Дэвид Балдаччи - One Good Deed

“Doesn’t make it right.”

“Are you telling me you’ve never struck a woman?”

“Never even thought about hitting one.”

She raised her glass to him. “Glad to hear it.” She took a drink and looked him up and down. “So you never told me why you got the new clothes.”

“Want to look the part.”

“What part is that?”

“Professional debt collector for one drunk asshole.”

He grinned and took a swallow of his drink, while she laughed loud and long, something that both surprised and pleased him.

She ran a hand up and down his jacket, while he tossed his new hat down on the bed.

“Where do we go from here?” he wanted to know.

Jackie moved slowly around the room while she sipped her drink, swaying maybe to some tune in her head. She reached the window, drew back the curtain, and looked out onto the dryness of Poca City.

“I have no plan, Archer. I’m just feeling my way. What were you doing outside the bar tonight?”

“Waiting for you to come out with Mr. Pittleman.”

“Why?”

“Needed to update him on things.”

“Like what?”

“Like your daddy torched his 1947 Cadillac, so there’s no way for me to get it back.”

“And how do you know this?” she said, looking at him with interest.

“I went out there last night with the idea of getting the car. It wasn’t where you thought it might be. I found it in a little clearing not too far from there, in the middle of a bunch of pine trees.”

She continued to gaze at him, her hand perched on one hip. “That used to be my secret spot, Archer, when I was little. I’d go there and pretend to be all sorts of things. A princess, Amelia Earhart, Jean Harlow, and Madame Curie.”

“Well, right now it’s got a mess of a burned-up car. And it’s been there a while, long before I went out there asking about it.”

“I wonder why he did that?”

“To spite Pittleman. Make sure the man’s never gonna collect so long as you’re with him.”

“Then he’s a fool.”

“Not sure about that. Pittleman told me he’s not taking Tuttle to court because it might cause embarrassment for his wife.”

Jackie smiled and said, “He really told you that?”

“I went out there to see him and that’s what he said. You don’t think he was telling the truth?”

“Who knows? I find the truth coming out of folks’ mouths less and less these days.”

He sat on the one chair while she slipped off her shoes, taking so long to undo the straps around her ankles that it forced Archer to look down into his drink before something happened he might later come to regret. But that water might already be over the dam.

She dropped her heels on the floor, took her legs up under her haunches, and perched there like a queen on her throne. But it wasn’t a throne; it was Archer’s bed.

“This is getting interesting, Archer, don’t you think?” she said in that husky and now whiskey-draped voice.

He looked up, cradling his drink and taking another short swallow.

“Could be.”

“You know, all the others just tried to steal that damn Caddy in the middle of the night.”

“May they rest in peace. I took a different tack. Just my nature.”

“You’re the path-less-traveled sort of man, are you?”

“It seems to me that if I just follow along with everybody else, my life will always be crowded with folks I don’t necessarily care to spend time with.”

“Now you can’t accede to my father’s request, and you can’t fulfill Hank’s, either. And you spent money and you can’t pay Hank back.”

“You seem different than you did in the bar that first night. I mean, the way you talk and all.”

“Hank likes me a certain way. So, I’m that certain way when I’m around him.”

“What way is that?”

“You’re a college boy. Do you know what chattel is?”

“Like property.”

“Right. That’s what Hank likes, owning things. And he also likes girlish giggles, flighty, flirty, his hand freely grabbing my ass, and all that goes with it. That also includes the occasional insult, slap, or punch.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“If I weren’t, I wouldn’t let him do it.”

“You’re educated, aren’t you? I mean, you sound it.”

“I went to college, too. Only I graduated.” She tacked on a smile and eyebrow hike to this.

“What’d you study?”

“Psychology.”

“How’s that work for you?”

“I can read people pretty well. Now, Hank, he’s easy. You, not so much.”

“Always thought I wore it on my sleeve.”

“You might be wearing something, but it’s not you , Archer. Not by a long shot.”

“Why do you want to be around a man like that? He’s more than twice your age. And he’s married, too. Marjorie Pittleman seems nice and respectable.”

“That’s not my issue, that’s his and his wife’s. As to my reasons, Hank treats me pretty well for the most part. We go out, we have a good time, and then I have my own time.”

“Where do you live?”

“In a house on Eldorado. Number 27. Hank got it for me.”

“A house, huh, then you’re a kept woman of sorts.”

“You got that from a book, I think.”

“I think you’re right about that. You have long-term plans with old Hank?”

“I don’t really think past tomorrow. I only live in the moment. Spontaneous.”

He shook his head and finished his drink. “I don’t think I believe that.”

“Believe what you will or won’t. But let me give you an example.” She set her drink down, stood, and slipped off her jacket, revealing her dress straps and bare shoulders. She pulled down the straps, reached around to the back of her neck, undid a clasp there, pulled down the zipper, and commenced to wiggle herself free from the dress’s constraints while Archer could only watch with rapt attention. Finally, the fabric hit the floor. She stepped out of the pile of dress and stood there with not much on except her stockings, garter belt, and underwear.

Archer found he could not look away, not even if a regiment of Nazis were bearing down on him with Hitler leading the pack. He had seen naked or nearly naked women before, in four different countries. He had never seen one that stirred his heart like this woman. Her body was icy pale and soft in every place that mattered to a man. Her mouth was infinitely kissable. And her contrasting Veronica Lake dark peekaboo had never seemed more in reach for a man like him.

She put an exclamation point on this by twirling around for him.

“Are my intentions now made clear?” she said, coming to face him. “Because I’m not sure what else I can do, quite honestly.”

“I think I get the point.”

“I’m truly relieved.”

“And Hank?”

“He’s not here now, is he?”

“Do I have a say in this?”

Her face fell. “I think that’s a given, but if you’re not interested?”

She bent down to pick up her dress, but he gripped her by the shoulders, pulling her straight up.

“You’re taller without my shoes on,” she said, looking up at him.

“I suppose I am.”

“You have a nice mug, Archer. Good bones. Not too handsome and not too scary.”

“Moderation is a good thing.”

“But not all of the time.”

He looked down at her and noticed the bruises on her arms, upper thighs, and obliques.

His features darkening, he said, “What the hell happened there? You fall?”

She didn’t even look at where he was staring. “Nothing important, Archer. Nothing at all.”

“You sure? I mean, if Pittleman did—”

She put a hand over his mouth.

“Focus. I need you to focus. The night’s not getting any younger and neither are we.”