One Good Deed(60)

Archer picked it up and stood over the fallen man. Dill put his hands up in a defensive posture, but Archer shook his head and tossed the hammer down.

“I’ve no intent to hurt you, Dickie. Just wanted to make my point.”

He turned to look at the crowd. “Nobody here saw anything.” Then he pointed to the manager. “And get that man to a hospital or else there’s gonna be trouble.”

The man came out of his lethargy, gripped the injured man’s good arm, and hustled him from the room.

Archer helped Dill up. “You okay?”

Dill did not look the least bit friendly. “You better watch yourself.”

“I do, all the time.”

When the truck dropped Archer off back in Poca City, he walked down the street, still rubbing hog shit off his person.





Chapter 24



HE HURRIED UP TO ERNESTINE’S OFFICE after checking the time. She was still there, waiting for him. When he opened the door she rose from her chair.

“You look exhausted,” she said, eyeing his stained clothes and haggard features.

“Yeah, well, it’s pretty hard work.”

“Was it very awful?”

He started to tell her about the fight with Dill, but then decided not to. It would just give the woman something else to worry about. And his well-being really should not be her burden.

“Wasn’t too bad. And I appreciate the job.”

She held out his bag, and his suit clothes and shirt on a hanger. “Here’re your things. I…I took them home at lunchtime and pressed them for you.”

“You didn’t have to do that, Miss Crabtree, but I thank you for that,” he replied, taking the things from her.

“So where will you stay?” she asked.

“That’s a good question. They don’t pay till the end of the week, so…”

They stood there looking awkwardly at each other.

She dipped her head and said, “This is out of the norm, but…but you’re welcome to sleep at my place for a bit. I’ve got a wall bed in the living room.”

“Well, that’s really nice of you. But I couldn’t put you out like that. It wouldn’t be right. And I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“You not only paid for my dinner, but you fixed my bedroom door without charge. This will actually settle that debt and make things right.”

“Are you…are you sure?”

She looked up at him and attempted a smile. “Yes, Mr. Archer, I am.”

“Well, okay.” He tacked on a relieved smile.

“I will ask that you wait until dark to come over. I…I don’t want my neighbors.…”

“I can come in through the back door, say around nine?”

“That would be fine. Thank you.”

He left her there and headed down to the street. Once his feet hit the pavement he looked around. His stomach was about as empty as it had ever been. The other fellows at the slaughterhouse had brought their lunches in little tins and were allowed exactly fifteen minutes to eat them. And not a one of them, Dill included, had seen fit to offer any to Archer.

He managed to earn fifty cents by helping an elderly man carry some crates up the stairs of his little shop and then swept the room and caulked a window and cleaned and reinstalled the spark plugs on the straight-6 engine of the man’s Ford delivery truck. This was another Army-inspired skill that had come in handy off the battlefield.

He used the money to buy a hunk of cheese and a couple rolls that barely dented his hunger. He gulped down two large glasses of water to rid him of the foul taste from the slaughterhouse.

He was walking down the street toward a bench he figured he would sit on until the time came for him to head to Ernestine’s. That was when he noticed the four-door, long-hooded burgundy Cadillac rolling slowly by. He had seen the vehicle before, in Tuttle’s barn. The driver was a man in his forties wearing a cap and buttoned black vest and pigskin gloves. In the back seat was Lucas Tuttle.

Tuttle must’ve seen him sitting there because the car came to a stop, the window rolled down, and Tuttle leaned out and waved him over.

Archer left his things on the bench and walked over to the car.

“Mr. Tuttle,” he said, eyeing the driver, who was watching him in the side mirror.

“Climb on in here, Archer, want to talk to you.”

Archer went around to the other side and got in.

“Damn, son, what have you been doing with yourself?” said Tuttle, holding his nose.

“Earning a living, the hard way.”

Tuttle nodded and then sat back against the seat. “Bobby?” he said to the driver. “Go get yourself a Coke. I have business with Archer here.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Tuttle.” The man got out and walked off, revealing black breeches covering his legs with dark gaiters below that. A formal chauffeur’s getup if ever there was one, thought Archer. It was like you saw at the pictures, where everybody was rich except the servants.

Tuttle was dressed in a worsted wool dark brown suit with a red bow tie and a matching pocket square, and polished brown-and-white shoes.

“You look like you’ve been to church, though it’s not the Sabbath,” said Archer.

Tuttle laughed. “Not much of a churchgoer, Archer. Like to rely on myself, not some deity that folks wrote about in a book. I had some business meetings out of town. And business is looking good.”