A Gambling Man

by David Baldacci

  “Damn, that’s right. Okay, I’m ready. You got your stuff?”

  “I’ll be down in five minutes, and then you better drive like you mean it.”

  * * *

  “Wow, Archer, look at that!” said Callahan.

  They were on the road to Midnight Moods and had come upon a billboard with her picture along with the caption, IF YOU LOVED LIBERTY BONDS, YOU’RE GOING TO LOVE HER. COME SEE LIBERTY CALLAHAN’S DEBUT AT MIDNIGHT MOODS, FRIDAY AT TEN SHARP.

  “That must have gone up pretty recently. I was out there this morning and didn’t see it.”

  She glanced at him. “And they used your idea.”

  “You’re famous,” said Archer. “Just don’t forget me on the way up.”

  “Don’t be silly…whoever you are,” she said, slapping his arm, but her gaze was riveted on the billboard. Archer cut his speed so that she had longer to look at herself. He just had to grin watching the woman gazing at her image.

  They parked in front of Midnight Moods, which was fairly empty at this time of the day. Later tonight it would be a different story, with large crowds coming to see the woman sitting next to him.

  On the side of the building was Callahan splashed twenty feet high.

  “That wasn’t here this morning, either. They’re really giving you the star treatment.”

  “Well, I’ll show them that I’m worth it.”

  “So, you ready?” he said.

  “I’ve been ready for a long time, Archer.”

  They met with Dawson in her office, where Callahan inked her deal. Callahan showed Dawson her outfits, and the pair settled on a slick, silver sleeveless number with fringe along the short hem.

  “So does your agent there get his ten percent or what?” asked Dawson.

  Callahan shot Archer a surprised glance. He held up his hands and said, “I was just being a friend. I don’t want any commission.”

  “Okay. We can go into rehearsals now. Later, we got a gal to do your hair and makeup. The stage manager will do your sound check and make sure the acoustics are good. I don’t know if you know, but we’re charging five dollars admission into the theater for folks to see and hear you.”

  “How are sales?” asked Archer.

  “We sold out,” said Dawson. “Now I hope people show up.”

  “Why wouldn’t they?” said Callahan.

  Dawson glanced nervously at Archer and said, “We had some more trouble last night, but I think it’ll be fine. Did you like the billboard we put up?” she added quickly, no doubt noting the puzzled look on Callahan’s features. “And the one on the building?”

  “Oh, yeah, they’re terrific. I’ve never seen myself that big.”

  “Where’s her room?” asked Archer.

  “Follow me.”

  The room was on the second floor near the end of the hall.

  “What do you think?” asked Dawson.

  It was a four-room flat with a full kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, and a comfortable front room fully furnished.

  “This looks swell,” said Callahan looking around, her eyes dancing with delight.

  “It should. It’s the best we have.” She eyed Archer. “Pass your test?”

  “If Liberty’s okay with it, then it’s okay by me.”

  “Oh, hallelujah. Now let’s go start rehearsal, young lady.”

  A few minutes later, Archer walked through the main bar area, only stopping when someone tugged on his sleeve and said, “Sit.”

  He looked down and saw Willie Dash perched in an armchair and cradling a cup of coffee in one hand.

  Archer sat across from him. “What are you doing here? I thought you went to get your car, and then were going to do some piecing together.”

  “How long do you think it takes to pick up a car? And there is that thing in the detective business about coming back to the scene of the crime. And I am piecing things together right here in this chair. So what are you doing here?”

  “I brought my friend, Liberty. She starts work here tonight.”

  “She the gal plastered all over?”

  “She is.”

  Dash gave him a hiked eyebrow. “Well, lucky you.”

  “It’s not like that between us.”

  “That’s what they all say. Did you talk to Wilma Darling?”

  Archer filled him in on their conversation.

  “So she’s off to Ventura,” said Dash thoughtfully as he sipped his coffee.

