A Gambling Man

Chapter 66

They heard the sobs as they approached the garage. They cut through the still morning air like a machete through bamboo. The garage was a three-bay setup with a full floor above, where, presumably, Bobby lived.

The exterior door was locked, but Archer managed to push up one of the garage doors and they went inside, passing a Buick and a trim little green Hunter convertible with the canvas top down on their way to the set of interior stairs. The sobs were now even louder, and in them Archer thought he could hear an anguish associated with only the deepest of personal losses.

They reached a doorway at the top of the stairs. The cries continued, with the person inside seemingly oblivious to their presence.

Dash whispered, “Pull your heater, Archer, just in case.”

The gun came out. Archer stepped in front of Dash, put his hand on the doorknob, and slowly rotated it. The next moment he eased the door open and peered into the room.

The space was small, with bead-boarded, whitewashed walls and plenty of windows to let the emerging dawn peek through; one of the windows was open. That was no doubt how they could hear the crying all the way outside. On the wall were framed publicity stills of Cary Grant, Montgomery Clift, and other male actors. A two-drawer dresser painted a pale blue, some built-in cabinetry, a banjo leaning in one corner, and a mahogany four-poster bed were the only things to be seen — other than the young man lying in the bed and sobbing his heart out.

Archer and Dash stepped into the room and Archer closed the door behind him hard enough to make the man sit up and stare in fear and confusion at them.

“Who... who are you?”

Dash came forward. “You’re Bobby, right?”

“Yes sir.” He sat up and pulled the covers up over his bare chest.

Seeing him up close, Archer figured he was no more than twenty years old, with fine, delicate facial features and large blue eyes.

“I’m Willie Dash and this here is Archer. We’re private eyes. You know about your... employer, I take it?”

Bobby wiped his eyes and nodded. “He shot himself. Did... did you see him, too?”

“Yeah. Hey, Bobby, let me see your hands for a sec.”

Bobby held out his hands, and Dash wiped them with his pocket handkerchief. He looked at the cloth and then sniffed it.

“Well, you didn’t fire that gun.”

“I would never hurt anyone, especially Mr. Drake.”

“Okay, calm down and tell us all about it.”

Bobby glanced at Archer, who put his gun away, leaned against the wall, and said, “Must’ve been pretty upsetting to see him like that.”

Bobby nodded and wiped his face on the sheet, looking anxious. “Yeah, it was.”

“You went to see Drake sometime really early this morning, right?” asked Dash.

“I, uh...”

“Look, Bobby, I don’t give a damn what you had going on with Drake. I just want to hear any information you might have so we can find out why Drake did what he did.”

“You’re in no trouble, Bobby,” Archer added. “And what you tell us goes no further.”

Bobby glanced at Dash, who nodded. “That’s right, son.”

Bobby grew calmer and sat up against the headboard. “I usually go to... see Mr. Drake around three in the morning, unless he tells me not to the night before.”

“Why at that hour?”

“Well, the ladies are sure to be asleep by then and...”

“Okay. So you went there around three?”

Bobby nodded. “His bedroom door, see, I can walk right in off the rear verandah. Don’t have to go into the house.”

“We saw your footprints,” noted Dash. “And saw that the door was unlocked.”

“Well, I opened the door and walked in, like usual... and there he was.” Bobby’s eyes filled with fresh tears. “It was like he was staring at me, but he was... he was all dead and everything.”

“Did you touch the body?” asked Dash.

“No sir,” he said quickly. “I... I just turned and ran back here. And I been here crying the whole time. I mean, Mr. Drake was real good to me. I... I can’t believe he’s gone.”

Dash glanced at Archer. “Now, Bobby, this is real important, okay?” He paused and drew closer to the bed. “When did the men come out here? You saw them, right?”

Bobby looked at him in surprise. “H-how’d you know about that, mister?”

“I didn’t, at least not for sure, until now. Tell me about it.”

“About twenty minutes after I got back here, I heard a car pull up real quiet like. I looked out the window. They had stopped right near the garage. Two men got out and went over to Mr. Drake’s bedroom door. They opened it, but didn’t go inside. But I saw a light flashing around.”

Archer said, “That’s why we only saw one set of footprints — Bobby’s.”

Bobby said, “Then they closed the door and got in their car and drove off.”

“Two big lugs with stupid faces?” said Dash.

“Yeah, that’s right. I saw ’em clear enough in the light next to the garage door.”

“Hank and Tony,” said Archer. “They were here.”

Dash edged over to him and spoke in a low voice, “That’s why they took Kemper, Archer. With Drake dead, Kemper is the mayor. Armstrong can’t have that.”

“So Drake must have called Armstrong and told him what he was going to do? That’s why you mentioned back there about him maybe calling somebody?”

“And the two goons came here to make sure Drake wasn’t bluffing. See, that was the ace in the hole Drake always had. Armstrong just figured he’d never play it, because it meant Drake would end up six feet under. But old Drake had his principles and he was apparently sticking to them. He wasn’t going to be Armstrong’s rubber stamp, no sir. Gotta admire the guy for that. I would like to think he died with that thought in mind and a smile on his lips.”

He turned back to Bobby. “Drake ever talk to you about the campaign for mayor or Sawyer Armstrong?”

“No sir. We never talked about stuff like that.”

“Okay, you got somewhere you can go, or people you can stay with?”

Bobby shook his head. “I... ran away from home a few years ago when...” He looked at them anxiously.

“Yeah, I understand. Okay, Ruthie knows that Drake is dead. She knows we came over to speak with you. For now, you just play dumb, okay? You don’t know anything. You got that, Bobby?”

“S-sure, okay. Hey, mister, with Mr. Drake dead, will I... will I have to leave here? I don’t have no other place to go.”

Dash looked uncomfortable. “I could lie to you, son, and say you can stay here for as long as you want. But fact is, Bobby, I have no idea. But for right now, you can stay, okay?”

“O-okay, thanks.” He looked past them and out the window toward the house. “He was a really nice man. He treated me okay, he really did.” He wiped his face on the sheet again, but it came away looking as tear-streaked as before.

“Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end sometime,” noted Dash. “And for some people in this town, all I see are bad times coming.”