A Gambling Man

Chapter 6

Archer helped Howells clean up in the men’s washroom and then they joined Callahan at the bar, after he dumped both the snub-nosed and the knife in the waste can. They didn’t want to be near any windows, in case the three guys came looking for them. Although Archer was of the opinion that at least two of them would need a doctor when they came to, and the third a change of undershorts after Callahan’s antics with her .38.

Archer ordered a bourbon straight up, Callahan a Tom Collins, and Howells a sidecar.

“Go heavy on the brandy and triple sec, hon,” the old man told the waitress, a tired-looking woman in her forties with a Dutch boy haircut and a way of looking at you that made you feel like a heel even if you weren’t one. “I got serious troubles,” he added by way of explanation.

“Tell it to somebody who cares, hon,” she said before walking off.

“So give it to us straight, Bobby H,” said Archer. “Why were those guys giving you the heavy lifting?”

“I... I, uh, got a little gambling debt issue.”

“Then maybe you should stop gambling,” said Callahan. “That ever occur to you, genius?”

Howells looked down at the shiny surface of the bar. “I tried but it didn’t go too well.”

“How much do you owe?” said Archer.

“Eighteen hundred and fifty dollars.”

“Eighteen hundred and fifty dollars!” exclaimed Callahan. “Are you that bad a gambler or what?”

“Every bettor loses if he plays long enough, missy.”

“Can you find that kind of dough?” asked Archer.

“I have no, what you would call, liquid assets. But I have a car. A mighty fine one. I’m loath to part with it, but I’m more loath to part with my life.”

“What kind of car?” asked Callahan.

“A Delahaye.”

“What’s that?” said Callahan. “Like a Ford?”

“It is nothing like a Ford,” said Howells indignantly as he tapped his fingers against the mahogany bar. “It is a work of art. It’s French made, truly one of the most beautiful cars ever conceived. Indeed, only five of this model were ever built.”

“How come? Was it no good?” asked Callahan.

“No, a little thing called World War II intervened,” retorted Howells in a bristling tone. “It is in every respect a spectacular example of automotive genius.”

“How’d you get your mitts on something like that?” asked Archer suspiciously. “Your story isn’t adding up to me. You’re going to have to fill in the holes.”

“I didn’t get my mitts on it. My son did. He left it to me when he passed away last year.”

“Sorry to hear that. He must’ve been a young guy.”

“He was. You’re not supposed to bury your children,” Howells added somberly, staring at his hands.

Callahan and Archer exchanged a sympathetic glance.

“How’d your son get the car?” Archer asked quietly, after a few moments of silence. “There has to be a story in there worth telling,” he added encouragingly.

“He, like you, fought in the war. And did so bravely.”

“Okay, but I didn’t get a car in the bargain,” said Archer. “What did he do?”

“Why should I tell you anything?” replied Howells sharply.

Archer took out the aluminum knuckles and placed them between himself and Howells. “Because a few minutes ago I made your enemies my enemies. That’s at least worth a little information, friend.”

Howells eyed the knuckles and nodded, his expression now contrite.

“Near the end of the conflict my boy saved the life of a French soldier who was the son of one of the Delahaye company owners. As a gesture of thanks they shipped the car here. It’s a 1939 model, but it’s never really been driven and looks brand-new. It was actually built for a wealthy Englishman and was supposed to be delivered in early 1940. For obvious reasons, it was never shipped out to him.”

“How’d your son die?” asked Archer.

“He, too, had gambling debts.”

“You mean, they killed him over that?” said Archer.

“That can happen,” Callahan said knowingly, drawing a meaningful glance from Archer.

He rubbed at one of his swollen fingers and stretched out his stiff arm. “Go on, Bobby H, don’t stop now,” he said. “It’s just getting good.”

“He left the car to me. It was really all he had.”

“How come the folks he owed money to didn’t try to get it?”

“They didn’t know he had it. They don’t know I have it.”

“You mean, he never drove it?” said Callahan.

“Never. It’s an unforgettable-looking automobile. If they had seen him in it... well, he wouldn’t have had it long. Same goes for me. Plus, I don’t even know how to drive a car.”

“Where is it?” asked Archer.

“Outside of town in a safe place. Why?”

“Well, looks like you’re going to have to sell it. Like you said, you’re more loath to part with your life than with the car.”

Their drinks came, and they each lighted up cigarettes and drank their spirits with enthusiasm.

Through a sheen of smoke Archer eyed Howells. “And you’ll need to make a decision fast. We saved you tonight, but I at least won’t be here tomorrow to do the same.”

“And saving you is not my job,” added Callahan. “We all have problems.”

“There’s no one I know with enough money to buy it.”

“How much you asking?” said Archer.

“Don’t be crazy,” said Callahan sharply. “Why do you need a car like that?”

“I’m just asking,” replied Archer, whittling down his Lucky and his bourbon. “No harm in that.”

“What would you do with a car like that?” asked Howells cautiously.

Archer didn’t answer right away as he blew lazy smoke rings to the filthy ceiling. “Maybe drive it to California.”

“California?” Callahan snapped. “Is that where you’re headed? Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

He tilted his gaze at her. “Before what? We just met.”

“But I told you that’s where I’m going.”

“Well, hell, you two can go out west together,” said Howells, smiling happily as if Archer and Callahan had just exchanged marriage vows.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” said Callahan. “And I barely know Archer. I can’t drive all the way to California with someone I barely know.”

“Well, the same goes for me,” replied Archer. “Particularly a gal with a gun.”

“What are you going out to California for?” Howells asked her.

“To get into pictures, what else?”

“Well, once you see the Delahaye, you may change your mind about not wanting to drive out there with Archer in it.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll arrive in style. You’ll be in all the newspapers.”

“But I’m not going to Hollywood,” said Archer.

“Oh, hell, son, California is California. Do you want to see it or not?”

“What do you say?” Archer asked Callahan.

She mulled over this. “It can’t hurt to look.”

“But how about one more round of drinks first?” suggested Howells.

“Only if you’re buying,” said Archer. “I busted a knuckle for you. That’s enough without you attacking my wallet, too.”

“Well, I will, on the condition that you buy the car.”

Archer sat back on his stool. “How do we get out to this place?”

“Got a buddy who can give us a lift in the back of his truck.” Howells checked his watch. “He gets off work in about ten minutes.”

“The back of his truck?” exclaimed Callahan.

“Well, you can sit in the front. Me and Archer can ride in the back.”

Callahan threw down money for the booze. “But let’s just keep it to the one round then, in case Archer doesn’t buy the damn car.”