  “Is that a problem?”

  “I don’t know, Archer. I haven’t quite got a handle on all this yet. Lot of moving parts.”

  Archer hadn’t told Dash about going out to the island or his conversation with Reggie McKenzie, but he did want to run something by Dash.

  “So, the only reason there’s a mayor’s election is because the former mayor died in the bathtub. Is it possible he was murdered?”

  Dash eyed him severely. “Of course Ben Smalls was murdered, Archer.”

  Archer sat back, a little surprised by the other man’s emphatic response. “But you didn’t do anything about it. The police apparently never concluded one way or another.”

  “I’m not a cop, I’m a private dick, so what exactly could I do about it? But look at it this way—depending on who wins the election, certain things are going to happen in this town to benefit someone.”

  “So you think the murders are connected to the election?”

  “They’re both tied to Douglas Kemper, so I would say yes.”

  “What do you think about Armstrong’s take on the mob and boys from Vegas?”

  “Why would they want to come here? Like Armstrong said, they can get their hooks into Frisco and LA and Santa Barbara with the same amount of effort. And they’re all bigger prizes than Bay Town.”

  “Like you said, you think Pickett is on the take. Low-hanging-fruit kind of thing, if they have him in their pocket.”

  Dash nodded slowly. “That’s a good deduction, Archer. Very good. So Pickett might be at the center of this, clearing out the way for those boys to come here.”

  “So their preferred candidate is Drake, the dentist. Why?”

  “Maybe we need to have a talk with old Drake.”

  “You know him?”

  “Oh, yeah. Really smart guy, but he’s a dishrag, Archer. With about as much curb appeal as a bag of trash. Kemper would win in a landslide, if he’s allowed to keep running.”

  “If Kemper drops out, could someone else enter the race?”

  “Deadline was last week. It’s Kemper versus Drake, for better or worse.” He looked at his watch. “Drake will probably be home by now. So let’s go see the tooth fairy.”

  Chapter 53

  ALFRED DRAKE’S HOME WAS A LARGE two-story dwelling made of red brick painted white. It had views of the ocean on an elevated plot of land that was lush and green and filled with palm trees, live oaks, and pretty much every native species in between.

  “Damn, how much does it cost to get your teeth fixed in this town?” said Archer. He pulled the car to a stop in front of the columned verandah that spanned the entire length of the house, with a sea of emerald-green grass spreading out before it.

  “For a while Drake was the only quality game in town and he made a tidy sum. Then he invested well and he’s also done some real estate projects around here. He’s a sharp guy, like I said. I found out his father was in real estate in New York and made a small fortune, which went to Drake. He built this place about five years ago.”

  Archer gave him a sidelong glance. “Why do I think you might have investigated Drake before?”

  “Why, Archer, that’s confidential.” But Dash tacked on a grin. “Number of years ago some guy got really upset over a deal he did with Drake. He thought Drake had cheated him. Turned out my client was the one cheating and just hired me to hassle Drake into a quick settlement. But Drake stuck to his guns. I always respected him for that.”

  A black woman in a maid’s uniform answered the door and told them that Drake was o
ut by the pool. She took Dash’s card and left them there while she checked to see, as she put it, “whether Mr. Drake is accepting visitors at this time.”

  After she left, Archer said, “I thought we were going to see a dentist, not the president.”

  “The man can put on airs,” noted Dash. “In that regard, he’s just like most politicians.”

  “Right. Are there any honest politicians?”

  “Sure. They’re mostly all honest in the first six months. It’s only the time after that where they convince themselves they can do no wrong and everything that comes out of their mouths is the gospel, but all they really care about is getting reelected.”

  “Franklin Roosevelt was pretty good.”

  “He was already rich. Nobody could touch him.”

  Archer gave him a dubious look. “So you’re saying only rich people are incorruptible?”

