One Good Deed(58)

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Like you said, my job is to help people like you. Just come and see me after. I’ll wait for you.”

“Thank you, Miss Crabtree.”

“Well, good luck to you, Mr. Archer. At that place, you, um, you may need it.”

*



Archer saw the men collecting at the corner and headed over to join them. And, as he had expected, there was old Dickie Dill smack in the middle of them. He and a few other men were engaged in a game of “back alley” craps right there against the front steps of a building. Archer watched this for about a minute while the men were focused on the game and took no note of his presence.

Dill’s final roll of the dice brought a curse and an evil look from the man. Archer saw a dollar bill pass between the ex-con and another fellow.

“Hellfire, Archer, thought I might see your butt out here before long,” exclaimed Dill when he spied Archer.

“Hey, Dickie,” he said with little enthusiasm.

“This here’s Archer, boys,” announced Dill to the group of rough-looking gents. Most were smaller than Archer, but a couple were giants who looked like they were put out by having to share the same air with him.

“He’s one of us,” said Dill.

“What were you in the joint for?” growled one of the giants. His clothes were filthy and so was his thick beard. One eye lurched inward too far, giving him an unsettling expression.

Archer looked up at him. “Something stupid. What were you in for?”

“Killing a man who needed it. And he wasn’t the first one who bought the farm with me. Just the only one they caught me on,” he added proudly.

“How long did you do?”

“Long enough. This was in the Big House, ’cause the son of a bitch was a snitch for Hoover and the G-men. Woulda done a lot longer ’cept the guards got too scared ’a me.” The man did not appear to be joking.

Dill pulled Archer aside. “Buddy ’a mine got put back in Carderock.”

“Who might that be?”

“Dan Bullock. You saw him at the Checkered Past. He told me you gave him some good advice. Only the man got all cockeyed and didn’t take it.”

“Hey, I’m always looking out for people like us.”

Dill grinned. “You always were okay in my book, Archer.”

But there was something in the little man’s features that made the hair on Archer’s neck stand up and salute. A man like Dickie Dill did not understand nuance. And when he put his arm around Archer’s shoulders, the steely fingers bit in a little too deep, relaying critical information his mouth had not.

An old Ford truck with a sputtering radiator pulled up. Its open rear bed had wood slats on the sides and rough wooden bench seats. The driver came out and dropped the rear gate, and the men climbed on one by one. Dill sat next to Archer as the truck pulled away.

“What’cha gonna be doing at the slaughterhouse?” asked Dill.

“Don’t know yet. Guess whatever needs doing.”

“If it’s killing the hogs, I’ll show you how.”

“Thanks. Hey, saw you rolling the dice back there.”

Dill’s friendly expression faded. “So what? You ain’t thinkin’ ’bout snitchin’ on me to Miss Crabtree?”

Dill plucked something from his pocket. Archer saw it was the man’s switchblade.

This was the Dickie Dill he remembered and loathed.

Archer leaned over and whispered, “All’s I’m saying is you better watch yourself around games of chance. You remember inside Carderock?”

“Hell, that game was fixed by that bastard Riley.”

“Yeah, it was. And just like with Riley, you crapped out five times in a row back there except for your first roll, where you got your eleven and sweetened the pot and then crapped out right after. And the man who took your money palmed the dice after each throw. He sees you as a patsy for sure. So next time he asks you to play, just tell him, ‘no dice.’ Funny, huh?”

Something seemed to go off in Dill’s head and he looked viciously over at the man who’d taken his dollar. “I’m gonna cut the bastard up.”

“No, you’re not. Remember, third time’s the charm. You’re not going back to prison. Now, put the blade away. You’re not even supposed to have a weapon, Dickie. That’ll get you put right back in Carderock.”

Dill slowly slid the knife back into his pocket, but he kept shooting looks at the other man the whole ride out.

Archer could smell the place about two miles before they arrived there. The stench made his nostrils seize up. Dill noted this and chuckled, as did two other men on the truck.

“Hellfire, Archer, after a while you can’t smell nothin’,” said Dill. He touched his nose. “Goes dead in there.”

“Well, I like to smell things.”

“Like Miss Crabtree’s perfume?” said Dill with a wicked look.

“We already talked about that, Dickie.”

“Man can damn well dream.” He licked his lips, his lascivious look turning Archer’s stomach as he thought about what a man like Dill would do to a woman like Ernestine Crabtree given the chance. He was glad he had fixed the woman’s bedroom door. But then he heartened himself by thinking that Crabtree might just shoot the little bastard before he could do her any harm.