A Gambling Man (Archer #2)(15)

“I don’t have $12,000, Bobby H. And I don’t know anyone who does besides Rockefeller, and I don’t know him.”

“Well, I didn’t say that’s what I was asking for it. I was just conveying some information to lend you some perspective.”

“Well, you’d have to lend me the twelve grand too.”

“You said your gambling debts were $1,850,” Callahan reminded him.

“Well, yes, but I can’t let it go for just that. I’m many things, but an idiot is not one of them.”

“Then I’m not your man.”

“Now hold on, Archer, I’m in a bit of a dilemma, obviously, so let’s just have a discussion on what might be possible.”

“Well, $12,000 will never be possible.”

Callahan said, “Let’s hear the man out.”

“Okay, but that’s going to have to wait,” said Archer as he glanced in the mirror.

“Why?” asked Callahan.

“Because we have company and they’re coming fast.”

Both Howells and Callahan shot looks behind them to see a pair of headlights coming with alarming velocity toward them.

“Hold on to whatever you need to,” said Archer calmly. Then he asked for everything the Delahaye had to give by pushing the pedal all the way to the floor. And the loveliest car in the world responded with the heart of a champion.

They shot far ahead of the chase vehicle, which Archer had seen in the moonlight was a big-butted, two-tone Buick with a long hood and whitewall tires. It wasn’t the Buick that had been parked in front of Lester’s place, so Archer doubted it was the giant back there. The car receded so fast into the darkness that for a moment Archer imagined he might be on a plane about to take off.

Yet no car or plane could outrun a bullet.

Archer cut the wheel to the right and then the left as shots flew past them.

Callahan shrieked and fell sideways onto Archer’s lap as Howells dove to the floorboard.

Archer draped one hand over the doorframe and used that as a fulcrum to keep himself rigidly in place as he continued to steer the car in evasive maneuvers. The Delahaye executed every one of these movements with surprising agility for such a heavy car.

“Aren’t you scared?” said Callahan, lifting her head and looking up at him as he nimbly whipped the car through a hail of bullets.

“Sure I am. But I got used to people shooting at me in the war, Liberty,” he said. “And if you get so scared you can’t do something about it, then you probably deserve to die.”

A bullet glanced off the metal post supporting the windscreen, dinging it.

“Son of a bitch!” screamed Howells, rising up and looking back at the Buick. “They put a mark on this car. That’s . . . that’s like wiping varnish over the Mona Lisa. It’s . . . it’s blasphemy is what it is.”

“If you say so,” replied Archer. “And while it rides nice, it’s a little heavy in the turns, Bobby H. You might want to check the front alignment.”

“That’s crap, Archer,” roared Howells. “You’re a Philistine who doesn’t know how to dance with a queen.”

Archer cut the wheel to the right, slid into a turn, and said when they came back out on the straightaway, “So, really, how much do you want for this thing?”

“You want to negotiate now!” screamed Callahan as the Buick appeared behind them and commenced firing again.

“Well, unless Bobby H has enemies other than the ones he owes the gambling debts to, then I’m thinking that’s them back there. That means they know he has the car now. So how much?”

Howells said sharply, “I can see you’re looking to exploit my current situation with your newfound leverage.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“What’d you say you could afford again?”

“I didn’t. But if you were to ask I’d say the amount of your debt, eighteen fifty.”

“I told you I couldn’t take anything close to that.”

“But that would pay off the boys back there,” pointed out Callahan, who had now risen and sat with her head below the seat top, her long legs bent, her shoes off, and her feet pressed against the dashboard. This position had allowed her dress to float all the way up to the very tops of her stockinged thighs. And under any other conditions Archer would have been mesmerized by the view. But not now.

“I need to do better than that,” said Howells, shaking his head. “As I intimated earlier, I’m probably going to be back in debt soon. I need a cushion to allow for that. You can see that, surely.”

“And you also said you wanted to have a discussion on what might be possible,” noted Archer. “Only I haven’t seen that discussion yet and I’m thinking time is running short, unless the Delahaye has wings.”

Before Howells could respond, Archer downshifted, slammed into a tight turn, and came out high on the curve, then upshifted and laid the pedal to the floor. The Delahaye wound up like a rocket. The landscape was going by so fast that everything was a blur. If another car was up ahead, they were all dead.

“Lester was wrong,” said Archer.

“How so?” asked Howells.

In answer Archer pointed to the speed gauge on the red metal dashboard. “We’re doing a hundred and twenty-one.”