  “Hell no, they’re the most corrupt of all. But FDR was different. He was rich but he inherited it and then he got polio. That made him see the world in a different light, least I think it did. He got the plight of the workingmen and -women like nobody else since Teddy Roosevelt. Too bad we don’t have more Roosevelts waiting in the wings.”

  The maid returned and without a word escorted them back to the rear terrace and left them there.

  Alfred Drake was tall and skinny with a sunken chest. He had few hairs left on his head and had perhaps compensated for that by growing one of the biggest mustaches that Archer had ever seen outside of a carnival. He was dressed in a white terrycloth robe, and his pale, thin, bare legs protruded from underneath. Though the evening was cool, his droopy mustache and wet footprints on the pool surround showed the man had already taken a dip. He had sandals on his feet that revealed neatly trimmed toenails. He was holding a martini complete with a trio of olives on a toothpick and sitting at a table with an open white umbrella poking through a center hole. He was staring out toward the ocean and gave no indication he even knew they were there.

  “Mr. Drake?” prompted Dash.

  Without looking at them, Drake pointed to two empty seats at the table.

  As they drew near Archer could see that the bottom of the pool had inlaid aquamarine tile in the shape of a large stallion in full gallop. The rear grounds were as immaculate as the front. In the distance Archer could see a muscular, bare-chested young man shoveling a hole with a large bush standing next to it, presumably waiting to be planted.

  Whether Drake was really staring at the ocean or the young man, Archer couldn’t tell for sure. He thought the odds were fifty-fifty.

  After they sat and put their hats on the table, Drake said, “Well?” He still had not turned to look at them and didn’t seem inclined to offer them a drink.

  Archer took out his notepad and readied his pen.

  “This is Archer, my new associate,” said Dash.

  “Am I supposed to applaud or do you want to get to the point?”

  “Hope there’s no hard feelings after that case I worked involving you.”

  “You were professional and honest, Willie” was Drake’s surprising reply, at least to Archer, who was still sizing up the man’s hostile attitude.

  Drake continued, “It was your client who was neither of those things. I appreciated how you got him to back off when you realized the truth.”

  “Well, thanks for being understanding. Now, we wanted to talk to you about the upcoming election.”

  Drake turned his chair around to face them. “Why is it any of your concern?”

  Before Dash could answer, a Persian cat ambled out from somewhere and jumped onto Drake’s lap. He absently stroked the animal while he waited for an answer.

  “Two people have been recently murdered.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” said Drake bluntly.

  “Did you know them?”

  “Why don’t you tell me who they are and maybe I can answer the question.”

  “You don’t know?” said Dash skeptically.

  “Enlighten me.”

  “Ruby Fraser. She was a singer at Midnight Moods.”

  “I’ve never been there. It’s not really my thing, if you get my meaning.”

  “So you don’t know her?”

  “I thought I just said that.”

  “The other victim was Wilson Sheen.”

  Drake flinched just a bit, causing the Persian to hiss. “I knew him. We weren’t friends or anything, but I knew him through the usual social circles. And also from the election. He’s running, or he was running, Kemper’s campaign.”

  “Do you know of any reason why someone would want to kill him?” asked Dash.

  “I just told you I didn’t really know the man. I guess he had enemies, what man doesn’t?”

  “So how’s the campaign going?” asked Dash.

  “You’ve seen the ads in the paper, and heard the radio spots, I’m sure. And the billboards where Kemper looks off broodingly into the distance, or the future, or maybe he’s gazing at some woman’s ass, who knows? Anyway, they’re everywhere. And he owns a hotel and a country club, and a winery and has a beautiful home and a beautiful wife. And look at me and look at Kemper. Physical appearance shouldn’t matter, but it sure as hell does. Just ask any woman. He’s got that vote wrapped up.”

  “Women might just vote on the issues, not someone’s jawline,” noted Archer.

  “I used to think that,” said Drake in a tight voice. “But not anymore.”

  “So why are you running for mayor?” asked Archer.

