The theme was a patriotic one, as the skimpy outfits were embedded with red, white, and blue sparkles and the top hats were of the Uncle Sam vintage. The legs were encased in fishnets, the shoes were silver and sparkled like diamonds, and every man in the front row was getting an enhanced view with each kick of the long legs and the accompanying lift of the dancers’ skirts. All included in the price of admission.
Twenty-eight minutes went by. Archer checked his timepiece and began to grow a bit anxious, as there was no sign of Callahan. Had she gotten thrown out?
And then around ten or so the curtains parted, and Archer stiffened and sat up straight as Callahan walked out onto the stage at the same time the sea of chorus girls scampered off. She was dressed in the outfit Archer had first seen her in at the Dancing Birds Café minus the six-foot feather. Every eye in the house was on her, including Archer’s.
She walked over to the pianist, said something to him, quickly skimmed through his music, and tapped her finger against a piece.
Then she backed up to the piano, gripped the sides with both hands, and nimbly launched herself on top of it, sitting on her bottom. She crossed her legs and gave a nod to the pianist, and he started tickling the ivories with enthusiasm, perhaps as intrigued as the rest of them with this recent development.
When Callahan began to sing Archer felt chills run up and down his arms. The song was one he knew well.
“That Old Black Magic.”
Archer had heard Glenn Miller and his band play that song when he was in London in 1944, after Archer had killed enough Germans to make any human sick of war. At the end of that year, Miller would die in a plane crash in the English Channel, but that night the man could do no wrong. The song had sent chills up him that night, too, but not like Callahan’s rendition was doing to him.
In midsong she slunk off the piano and marched across the stage in full command of both it and the audience. As she reached the end of the song, she tipped her head back, showcasing that long, elegantly curved neck, and held the final note for a remarkable period. She then let it die elegantly in her throat, like a thunderstorm dwindling to a gentle rain shower. There was silence for what seemed the longest moment and then the cheers rained down. The crowd lurched as one to its feet and thunderous applause filled the room. Hats and flowers and cash were tossed on the stage along with probably a few business cards and maybe a stray engagement ring or two. Callahan picked up one long-stemmed rose, cuddled it to her bosom, and blew kisses at the audience as she walked offstage looking like she owned the place. And right then, Archer knew, she did.
He felt the tug on his arm. It was Shirley.
“This way,” she whispered.
Shirley led him backstage, where Callahan was sipping a glass of champagne and Dawson was staring at her like she was a bundle of cash with Dawson’s name on it. She looked at Archer as he walked up.
“Okay, she says you’re her agent. How much is she going to cost me?”
Archer shot Callahan a glance as she finished her drink and set it down next to the long-stemmed rose. She hiked her plucked eyebrows and said, “How about it, Archer? What am I worth to a joint like this?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Two hundred and fifty a week. And she gets Monday and Tuesday off. After six months we look at your books and see what bump in pay she deserves for bringing in new business.”
“You’re nuts,” barked Dawson. “That’s what some Hollywood actors make.”
“Did you see the audience out there?” said Archer. “Because I did. You’ll need to get a bigger room or squeeze in more seats if you bring her on full-time. And if the pie gets larger it’s good for everybody.”
Callahan looked impressed by this but said nothing.
Dawson glared at Archer, grabbed the bottle of champagne that was chilling in a bucket of ice, and swilled right from it. She pointed at Callahan. “I’ll need you to start this Friday. Get here around five. We have big crowds on Fridays and then through the weekend, of course. And it’ll still give us time to get some posters and billboards up. You’re a real pro, so we don’t need to prep that much. Hell, you could do what you did tonight and it’ll bring the house down again. You can do a quick rehearsal with the full band. And we can select a rack of songs for you to move through. We might want to throw in some dance moves, too, nothing too complicated, but I saw how natural you were onstage, so you’ll make it look easy. Then you can do your big debut.”
“And what will the billboards say?” asked Archer.
“I don’t think they need to say much. They’ll just have her picture. I had Barry, our staff photographer, take some stills of Liberty. We’ll blow them up and use them on the billboards.”
“How about something like, ‘If you liked Liberty Bonds, you’re going to love this Liberty,” suggested Archer.
“I like that, Archer, it’s catchy,” said Dawson, who then turned to Callahan. “So how about it?”
“I don’t have a car to get here.”
“That’s not a problem, because all of our performers live here. We’ll have a nice room for you.”
“I can go for that,” said Callahan.
Archer said, “But nicer than what I saw in Ruby Fraser’s place. And not in the nosebleed seats.”
“Okay, okay.”
“And her own bathroom,” added Archer.
“I don’t even have that.”
Archer said nothing.
“Okay, okay,” said Dawson again. She glared at Callahan. “If only you weren’t so damn talented, I’d throw the pair of you out.”
Archer looked at Callahan. “Well? Your call, boss.”
“Get the contract printed up and we’re good to go,” said Callahan.
