Дэвид Балдаччи - A Gambling Man

“Just business. He said Wilson Sheen was here, too. Have you seen him? I think I spotted him a while ago. I wanted to talk to him as well.”

“Mr. Sheen? No, no, I haven’t seen him. If he was here, he might have left. I find he... tires easily.”

Archer observed she had to struggle to keep the smile off her face. Finally she looked away from him and drank her gin and tonic nearly to the bottom of the glass.

“Oh, that’s too bad. So how’s business?”

“We’re very busy. Mr. Kemper has his fingers in lots of pies.”

“Do you know his wife?”

“I’ve seen her.”

“She’s quite beautiful.”

“You know, Archer, the gal you’re with is the one you should be complimenting.”

He grinned. “Sorry. You don’t need me to tell you that you’re quite the looker.”

“That’s better. And I do need you to tell me.”

“Okay, you’re quite the looker. You stood out from the other gals in the office like a flamingo in the desert.”

“First time I’ve been compared to a flamingo, but I’ll take it. Even though those gals are younger than me, Archer?”

“Even though.”

She looked over his shoulder and her gaze caught on something.

When Archer turned to look, all he saw was a waitress setting down a shrimp cocktail in front of an old man with a gal half his age on his lap.

“You know them?” asked Archer.

“He’s a client of Mr. Kemper. Owns some property Kemper is trying to develop. His wife wouldn’t like what he’s doing right now.”

“I guess not.”

“So why do you want to talk to Sheen?”

“Part of the investigation. After this drink, I’m going to try to find him. He must be around here somewhere. I’ll roust him.”

She ran her eye up and down him to such an invasive degree that Archer felt his own cheeks start to burn.

“Why don’t we blow this joint, Archer? My place is only twenty minutes from here.”

“But what about Sheen?”

“Come by the office tomorrow. You can talk to him then. He’s there every day, and this time I won’t make you wait.”

“So what are we going to do at your place?”

She gave him a look that raised one distinct possibility. “If I can’t think of something and you can’t think of something, then something is very wrong, mister.”

“I’ve got a car.”

“Good, because I don’t.”

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions along the way?”

“Not so long as we get to where we’re really going at the end.”

“This is your car? Really?” she said as the valet brought it up.

Archer flipped the kid a quarter and held the door for her. “Yeah it is.”

“Shouldn’t I be getting in the other side?”

“The Brits do it differently from us,” he replied.

“So this is a British car?”

“No, it’s actually French, but it’s a long story and not that exciting.”

“Come on, where’d you get this ride?”

“Won it in a poker game back in Reno.”

“Wow, you must be really good ,” she said. “Maybe I’ll find out.”

He smiled at her. “You know, you have a whole other persona at work.”

“At work, everyone has to be someone they’re not. I’m no exception. And I’m a gal who likes to have fun in her off-hours. All work and no play makes poor Wilma very dull indeed.”

“Okay.”

“So what questions do you have?”

“You ever see Kemper when you’re at Midnight Moods? I understand that he’s a regular.”

“I see him sometimes. He plays cards. They only let men in there.”

“Yeah, I saw that. How come?”

“They don’t want to lose to women, that’s how come.”

“You ever see him with Ruby Fraser?”

“How should I know? I don’t know what she looks like.”

Archer described the woman for her.

“Well, that sounds like half the women who work there,” she noted.

“Yeah, I guess it does.”

“Why are you interested in her and Mr. Kemper?”

“Part of the business I’m doing with him.”

“You think he was messing around with her? He’s a married man.”

“He ever mess with you?”

She shook her head. “To tell you the truth, Archer, I think he’s in love with his wife.”

“You’re the first one to say that, and that includes him and his wife.”

“Some of the gals at work have given it their best shot with the man, and came away with zip for their troubles.”

“What about Sheen?”

“What about him?”

“You or the other girls ever make a run at him?”

“Maybe some of the other gals, but I don’t like to bake, Archer.”

“What does that mean?” he said with a puzzled expression.

“I don’t enjoy sticking my fingers in dough.” She let out a throaty laugh that was so spontaneous and unexpected that Archer couldn’t help but join her.

“Hey,” she said. “You look like a man who carries a pocket flask, and I need a drink.”

He pulled it out and handed it across. She took a long sip and screwed the top back on before handing it back to him.

She directed him to her place, a one-story bungalow on the fringes of Bay Town in a quiet tree-lined neighborhood of like abodes. Like much of Bay Town, it smacked of Spanish influence, with stucco walls, wrought iron railings that were starting to rust from the salt air and stain the stucco, and a peaked terra-cotta tile roof. The front door was dark oak with black, strappy metal adornments.

She slid the key in and Archer followed her inside.

“Nice place,” he said, looking around at the comfortable and plush furnishings, the colorful Oriental rug, the full mahogany bar set against one wall, with crystal glasses set on top and neat rows of bottles, along with a cocktail shaker and jigger set that looked well used.

She put her hat and purse on the coffee table and spun around to look at him, her fingers playing over the belt around her waist.

“I’m going to freshen up, help yourself to a drink. I’ve got cigarettes in that bowl over there.”

“Thanks. What can I have ready for you?”

“Oh, we’ll think of something when I get back.”

She departed the room and a minute later he heard the shower start.

Part of Archer wanted to just walk out the door. He was investigating a case that had to do with the man Darling was working for. He had observed her having sex with that man’s associate for reasons Archer did not yet know. Professionally, he told himself, it was better that he just walk away now.

But he didn’t. Because he wanted to find out why she’d slept with the man. At least Archer told himself that was the only reason.

He poured himself a bourbon neat, lit up a cigarette, and walked around the room. He eyed Darling’s purse and took a few moments to examine the contents. He was really getting into this shamus thing. There was a money clip with twenty bucks’ worth of mad money, the pack of Pall Malls, a small pewter hip flask about half full, a lighter with a D engraved on it, and several ivory boxes that were empty. And a nickel-plated .22 Derringer with oak grips. It was loaded with four bullets and hadn’t been recently fired, if Archer’s sense of smell was any indicator.

He heard the shower stop and he put the items back in the purse and placed it exactly where it had been before. He moved over to the window, where there was a single streetlamp burning brightly but trying and failing to break through the marine fog rolling in. This place reminded Archer of London. Some days you could barely see a foot in front of you.

He was still standing there looking out when she came back into the room.