  Drake ran his gaze over Archer, and Archer didn’t like the expression on the man’s face. He involuntarily glanced over at the bare-chested man as he hefted the bush into the freshly dug hole.

  “Oh, so you want to hear my stump speech?”

  “Sure, why not?” answered Dash.

  Drake took a long—almost luxurious—sip of his martini before setting the glass down and munching on one of the olives he plucked from the drink.

  “Bay Town is a place of the haves and have-nots. I’m one of the haves. Sure, I worked hard, but my parents gave me an excellent education and I inherited wealth from them. So when I moved here from the East Coast, I had a lot of advantages. However, with that said, opportunities should be equal and we don’t have that here. Take Sawyer Armstrong as an example.” Drake glanced at Dash, perhaps to see how this provocative statement was playing with him.

  “Okay, how so?” asked Dash.

  “His initial wealth came from old family money. Now, no one can say that the man is not ambitious and all that. But he had quite the boost because the Armstrongs have owned this town for nearly a century. They own the lion’s share of the wealth and leave the crumbs for just about everyone else. I stand for better working conditions for the poor. More money for education and health care. We have kids dropping out of school and working adult jobs, and no one gives a damn. We treat the Mexicans coming across the border to pick our vegetables and fruit as less than human. That’s wrong. That needs to change.” He paused and looked thoughtfully at his pool. “But in the long run, people like the Armstrongs should thank me for the positions I take.”

  “Why is that?” asked Archer.

  “Because the have-nots greatly outnumber the haves. But the have-nots will only put up with so much for so long. Then they start scaling the walls of the elites’ estates, and the results will not be pretty. I include myself in that group. I’m not asking the Armstrongs of the world to give up their wealth. I’m asking that others have the full opportunity to earn their share by being fairly compensated for their work. Right now the system is rigged. It makes a laughingstock out of the American dream.”

  “You actually sound like FDR,” noted Dash, glancing at Archer.

  “Good, be sure to vote,” said Drake.

  “Did you know Ben Smalls?” asked Archer.

  If Drake was surprised by this segue, he didn’t show it. “Yes. He was a friend, a good friend. We got to know each other when we served on town coun
cil together. And then when Ben became mayor, we worked on projects together. The stump speech I just gave? A lot of it came from my discussions with Ben. He was of the same mindset. He is greatly missed.”

  “I understand his father was partners with Sawyer Armstrong,” said Archer.

  “Andrew Smalls was a good man.”

  “But he killed himself,” noted Archer.

  Drake’s head dipped. “Yes. That…that was so out of character for Andrew.”

  “And do you think his son’s death was just an accident?” asked Archer.

  Drake picked up his drink again and took another sip. He set it down and pressed the sleeve of his robe against his moistened lips. “That’s what the police say.”

  “Some folks think he might have been murdered,” noted Dash.

  “Well, you can’t control what some people might think,” replied Drake.

  “Just like that, you dismiss your friend’s death?” said Dash.

  “What do you want me to do about it?” Drake shot back.

  Archer said, “Well, maybe as mayor you can do something about it, because it doesn’t seem like the police did much of an investigation.”

  A small smile escaped Drake’s lips. It was the saddest smile Archer had ever seen.

  Drake said, “Maybe I could, in an ideal world. When you find one, let me know.”

  “Nothing else you can tell us to help our investigation?” said Dash.

  “Excuse me, but who exactly is your client in all of this?”

  “That’s confidential.”

  “Really? Bay Town is still manageable when it comes to gossip. And my gossip tells me that you’re working for my opponent.”

  “And if I told you that finding the truth trumps that?”

  “Then I think you’ll be trying to sell me the Golden Gate Bridge next.”

  Dash grinned. “You know, just to be brutally honest, I told Archer here that you were pretty much a dishrag without a chance in hell of beating Kemper.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  “But now I see you in a different light. And it’s a much better picture.”