A Gambling Man

Chapter 14

Coalinga wasn’t a thriving metropolis, nor was it the one-horse town Archer thought it was going to be.

Liberty eyed the welcome sign. “Where’d they get the name Coalinga? Is it Spanish?”

He pointed to his right. “There’s a railroad spur over there and those are loaded coal cars, so maybe there’s your answer.”

It was nearly ten o’clock, and the town seemed to be sound asleep, with no one out and most of the buildings closed up.

“I don’t know if we can get gas or coffee now, and we might end up sleeping in the car till morning,” said Archer. “Because the filling station over there is shut down for the night, and this doesn’t look like a two-gas-pump kind of town.”

“There’s a light on in that building over there.”

They stopped in front and climbed out. The air was cool and dry, and the wind had died down some. Archer slipped on his hat and locked up the Delahaye. The sign out front of the building read: CLANCY’S SALOON. OPEN AT NOON, CLOSE WHENEVER.

“I like Coalinga better already,” said Callahan as she saw this, too.

Archer held the door for her and they walked in.

The four hundred square feet inside consisted of a mahogany bar with ten backless stools, a jukebox with neon tubes blinking wearily, four tables with a pair of low-backed chairs designed in the form of a ship’s wooden wheel around each, a small dance floor made of scratched herringbone parquet on which not a soul was dancing, and a pay phone on the wall. A pencil dangled from a string tacked to that wall, and lines of phone numbers had been scribbled across the paint like math equations. A small window behind the bar was where the food came through for the patrons seated there. A single swing door to the left of that was where the meals came through for the dining area.

Two men sat at the bar. One young and lean, one old and spreading. They both held mugs of beer, and both looked to be listing to the right in alcoholic zeal. Behind the wooden counter was a beefy man with curly red hair, a stained white apron, and shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal twin anchor tattoos, one on each forearm. A cigar was clamped on one side of his wide, toothy mouth. He was staring down at the cloth in his hand like he was wondering how it had gotten there.

Of the four tables, only one was occupied. On one side was a woman in her fifties with white hair and a long, horsey face. Her cherry-red purse sat on the table next to her plate of raw oysters on the half shell and a bourbon, neat, percolating in a short glass. Across from her was a gentleman, also in his fifties, suited in a three-piece worsted wool with a loosened dark tie. He was chubby and sweaty, and his napkin was pinned across his white shirt front like a bull’s-eye. A plate of spaghetti and clams lay in front of him, and he methodically worked his fork and spoon in tandem as he ate. He had a glass of red wine as his meal’s liquid companion.

At first no one looked up when they walked in. Then Chubby with the clams saw Callahan and made such a fuss that White Hair turned to see. Her long face became pinched and sour. She turned back to her tablemate and said something low, snappy, and apparently pointed as a spear because the clams once more became Chubby’s sole focus. The bartender looked up, saw Callahan, grabbed a glass, and started polishing it to a fine sheen, a sloppy grin spreading across his face, as though he’d just won a prize that would take him away from here. The young drunk turned, eyed Callahan, and almost fell off his stool. The old drunk would probably have done likewise, but he had already fallen face-first into the mahogany and was now snoring.

The swinging door did its thing and a woman in her twenties with sandy brown hair and short, muscular legs and attired in a light brown waitress uniform with faded red piping came out carrying a platter of clean glasses. She saw them and pointed with her free hand to a table.

“Have a seat, be with you folks in a sec.”

Archer and Callahan sat, and after the waitress deposited the glasses in a double-door wooden cabinet, she came over with menus and cloth napkins folded around cutlery. She handed it all out and said, “Can I get you something to drink? If you want food, the kitchen closes in twenty minutes.”

“Then we must be getting close to ‘whenever,’ ” noted Archer.

“Yeah, you’re the first person to come up with that line,” she said in a bored tone.

“I’ll have coffee, black,” said Archer. “You folks know how to make a gimlet?”

“Yes. We’ve done those before.”

