home. I have a daughter whom I cherish and a son-in-law whom I respect.”

“Loyalty, okay, that’s good to know. Thanks. Are we done here?”

The second blow caught Archer on the other side of the head, and he slumped out of his chair, groaning. When Tony went to pick him up, Archer caught him in the gut with a pinpoint uppercut, doubling the man over and causing him to stagger back and retch up whatever was in his stomach. It came out as a pink slop that hit the floor. The other man grabbed Archer around the neck, lifted him off the floor, and slammed him into the chair. Tony recovered and gave Archer punches in the neck and oblique while the other man held him in place.

“Enough,” barked Armstrong, and the breathless men released Archer and stepped back. “Archer, if you wish to be beaten to death, then by all means carry on as you are. But I see no future in it for you.”

Archer fought back the urge to vomit, as the pains continued to radiate from his head and now to his gut and back. With an effort he managed to sit up straight. He reached into his pocket and took a few moments to pull out a handkerchief, which he used to dab at his mouth. He bent down and picked up his hat from the floor and put it on. “So where do I come into all this?”

“You are investigating the allegations against Douglas?”

“On his behalf. Which makes me wonder what I’m doing here getting my ass kicked by these two gorillas.”

“What will make me happy, Archer, is that you do not ever question my daughter again. You should not have questioned her in the first place. She is not party to anything that her husband may be involved in. Do you understand that?”

“Okay. Yeah.”

“And this Ruby Fraser woman?”

“What about her?”

“Is she having an affair with Douglas?”

“He says not. And she says the same.”

“And what do you say?”

“I don’t know. But if I tell you my opinion, am I going to get slugged again? If so, I’d just prefer to lie.”

Tony started to swing a fist at Archer, but he ducked out of the way, pivoted on the balls of his feet, came out of the chair, and struck the man flush on the chin with a thunderous blow. Tony staggered back and slammed into the wall. His eyes rolled back into his head and he slid down the wall, unconscious. His legs splayed out and his pants were edged up enough to reveal the tops of pale, hairy ankles.