Dawson put out a hand for Callahan to shake, which she did. “With the dough we’ll be paying you, this is a full-time gig. Starting Saturday you come in at four sharp every day—” she glanced at Archer—“except Mondays and Tuesdays. You’ll start with rehearsal, then eat your meal and do your acts, which will also include some freelancing and playing to the crowd, pictures and handshakes and the like. You’ll do four to five official sets a night. But you work until we say stop, which is usually two-ish. Understood?”
“Sure.”
Dawson gazed admiringly at her. “I have to admit, I thought you were going to fall flat on your face with your audition.” She looked at Archer. “She sang ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy’ for me. I think Patty Andrews would’ve been jealous.”
“It’s a crowd pleaser, Archer, and that’s the business I’m in,” said Callahan.
Her face was flushed with her triumph, and Archer had to admit it was a good look on the woman.
“Well, well, what’s all the fuss here? Good tidings, I hope.”
The tall man had appeared in the doorway.
Archer saw that Dawson’s smile faded and her confident look eroded. She took a step back and stared at the floor.
“Hello, Mr. Armstrong, I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”
Sawyer Armstrong stood an impressive six feet five. He was lanky and loose-jointed, with long white hair and a beard of the same color that dipped slightly off his lean face. His nose ran a long, crooked line down to nearly his top lip. He wore a brown slouch leather hat, dark denim pants, a white vest with a blue collared shirt under that, and a brown corduroy jacket with green elbow patches. His skin was weathered and tanned, and the man’s features seemed carved with the most precise of instruments wielded by talented hands. The eyes were flints of blue surrounded by a sea of shimmering white. He sort of looked like Walt Whitman, thought Archer, that is, if Whitman had been a throat slitter instead of a poet.
Armstrong put out a hand to Archer. “I’m Sawyer Armstrong. I believe you’ve talked to my son-in-law, Mr. Archer.”
Archer shook hands while casting a look behind Armstrong, where two bulky figures lurked in pinstripes with bulges at their chests where large weapons presumably perched.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Armstr
ong, I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I’m sure you have, Archer. You saw my daughter as well, I heard.”
“Your hearing is real good, then,” said Callahan, drawing Armstrong’s attention to her.
“And you are?”
“Liberty Callahan. I’m Archer’s best friend. We came to town together. Miss Dawson just hired me to work here.”
“Did she now?” said Armstrong.
Dawson glanced up, her face full of trepidation as Archer watched this exchange warily. He had never seen a person change so much as the woman had, and there must be good reason for it.
In a timid voice she said, “I did, Mr. Armstrong. She’s quite good. I think she’ll really bring in the crowds.”
Armstrong studied Callahan for a moment before turning to Archer. “And how is Willie Dash doing?”
“He’s fine.”
Armstrong put out a thin, long-fingered hand and gripped Archer by the arm. “Let’s have a chat, Archer. I have a private room here.”
“You want some company, Archer?” said Callahan quickly and looking uneasily at him.
Armstrong answered. “I’m sorry, Liberty. Maybe another time.”
Archer said, “I’ll meet you back at the bar. We’ll toast your new career.”
Callahan gave him a half smile that sank off her face as quickly as a cement block dropped over the gunwale of a boat. “Sure, okay.” She glanced behind Armstrong as the two men stepped forward. Both were as tall as Armstrong but far bulkier, and their faces held nothing approaching human. “I’ll come looking for you if you’re not there soon,” she added.
Armstrong said, “Let’s go, Archer.”
The two sides of beef immediately stepped forward and marshaled Archer out.
Armstrong eyed the two women. “Mabel, we’ll talk later.”
“Yes sir.”
He glanced at Callahan, who stared resolutely back at him. Then, without a word, he followed the others out.
Chapter 32
THE ROOM WAS SMALL, DARK, AND LOCATED in the bowels of the place where, Archer presumed, only the rats typically lurked. He was feeling like a trapped one right now.
The single bulb illumination overhead gave him no comfort.
One of the men, on a sign from Armstrong, searched him, found the .38, pulled it out, and placed it on a table out of Archer’s reach, before the other man pushed Archer into a chair.
Armstrong sat down in the only other chair in the room, which faced Archer. He glanced at the gun. “Going around armed already? Do you feel that necessary? Are we that dangerous in Bay Town?”
Archer glanced at the men. “And what do they have under their jackets? Lollipops?”
Armstrong lifted out paper and tobacco from a pouch taken from his jacket pocket, dexterously rolled a small cigarette, and lighted it with a match struck against the table.
“The best tobacco in Mississippi,” he said in a soothing tone as he sucked in a throat full and then let it ease out into the small space. “Have it shipped in monthly. You should try it.”
“Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?” said Archer. “Or am I supposed to just watch you smoke?”
This statement earned him a staggering blow on the side of the head from one of Armstrong’s men that knocked him from his seat. The other man lifted him up and slammed Archer back into the chair.
Armstrong made a clucking sound. “Tony is overzealous sometimes in his loyalty to me, Archer, though I can hardly fault him. You understand loyalty, do you not?”
“When it’s explained to me,” said Archer, rubbing at his face. A searing pain went from his head to his toes, and the ringing in his ears made it impossible for him to hear the accelerated beats of his own heart.
