Дэвид Балдаччи - A Gambling Man

As they passed close to the edge of a long drop, she closed her eyes and said, “Well, I prefer flat land.”

“Well, with the right-hand drive and the direction we’re going, I’m the one close to the edge, not you.”

“I’m close enough, thank you very much.”

They drove past slopes full of chaparral, flatter lands of grass savannas, stands of big-leaf maples and white alders, thick, rugged live black and blue oaks, and armies of Coulter pines.

“What the hell kind of tree is that?” asked Callahan.

They were passing what looked to be a whole forest of them. They seemed to reach to the stars, and an Army column, complete with armor, could have ridden through an opening in one broad trunk.

“Giant sequoias, biggest trees there are. We came up here to train a few times. Ended up just staring at those suckers for about an hour.”

They started upward again with jarring swiftness and Callahan clamped her eyes shut.

“How’d you end up in Reno?” asked Archer, trying to draw her mind away from the ascending elevation.

She slowly opened her eyes. “After the war, I wasn’t sure what to do. My brother was dead, and my parents both died before the war started. The factory I worked in closed down, and with all the boys coming back from fighting there weren’t any jobs left for the women. Those who were married went back to their homes and husbands, those who came back anyway. I worked at a diner in Tennessee for a bit, then decided to just pull up stakes and totally change the direction of my life.”

“So you headed west?”

“Yes, like a lot of people.” She eyed him with a heavy-lidded look. “Like you.”

“And the stint at the Dancing Birds Café?”

“I got to Reno and was wandering around town, checking things out when I literally bumped into Mr. Shyner. I guess he liked the looks of me. I started out working as the hostess, prancing around in my tight little gown, getting my butt pinched and my boobs felt up and taking dollar tips from gents for the privilege. Then I became a waitress. The tips were better, and the ass pinchers had a tougher angle to work with, but I couldn’t see a future in it. I was practicing my dancing and singing the whole time though, you see. Out in Hollywood, the girls have to be able to do lots of things. I read about that in magazines. If I can sing and dance, I can get parts. Bit parts, sure, but then people get to know you. And your roles get bigger. That’s how it works. And if you’re lucky enough and work hard enough, you get to be a star.”

“Sounds like you gave this a lot of thought,” replied Archer.

“You have to give it thought when you’re changing your whole life.”

Archer considered this. “I’m not sure I gave my course change a lot of thinking. It was sort of a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

“I couldn’t afford to do that, Archer. This is my last chance at something big.”

“Why? You’re still young.”

“In the movie business, I’m getting close to middle age. I need to get going before the only parts left to me are playing the heroine’s spinster aunt.”

“Um-hmm.” Archer checked the mirror.

She noticed this and said, “You don’t think we’re being followed?”

“Never can be too careful.”

They passed over the San Joaquin River and watched the rushing water below. It was the fourth such river they had crossed. It seemed to Archer that California was a very well-hydrated state. It grew dark as they continued heading south through the San Joaquin Valley, which was flat and filled with plants of every description, and all lush and green.

“So are we done with the mountains?” asked Callahan, looking relieved. “This place is pretty level.”

“Valleys usually are, but no, we’re not. We have to go through the Diablo Range next,” noted Archer.

“Then is that it for the mountains?”

“No. There’s a whole mess of coastal ranges, north to south. After Diablo, we cross the Santa Lucia Range to get to Bay Town, which is where I’m going.”

“Lots of Spanish names in California,” she said suspiciously.

“Well, they did discover it first.”

“Where are we stopping for the night?” she asked as she lit up a cigarette and nervously blew smoke to her side of the car.

“There’s a place called Coalinga in Fresno County. Route 198 will take us there.”

“Never heard of Coalinga.”

“Neither have I. But it’s a place to stop.”

“Do we go through the Diablo mountains to get there?”

“No, it’s still pretty much in the valley. It’s farmland, mostly level.”

“How much farther after Coalinga to Bay Town?”

“On these sorts of roads, I’m not sure. We cross the Diablos, head for the coast and then go south for a way, cross the Santa Lucias, and then go straight for the Pacific. It’d be good if we could make it in one trip, but I’m getting pretty tired and it’s another three hours just to Coalinga.”

“Then why don’t you pull over and rest your eyes, at least? I don’t want us running off a cliff because you’re beat.”

He found a rest area on the side of the road that had a small picnic table and an old, rusted charcoal grill. They sat at the table with their coats wrapped around them, since the sinking sun had brought drastically cooler temps, and the winds, funneled down the valley, had picked up. Callahan had brought a paper sack of sandwiches, and they ate one each and split a fat pickle. As they smoked their cigarettes and Callahan took a pull on Archer’s flask, he said, “We’ll need to gas up again. We can do that in Coalinga. And maybe we can get a cup of coffee.”

“Or a slug of gin.”

“Right. Then we’re good until we get to Bay Town.”

“And you can be a private eye,” said Callahan. “Or die trying.”

Archer glanced over at her. “And you can go to Hollywood and be a movie star. And ditto.”

She looked over at the Delahaye admiringly. “Nice ride so far.”

“Except for the mountains, you mean.”

“I’m getting used to them, actually. I can learn to accept pretty much anything.”

“That’s real good, lady, ’cause you’re gonna have to.”

They looked up to see three men standing there.

Archer stared over at the trio of intruders. One guy was small, but he stood in front of the other two. He was clearly the leader. Archer sized up the pair as the necessary muscle on a mission of this kind. They were built like pickup trucks, and their expressions betrayed as much intellect as an exhaust pipe.

The little fellow was dapperly dressed in a blue serge suit with two-tone shoes, black and gray, toe to heel, and a white felt hat with a black band and ribbon. The hair Archer could see around the temples was slick, just like the facial features. The eyes were dulled ball bearings. His waistcoat was dark gray and matched the shoe color. His tie was dark red and knotted in the double-Windsor style. He had a straight line of mustache above a thin, chapped top lip. It looked waxed. He looked waxed.

The pair of strongarms was outfitted in 46 long pinstripes that still looked squeezed by their bulk. Tweedle-dee held a .45 loosely at the side of his hammy thigh. His partner in crime cradled a far more menacing Remington side-by-side sawed-off shotgun in his hands like a newborn. They both had matching fedoras, light blue with black bands, and no ribbons thereon.

The boss took a step forward and the big boys did likewise; the menace in their features was palpable.

Archer rose from the picnic table while Callahan remained in her seat staring at the men.

“Hello, fellas, are you lost?” said Archer by way of greeting. He pointed to his right. “The Pacific’s that way, at least I think.”