Дэвид Балдаччи - One Good Deed

“And who are you?”

“Archer. I’m in Room 610.”

“And what young lady would that be?”

Archer described Jackie Tuttle but didn’t give her name.

The man looked back at him primly and said, “I didn’t see anyone.”

“You sure about that? What time did you come on duty?”

“You ask a lot of questions. What’s your business with this person?”

“Just making an inquiry about a lady. If you don’t know, you don’t know.”

“Would she have been coming out of your room this morning? This ain’t that kind of place, mister.”

“Well, thanks for telling me. And also thanks for nothing, pal.”

As soon as he started walking to the door of the hotel, Archer could feel the man’s gaze on his back. He wished he hadn’t said what he had. Now there would be a direct line among him, Jackie Tuttle, and the dead Pittleman. As a scout in the army and as an inmate in a prison, Archer had never made an error like that, and he wondered why he had in Poca City of all places. Well, maybe he knew why. A woman was involved. Archer just had a weakness there that disrupted his otherwise flawless instincts at self-preservation.

He walked along, hands drilled into his pockets, wondering if he should break his parole and make a run for it now. Archer decided against that and made a detour after asking a man for directions. Eldorado Street was about a half mile away, nearing the edge of Poca’s compact downtown. It was a neighborhood of quaint small homes that looked like something you’d see in a Hollywood picture.

Number 27 was maybe the nicest of them all, he thought, with pretty little white shutters and flowers in both pots and dirt beds already looking for sun at this hour and no doubt thirsting for water. The brick siding was painted white, and the front porch had a little overhang with a metal chair and matching table set near the front door. Unlike some of the other homes, there was no automobile parked in the short gravel driveway.

Archer observed as much of the house as he could, checked around for folks who might be watching him, saw none at this still early hour, and headed up to 27’s front door.

He knocked, waited, and knocked again. Then he heard feet padding toward him. The door was opened and there stood Jackie in a thin, form-fitting bathrobe that looked to Archer like something out of Chinatown in New York. It was crimson and had dragons and elongated masks and symbols of other such Oriental influence emblazoned across the fabric. She was barefoot, her face puffy and free of makeup, and her hair looked slept on.

She rubbed her eyes and exclaimed, “Archer, what in the world are you doing here?”

“You were gone when I got up.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to spend the night there.” She smiled. “Did you like it so much last night that you came around here for more?”

“Can I come in?”

“I suppose. You want some coffee? Now that I’m up, I intend to brew some.”

“That’ll be swell, yeah.”

She led him into a small living room and pointed to a chair.

“Black or something in it?” she asked.

“Just black.”

She left, and he looked around. He didn’t know if the furniture had come with the place; but it looked like it had. It was stuffy and old and downtrodden, and he couldn’t imagine the stylish young woman picking it on her own. A few minutes later she came back with a small wooden tray holding two cups of coffee perched on delicate saucers. She handed one to him and took the other. On a plate on the tray were also a couple pieces of toast, buttered.

“Help yourself,” she said, yawning. “You look hungry. For food or something else?” she added enticingly.

“Food will do for now.” He sipped the coffee, which was hot and strong and bitter, just the way he liked it. And the bread and butter felt good going down with the coffee and helped to settle his rumbling stomach.

“What time did you end up leaving my room?” he asked.

“What? Why?”

He shrugged. “Just wondering. Didn’t hear anything when you went.”

“Well, I was quiet. Didn’t want to wake you. You were sleeping so good.” She smiled and stroked his arm. “I wonder why?” She let her hand drop and added, “You were really something last night, Archer. Compared to Hank, well there was no comparison. But he’s old.”

And not getting any older , Archer thought.

“You check on him before you came here?”

She took some of her coffee and a bite of toast. “Check on him? What for? He was dead asleep when we left him.”

Archer managed not to wince at the unintended irony of her word. “Just wondering. You would’ve passed right by his door and all.”

“I came straightaway here and fell into bed. You wore me out.”

He abruptly took off his hat and drank his coffee fast enough to where it burned going down.

“You thought any more about how to get that debt paid?”

“Yeah, you can go back home to your daddy.”

“Any other way? Because that’s not an option.”

“Was it really that bad there?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just trying to understand things.”

“No, you just want your crummy money.”

“Okay, that’s part of it. And I can understand why you want to be on your own. But your daddy seems nice, when he’s not pointing his Remington at you.”

“You met my father exactly once. How in the world could you possibly think you know him?”

“That’s fair enough. I know you loved your mother. Desiree told me that. Even showed me her picture.”

Archer thought this would please the woman, but by her flushed face and angry features, this had been a serious miscalculation on his part.

“I don’t like the fact that you’re snooping around my business, Archer.”

“See here, I didn’t ask the woman to tell me that or show me her picture. She just did. And your mom was beautiful. You take after her, not your dad.”

Jackie’s features softened. “I do take after my mom. And she was beautiful. On the inside, too.”

“I can see that. There was a lot of sweetness in the picture.”

“But she could get angry, and she never shrank from giving her opinion on anything.”

“Like mother, like daughter.”

She smiled at this and Archer, heartened by how the conversation was going now, followed that up with a question which he regretted as soon as it left his mouth.

“So how’d your mother die then?”

The flush came back to the face and in her anger Jackie stood and glared down at him.

“Why in the hell does that have anything to do with you? What right do you have to even ask it?”

“I’m... I’m sorry. I have no right at all to ask it. And I didn’t mean to—”

She cut him off. “I don’t want to talk about it, Archer. And if that’s the reason you came, then you can finish your coffee and get the hell out.”

“It’s not the reason I came.”

“What then?”

“Your daddy thinks Pittleman has defiled you.”

This did nothing to quell her anger at him. “He has defiled me. And it felt good. Why don’t you go back there and tell him that, you bastard?”

Archer, getting worked up himself, shook his head disapprovingly. “Look, what do you have against your father?”

“What I have or don’t have against him is my business. And only mine.”

“Do you love Hank Pittleman or what?”

“Why, do you want to propose?” she snapped.

When he looked stunned by her response, she suddenly laughed and clutched his arm. “Don’t go running off, Archer, I was just teasing. And I know you didn’t mean to upset me, but sometimes questions like that do.”

She sat back down and had another sip of coffee while Archer contemplated the mercurial nature of the so-called gentler sex.