A Gambling Man

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 out 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 council 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.”

“Don’t patronize me, Willie.”

“If I was patronizing you, Alfred, you’d know it.”

Drake took a moment to study Dash’s earnest features. “All right. I wish you luck with your investigation, even if it does help Kemper beat me.”

“Maybe it will, and maybe it won’t,” said Dash. “But you’ll always be a damn good dentist.”

Drake chortled. “Maybe I’m seeing you in a different light now, too, Willie. Who’d ’a thunk?”

Dash rose and so did Archer, who said, “So you really think you have no chance against Kemper?”

“I have no chance. We’ll just have to see, won’t we? Stranger things have happened.”

They left him sitting there stroking his cat and staring out toward the ocean.