A Gambling Man

by David Baldacci

  Finally, the door opened and there was Wilson Sheen, dressed just as frumpily as before, with the front part of his shirt coming dangerously close to pulling free of the pants. Compared to the sea of efficient femininity spread out before him, he looked as out of place as a eunuch in a brothel. He eyed Darling, who nodded in Archer’s direction. By Archer’s timepiece, two hours had passed, and it was getting close to dinnertime, but none of the ladies had reached for their purses or hats. They continued to work like obedient bees before the queen.

  “This way, Archer,” said Sheen brusquely.

  Archer got up, stubbed out his smoke, and headed up to the dais, where Darling said, “So you couldn’t find a good enough reason, I take it.”

  “You’re just very intimidating, Miss Darling. It set me off my mark.”

  This line seemed to please her more than the first one. She actually smiled so he could see even white teeth that he thought were as real as the rubber plants outside.

  The next room Archer stepped into was not much of a letdown from the previous. It was large and comfortably furnished, and its enormous windows had drapes, which were now all the way open to let in the dwindling light.

  “How’d your guardian grizzly bear signal that I was here?” asked Archer. “She never left her desk or lifted the phone.”

  “She and I can read minds.”

  “If that’s so, I might be in real trouble with her.”

  “Something makes me think you’re always in trouble, Archer.”

  “Quite the operation you have out there,” noted Archer. “Those ladies seem to move at the speed of light.”

  “That’s what we pay them to do,” said Sheen, glancing at a file on his desk, a Victorian-era piece that would have looked at home in Buckingham Palace.

  “You might want to issue them sunglasses. It’s pretty tough on the eyes out there.”

  “Well, at least they won’t be catching a nap. And enhanced sunlight is good for productivity.”

  “Unless you go blind in the process. And I don’t think you need the sun, so long as you have Miss Darling.”

  Sheen sat down and said abruptly, “And what can I do for you?”

  Archer eyed one door set against the wall, on the other side of which was the outside hall. Sheen obviously used this to come and go without going through the working stiffs. The door set in the far wall no doubt led to Mr. Kemper’s inner sanctum. He doubted he would get in there. He had run his share of the gauntlet and it appeared to be ending one room shy of the finish line. He imagined Kemper, as the boss, had at least two escape hatches to get out of here without engaging the minions, platinum or not.

  Archer said, “The list? The one with the people’s names who might be behind the blackmail? It was supposed to be dropped off at our office, but it wasn’t.”

  “Right, the list.” He opened a drawer and rummaged through it while his gaze lifted to Archer’s.

  “Hard to see what you’re looking for that way,” noted Archer.

  “What I’d like to know is what you’ve done so far. And where is Dash?”

  “Thinking.”

  “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.

  Chapter 30

  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?”

  “I’m not used to nice places like this. In Reno, we just had crap, really.”

  “And you think I’m used to them?”

  “No, I mean, I don’t know. But you can tell the people in here are somebody. They have class. The men probably all went to college for an education, and the women probably all went to college to find a husband.”

  Archer eyed the woman closely because this was the first real hint of insecurity he had seen in her.

  He tapped her hand. “You’re as good as all of these people, Liberty, and don’t think you’re not.”

  “Sure, sure, Archer, and I’m the queen of England, too.”

  “Where is this coming from?” he asked. “Until we walked in here I never would have thought you had an ounce of self-doubt or gave a damn what anybody thought about you.”

  “Shows how good an observer you are.”

  “I guess,” he said.

  They both ended up with the trout, which was moist and tender. And rice pilaf and a green vegetable that was not readily identifiable to either of them. But it was good if oversalted. Their cocktails were followed by a bottle of wine, recommended by a short man wearing a bow tie and holding a cork opener on a chain. It cost three dollars, which almost gave Callahan a fit and amused Archer.

  Archer examined the bottle’s label. It had the silhouette of a woman on it that looked familiar to Archer. The wine was called the BK. On the back he read off the name of the vineyard that had produced it. “Kemper Enterprises. BK must stand for Beth Kemper.”

  Archer explained who she was and what they were investigating. “Her hubby has a vineyard and he named the wine after her.”

  “Well, wasn’t that sweet? I guess the louse figures he owes her after cheating on her.”

  “Could be, yeah. Although I probably shouldn’t have told you that, so keep it to yourself.”

  She gave him the eye. “Gee, what’s it worth to you, Archer?”

