One Good Deed

Chapter 6

The front door swung wide open in an inviting way, until the twin barrels of the Remington twelve-gauge over-under greeted Archer; they were aimed at his belly and he could see no easy way around that.

He looked at the fellow holding the advantage on him.

He was around fifty-five with about as interesting a face as Archer had ever beheld. The large head was topped by a great crown of white hair that toppled downward like a snow avalanche off a mountaintop. The tanned brow was thickly furrowed, and the chin was a V of bone, while the jutting jaw seemed a flesh-and-blood version of the over-under’s muzzle. But what really caught his attention were the green eyes hovering in stark contrast to the tumble of white hair. They occupied their sockets with the intensity of twin machine guns in a bunker. The impression was mesmerizing and appalling to Archer all at the same time.

“Can I help you, mister?” the man said politely, belying the ominous threat held in his hands.

“Are you Mr. Lucas Tuttle?”

“What do you want, pray tell?” His benign look hardened several notches, the eyes now seemed an emerald fire. “And you might indeed want to start praying, son.”

“Well, right now, all I want is some separation from me and that Remington.”

“Oh, no. That may well be premature. State your business or your belly will grow quite familiar with the intrinsic purpose of this firearm.”

“I was hired by Hank Pittleman to come here and relieve you of your 1947 dark green Cadillac sedan.”

The machine gun eyes narrowed a bit. “You are not endearing yourself to me, stranger. You seem like a fine young man, though a bit rough around the edges. It would be a shame to end things for you right here and now.”

“I had determined to come out here at night when you were asleep and see if I could take back your Cadillac without you knowing. But then I decided to approach the matter on a more direct footing.”

The muzzle lowered to a part of Archer’s anatomy that was even more precious to him than his stomach.

“To answer your query, I am Lucas Tuttle, sir. Now explain yourself further, but you best tell me your full, legal name first. That way it can go on the tombstone properly.”

“Aloysius Archer, but just call me Archer.”

Tuttle looked him up and down with a practiced stare. “You’re the right age. And you look like a tough cookie, for sure. Did you serve, Archer? Did you do your patriotic duty?”

Archer thought this an odd departure, but if it kept the man’s mind off the Remington? “I did my bit. Over three years in Europe.”

“Who under?”

“For most of the war, the Fifth Army, General Mark Clark. I was part of Second Corps, Thirty-Fourth Infantry Division.”

“That was the Mediterranean Theater, was it not?”

“Yes, sir. Salerno, Bologna, Genoa, Milan, the Barbara, Volturno and Gustav Lines, Anzio Beach. Names I couldn’t say before, and places I never thought I’d be. And I truly have no desire to go back.”

“That was some fierce fighting, I understand.”

“You could say. The Fifth had over a hundred thousand casualties when all was said and done. Lost a lot of good men and good friends.”

“Were you wounded, Archer, fighting?”

“Most everybody was wounded, Mr. Tuttle, and I was no exception.”

“Your medals, sir? Did you distinguish yourself? Be detailed.”

Now Archer’s features set firm, like cement going from fluid to hard. “I killed folks I didn’t know, because they were trying to kill me. I left the Army with metal inside me I didn’t start out life with. I got a box of medals and ribbons somewhere, and they don’t amount to a hill of beans now. That’s my piece, so you can just pull the damn trigger if you got to and be done with it.”

The muzzle dropped a shade lower but then held on Archer’s knees.

“I like your spirit, Archer. What I do not understand is your alliance with that scoundrel Pittleman.”

“I needed a job and he gave me one. A hundred dollars if I deliver the Cadillac to him. He advanced me forty dollars with the rest to come on him getting that car.”

“He has sent others before you.”

“That I’ve heard.”

“They came at night. They did not wish to face me.”

Archer eyed the over-under. “I can see why they might have done it that way.”

“Trespassing is a crime hereabouts, as it should be in every democratic union that holds property rights as sacred. Thus, I furnished them exactly what they deserved.”

“Okay. I’m one who doesn’t think property is worth a man’s life, but that may just be me.”

The emerald eyes blazed at this comment. “However, you, sir, show up in broad daylight and knock on my door and admit your mission to my face. Explain yourself.”

“Pretty simple. I wanted you to tell me to my face whether you owe that debt or not.”

“Why is that important to you?”

“Well, if you don’t owe it, I have no further business here.”

“And if I do owe the debt?”

Archer said nothing.

Tuttle appraised him, running his gaze from the top of the hat to the heels of the shoes.

“Come on inside, Archer, and let’s talk.”

He moved aside so Archer could enter and led him down a long, tiled hallway to a small, plainly furnished room with wood paneling and a plank floor with a colorful rug laid over it.

“Sit down over there,” he said, motioning with his shotgun to a chair.

Tuttle took the chair opposite, his shotgun muzzle pointed to the floor.