“Great, then a gimlet chaser for the coffee, and go easy on the Rose’s and let the gin make its mark for me. Or do I tell that to friendly behind the bar?”

“I’ll give him the order,” she said as she turned to Callahan. “And you, ma’am?”

“You got cranberry juice?” asked Callahan.

“Yes. Is that all you want?”

“Yeah, so long as it goes with the vodka.”

The woman grinned and gave Archer a condescending look. “Now, that’s wit, buckaroo. I’ll get your drinks.”

Archer took his hat off and set it on the table. He looked around the room. He’d been in bars better than this and lousier than this. The same alcohol was served here that was dished out in the best bars in the world, LA, New York, Paris, London, and Berlin, what was left of it. So in that respect a bar in Coalinga, California, was as good as any of those. But Archer was still in Coalinga and not Paris.

Callahan slipped out a Camel and tapped the lighting end on the hard surface to make the tobacco as good as it could be. “You think that little goon headed back to Reno?” she said.

Archer shrugged. “Maybe. He’s out of guns and bigger goons. I don’t see him following us alone.”

“He might still come after us with some other muscle.”

“Good luck finding us. California is a pretty big place.”

“That’s true,” she replied, her spirits seeming to lift.

They sat there in silence until his coffee and gimlet came along with her cocktail. The waitress pulled out her pad and pen.

“You folks had a chance to look over the menu? No more oysters and no more clams, by the way.”

“What would you recommend?” asked Archer.

“The steak. We got two pieces left. And baked potato. We got two of those left, too.”

“Steak and potatoes, why didn’t I think of that?” said Callahan. “Sold.”

“Make it a deuce,” added Archer.

The waitress went off. Archer drank down the rest of his coffee and turned his attention to the gimlet.

Callahan shot him a nervous glance. “You’re looking pensive again, Archer.”

“You still want to go on to Hollywood?”

She gave him a pointed look that seemed to peek right into his soul. She finished a long drag on her smoke before saying, “That was the original plan. You see any reason why I should change it?”

“Yeah, two of them, same as the number of bodies we left up in the mountains.”

“Do we have to go over that again?”

“Hear me out.”

“Okay.”

She sat back and crossed one long leg over the other, which rode her skirt way up, and commenced to jiggling her foot, letting her high heel dangle precariously off her toes. Chubby glanced over and saw this, and seemed to whimper before his companion kicked him under the table.

“It might be better if we stuck together, at least for a while.”

“You mean, if he comes after us with more goons?”

“Yeah.”

“But you said he wouldn’t be able to find us, Archer.”

“I know I did, but I’ve been thinking about that. I’m not sure I didn’t let it slip when I was in Reno about where I was headed. And the Delahaye sort of sticks out. And if you go to Hollywood and start making a name for yourself? He sure as hell knows what your name is. He would’ve gotten it from Howells. Mine too.”

“But then should we go to Bay Town, if he knows that’s where you’ll be?”

“I have to, Liberty. I want a shot at this job. And I told the guy I’d be coming.” Archer now looked uncertain. “But maybe you shouldn’t go to Bay Town. Maybe you should go to Hollywood, but change your name. All those folks do, right?”

“But if I get in pictures, he’ll recognize me, even if I change my name. Hell, he might even try to blackmail me.”

Archer nodded slowly. “That’s true. So what do you want to do?”

“I think we should stay together,” she said. “And go to Bay Town. I can hang around long enough to see if the guy shows up.”

“But you don’t have to do that. You can go lie low somewhere else.”

“And leave you all by your lonesome? What kind of a fink do you think I am?”

They sat in silence until their meals came. Archer was lost in thought and Callahan was lost in more Camels.

They ate and put down money for their bill. When the waitress came over to collect it, Archer asked if there was a place to stay the night.

“Yes, it’s right down the street, called the Coalinga House. They do overnights and they have vacancies right now. Knock hard, they might have gone to bed. Mildred Hawks is the owner’s name. She’s nice. Tell her Katy sent you.”

