One Good Deed

Chapter 15

“Where’d you get this thing?” asked Archer, as, by prearrangement, he was standing in front of the Derby Hotel later that day. His query had been prompted by Jackie’s pulling up in a spanking brand-new four-door Nash Ambassador painted a two-tone blue. It looked like a big-butted bullet about to be launched down the road.

“Hank gave it to me,” she said through the open driver’s window.

“He gave you a house and a car?”

“Well, yes. He wanted me to be able to get around in style after all.”

“I didn’t see the Nash parked at your house.”

“That’s because I don’t keep it at my house. I keep it in a garage not too far from my place. Do you know what the sun beating down here can do to a car’s paint? And don’t get me started on the dust. Get in.”

Archer slid into the passenger seat and no more than a second passed between his hitting the fabric and Jackie hitting the gas. The Nash sprung forward so fast, it snapped Archer’s head back against the seat.

She glanced over at him in her reflector sunglasses, as he looked at her in annoyance. “I like to move fast, Archer. You’ll just have to get used to it.”

Archer rolled his window down and kept ahold of his hat, or he would have lost it to the back seat while they were still in downtown Poca City. He ran his gaze over the woman. She was dressed in a below-the-knee black dress, with a dark pyramid coat on over it, a felt hat with a bow on the side, sheer black stockings, and demure shoes with low, clunky heels. He supposed it was the mourning wear of chattel. It was a good look for her, not that anything wouldn’t be.

They drove for nearly an hour by the sun, and this was confirmed by his watch. When the house came into view, Archer whistled. “Damn, place looks bigger than when I was here the first time. Maybe it keeps growing all on its own like a tree.”

Jackie honked the horn as they pulled up to the gate.

About thirty seconds later, Manuel emerged and opened the gates for them.

“Thank you, Manuel,” said Jackie as she drove on through, while Archer studied the house.

“How big is this thing, really?” he asked.

“I have no idea, but it’s big enough, don’t you think?”

“Whose cars are those?” he asked, pointing to a little park-off where two vehicles sat. “They weren’t there last time I came.”

“That’s Hank’s Buick convertible, and Marjorie’s Cadillac Coupe de Ville.”

“Nice rides, though he won’t be needing his anymore.”

Jackie pulled to the front of the house and they got out. Archer slapped the dust off his hat and then put it back on as he looked around. He lit up a Lucky, then flicked the spent match into the dirt.

He drew down on the Lucky and said, “Actually, I can see why Pittleman would put up a place like this.”

“Why?” she asked.

“He’d want everybody driving by to know that this was his place and only he could build it, that’s why.”

“I like that about you, Archer.”

“What’s that?”

“You see things.”

“Just have to open your eyes.”

She flicked him a knowing look. “Now ain’t that the truth?”

Archer had to step back quickly because he had almost crushed some of the encroaching flowers when he had started to head up the flagstone walk. When he regained his balance, he watched Jackie walk right into the house without knocking; Archer tossed his cigarette and quickly followed.

Inside he said, “You think the law’s been here to tell her?” Though he had been here before, there were so many things to see, he hadn’t glimpsed them all. Now he eyed a vase of silk flowers about as tall as he was. Right next to that was a stuffed fox on a wooden pedestal staring at him, while in a hunting crouch. On the wall above that was a tapestry of a Revolutionary War battle scene hung from an ornately carved piece of what looked to be teak. It depicted gallant men dying gallantly seemingly without a thought as to their personal safety, only elegant, patriotic sacrifice in their dignified countenances. It was something Archer had never once seen in three-plus years of actual combat. For him, it had been a tedious and Spartan existence intersected with chaos, fear, and times of sporadic bravery mingled with anger, panic, hatred, self-pity, and sadness at those who had fallen, followed by a guilty relief at still being alive when the shooting had stopped.

Jackie said, “They have. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here.” Then she called out, “Marjorie?”

The same elderly sourpuss woman in a maid’s uniform toddled out into view.

“Mrs. Pittleman’s in the conservatory, Miss Jackie.”

“Thank you, Agnes.”

Miss Jackie? thought Archer. One would think his companion was mistress of the place.

Jackie led the way down the same long hall that Pittleman had led Archer on his first visit here. She stopped at a door and took a deep breath, seeming to collect herself for the confrontation ahead.