  “See, you keep charging and I keep retreating. Thing is, I don’t want you to be disappointed. You have such a high opinion of me and everything.”

  “You’re actually getting funnier, and I mean that.”

  They finished their meal, retrieved the Delahaye, and drove out of town toward Midnight Moods.

  It was well dark now and cool enough to ride with the top up.

  “No mountains, right?” said Callahan.

  “Scout’s honor.”

  “You were no Boy Scout.”

  “What do you have in that thing?”

  She had earlier placed a small, hard-sided piece of luggage on the seat between them.

  “Things for the job interview, Archer.”

  “Okay.”

  They reached Midnight Moods forty minutes later. It was very different from earlier in the day. The parking lot was packed, the façade of the building was ablaze in neon and spotlights, and the sounds inside reached all the way to the parking lot as they pulled in.

  “Gee, this place is dead,” said Callahan sarcastically.

  He found a space in the back of the parking lot and Callahan grabbed her bag. They walked in and looked around. Mabel Dawson, now bedecked in a black sequined number with shoes that matched, greeted them at the door.

  “Oh, the puppy dog came back,” she said to Archer before giving Callahan the long eye. “And who is your friend?”

  “Liberty Callahan,” said Callahan, putting out her gloved hand. “Archer said you might be looking for some new girls.”

  “Is that right, Archer?”

  “New blood,” said Archer. “Can’t hurt to take a look.”

  She turned to Callahan and gave her an even longer scrutiny. “So what’s your shtick?”

  “Singing, dancing, acting, skits. You name it, I can slot it. And that includes the fast hands and lousy stage timing from the guys.”

  Dawson pursed her lips and inched up her nose like a smell had come along she didn’t care for. “You strike me as being overly confident.”

  Callahan put a hand on her hip and stuck it out wide like a door opening. “And you strike me as the sort that if I can’t cut it here, you’ll gladly throw me out on my very cute derriere.”

  Dawson lit a cigarette and blew a lungful of smoke at Archer. She eyed Callahan through the mist. “Sure, I’ll see what you got. But if you get the gig, there’s no drinking or drugging on company time. You’re here, you serve the house. You get paid a salary. Tips are your business. Whatever else you can earn on your own time, that’s your business, too.”

  “I’ve heard the song before.”

  Dawson eyed the bag. “Your working clothes in there? We got some of our own.”

  “But these show me off the way I like.”

  Dawson again blew a lungful of smoke at Archer.
“You can really find them, Archer. And where’s your gumshoe twin?”

  “Thinking.”

  “Right.” She looked at Callahan. “Okay, let’s go back to the dressing room, and I can put you through your paces. Sound good?”

  “You sure you can spare the time now? You look busy.”

  “I can teach a monkey to greet people at the door. And I’m not just saying that. I have. Shirley!” she called out.

  A little minx with bushy red hair flew out of some hidey-hole like a mouse stirred by a cat’s charge and stood cringing in front of her boss.

  “Yes, Miss Dawson?”

  “Take Archer here, get him a drink on the house, and find him a seat at the next show. I’ll wait here until you get back, and then you got greeter duty for the next half hour.” She glanced at Callahan and said in a syrupy tone, “That enough time for you, honey, or are you a slow starter?”

  “That’ll do,” said Callahan.

  “Where you coming in from?”

  “Reno.”

  “Casinos?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Well, don’t ‘sort of’ perform for me or you will get tossed out on that very cute ass. And I’ll be the one doing the tossing.”

  “Just so long as we know where we stand,” retorted Callahan.

  Dawson said, “Don’t worry, Archer, I’ll have her back to you in half an hour, one way or another.”

  Before Shirley led him away Archer said anxiously to Callahan, “Hey, you okay with this?”

  She smiled. “Not only am I okay with it, Archer, I’m really looking forward to it.”

  Chapter 31

  SHIRLEY GOT ARCHER A GIN AND TONIC and settled him in the back row of a large theater where the dancing girls were in high gear, parading to music played on a baby grand set off to one side of the stage. The pianist was a man in a black tux with a pompadour hairdo, a waxed and curly-tipped mustache, and hands whizzing over the keys like skates over ice. He watched the girls high-kicking it across the stage in unison and seemed to be changing the music to fit the dancing instead of the other way around. All the girls were tall and long limbed, which to Archer made them look a lot like Callahan. He wondered if maybe the competition here was stiffer than in Reno. And he also wondered how her audition was going.