Дэвид Балдаччи - A Gambling Man [calibre]

“Okay, but—” Archer caught himself. “Wait a minute. The law only applies to ships ?”

“That’s right. If you’re on land off the coast that is not under the jurisdiction of California, there’s apparently no applicable law against gambling and no law against ferrying folks out there to gamble.”

“But hold on. If the governor was so against gambling on boats, why would he allow it on land?”

“The Navy built that island. And even if they hadn’t, it’s just over three miles out, and there’s no dispute about the measurement from the shore here the way the coastline is configured in Bay Town. So California has no say in the matter. It’s in federal waters.”

“But Catalina Island and the other Channel Islands are even farther off the coast. Why hasn’t anyone tried to get gambling on them?”

“Because even though the military is all over them they’re officially part of California, so the governor has control over what happens there. There was some question about whether the treaty signed with Mexico way back that ceded northern Mexico to the U.S. included them, but a few years ago Mexico confirmed they have no rights to them. But even if they could be used for gambling they’re a lot farther out, Archer, and in heavy water. You want to spend an hour or two or three in heavy seas to play blackjack or craps? And drink your fill and come back in heavy seas and stand at the gunwale and contemplate killing yourself because you’re so seasick?”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, sometimes it really is the little things. That island is in the perfect location to be a gambling joint. A fast ferry ride out and back in relatively calm waters. That’s why the ships were so popular. But this island setup is even better. The floor’s not moving while you’re rolling the dice.”

“But they could outlaw anybody getting ferried out there.”

“Guess who controls that in each locality, Archer?”

“The mayor?”

“Bingo. And the town council. Which explains what happened to Ben Smalls and why this election is so important to some folks. And Kemper’s country club is right on the water and has a marina with a big dock. They could have the ferries leave from there.”

“But if President Truman signed a bill about boats, what’s to stop him signing a bill about an island?”

“If Kemper was a real smart guy, and I’m thinking he is, he’s paid off some powerful folks in D.C. to make sure there’s no Knowland Bill number two and that the state of California is not going to make this a priority. Hell, America is just now digging out of a war. They want some fun. Now, gambling is fun. Sure, most lose their shirts, but they’re smiling while they get stripped naked. And if one ship can make two hundred thou a month, what do you guess a bunch of mammoth casinos out there could do? Folks will do a lot for that much dough.”

“Well, the short time I was in Reno, I can vouch for that. Casinos are raking it in.”

“You have to follow the money, Archer. It usually takes you where you need to go.”

“Then Armstrong and Kemper are in this together?”

“Could be,” said Dash.

“But then who’s trying to blackmail Kemper into getting out of the race?”

“How about Drake?”

“But he seemed like a straight shooter with good motives.”

“Drake is an idealist. He may believe if Kemper gets in there it’s the same as having Armstrong in charge again. He knows he can’t win the election on the up and up; there’s too much money and other things aligned against him. So he finds or makes up dirt on Kemper and tries to win the race that way so he can get in there and do a lot of good.”

“And the murders of Fraser and Sheen? You think Drake is involved in those?”

“Haven’t figured those out yet. And Archer?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember this, son, if you remember nothing else. What I just laid out is a theory . Theories are not the truth. To find the truth a gumshoe’s got to keep digging.”

Chapter 56

ARCHER DROVE BACK TO MIDNIGHT MOODS and was in the audience when Callahan made her formal debut later that night. To say she was a success would have been like saying the Allied countries had fought to a draw with their Axis counterparts.

The theater was filled to standing room capacity and Archer noted, with some surprise, that the number of women in the audience roughly equaled the number of males in attendance.

The curtains had parted and out had marched Callahan in the outfit she and Dawson had selected. Her long, dramatic strides bore the confidence of someone at home in the spotlight. Indeed, her smile seemed to outshine the stage lights. When she reached the microphone, Callahan motioned at the piano man to prime his fingers. He started to play and his skill was obvious; yet when Callahan opened her mouth and the sounds poured from it, Archer didn’t give the man tickling the black and white keys another thought.

One hour later the last note of her final song held in the air like cannon smoke after a twenty-one-gun salute. She took a bow, stood straight, and let the appreciation of hundreds of people rain down on her for holding them in luxurious captivity for the previous sixty minutes.

A man in his fifties seated next to Archer elbowed him and said, “Damn, son, is she a keeper or what?”

Archer smiled and nodded and concluded that Callahan was right where she was meant to be—in front of large crowds and sending them into a better existence than reality ever could.

As his gaze ran over the audience, Archer spotted him. He bent forward for a better look. Yes, it was definitely the man.

Douglas Kemper hadn’t grieved long for his campaign manager. He was in the front row, cigarette and drink in hand, and seemed to be fixated on Callahan.

Archer went backstage after the show to see her.

She was in her small dressing room with LIBERTY freshly stenciled on the door. There were baskets of flowers littering the floor, while she sat in front of her mirrored vanity table and reapplied her stage makeup.

“Well?” she said, looking at him in the mirror.

“I think you did okay.”

“Well, don’t give yourself a heart attack slinging out praise, Archer.”

“Do you want me to say you’re a star? Okay, you’re a star, Liberty. But you don’t need me to tell you what all those people already did. And you had as many ladies as gents in the audience. I’d say that’s something, all right.”

“You got your flask?” she asked, giving him a pretty smile.

He handed it across and she took a sip. “So, that was just the first act. I’ve got three more sets and then some hand shaking and drinks with some of the big players here, and the local rag is going to interview me and even take my picture.”

“You good with all that?”

“Hell, Archer, I was born for ‘that.’”

“Yeah, I guess you were.”

She lit up a Camel, blew smoke out, and swiveled around to look directly at him. “I heard someone else got killed here. That’s what Dawson was referring to, right?”

“Wilson Sheen. He worked for Douglas Kemper.”

“Kemper, huh? Someone told me he was in the audience tonight.”

“He was. In the front row looking very appreciative of your many talents.”

“Moneybags, right?”

“And married to a very lovely woman, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“So he has connections to Fraser and this Sheen guy. Is he a suspect in your book?”

“Everyone’s a suspect in my book, Liberty.”

“You wanted me to be your spy here. Should I start with Kemper?”

Archer hesitated. “You know, what I told you before probably wasn’t a good idea. It could be dangerous.”