Дэвид Балдаччи - A Gambling Man

“And you’re out what, running his errands?”

“Yeah, my next stop is for the sardines, crackers, and a bottle of Old Forester. You might want to come and join the party.”

Sheen slammed shut the drawer without taking anything from it.

“We’re paying your bill, Archer, so don’t play it cute with me. I have neither the time nor the interest.”

“Well, I’d like to have back the last two hours of my life, but that’s apparently wishful thinking.”

“We are busy here.”

“Yeah, I saw the map out there. So, the list?”

“What have you done since we met earlier? Give me a report.”

“Shouldn’t I be talking to your boss?”

This comment made one of Sheen’s eyes commence to twitch. “I am Mr. Kemper’s authorized representative for all things.”

“All things? That’s pretty heady stuff. If I were you, I’m not sure I’d want all that responsibility. But to answer your question, we went to see Ruby Fraser.”

Sheen sat up straight and gripped the front of his desk. “You did what?”

“She denies any affair happened, and also denies blackmailing Mr. Kemper. She could be lying, of course, and probably is.”

“But if she denies it, that’s good for us.”

“Sure, why not.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“Neither did she, if you get my drift.”

“What else?” asked Sheen as he drummed his fingers on the desktop.

“We took a ride up into the foothills and saw Mrs. Kemper. Do you think she’s intense, or was it just me?”

“Are you insane? Douglas will be furious.”

“For the record, I’m not certain Mrs. Kemper shares Ruby Fraser’s opinion that Ruby Fraser is not being diddled by her hubby.”

“You are a crude man,” he snapped.

“But?”

“But nothing, you are a crude and vulgar man. What else did Beth say?”

“She knows nothing about nothing and really wasn’t interested.” Sheen nodded. “Well, that’s good then.”

“So that list?”

Sheen reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of folded paper, and handed it across to Archer.

He unfolded it and looked at the list of names. “And there it was all the time in your pocket.”

“Is there anything else?” Sheen said gruffly.

“Yeah, when do the girls out there knock off for the day? It’s getting late.”

“Why in the world do you care about that?”

“I don’t, but it looks like they don’t know, either. And they keep up that pace, they’ll be dead by morning.”

Sheen pointed to the other door. “You can leave this way.”

“No thanks. I opt for public entrances and exits at all times. I find it safer.”

Archer put the paper in his pocket and left.

He passed by Darling, who looked at him. “Good meeting?”

“The best. I might make it a habit. When do you all call it a day here?”

“When I say we do.”

“Right. Okay, look me up some time. I’m over on Porter Street. We’ll have a drink. Name’s Archer, in case you forgot.”

“Porter Street?” she said with a hiked brow.

“Yeah, it’s on the other side of Sawyer Avenue. Do a border crossing some time. We don’t bite, at least I don’t.”

“I doubt we will ever have a drink together, but I will have no trouble remembering your name.”

“Oh yeah, why’s that?”

She smirked. “You look to be a pretty decent shot.”

“Then maybe we will have that drink together.”

“What’s your first name?”

“Aloysius. What’s yours?”

“Well, Aloysius, mine is Wilma.”

“Wilma Darling, has a ring to it.”

“Archer, quit while your head’s still above water.”

He graced the woman with a smile and a tip of his fedora, before winking at the row of platinums. He got smiles back from half. He considered that his best odds since Reno.

“This looks like a nice place. Are you sure you can afford it?”

Callahan glanced around the interior of the restaurant called Burbanks. It was all brick with a drive-through portico, white-jacketed and — gloved valets, gas lanterns providing flickering light, and a parking lot full of high-dollar cars. It was after seven and the place was packed with the well-heeled of Bay Town in all their glory.

“Not to worry. Remember, I’m a workingman now.” He took out his PI license and held it out to her.

“Wow, Archer, this looks official and everything.”

“Hey, if I needed you to vouch for me, sign a document saying I was okay in your book, would you do that?”

She handed the license back to him. “Why do you need me to do that?”

“Apparently, it’s part of being an honest-to-God PI in California.”

“But I thought you were already licensed. Isn’t that what the card said?”

He slipped it back into his jacket. “It’s sort of complicated, Liberty.”

“Everything with you is sort of complicated.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll do it. Then maybe you can put in a good word for me with Warner Brothers,” she quipped. “Now, let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

They walked arm in arm into the dining area, where they were met by the hostess, who was draped in a silky white number that fell off one shoulder and was barely clinging to the other. Her cleavage was so prominently revealed that even Callahan looked taken aback. The shimmery hostess glided through the sea of tables like a siren to a floundering ship as she led them to a private corner alcove with a built-in banquette seat. She positioned them side by side and looking out at their fellow diners.

She bent down and placed the menus in front of them, giving Archer another peek at her bosom. She whispered in a working-class British accent, “You look to me like a gent that doesn’t like having his back exposed. Am I right, guv?”

Archer thanked her with a nod and she sashayed off for her next victims.

Archer eyed the drinks section of the menu and glanced at Callahan. She was dressed in a pale blue polyester skirt and jacket with black trimmings with a white blouse underneath and dress gloves. A hat with a short veil tacked up to the rim and black four-inch heels over sheer stockings completed her outfit. Every man in the room had given her the eye, even those there with other women seated across from them.

“What’s your poison?” asked Archer.

“Champagne cocktail, for starters.”

“Remember, we have to work tonight.”

“You think a champagne cocktail is going to put me under the table, Archer? Where have you been since we met?”

The waitress came over, and Archer ordered the champagne cocktail for Callahan and a martini for himself.

“Bring the onions and hold the olives,” he tacked on.

They pulled out their cigarettes and lit up, dropping ash into the bowl provided on their table.

“How’d you find this place?” she asked.

“Just looked west of Sawyer Avenue and there it was. Like shooting fish in a barrel.”

“You talking code or something?”

“Or something.”

Their drinks came and they toasted Archer’s new job.

“So how did this afternoon go?” she asked. “Have you solved the case yet?”

“Not exactly. When I do you’ll be the second to know, right after Willie Dash, unless he gets there first.”

“So how’s it going with him? You think you’re going to learn a lot?”

“The guy’s good, knows the town and the people in it. For the most part.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means for the most part.” He picked up the menu. “What looks good?”

“You order for me, Archer.”

He shot a glance. “Really? Why’s that?”