A Gambling Man

Chapter 63

Archer looked all over Midnight Moods until he found the old gent. He was the one Wilma Darling had pointed out to him the night they’d been having a drink on the terrace. He had the same lovely young lady sitting in his aged lap. Archer asked his questions and got his answers, which he grimly accepted as they proved his forming hunch correct. Then he drove straight to Wilma Darling’s bungalow, where he confirmed that the Ford coupe was gone and the place was empty. Next, he pulled out his map and saw the general direction he needed to take. He figured forty minutes if he made the Delahaye get real excited.

He kept the pedal to the floor, and thirty-eight minutes later he pulled into Ventura. He stopped at an all-night dance club — where people seemed to be having a good time without getting murdered — and asked for directions to his final destination. The bouncer actually knew the address and told Archer how to get there.

“That’s Wilma’s place,” said the man, a beefy gent with a bald head and hands the size of watermelons.

“Her place?”

“Yeah. Hey, you one of her customers?”

“Customers?” Archer said, puzzled. Then he quickly recovered and said, “Yeah, yeah, I am. Any idea where she is?”

The bouncer’s friendly features fell away as it was clear he did not believe Archer. “Forget it, mac, just forget it. Now beat it, I got work to do.”

He walked away, leaving Archer deeply disturbed.

The house was a one-story stucco with a red tile roof and enough plants, trees, and flowers to hide it from its neighbors. Its backyard was basically the ocean. A storm was drifting in, as Archer had found storms often did around here. It was like the Pacific wanted the coastal residents to be as wet as it was.

The Ford coupe wasn’t in the carport. The porch light was on, and that was it for illumination at this time of night. He pulled the Delahaye farther down the road and out of sight of the house. He got out and flitted back up the quiet street. He chanced looking in the mailbox and pocketed a couple of pieces of mail he found in there, which told him a lot, although the bouncer had already done that. He next circled back around, jumped a fence of the house next door to hers, and traversed the backyard, where the smell of charcoal from a recent cookout competed with the eucalyptus trees for dominance of his nostrils. Although he could still smell his sweat and the stink of fear that went along with it.

Archer squatted down behind the fence separating Darling’s place from her neighbor’s.

He waited for a few minutes there, reconnoitering the land in front of him. Finally satisfied, he gripped the top of the wooden fence and easily propelled himself over, landing in the wiry grass of Darling’s yard. He threaded his way up to the back door and tried the knob. It was locked. He didn’t have Dash’s lockpick kit, but he had a pocketknife. The blade was enough to push back the simple latch. The next moment he was inside and on the wrong side of the law, where Archer was getting to be more comfortable than was probably good for him.

He moved through to the kitchen, where he found a small refrigerator that held a glass jug of buttermilk, two eggs, a bunch of apples, and a wedge of cheese. The buttermilk smelled fresh. In the living room he saw the monogrammed cigarette lighter on a table.

Okay, here we go.

Archer sat down in a chair facing the front door and waited. He checked his timepiece. It was almost four in the morning and he had never felt further from sleep. It was like every nerve in his body was doing the jitterbug.

Thirty minutes later the beams from a car’s headlights cut across the front window. He sank down a bit deeper in his chair. He heard the car door open and close, and listened to the high heels poking into the sidewalk until their owner arrived at the front door. A key was inserted and the door opened, and there she was. In the illumination of the porch light he could see that she wore a narrow-brimmed, angled hat, a dark green dress that flared out from the hips, and a white, short-waisted jacket, long white dress gloves, and green pumps that lifted her impressive height ever more skyward. Her purse hung over her forearm. She looked like a knockout, thought Archer. And that cut both ways.

Archer eyed the purse and thought about the two things of importance that might be inside it, because he knew they weren’t in here.

She closed the door behind her, flicked on a switch, and dark became light.

And Archer went from invisible to revealed.

She froze and then gasped, her hand flying to her chest, which was heaving.

That sight made Archer feel better.

“You scared the hell out of me. How did you get in here?”

“Back door was unlocked.”

“No it wasn’t. I distinctly remember locking it.”

“You missed my meaning. I unlocked it.”

Her fearful expression faded and was replaced with a look that under other circumstances might have intimidated Archer. But not tonight.

“Explain yourself.”

