A Gambling Man (Archer #2)(104)

“That’s right,” agreed Dash. “But where does the mayor come into this?”

“That I couldn’t find. I mean, if the state governor has no power over that island, why would a mayor?” Archer paused, recalling a snippet of conversation. “But your buddy Reggie McKenzie did tell me something interesting. He said that about two weeks before he died, Ben Smalls took a boat ride out to that island, and McKenzie said when he came back he did not look happy.”

“Fascinating,” said Dash, his mind clearly moving at high speed.

“Beth told me that his old man, Andrew, hanged himself in his barn.”

“That’s right, he did. I wondered how you knew that when you mentioned it to Drake.”

“I also took a boat and went out to the island. It’s bigger than you’d think. And you can reach it in about fifteen minutes. And there’s something going on out there. I found survey stakes in the ground and a post with the name Lancet Surveyors and Architectural Group on it.”

Dash rubbed his cheek. “So there’s going to be a building put up.”

“Right. And there’s something else.” Archer looked at the man nervously.

“Is this where you tell me what you haven’t told me so far?”

“That night I saw Beth Kemper? I was down at the harbor. I saw a boat coming into shore close to three. It was Armstrong’s boat, and he and Hank and Tony and some other folks were on it. I’m sure they’d been out to that island. That’s what got me thinking about something like that in the first place. Beth Kemper pulled into the parking lot as they were heading to their cars. She and her old man had a heated argument. I followed her to the diner.”

“And you didn’t tell me this before because . . . ?”

“I don’t have a good answer.”

“If you had pulled this from the get-go, Archer, you’d be looking for another job. But I know now you got the chops and the instincts. And I was clearly holding back from you, so there we go. I just got some of my own applesauce thrown in my face. Now, let’s look at this again. Armstrong went to the island. Kemper’s on the documents of the company that bought the property. Fifteen-minute ride out is pretty convenient for carrying folks back and forth who might just want to stay for a few hours and not overnight.”

“But what sort of place would that be?”

“We’ll wait until later, then go find out.”





A GUMSHOE’S STOCK IN TRADE, ARCHER,” Dash said quietly, as he pulled the small leather case from his pocket and opened it, revealing a neatly arranged set of small tools. They were at the back door of the offices of Lancet Surveyors and Architectural Group, two blocks off Sawyer Avenue. It was a two-story nondescript brick building. If this was the height of the firm’s design powers, thought Archer, he might look elsewhere if he was ever in the market for inspired architectural work.

Dash inserted two different lock picks in the upper lock and worked away. After twenty seconds, Archer heard a click. Dash next inserted one of the tools in the lower lock and did the same. Then he put his kit away, turned the knob, and opened the door to the darkened building.

Inside Dash whispered to Archer, “There’s an old cop that makes the rounds of these buildings at night. He’s pretty much deaf and blind, but he carries a gun. He’ll never hit anything on purpose but will by accident. So we can’t turn on any lights.”

Archer nodded. They felt along the walls until they reached a door. They went through it and eyed the space they were in. There was enough moonlight along with a streetlight’s glare coming in through the broad windows to give them reasonable illumination. They searched the rooms on the lower level, found nothing, and took the stairs to the upper level. The door of every room up here was unlocked except for one.

That naturally garnered their interest, and out came Dash’s lockpick kit once more. The door was soon defeated, and they walked into the windowless office.

Dash slipped a small flashlight from his pocket and turned it on. It was more than enough light to see what they needed to see.

On a large table in the center of the room was an architectural mockup of a series of enormous buildings without roofs.

“The Golden Rock,” said Dash, reading off a sign on one of the buildings. Then he cast his gaze lower to look at some drawings that had been set next to the building mockup.

“What does that mean?” asked Archer.

“Well, for starters, the Rock is what they call Alcatraz, but it’s sure as hell not golden and this sure as hell isn’t a prison.” Dash looked over the buildings more closely. “Damn, Archer, these are casinos.” He pointed to the interiors of the buildings, where miniature pieces of furnishings and equipment were set. “See there, craps tables, roulette wheels, poker and blackjack tables. Over there is the cashier, in that corner the mother of all bars. Over there are slot machines.”

“They’re building gambling casinos on that island?” said Archer.

“Looks like it. And I’ve been to Vegas, and if this place is to scale it’s way bigger than anything they got there. Now, you remember me telling you that they outlawed gambling boats off the coast?” said Dash.

“Yeah, which means this building makes no sense unless they’re going to overturn the law.”