Dream Town

Chapter 79

“Thanks, Jake,” said Archer. “This means a lot.”

Archer had always known that Jake Nichols owned the bar on the ground floor of a three-story building. What Archer hadn’t known was that Nichols owned the rest of the building, too.

They were in the corridor on the top floor right outside of a two-room office. On the pebbled glass was fresh black lettering announcing the space as being occupied by one Aloysius Archer, Private Investigator, duly licensed, bonded, and insured by the State of California.

“Been trying to lease this crummy space for a year now.”

“Bet you didn’t offer anybody else a buck a year in rent. I think you would’ve had some takers.”

Nichols spun around in his wheelchair. “But they wouldn’t have brought down the guy who put me in this glorified baby carriage. A buck a year is more than fair. To me.”

Archer looked at his name on the glass. “It wasn’t an easy decision. I really like Willie and Connie. And Bay Town isn’t bad.”

“But LA is its own creature. And something tells me you and Willie will still be working lots of cases together.”

“Probably so. I’ll need the help.”

“Hey, let me give you this before I forget it.” He handed Archer a white envelope.

“What is it?”

“Old geezer dropped it off earlier today. How’d he know your new office was here?”

“I put an ad in the paper and made some calls and told a few people. I guess word gets around.”

“He said he was a retired LAPD dick.”

“Wait a minute — was his name Sam Malloy?”

“Yeah, I think that’s right. You know him?”

“We met. Nice guy.”

“Well, he made me promise to give you that. And he told me to tell you good luck and thanks for what you did for someone he cared about a lot. I think those were his exact words. You know what he’s talking about?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You want to come down to the bar for a celebratory drink? You know, starting a new phase of life and all. On the house.”

“Sure, but give me a little bit of time to soak this all in.” Nichols looked at him steadily. “Archer, you made the right decision. It was time. I talked to Willie about this. He thinks the same.”

“It’s actually time for a lot of changes in my life.”

“Meaning what, exactly? Hey, didn’t you have some gal? Willie mentioned that. What does she think of you hanging out your shingle?”

Archer touched the lettering on the door. “She doesn’t need to know.”

“Why not? Wait a minute, are you two not together anymore?”

“On second thought, I’ll take a rain check on the drink, Jake. Maybe tomorrow?”

“Okay, Archer. Suit yourself.” Nichols spun around and headed for the elevator.

Archer unlocked the door to his new office and stepped through, closing the door behind him.

It was nothing to write home about. The tiny reception area had nothing in it, because Archer didn’t have a receptionist right now and probably would never have one. But with a couple of chairs, a coffee table, and a few moldy magazines, it could be a waiting room for prospective clients. They could sit here and wait until he was ready to see them, or so his dream went.

His office was twelve by twelve, with plaster walls and lack-luster paint on them. A dirty ceiling with a lazy fan frowned down on him. The space held a desk and one chair for him and a pair for clients. There were two file cabinets with nothing in them. There was a little scuffed credenza on which he intended to set up a small bar, so he could have a drink when he wanted, and offer one to clients in case they needed it, which they probably would. One window behind his desk looked out onto a window of another building, where maybe some other poor sap was trying to make an honest buck.

He sat behind his desk, took out his hip flask, poured some rye whiskey into a glass pulled from his desk drawer, and took a sip. It felt good going down, like a kiss on the cheek or a kind word at just the time you needed it.

He opened the envelope and found two things inside. The first was a check made out to him from Cecily Ransome. The sum written in was more than he would have charged if he had worked the case for a month, and that was on top of the $500 retainer. The second item was a handwritten note on Warner Brothers stationery.

Ordinarily, Archer would never accept more than he had dutifully earned, other than a small bonus for a job especially well done. He didn’t like feeling that he owed other people. But this one he would take, because it would all be going to Willie Dash. Hospitals and surgeries to dig out bullets weren’t cheap, and the man had more than earned the extra dough.

He folded up the check and note and put them in his jacket pocket.

Then he sat back in his chair and stared at the pebbled glass door with his name on it.

From now on his path in life would be pointed steadily forward, right at the fresh waves coming for him, rather than the choppy ones that had just passed underneath and battered him.

Hell, they can only hit you once.

It was all about what was coming up. And whether you could handle it. And even if you couldn’t handle it, it was about how you tried to handle it.

Being alive and living were also two distinct things, he had come to realize. The former was strictly biological; the latter was everything else.

Yeah, safety was one thing, an important thing. But actually living was something else. He had decided to pick the something else. And it had cost him plenty, maybe more than even he realized right this minute. Yet he had a pretty good idea.

It cost me everything else.

And so Aloysius Archer settled back in his seat and waited for somebody, anybody, to walk through that door.