“I need a drink. Couldn’t find one in here. Got your flask?” She opened her purse and looked inside it. “I’ve got rye. Is that okay?”

When she looked up, Darling was staring down the barrel of the .38.

She coolly eyed the gun. “If you don’t want the rye, Archer, just say so.”

“Yeah, I wish a funny line would cut it, Wilma. Have a seat and take it real slow. Anything fast or sudden from you would not be healthy. And hand your purse over.”

“What, are you an armed robber now? It doesn’t suit you, Archer. Admit it, you’re a Goody Two-shoes.”

She tossed the purse to him. He caught it in one hand and set it on the table next to his chair while he watched her perch on the settee across from him and cross her long legs at the ankles, her gloved hands in her lap as prim and proper as could be.

“You want to tell me what this is all about?”

“You never should have given me the address of this place, you know.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to see that was a mistake.”

“But it’s a nice place, Wilma. Real nice. Cost a pretty penny, no doubt.”

“It’s not mine. I’m just renting it for a few days. And you told me to come here.”

“Starting off with a lie? Not the way I want this to go.”

“I’m not lying, Archer,” she said smoothly.

He pulled the letters from his pocket and tossed them down on the table that sat between them.

“People don’t have mail addressed to a place they’re renting for a few days.”

She looked at the letters with her name and this address on them. Archer could see the wheels spinning as she tried to think of a plausible counter to what he’d just said. But then her expression finally showed that she had come up empty.

“So what?” she said.

“Yeah, so what. And tack on to that the bouncer at the nightclub near here knows this as your place.” He opened her purse and took out the flask. “And so what that on the drive to your place after Sheen got croaked you asked for a drink from my flask when you had this one in your purse. But then you couldn’t drink from this one without getting very, very sleepy. Like Sheen when you slipped him the mickey. You lured him to the room on the pretense of showing him a good time. You let him ride you till he had his fill, and then he went beddy-bye courtesy of what was in your flask. You got dressed and left and someone else came in, maybe Hank and/or Tony, and they introduced a hole through Sheen’s heart that he didn’t have before.”

“You’re talking nonsense, Archer.”

He cocked his head at her and waggled the. 38.

“You think I could sleep with you, knowing that somebody was killing Wilson? I’m not a monster, Archer.”

“You got me out of Midnight Moods for one reason only. When we were sitting on that terrace you looked over my shoulder and your gaze froze on something. You told me it was the old guy with a taste for young gals. You said he and Kemper were doing a deal. I asked him about that tonight. He doesn’t even know Kemper and he doesn’t do deals. You lied to me, Wilma. I don’t like that.”

“Why would I lie?”

“Because who you really saw over my shoulder was whoever killed Sheen. They were giving you the high sign. And I told you I was going to go look for Sheen. You couldn’t have that. So what did you do? You invited me to your place for a little fun between the sheets, and I forgot all about Wilson Sheen until you got the call the next morning. And since I was with you at all relevant times, you got yourself a prime alibi to boot. It was on the fly and neatly done. I’ll give you that.”

She took a cigarette from the bowl and lit it. “You’re nuts.”

“Am I? I’d explain it all like they do in the detective novels, but it would take too much time and you already know what I’m going to say.”

“You’re making me out to be some criminal.”

“You made yourself out to be one by committing criminal acts. Funny how that works.” He took out a pillbox from her purse and withdrew a pill from it. “I saw this pillbox in your purse before, but it was empty. And that same bouncer asked me if I was a customer of yours. A customer for what, I wonder?”

Darling just stared at him, lips pursed, legs still primly crossed at the ankles, the smoke in her hand.

“You sell drugs, Wilma.” He looked at the pill. “Amphetamines.”

“You know about amphetamines, Archer? I’m impressed.”

“Army used to give them out like candy in the war. Made you not feel tired even though you hadn’t slept for days. Made you not feel hungry so they didn’t have to stop the fighting to feed you. Made you act like a lion when you felt like a mouse.” He put the pill back and returned the box to the purse. “And you’re also selling to the gals in your office. That’s why they could work dawn to dusk and move like someone had stuck their fingers in a wall socket. Must pay well. You got the place in Bay Town, this place here. A new car. Nice clothes. Yeah, what a success you are.”

“Everything I have I worked for.”