“I borrowed the money from Hank Pittleman. I had need to do so at the time.”

“Do you owe the man five thousand dollars plus interest?”

“Yes. And it’s also true that I gave my 1947 Cadillac as collateral for that loan.”

“Why’d you do that? Seems like you have a good deal of prosperity going on here.”

“Prosperity sometimes does not equal folding money, Archer. And my suppliers do not barter in wishful thinking.”

“So you owe the debt but won’t pay it back?”

“Do you think life is that simple?”

“Life has never struck me as being simple unless you’re determined to make it so.”

“Pittleman has stolen from me. That is why I have not repaid the money.”

“What’s he taken from you?”

“Something far more precious than the sum of five thousand dollars.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“He has taken my daughter.”

That was a new one on Archer, and his face showed it to be so. “How’s that exactly?”

“He has convinced my beautiful daughter that she should no longer be a part of her father’s life. She has fallen in with his evil and sick ways. For all of her life, I saw her sweet face every day. Now, I have not seen her for over a year.”

“How’d he do that?”

“By giving her things, Archer. By turning her head with materialistic offers. By introducing her to the shallow pleasures of his hedonistic lifestyle. And he treats her roughly, or so I have been told.”

“What’s her name?” Archer asked, though he was reasonably confident of the answer.

“Jackie.”

“I’ve met her.”

“Indeed? And she was no doubt in the company of this heathen.”

“Then you won’t pay back the debt because he’s turned your daughter against you?”

“You said before that property is not worth a man’s life. Well, why is a debt, though legally owed, more important than a father’s love for his daughter?”

“And you said you hadn’t seen her for over a year?”

“That is so.”

“Well, why not try talking to her?”

“I can’t, Archer. She refuses to see me.”

“Why?”

“That is my business.”

“When I saw her, she didn’t act like she was being held against her will. And you’re talking to a man who has seen that up close and personal.”

Tuttle shook his head dismissively at this comment. “He has her trapped in a prison of the mind’s making, Archer. Far stronger than steel bars with no predetermined release date, and no judge to whom to appeal.”

Archer rubbed his chin, thinking about his sixty dollars. “Just to be clear, you have the money for the repayment?”

“I have, but not one penny will the man receive so long as my daughter remains absent from her home. I can only imagine the ways in which he has defiled her.”

Archer glanced at the Remington. “I have to say I’m kind of surprised you haven’t taken out your anger on him directly.”

“And with what result, Archer? Do you think me a simpleton?”

“You want to explain that?”

“If I were to shoot that foul being, my freedom would be forfeited, if not my life. And if I did not succeed in killing him, he would sue me for all I have. Then, he would have not only my Jackie, but all my worldly possessions and the land that my father and his father before him have built into a tidy industry. Indeed, in the depths of my mind, I think it no coincidence that he has seduced my daughter in such a manner in the hopes that I would attempt to take out any murderous intentions I might have, just so he could confiscate it all.”

“You’re saying he planned all this?” Archer said skeptically.

“To me, the connection is as inevitable as the eastern rise of the sun on the rotation of the earth’s axis.”

“I understand from Mr. Pittleman that he’s currently married.”

“That is indeed the case.”

“And his wife has no issue with her husband being with your daughter?”

“I think Marjorie Pittleman takes great issue, but her options are limited, seeing that he controls the purse strings.”

“Hank Pittleman does seem to be the controlling type. And he does have a lot of money apparently.”

Tuttle raised the over-under to its original position. “So, what are your current intentions?”

“Seems to me there’s only one solution.”

“What’s that, I wonder, Archer?”

“If I can get your daughter to leave Pittleman, will you repay the loan?”

“And exactly how do you propose to do that?”

“You’ll have to let me work through it.”

“And then you’ll be able to collect your commission?”

“About that, got a question.”

“I’m listening, Archer.”

“What’s it worth to you, to have your daughter away from this man?”

Tuttle’s features turned a shade darker and the pair of green eyes flamed with phosphorous intensity. “You would charge money to a father to free his daughter of an abomination?”

Archer sat forward and twirled his hat. “Look at it my way. From what you’re telling me, Pittleman is not a man of his word. Now, suppose I get the loan repaid. Why do I think the forty dollars in my pocket will be the last cash I ever see from him? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind doing the right thing for the right thing’s sake. Hell, I did that over in Italy and Germany. But a man has to eat. And he has to have a roof over his head. You see my point?”

Tuttle’s finger danced over the trigger of the Remington.

“How much then?”

“Let’s make it sixty dollars. That way, I’ll be made whole in case Pittleman doesn’t come through. I think that’s fair and square.”

“But if he does come through, do I get a refund of my contribution to your economic stability?”

Archer rubbed at his cheek and glanced at the Remington. “Well, that would come under the title of risk, Mr. Tuttle. And a man has to be fairly compensated for accepting it.”

