Dream Town

Chapter 69

The flight took off into a cloudy sky, but when they broke through the heavy cover, there was the moon looking bold and bright. But Archer wasn’t impressed with the moon even a little. He spent the flight staring out the window at a sea of clouds below and a sky that had no defined horizon, much like his thoughts. The clouds looked like ocean breakers frozen in midarc, which was unnatural and thus unnerving. The sky looked unfamiliar and unsettling, but he could not look away. Their final approach into Reno was extremely turbulent because of low-level crosswinds, but Archer barely noticed, even as a baby wailed, and the young woman sitting next to him threw up into a little paper bag helpfully provided by the airline with its logo on it.

They landed and Archer was the first one off the plane. In the small terminal Jim Swinson waved at him.

Swinson was in his late forties, about five-eleven, lean and tightly built with a swell of brown hair frosted at the sides, and a trim mustache of a similar color combination. He had on a dark suit, no tie, and a snap-brim hat with a checkered band held in one hand, along with a poker face.

“You got a gun?” Archer asked.

“I got a pocket, I got a gun.”

“Good, because right now we can’t have too many guns.”

They walked out to Swinson’s car. It was a Ford, as trim and lean as its owner.

Dawn was still far from breaking, but the darkness was a shade lighter than the one Archer had left back in LA.

“So, Paley is on the run with Bonham’s wife and her hubby’s dead?”

“Yeah. The county cops are on it, but Paley is an old hand at this. He could slip through easily enough. The guy’s a planner and he must have planned for this eventuality.”

“But once he offed his supplier, what did he think he was going to do?”

“Who knows? But there are possibilities. Maybe he was cutting out the middleman. Then he could deal direct with the suppliers.”

“But he has a dead body to contend with.”

“But he probably figured no one would find the body in the bomb shelter for a long time, if ever. And if the cops figured out Bonham was selling dope, the murder could be blamed on any number of people, most likely in Mexico. Bonham stiffed them on a payment, that sort of thing. You play dirty, you end up dirty. And dead.”

“And Mrs. Bonham? Wouldn’t the cops have wondered what happened to her when they found her husband’s body?”

“That’s Mrs. Bonham’s problem.” Archer lit up a Lucky because he really needed to. He let the stiff breeze carry the spent match away. “And she may not know it, but she’s a French princess who just turned back into a frog, and a scorpion just hitched a ride on her slimy back.”

Swinson narrowed his already narrow eyes. “What frog?”

“Never mind. Tell me about the activity.”

As they drove out of the airport Swinson said, “A truck came in a few hours after you phoned about Willie. It was unloaded and a bunch of crates were brought into the house. Then, about three hours later, some other people showed up with another truck.”

“And let me guess — the crates went right back out?”

“That’s the gist of it. My guy got photos of everything.”

“He there now?”

Swinson nodded.

“Then let’s join him.”

The drive took about an hour as they headed due south and passed through Carson City. The skies were light, but official sunrise was still an hour away by the time they arrived at the surveillance spot Swinson’s man had set up. The temperature was in the thirties and getting colder even as the skies lightened. Archer thought he saw a stray flake or two. The fat clouds were like a vast fleet of planes ready to open their belly doors and carpet-bomb Tahoe into snowy submission.

Swinson’s associate was introduced to Archer as Duncan Reid. He was about five years older than Archer, six feet tall, his solid build covered by a cheap brown suit and a dull green tie with a frayed shirt collar pinching the tie’s knot. His eyes were alert, though the grind of his watch was telling in his face and skin. Stakeouts sapped you, Archer knew, without your moving a muscle.

“Give Archer a look at the place, Reid.”

The man stifled a yawn. “Okay. They’re probably still asleep.”

He led them over to a break in the bushes, and handed Archer a pair of expensive binoculars. Archer used them to look down on a large chalet situated on private grounds right on the shore of Lake Tahoe. The home was an alchemy of redwood and cedar and large boulders and enormous, metal-framed windows. It had odd angles and massive cantilever beams along with metal supports to reinforce where it jutted out at the top, like the bow of a ship, to take full advantage of the views. It was as though the upper section of the house was actually over the water instead of just the adjacent sandy beach. It was a niftily done optical illusion, and no doubt cost a fortune. And now Archer knew from where that fortune had come.

“Who have you seen come and go besides the truck?” he asked.

“Lady in an old Packard. She drove out after the truck left and then back about an hour later. She hasn’t left since.”

“Describe her.”

Reid did so.

“No one else? You’re sure?”

Swinson answered. “He’s sure. See, we two-manned this thing. Have a guy down the road watching all traffic. We passed him but didn’t see him, but he saw us for sure.”

Reid pulled a small device from his pocket. “And I’m hooked up to him via walkie-talkie.”

“Makes sense. She had to be here to receive the shipment and then send it on.”

“Who we talking about, Archer?” asked Swinson.

“Mallory Green.”

“I thought it was her husband who was doing the drug dealing.”

“So did I. But now I think I was wrong. He’s not smart enough to pull this off, and his balls aren’t big enough. I just wonder why she left the house when she did. And no one was with her when she came back?”

“Nope. Not that I could see,” replied Reid.

“You got a spare walkie-talkie?”

Swinson got one and set it to the right frequency. “What are you going to do?”

“You guys sit tight. I’m going to pay Mrs. Green an early-morning visit.”