“Oh, yeah, you did. And you said you went to Midnight Moods regularly. I’m betting you sold to the gals there, too. Like Ruby Fraser. You sold her pills. And I’m thinking you were the one who fingered her to be the patsy in all this. Put her at the center of this phony blackmail scheme with Kemper, and then they cut her throat out. And then you set up poor Wilson Sheen and removed any alibi Kemper has for Fraser’s murder. You probably got that info from one of them while at the office and passed it along to the appropriate party.”

“You weave a good tale, Archer. Good thing for me the cops only care about facts.”

“Let me give you some then. They killed Dr. Myron O’Donnell tonight and made it look like a narcotics hit. In the process, they slit the throat of a harmless old man who spent his days going up and down in an elevator reading the Gazette and swigging his cheap rum after a really shitty life. I look down on folks who kill other folks, unless you happen to be in a war. So that makes you an accessory to two more murders, Wilma. Even if they don’t send you to the gas chamber you’re getting at least twenty-five to life.” He checked her purse again. “Where’s the Derringer?”

“A lady has to protect herself, Archer. You got a gun. Why shouldn’t I have a gun?”

“Under any other circumstances, I would agree with you. But I’m fresh out of understanding right now. So where is it?”

“I dumped it. It was making me nervous.”

He decided to let this pass, for now, and kept the gun pointed right at her, his finger on the trigger guard.

“So I get no points at all for screwing you? ’Cause I know you enjoyed it, lover boy. Guys can’t fake it, only the gals can do that, only I admit I didn’t have to with you.”

“Yeah, and now that I know the truth about you, I’ll be taking three showers a day to try to get the stink off.”

“A girl has to do what a girl has to do to survive, Archer. But being a man, you would have no clue.”

“I know lots of gals who get by just fine without selling drugs and helping people kill other people.”

“I never wanted to be like ‘lots of gals.’ ”

“And thank God lots of gals never want to be like you. I hope the money you got paid was worth it. And I’m betting it was a lot more than a grand.”

She hiked her eyebrows. “So where does all this leave you and me?”

“In a difficult spot.”

“You have no proof of anything.”

“That’s my difficult spot. But I just wanted to let you know that I know the truth.”

“How decent of you, Archer. I was half serious when I asked where I could get a dozen of you. Of course, you’d start to bore me at some point. See, I don’t like the shiny knights. I like the bad boys who take what they want when they want.”

“Yeah, I know all about them. And the bad girls, too, like you.”

“What a choirboy you turned out to be.”

“I tell you what. Give up Sawyer Armstrong and get a few years shaved off your sentence. He framed his son-in-law for a double murder that Kemper had no part in. Can’t let a guy like that walk the last mile to San Quentin.”

“And why not?” She ground out her cigarette on the tabletop and sat back.

“If you have to ask, any explanation I could give you would be a waste of time.”

“We seem to be wasting a lot of time tonight, Archer. But one thing I wanted you to know.”

“What’s that?”

“I wasn’t surprised to see you here. I was just faking. How’d I do?”

“I’d rate you right up there with Bette Davis. But why weren’t you surprised?”

“I was at that dance club tonight. And the bouncer’s my friend. And he told me all about you.”

She did move well, very well. The Derringer came out from a pocket on her jacket and she got off two quick shots.

Both missed.

Archer’s did not.

Darling lowered her gun and then looked down at her front. The dark green cloth was sprouting another color.

The crimson patch kept growing as she looked up at him, her facial muscles as tensed as a person surprised that she is suddenly dying can make them. A bit of blood emerged at the corner of her mouth as the internal hemorrhaging expanded upward.

She fell to her knees and glanced up at him. Her mouth moved but no words came out. Her head hit the table on the way down. It didn’t matter. She didn’t feel the impact. The dead felt nothing.

Archer looked behind him where the twin Derringer bullets had slammed into the back of his chair right on either side of him.

Part of him thought it would turn out this way. He’d only hoped that part of him would be wrong.

He rose and looked down at her. Fleeting images of their first meeting and their lovemaking raced through his thoughts. Part of him felt lucky, part felt depressed, and part of him, maybe the largest part, just felt sick to his stomach.

He left the way he had come, after wiping his prints off everything he had touched. If he could have dug the bullet out of her he would have. Now he had to be worried about getting fingered for her death.

He drove fast back to Bay Town because he knew there was more to be done.