“So, no refund then?”

“Honestly, no sir.”

“I’ll give you three days. Then I’ll come looking for Pittleman and you.”

“I’ll be sure to hold you to that, sir.”

It was an unexpected reply that made Tuttle fully lower his shotgun.

“Desiree here will show you out, Archer.”

Archer turned to see a woman standing there as Tuttle passed by them both and disappeared down the hall.

Desiree was in her forties, medium height, bland, brown hair with black framed specs over dull eyes, but her facial features were etched in stone and she had an air of efficiency about her. She was dressed in a quiet gray jacket and skirt and black pumps with heels sharp enough to pierce his skull. A small string of fake pearls lay against her light blue blouse.

“Mr. Archer,” she said, putting out a hand. He rose and shook it. “This way, sir.”

As they walked along Archer said, “So what is it that you do here, ma’am?”

“I assist Mr. Tuttle as his secretary.”

“He seems like a real sweetheart, when he’s not pointing his shotgun at my privates.”

“It pays well, and it requires little interaction with anything other than my typewriter.”

“You know Jackie Tuttle?”

“I knew her when she was here, yes.”

“I met her in town last night. She was with Hank Pittleman.”

The eyes behind the lenses swelled a bit. “I expect she was.”

“Mr. Tuttle wants her back. He doesn’t want her with Pittleman.”

“I am well aware of that.”

“I bet you are. So, if you don’t mind my asking, why’d she leave home?”

“I do mind you asking.”

“Well, to explain things, Mr. Tuttle wants me to convince Jackie to leave Pittleman. If I knew a little more about the situation, I might be able to accomplish that.”

Desiree stopped and looked up at him. “And bring her back here?”

“I never said I would bring her back here. I just said I’d try to get her to leave Pittleman. I mean, he’s married and all anyway. Doesn’t seem right.”

“How refreshingly moral of you, Mr. Archer.”

“You can drop the mister. I’m just Archer.”

“All right, Archer. I appreciate your honesty and frankness. The fact is Jackie never told me why she was leaving. Though it was around the time her mother died.”

“What was her name?”

“Isabel.”

“Pretty name. What’s that, Spanish?”

“She was from Brazil. Mr. Tuttle traveled there for business when he was younger, and they met. They married and came back here, where they had Miss Tuttle.”

“Was Isabel sick? Is that how she died?”

“No. She died in an accident.”

“Sorry to hear that. What kinda accident?”

“It was just a horrible, horrible accident. I’ll leave it at that.”

“Were she and Jackie close?”

“Isabel adored her daughter and that adoration was returned.”

“Maybe that’s why she left. Because she was so heartbroken about her mother.”

Desiree looked at him funny and said, “I’m sure that was part of it.” She hesitated. “Would you like to see a picture of Isabel?”

“Sure.”

Desiree led him down another hall and opened a door into a large and comfortable sitting room with several oval windows that looked out onto the stark fields behind the house.

Archer took it all in. Big, solid furniture, colorful rug on the Spanish tile floor, paintings on the wall depicting countryside and wildlife, and a stone fireplace that rose to the ceiling. A mantel of petrified wood fronted the stone with a framed photo on it.

“Mr. Tuttle sure has nice things,” he noted.

“He’s had his ups and downs, but now things are looking up.”

Archer didn’t think the woman sounded too happy about that.

“This is Isabel.”

Desiree had lifted the framed photo off the mantel and held it out to him.

Archer gripped the frame and stared at the woman in the snapshot. She was dark-haired and olive-skinned, and Archer could not remember seeing a lovelier countenance. It wasn’t just the beautiful features, it was the spark of life in the eyes that made his own pair seem dull and unresponsive by comparison.

“So she died about a year ago? That’s when Mr. Tuttle said Jackie had left home.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

She took the photo from him and replaced it on the mantel.

Twirling his hat, Archer said, “Why’d you really bring me in here and show me that picture?”

“I just thought you’d like to see Miss Tuttle’s mother.”

“Okay,” said Archer. “And I’m Harry Truman.”

She looked him up and down. “I thought Truman was older and shorter.”

He fiddled with his hat some more. “What do you think about Mr. Tuttle wanting her to come back home?”

“I haven’t thought about it.”

“And if you did?”

“She’s a grown woman. She should be able to make her own decisions.”

“What sort of accident again?”

“I told you that—”

“I know Jackie and I like her, and I was just wondering, that’s all.”

“Well, I don’t really know all the details. Just that it was very tragic. Now, I have some dictation to type up. I’ll show you out.”

“I can find my own way, thanks. You should probably get to your typewriter. Don’t want Tuttle pointing his shotgun at you because you got behind in your typing. It’s a little unsettling.”

Archer left the tidy house, put on his hat, and wondered what the hell all that had been about.