“You okay?” he asked.

She looked up at him. “You ever felt like you were walking into the lion’s den?”

“Yeah, it was called World War II.”

“Well, that’s how I’m feeling right now.”

“But you said Marjorie got what she—”

“That means nothing now, Archer. Not with Hank dead. I could walk in there and get my ass handed to me.”

Archer looked at her in confusion.

“Well, here goes nothing,” she said to herself.

Jackie opened the door and strode in. Archer followed and closed the door behind them.

This was the room he’d been in before, only he didn’t know it was called a conservatory. In the same chair she’d been perched in before was Marjorie. Sitting in front of the woman was a tall glass with chunky ice in it and an amber-colored liquid halfway up.

Jackie walked right up to the woman and swept her arms around her.

“Oh, God, Marjorie, I am so sorry.”

Marjorie Pittleman looked up at her, and then glanced at Archer. Her face was shiny with tears. As he had thought before, while the woman was nothing to write home about in the looks department, Archer was once more struck by the delicate refinement in her features that bespoke of perhaps a sympathetic soul within.

A soul that was clearly in distress right now.

“I can’t believe it. I really can’t. Why, Hank was just here.”

“I know. I know.”

“And someone killed him? How could that be? The law won’t say much at all.”

“I don’t understand it either, Marjorie. I was stunned when Bart came to tell me.”

She patted the older woman’s shoulder and placed a kiss on her flat cheek. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll go get it, or do it. Anything, Marjorie, really.”

“I can’t think of a thing. But with Hank gone, what am I supposed to do?”

“Don’t you even think about that now. Not for one second.”

Marjorie glanced at Archer. “Where are my manners? Hello. You were here before. Hank had hired you for something or other.”

Archer took off his hat and glancing nervously at Jackie said, “Yes, ma’am. Name’s Archer. I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Pittleman.”

“Thank you, Mr. Archer.” She looked back at Jackie. “The whole world seems to be crashing down on me. But it was sweet of you to come visit.”

Jackie sat down next to her and took Marjorie’s hand in hers. “We’ll get through this. They’re going to find who did this and that person will be punished, as they should be.”

Marjorie nodded at these words. “I hope you’re right, dear. I hope so.”

“Did Bart come by? Or was it someone else?”

“No, it was Bart Coleman and the other one. The tall boy.”

“Jeb Daniels.”

“I guess they’ll be looking into this?” interjected Archer.

Marjorie said, “No, I don’t think so. Whenever we have a murder out here, they send in someone from the state police to investigate things.”

“How many murders do you folks have?” asked Archer, his eyes growing wide.

“Well, every place has somebody killing somebody else,” pointed out Jackie matter-of-factly. “And Poca City is no exception.” She patted Marjorie’s hand. “We’ll find out what we can, and then we’ll come see you again. Now you need to get some sleep.” She eyed the glass. “You think that’s a good idea?”

“Better than pills.”

“I suppose.”

“But what about all Hank’s businesses? He never told me anything. I suppose there are things to do.”

“All you need to do right now is get some rest. Here, let me help you up to bed. Archer, I won’t be long.”

The women departed, and Archer was left to his own devices.

He was about to light another Lucky but changed his mind. He stuck it in his hatband for later. He looked out the window. In the rear he could see numerous outbuildings. And cattle in fenced fields. Crops in other fields. Horses in adjacent paddocks. Men and trucks and tractors and dogs racing to and fro. Crop silos rose up from the dirt like the rocket ships Archer had seen in comic books. He had seen all this on his previous trip, too, and it was just as impressive the second time around. There was a lot of business going on here, and the missus of the house didn’t appear to be up for any of it.

He opened the glass door and walked out into the back.

He spotted Sid Duckett holding a clipboard and talking to three other men who looked tired but were listening intently. After the men left, Archer walked over to the big man, who was dressed nearly the same as before, in dirty pants, a tucked-in cotton shirt, dusty boots, and a straw hat.

“Guess you heard the news?”

Duckett nodded.

Archer surveyed all the activity. “A lot going on here.”

“Yeah but it’s not just here. He’s got a lot of businesses. Including a bank.”

“A bank?”

“Man owned First City Bank in Poca. And the Derby Hotel and the Cat’s Meow.”

“Damn, didn’t know about the Cat’s Meow. So, what’ll happen to everything now that the man’s dead?”