“Well, I can provide that explanation, then,” said Armstrong, scooching forward a bit on his chair. “First of all, loyalty starts at home. I have a daughter whom I cherish and a son-in-law whom I respect.”
“Loyalty, okay, that’s good to know. Thanks. Are we done here?”
The second blow caught Archer on the other side of the head, and he slumped out of his chair, groaning. When Tony went to pick him up, Archer caught him in the gut with a pinpoint uppercut, doubling the man over and causing him to stagger back and retch up whatever was in his stomach. It came out as a pink slop that hit the floor. The other man grabbed Archer around the neck, lifted him off the floor, and slammed him into the chair. Tony recovered and gave Archer punches in the neck and oblique while the other man held him in place.
“Enough,” barked Armstrong, and the breathless men released Archer and stepped back. “Archer, if you wish to be beaten to death, then by all means carry on as you are. But I see no future in it for you.”
Archer fought back the urge to vomit, as the pains continued to radiate from his head and now to his gut and back. With an effort he managed to sit up straight. He reached into his pocket and took a few moments to pull out a handkerchief, which he used to dab at his mouth. He bent down and picked up his hat from the floor and put it on. “So where do I come into all this?”
“You are investigating the allegations against Douglas?”
“On his behalf. Which makes me wonder what I’m doing here getting my ass kicked by these two gorillas.”
“What will make me happy, Archer, is that you do not ever question my daughter again. You should not have questioned her in the first place. She is not party to anything that her husband may be involved in. Do you understand that?”
“Okay. Yeah.”
“And this Ruby Fraser woman?”
“What about her?”
“Is she having an affair with Douglas?”
“He says not. And she says the same.”
“And what do you say?”
“I don’t know. But if I tell you my opinion, am I going to get slugged again? If so, I’d just prefer to lie.”
Tony started to swing a fist at Archer, but he ducked out of the way, pivoted on the balls of his feet, came out of the chair, and struck the man flush on the chin with a thunderous blow. Tony staggered back and slammed into the wall. His eyes rolled back into his head and he slid down the wall, unconscious. His legs splayed out and his pants were edged up enough to reveal the tops of pale, hairy ankles.
The other man pulled a black, square-muzzled .45 automatic from his shoulder holster and took aim at Archer’s right eye.
Armstrong said, “Put that away, Hank, and give Tony a nip from your flask to revive him unless you want to carry him out of here.”
While Hank did this, Armstrong eyed Archer. “You pack a pretty big wallop. Good to know.”
Archer held up the set of aluminum knuckles he had pulled from his pocket under the guise of getting his handkerchief. “Yeah, pretty big.”
“But getting back to the issue. Your opinion?”
“I haven’t looked into it enough to have an opinion. We only started the investigation today. But if you want a half-assed opinion, I’d say that there’s some truth to it.”
“But that truth does not have to come out?”
“We were hired by your son-in-law. I would imagine he gets our report and no one else. So I don’t see that as a problem for him and his campaign for mayor.”
“I don’t know about that. But I do know this, Archer. Bay Town is a deceitful place with secrets. You’ll find that out soon enough.” He paused. “If you make it that long.”
“I survived the war. I think I can get through this.”
Armstrong shook his head. “Wars are straightforward. It’s you against the men in the other uniform. There is no nuance, there is no need to think about what you need to do. Here, it is quite a different scenario. It’s a chess match with no room for error.”
“Yeah, when you say it that way, I can see how that might be. Thanks.”
“What do you intend to do now?”
“Continue the investigation.”
“And what course will it take?”
“I got a
list of people to talk to from Wilson Sheen.”
“May I see the list?”
“And if I refuse?”
“I can assure you that all of our myriad interests are aligned here, Archer.” He glanced at Tony, who had come around with two pulls on the flask Hank had poured down his throat.
“But I can’t guarantee that Tony over there will not be so upset at being sucker-punched by you with a pair of aluminum knuckles that he won’t resort to drastic actions. I could be wrong, but I wouldn’t bet your life on it. Would you?”
Archer took out the list and handed it across.
Armstrong put on a pair of delicate rimless glasses and read down the names. “Interesting.” He handed the paper back and removed the specs. “Now let me be clear, Archer. We are at a crossroads here. Bay Town has unlimited potential, but so do lots of other places. If we do not seize the moment others will. And what will we be left with? Not much.”
“What do you want me to do, Mr. Armstrong? I imagine you brought me down here to provide some instruction.”
“Follow your instincts, Archer. Do your job. Finish your investigation.”
“And if it comes back against your son-in-law?”
“I care enough about this town that it takes precedence over family.”
“After all your talk of loyalty?”
“The ultimate loyalty is to put the interests of many above your own. And that includes family. If you take away any lesson from this painful episode, let it be that.”
“The guy may be cheating on your beloved daughter. How do you respect that?”
“I have no reason to answer that, and I won’t.” He sat back, took off his hat, revealing unruly thick, white hair, and ran his hand through it. “I know you have a client already, but I will pay you as well, to follow the trail to the truth, wherever it might lie.” He put his hat on, took out his wallet, and lifted from it a wad of cash. “How much?”
A Gambling Man Page 18
