One Good Deed(19)

The old gent in there seemed to be thinking about closing up for the day and contemplating his dinner when Archer strolled in.

“Need some fresh duds,” he said.

The fellow was dressed like a walking billboard for his line of business, down to the cufflinks and the pocket square aligned with an engineer’s precision. “I can sure see that, young man. What can I do you for?”

“To start, let’s get a copy of what I got on now, only better.”

“Well, that’s fine, since I only got better. But can I see your money first? Just a common courtesy from folks I don’t know, is all. This is a respectable establishment.”

“I deal with no other kind.”

The show of the twin twenties was all it took to capture the man’s undivided interest. And it took only an hour to complete the selling and buying. With Archer’s physique and height, nothing needed to be altered, and the man had his girl cuff both pairs of pants on her sewing machine right then and there.

“That’s a damn sight miracle,” said the man of the fine fit. It was a single-breasted Hart, Schaffner & Marx model of a medium blue color with narrow pinstripes. His wide-knotted tie was a bloodred, and the command collar on his Alden dress shirt softened the thickness of his neck. The leather belt holding up his pants was black and braided.

“I like the hat,” said Archer as he peered in the mirror at his new felt snap-brim with a dented crown and a burgundy silk band. He had bypassed the recommendation of a rabbit hair trilby headpiece. His white pocket square had a two-point fold.

“Shoes good? Those wingtips are the very finest leather. You’ll need to keep them conditioned and shined regularly.”

“I’ll break ’em in.”

The man handed him a bag and a hanger with the extra pair of slacks on them. “Two pairs of underwear, same number of socks. And the extra pair of trousers, pleated and cuffed.”

“Right,” said Archer. “I’m good to go.”

His Jacksons had been drastically reduced, although Archer had been surprised that he’d been able to afford the new clothes and shoes for less than forty dollars. The man told him he hadn’t been open that long and was looking to build up his business and thus was giving Archer a deal.

“You look fine in the new duds, so talk my place up to everybody, you hear me?” said the man, and Archer promised that he would. He walked out the door wearing his new clothes. The girl had put his old suit, shirt, and shoes in another bag.

He dropped all this off at the Derby, hung up his old things and new spare pants, and headed out to eat some dinner. The restaurant was named the Checkered Past. Whoever had come up with the names of the places here had a sense of humor, Archer would grant them that.

The sign out front promised steaks and fat potatoes at good prices and coffee until midnight. He entered and took his seat at a table with a red-and-white-checkered cloth covering it and matching napkins. He ordered his steak rare and his coffee piping hot, and afterward sampled the peach cobbler, which was good, the best he’d ever had perhaps. He laid down his coins for the meal, and then plotted out his next steps on the way back to the Derby.

He got up the next morning, cleaned up in the bath down the hall, and headed down to the front desk. “You know where Hank Pittleman has his house?”

The clerk, the same gent who had checked him in the first night, scratched his furry forearms and said, “Why you want to know that?”

“Have business with the man and he told me he spends Saturday and the Sabbath at his home with his wife.”

“Well?”

“I need a way to get out there.”

“Can always walk.”

“How far is it?”

“Take you a good four hours.”

“Any way I can hitch a ride with somebody?”

The man stroked his chin and looked Archer up and down. “Actually, got a delivery going out there this morning. You help with that, it’ll pay for the price of the ride. I can fix it up.”

“When does it leave?”

“Hour from now.”

“Where from?”

“Alley behind the hotel.”

“Okay, I’m gonna grab some breakfast then.”

“Do what you want. Hey, now, where’d you get those clothes? Those sure ain’t the duds you were wearing when you got here.”

“I bought some new things.”

“With what?”

“Same what I paid for the room. Cash.”

“Where’d you get that kind of moolah?”

“Department of Prisons gave it to me.”

“Thought you was one of them when you checked in. But are you shitting me? They give prisoners money?”

“Well, I promised ’em I wouldn’t kill anybody else if they did.”

Archer fell silent and stared at the man with a look that he hoped meant business.

“W-well, you be at the alley in an hour.”

“I will, friend.”

Archer got a cup of coffee and a fried egg and toast at a hole-in-the-wall a block down from the hotel and read a discarded newspaper while doing so. The Soviet Union had recently detonated its first nuclear weapon. While Archer had been in prison, something called NATO had been established. The newspaper Archer had been reading at the time said the creation of NATO would make sure there were no more wars.