Duckett looked toward the house. “The missus don’t really get involved in all that. Maybe sell out?”

Archer scratched his ear. “Hell, who around here can buy all that?”

“Well, there’s Lucas Tuttle.”

“Jackie’s father?”

“That’s right. He’s got a lot of land. I mean a lot. And he’s got money, least so I’ve heard. So how’d he die, Archer, you know?”

“Law says murder.”

“Damn.”

“You think of anybody who’d want to do him in?”

Duckett shook his head. “He could drive a man who works for him hard and don’t I know that. And cut some tough bargains with other folks. But kill the man?” Duckett took off his hat and slapped it against his leg to clear the dust off. “I can’t think of a one.”

“There was at least one.”

He walked back into the conservatory in time for Jackie to reenter the room.

“You ready?” she said.

“I guess so. Was just talking to Sid Duckett out there. He said Pittleman owns a bank and the Cat’s Meow.”

“That’s right. Didn’t you know that?”

“How the hell was I supposed to know that?”

“Don’t snap at me, Archer. I was just asking a question.”

“Anyway, he said Mrs. Pittleman might have to sell out.”

“She might, and she might not. That’s not our concern right now, is it?”

“He said your daddy may want to buy it.”

Jackie looked warily at him. “Is that right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Nothing.”

“How’s Mrs. Pittleman doing?”

“Terrible. She just lost her husband.”

“Good news is, she seemed to like you.”

“I explained that. And, no, she doesn’t like me.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so. Now I would still like to know where those debt papers are. You got any ideas?”

“Not a one,” lied Archer because it just seemed the smart thing to do right now.

They stopped on the way back at a roadside store and got some cold cider and a bag of peanuts still in their shells.

They sat in the Nash’s front seat, which was so big it seemed capable of holding Archer’s old platoon in its entirety. They ate and drank their fill while an occasional truck or car passed by on the road. They just tossed the shells out the windows. Archer watched as a man on a mule trotted by with a burlap sack over his shoulder.

“What was the war like, Archer?”

He glanced over to see her sweeping peanut skins off the lap of her mourning dress.

“What do you think war’s supposed to be like?”

“I’ve never been to war. It’s why I’m asking. You like your questions and so do I.”

“It wasn’t a lot of fun.”

“Were you wounded?”

He finished his cold cider and laid the empty bottle on the floorboard. “I was.”

“I saw a scar on your back and another one on your leg when we were in bed. Why didn’t they send you home?”

“Because I could still fight.”

“You ever kill anyone?”

“That was sort of the point of me being over there.”

“How’d you do it?”

“What sort of question is that?”

“I’m just trying to understand you.”

“Why’s that?”

“I find you interesting.”

“Shouldn’t you be thinking about the dearly departed Hank Pittleman?”

“I already told you, I’m sorry he’s dead, but it’s not like I loved the man.”

“Do you have to give the house and car back now?”

“It’s up to Marjorie. Which means I won’t be able to keep them. But back to the killing.”

“You won’t let it go, will you?”

“Well?”

“Okay, I shot a bunch of Germans and Italians. Then I killed some with my grenades, and some with my bayonet when it came down to man-to-man slogging it out. Slit one’s throat with my knife. Killed one man with my bare hands when we both ran out of bullets. Broke his neck the way I’d been taught.”

“My God, Archer. That must’ve done something to you.”

“How do you mean?”

“You can’t kill all those people and not be affected by it.”

“It’s what I was trained to do.”

“Didn’t you feel anything?”

“Yeah, I felt damn lucky I was alive, and they weren’t.”

She put the Nash in gear. “Well, I don’t see how it couldn’t have affected you.”

“I don’t think about it much. Seems to work okay.”

“Yeah, well, one day that may not work anymore.”

“How do you know about things like that?”

“I told you I studied psychology in college, Archer. After the First World War, men came back with shellshock, or so they termed it. The human brain was not designed for war. It changes you. You weren’t a killer before you went to war, were you?”

“Never killed anything before I went across the Atlantic. Man or beast.”

“Wait a minute, you never hunted, even?”

“Not much to hunt where I’m from.”

“But then you became a killer in the war.”

“Well, I’m not in the war anymore. And I’m no killer.”

She gave him a worried look and steered the Nash onto the road back to Poca City.