Dream Town

Chapter 62

He stopped at a pay phone and called the hospital to check on Dash. After being patched through, he finally spoke with Morrison and found that Dash’s vitals were improving and there was no indication of any problems. She also told Archer that the slug taken from him was a .38.

He next made a long-distance phone call to the number in Washington, D.C. A woman answered and told him that Margaret Lamb was not in. Archer left the number for his answering service and told the woman it was very important that Lamb contact him, as it had to do with her daughter, Eleanor. The woman promised to deliver the message promptly when Margaret returned.

He made one more call to a PI firm in Reno that he and Dash had used before. A woman answered the phone and he asked for Jim Swinson. A man came on the line, and Archer told him what had happened to Dash.

The only question Swinson asked was “How can I help, Archer?”

Archer gave him a short sketch of the case and provided Mallory Green’s address in Lake Tahoe. He asked Swinson to get someone out there to keep the place — and Green, if possible — under surveillance.

“Some really bad guys are involved in this, so everybody needs to watch their backs. I’ll have money sent up by Western Union to cover your fees.”

“Don’t worry about that, Archer, consider this one on the house. For Willie.”

He got back into his Olds and drove off, Chinatown his destination. He found the alley where the shooting had taken place. The cops had obviously come and gone, because the place was deserted. Archer got out and, one hand on the butt of his gun, walked down the alleyway. It was full of doors and windows and passageways, lots of means of getting in and out. When he cleared the alley, there was the Jade, right across the street. The truck must have done a quick turn into this alley, passed the shooters, and kept going while they came out from hiding to fire on Archer and Dash.

In the daylight the Jade didn’t look overly menacing; it just looked cheap and gaudy. Inside was not a den of iniquities but a place where people did awful things to each other, exploiting weaknesses all humans had to varying degrees, wrapped around a bar serving one type of drink that, if it didn’t kill you, might, ironically, make you swear off booze for life.

He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined a scantily clad Samantha Lourdes bound to a bedpost so men halfway around the world could get their jollies. And then his mind pulled a dirty trick on him and transposed Liberty Callahan’s face over Lourdes’s. He opened his eyes and thought he really might be sick.

You need to focus, Archer, like Jake told you to. You think you’re taking down Darren Paley acting like this? Right now you couldn’t take down a sixteen-year-old punk running numbers for a buck a bag.

He retreated to his car, climbed in, and drove off.

He got back to Wilshire and became immediately bogged down in traffic. In the distance he thought he could hear a PA system in use and some sort of message echoing across all of LA.

In frustration, he finally parked his car and started to walk, making much faster progress on foot. He finally discovered that the PA system was attached to the roof of a station wagon. A sign was plastered on the sides of the car, which was crawling at a turtle’s pace.

And that was what the man holding a mike in the car was reciting over and over again through the PA system.

Archer spotted a traffic cop at the next intersection and pigeonholed him.

“What’s up with that?” he asked.

The man in blue grinned. “Uncle Joe’s in town.”

“Uncle Joe?”

“Senator Joe McCarthy. He’s speaking at the Ambassador tonight.” He lowered his voice and said with a sour face, “This town is full of reds, buddy.”

“Is that right?”

“Half the movie people would line up to kiss Stalin’s ass.”

“Joe Stalin. He and McCarthy have the same first name. That’s kind of funny.”

The cop looked shocked. “What, are you drunk?”

“Smell my breath, nothing on it.”

“McCarthy is trying to save this country and he should start right here. Commies all over.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Hell, the union takes real good care of us.”

“Right. Unions. You might want to take that up with Karl Marx.”

“Who?”

Archer just had a sudden, jolting thought. “What time tonight is ‘Uncle Joe’ speaking?”

“Seven.”

“Thanks.”

“You going?”

“Maybe. But I might get my hair cut instead. You have to have priorities these days.”

Archer strolled back to his car, got in, and turned around.

He was heading to the Ambassador. But not to get a seat to hear Uncle Joe.

He had just had an improbable thought. It probably wouldn’t pan out. But if it did, today would be a helluva lot better than yesterday. Not that any day wouldn’t be.

He had a phone call to make first. And a question to ask. He could do that at the hotel. And then he’d take the automatic elevator all the way up again.

Right to Hell.

And all this time, I thought it was the other direction.