A Gambling Man

Chapter 9

They had to go up the fire escape to Callahan’s place because the landlady was, in Callahan’s words, “an old battle-ax determined not to let young women have any fun.” And that obviously included no men staying the night.

They had parked the car in a lean-to attached to a garage behind Callahan’s building. Archer had found a cover in the trunk and thrown that over the Delahaye.

As she led them into her room via the fire escape and then a window she said, looking at Howells, “Now, she probably wouldn’t mind you. But Archer is definitely a no-no.”

Howells seemed to swell up with indignity. “I may not be as young as I once was, and who among us is, but I’m still a man who can appreciate female beauty when it is so obviously presented to me.”

“Well, thanks for the compliment, I guess,” responded Callahan, giving Archer a funny look.

Howells took the couch, which was lumpy but serviceable. He took off his hat and coat and shoes, revealing toeless socks, and then promptly fell asleep, his soft snores settling over Archer and Callahan as they watched him.

“Exciting times must have exhausted him,” noted Archer, holding his hat and peering down at the man.

Callahan shook her head. “I’m not ready for bed. I’m a night owl.”

“What are you ready for?” asked Archer.

“A drink.”

“Afraid my flask is almost empty.”

“I’ve got a bottle and two glasses hidden away under my bed. Old Fitz Kentucky bourbon work for you? It’s wheat, not rye.”

“I like pretty much any grain that’s been liquefied.”

They sat on the fire escape as they sipped their drinks.

“So California, huh?” said Callahan.

“Yep.”

“What’s out there for you?”

“A private eye named Willie Dash. I’m hoping he’ll take me under his wing and teach me the business.”

“So you wanna be, what, a gumshoe like Humphrey Bogart?”

“Bogie just pretends to be a gumshoe. I want to be one for real.”

“Taking pictures of married men and women cheating? Running down lousy deadbeats for money? Poking into people’s secrets? That’s your idea of a job?”

“Must be,” said Archer bluntly. “Because I haven’t thought of another one.”

She cocked her head and appraised him carefully. “You could be in the pictures, Archer. Sure, you’re rough around the edges and you’re definitely not Cary Grant, but you’re all right. And you’re tall and you have broad shoulders and you got a nice voice.”

“Funny, those are exactly the requirements for a private eye.”

“Stop teasing and pour me another drink.”

He did so, then helped himself to another finger of Old Fitz and settled back against the hard metal of the fire escape. After the wild ride in the Delahaye, it felt good not to be moving or shot at.

“So you got any family hereabouts?” he asked.

“No, because I’m not from here.”

“Where then?”

“None of your business.”

He gave her a bemused look. “I thought we were getting along okay.”

“I don’t like talking about myself all that much. And I told you where I worked during the war and about my brother and cousin. Hell, that’s pretty much my life story. What about you? Where are you coming from?”

“Little town called Poca City, nearly fifteen hundred miles due east of here.”

“That’s one long trip.”

“And my butt and back felt every mile.”

“Never heard of Poca City.”

“I wouldn’t recommend you going there and finding out for yourself.”

“You had a bad time there?”

“You could say that,” Archer replied evenly.

“And what were you doing there?”

“Just passing through.” He paused, took a drink, and said, “So the car. What would you say to driving west with me?”

“I don’t know. How far is this place from Hollywood?”

“They’re both in southern California. Bet there’s a bus to Hollywood from where I’m headed.”

She eyed him nervously. “You looked real good with that gun back there.”

“Everybody looks good with a gun, until they get shot by somebody else with a bigger gun or better aim.”

“I don’t necessarily mean that as a compliment. You’re no criminal, are you? I mean, you haven’t been to prison, right?”

“Do I look like I’ve been in prison?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never met any ex-cons before.”

“You telling me in a place like Reno there are no ex-cons?”

“I’m sure there are. I’ve just never met any.”

“That you know of, you mean. They wouldn’t exactly come out and tell you.”

“Does that include you, Archer?”

Archer almost winced at how neatly she had played him on that one.

He finished one more finger of the Old Fitz before answering her. “Truth is, I served three years. Got out early for good behavior. Spent my parole time in Poca City. Only reason I was there. Now I’m done with my parole. I’m as free as any other man.”

“What were you in for? If you only spent three years in the slammer, it couldn’t have been too bad,” she added hopefully.

“I didn’t hurt anybody and I didn’t steal a dime. And I was innocent, by the way. But I guess they all say that.”

“I guess they do.”

“It... it was actually about a gal and another car. Her father’s. She wanted to get away from him, start life fresh somewhere.”

“Well, my father’s long since dead, but sounds like my situation.”

“It didn’t turn out the way I thought it would. For either one of us.”

“Did you love her?”

“No,” he said sharply. “It was nothing like that.”

“Okay, Archer, don’t get sore.”

“Maybe I was just trying to be a hero. You know, save the gal.”

“I was just asking because with a guy and a gal it usually is about love, or lust, or a combo of the two.”

He eyed her curiously. “You sound like you know all about it.”

“You think you’re the only one life’s dumped on? I got my bruises, too, maybe they don’t show as well as yours, is all. And I never got to play the hero.”

“So were you the damsel in distress?”

She finished her drink. “I don’t recall getting saved one time. Quite the opposite.”

He put his empty glass down. “So I suppose you riding with me to California is out then.”

“What makes you say that?”

He looked up at her in some surprise. “I’m an ex-con, whether I deserve it or not.”

“But you gave me half your winnings at roulette when you didn’t have to. And I saw how you were with the old guy. You defended him from those thugs when you didn’t have to. They could’ve killed you, and you didn’t even really know him. And you saved our lives tonight with a nifty piece of driving and shooting. And you’re going to buy a car you don’t really need to help that old man from getting killed. And...”

“And what?”

“And we’re sitting out here all alone and you haven’t made one move on me. Now, I can tell you that has never happened to me before, least since my breasts came in.”

Archer actually blushed at this last remark.

She added, “And you get embarrassed when a girl says ‘breasts.’ That makes you all right in my book, Archer.”

“Funny the things you learn along the way. So California?”

“I can be ready to go after you get the car squared away.”

“What about the Dancing Birds? What about Mr. Shyner?”

“Oh, they’ve got lots of gals waiting to take my place. And Mr. Shyner knows I want to go to Hollywood. I’ll write him a note in the morning and get it to him. It’ll be okay.”

Archer nodded. “Well, I guess we better get some sleep then. Long day tomorrow.”

“I guess so.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

“What was that for?”

“Just for being a nice guy. There aren’t that many out there, least from where I’m sitting.” She eyed the window. “I’ve got carpet in my bedroom if you want to sleep on the floor. Might be easier on you.”

He eyed her long legs, the curve of her hips and bosom, the hair bouncing off her graceful shoulders, and, best of all, the woman’s warm, tender smile.

“For a lot of reasons, and I’m not saying they’re all good ones, I’ll sleep next to the snoring old man.”

“You sure?”

“No. But it might actually be harder, not easier, on me if I took you up on your offer.”

Her smile deepened. “Just confirmed everything I’ve been saying about you, Archer.”

“Yeah, well, good night.”

“Good night.”

She climbed in one window and he the adjacent one.

And neither one got much sleep at all.