They walked out, got into the Delahaye, and drove the short distance to the Coalinga House. It was a broad plank-and-brick building with a porch down the front and a row of rocking chairs lined up like toy soldiers alongside little pots with fresh flowers. There was a concrete statue of a kitten playing cute on the first step up to the porch.

“Well, at least it doesn’t look like a place where we can get into too much trouble, Archer.”

The door was painted red and Archer had to pound on it for a full minute before they heard footsteps pecking on the floor toward them.

The door opened and there stood, presumably, Mildred. She was in her sixties with long, braided gray hair flipped over one granny-robed shoulder. She looked sleepy and annoyed at the same time.

“Yes?”

“We need a place to stay,” said Archer. “Just got in town. Katy at Clancy’s recommended you. I’m assuming you’re Mildred?”

Mildred nodded warily and then eyed Callahan with a severe eye. “I’ve only got one room available.”

Callahan said, “One is all we need.”

“Then you’re married?”

She said, “We’re driving in from Reno. Who goes to Reno except to get hitched?”

Mildred’s gaze swept down to their hands. “And where are your rings then?”

Callahan’s expression turned to one of despair. “Can you believe it, we were robbed on the way? We’ve reported it, but the police don’t hold out much hope.”

“If you were just married, you must have your certificate.”

“That was with the things that were stolen,” said Callahan mournfully. “Along with something borrowed and something blue. Crappy way to start a honeymoon, huh? I’ve had to work hard not to cry my eyes out.”

This stream of lies so confidently told seemed to soften Mildred up. She opened the door wider. “I have a place at the top of the stairs. Bathroom down the hall.”

“That sounds perfect,” replied Callahan. She turned to Archer. “Well, honey?”

“Well what?” said Archer.

“Aren’t you going to carry me over the threshold?” She looked at Mildred. “Men, right? They’re like little boys who have to be constantly told to blow their noses and to lift the seat on the toilet.”

Mildred gave her a knowing look and stepped back out of the way. “Okay, young man, go ahead. Do your duty.”

He picked Callahan up effortlessly, swung her through, and set her down.

“There you go, honey,” he said. “Hope you’re happy.”

Mildred said, “Well, aren’t you going to kiss, too? That’s all part of it.”

Callahan and Archer exchanged nervous glances. “Sure,” said Callahan. She leaned over and planted a kiss on Archer. She was about to pull away, but then didn’t. They wrapped their arms around each other and lingered. When they pulled apart, each looked as surprised as the other.

A breathless and flushed Callahan smoothed down her dress while Archer adjusted his tie.

Mildred said, “Well, you two are definitely married. I know love when I see it.”

On that comment, neither Callahan nor Archer would look at the other.

“There’s a pot of coffee on that table over there in the morning,” said Mildred. “Let’s get you signed in.”

Later, after they were in their room, they took turns changing in the bathroom down the hall. Archer put on dark pajamas and Callahan a long white sleeping gown with a slit of interesting elevation, a few fluffy feathers, and nothing on underneath.

They lay in the one narrow bed and Callahan said, “You really thought I’d just up and leave you to those killers?”

He turned to the side to look at her. She did likewise, perching her cheek on her palm as she studied him.

“It’s not like you owe me anything, Liberty.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“We just met.”

“So is there a rule that you have to know somebody a certain amount of time before they can be friends?”

“No.”

“And it seems to me that we’ve already shared a bunch of stuff that people who are friends their whole lives haven’t.”

“Well, being almost killed on three separate occasions over the span of twenty-four hours is unusual, I’ll give you that.”

“Do you consider yourself my friend?”

“Yes, I do,” he said.

“Okay, then it’s all settled.”

She lay back down. But Archer didn’t move. He just watched her. She seemed to sense this because she said, “Under normal circumstances, Archer, I’d be having certain feelings for you lying here like we are. Especially after that kiss...” She shot him a glance full of curiosity. “Just so you know.”

“Nothing remotely normal about our circumstances. But I feel the same way, just so you know.”

This made her smile. She reached out a hand and he took it.

Archer lay back down. And they both fell asleep hand in hand.