One Good Deed

Chapter 11

That night, Archer, dressed in his new clothes, walked down the street and took up his post across the street from the Cat’s Meow. It was near on eight, and he assumed that Pittleman and Jackie might already be in there. After having had dinner with the woman he felt a pang of jealousy that she was in the company of another man, particularly a man like Hank Pittleman.

While he stood there, Archer thought about what he would discuss with Pittleman when he came out of the bar. He wanted the man to have a few drinks in him before he did so. He didn’t think he was going to get a second chance with the gent. But the fact was the collateral was no more, so perhaps Pittleman would have another plan. At the very least, he couldn’t blame Archer for Tuttle’s torching his own Caddy.

Like any good scout, Archer was prepared for the unexpected, but he had not anticipated what would happen next.

“Mr. Archer?” said the surprised voice.

He turned to find Ernestine Crabtree standing there on the pavement, not six feet away, staring at him. Like his, her clothes were different from what she had started the day with.

The dress that had fallen well below the knee had been replaced with a fresher model in a startling petrol blue paired with a black jacket with a high-back collar. Her dimpled knees showed clearly below the starkly raised hem. And the thick nylons had been replaced with their sheer, silk cousins. The low heels were gone, and her height had shot up to within about two inches of his by virtue of her spiked, strappy footwear. The knotted bun had vanished, and she had on a black fascinator hat with a sticking-up bow and attached short veil. Her blond tresses fell straight down and skimmed her shoulders like a stage curtain against the floor. Her face, freed from being pulled at by the hair and covered by the shell glasses, had now relaxed into a thing of startling beauty, the eyes wide and holding considerable depth. And the paint on her face, lips, and nails rivaled Jackie’s for its vitality.

Archer could only stare openmouthed at her for a few seconds. “Miss Crabtree, what in the world are you...? Well, you look... different.”

She glanced down at herself, and the woman’s pleased look gave her inner feeling away.

“I’m... meeting someone.”

“Where would that be, I wonder?” said Archer as he made a show of eyeing the Cat’s Meow, which was the only place down this way worth going to, and that still had its lights on and its door unlocked.

“Where that would be is none of your business. What are you doing here?”

“Just stretching my legs and getting some fresh air.”

“You wouldn’t possibly be thinking of going into that bar?”

“What bar would that be?”

“The Cat’s Meow, right there.”

“Oh, is that what that is, a bar?”

“Of course, it’s a—” She paled a bit and looked down at her peep toe shoes.

Archer said, “I guess you’ve been in to see for yourself. I wouldn’t know.”

She squeezed her black envelope handbag and continued to study the toes of her high heels with evident concern. “There is no law against me enjoying a drink, every now and again.”

“No law at all, ma’am. I would join you if I could, but it would violate Rule Number 14, and possibly 15 and 16, depending on how things turned out. There might be others, but those will surely do.”

She eyed his clothes. “Your new suit fits you... very well.”

“And that dress is very pretty. And your hair down that way gives your face a nice framing.”

She touched her hair and tried, but could not manage, to suffocate the smile that appeared on her face.

“Thank you,” she said with a level of shyness that he had a hard time reconciling with the unyielding parole officer. “Are you working on your pickle of a problem?”

“I am indeed. It’s why I’m here at this particular spot.”

She glanced at the bar. “You think he might show up here? Mr. Pittleman, I mean?”

“Well, the man told me he’s here every day except Saturday and the Sabbath, when he’s with his wife. And I know that for a fact since I was at his house on Saturday.”

“Why did you go there?”

“He’s paying me, so I thought it right to explain things to him.”

“But from what you told me this morning, he wasn’t very understanding.”

“No, but he was very clear on what I needed to do if I wanted to get paid. But now with the collateral all burned up, we have to go in a different direction. I’ve been thinking about some options to give him. And see if he has any ideas. Always a good thing to give a man options and let him know what’s what.”

“Yes, I agree, that is smart.”

“Well, I have to be smart, since he pretty much told me he was going to hurt me bad if I didn’t finish the job.”

“He threatened you with bodily harm? That’s a crime.”

“Who’s gonna call him on that? From what I’ve heard he owns just about anything worth owning around here.”

“Well, he doesn’t own the law. Or me.”

“Never figured he could afford you, Miss Crabtree.”

She smiled at this comment but then caught herself and her expression returned to neutral. “So, what will you do when you see him tonight?”

“Tell him the truth. Tell him about the burned-out car and give him some ideas going forward. At the least I figure it’ll buy me a little time to sort things out. I mean, I can’t collect what doesn’t exist anymore.” He paused and eyed the bar. “Well, don’t let me keep you. Is the person you’re meeting already in there, or are you meeting him out here?”

She ignored this and said, “If things don’t work out with Mr. Pittleman, I have other positions, as I said. You can earn money to pay him back what you owe.”

“I really do appreciate that, Miss Crabtree. More than you can know. But the fact is, the slaughterhouse job doesn’t really appeal to me. Now, old Dickie Dill might favor bashing hog skulls in for cash in his pocket, but it’s not something I’m suited for, being human and all.”

He thought she might laugh at this last part, but she fought it long and hard and her cold side won the day. “A job is a job. You think everybody loves what they do for a living?”

“Do you?”

“I do not have to answer that.”

“I know that. I’m just making conversation, since you’re still here.”

This seemed to sting her a bit, something he had clearly not intended.

“Well, I’ll let you get on with your ‘thinking’ then.”

Hiding his self-inflicted chagrin, he tipped his new hat at her and watched as the woman crossed the street and entered the Cat’s Meow without a backward glance at him.

He was cursing himself for having now messed up twice with beautiful young women, when he saw the pair navigating down the street.

Pittleman was dressed in a seersucker suit with a boater hat sporting a red-and-blue band, and brown and white wingtip shoes. Jackie Tuttle rode on his left arm and was bedecked in a tight lavender dress and a short-waisted white jacket with narrow lapels over it. Her legs were encased in black seamed stockings, and her feet in black heels with fancy laces around her ankles, the mere sight of which gave Archer the spine shivers. She wore a lavender beret over her dark hair.

He had never seen a more beautiful woman, other than Ernestine Crabtree minutes before. If someone had told him a place like Poca City could hold two such alluring women, he would have called the person either a liar or cockeyed beyond belief.

He slunk back behind a conveniently placed sycamore growing up out of the street as they passed, and so they did not see him as they entered the bar.

About two hours later Ernestine Crabtree exited the premises. Archer looked for but failed to see the companion to whom she had referred. He kept behind the tree as she looked around, perhaps for him, or possibly others. Then, despite the height of her heels, she began walking quickly down the street with elegant strides of her long legs.

He watched her go until she was nearly out of sight. He was about to turn back when Archer saw something that made him leave his post outside the bar and take up following Crabtree.