A Gambling Man (Archer #2)(17)
As she led them into her room via the fire escape and then a window she said, looking at Howells, “Now, she probably wouldn’t mind you. But Archer is definitely a no-no.”
Howells seemed to swell up with indignity. “I may not be as young as I once was, and who among us is, but I’m still a man who can appreciate female beauty when it is so obviously presented to me.”
“Well, thanks for the compliment, I guess,” responded Callahan, giving Archer a funny look.
Howells took the couch, which was lumpy but serviceable. He took off his hat and coat and shoes, revealing toeless socks, and then promptly fell asleep, his soft snores settling over Archer and Callahan as they watched him.
“Exciting times must have exhausted him,” noted Archer, holding his hat and peering down at the man.
Callahan shook her head. “I’m not ready for bed. I’m a night owl.”
“What are you ready for?” asked Archer.
“A drink.”
“Afraid my flask is almost empty.”
“I’ve got a bottle and two glasses hidden away under my bed. Old Fitz Kentucky bourbon work for you? It’s wheat, not rye.”
“I like pretty much any grain that’s been liquefied.”
They sat on the fire escape as they sipped their drinks.
“So California, huh?” said Callahan.
“Yep.”
“What’s out there for you?”
“A private eye named Willie Dash. I’m hoping he’ll take me under his wing and teach me the business.”
“So you wanna be, what, a gumshoe like Humphrey Bogart?”
“Bogie just pretends to be a gumshoe. I want to be one for real.”
“Taking pictures of married men and women cheating? Running down lousy deadbeats for money? Poking into people’s secrets? That’s your idea of a job?”
“Must be,” said Archer bluntly. “Because I haven’t thought of another one.”
She cocked her head and appraised him carefully. “You could be in the pictures, Archer. Sure, you’re rough around the edges and you’re definitely not Cary Grant, but you’re all right. And you’re tall and you have broad shoulders and you got a nice voice.”
“Funny, those are exactly the requirements for a private eye.”
“Stop teasing and pour me another drink.”
He did so, then helped himself to another finger of Old Fitz and settled back against the hard metal of the fire escape. After the wild ride in the Delahaye, it felt good not to be moving or shot at.
“So you got any family hereabouts?” he asked.
“No, because I’m not from here.”
“Where then?”
“None of your business.”
He gave her a bemused look. “I thought we were getting along okay.”
“I don’t like talking about myself all that much. And I told you where I worked during the war and about my brother and cousin. Hell, that’s pretty much my life story. What about you? Where are you coming from?”
“Little town called Poca City, nearly fifteen hundred miles due east of here.”
“That’s one long trip.”
“And my butt and back felt every mile.”
“Never heard of Poca City.”
“I wouldn’t recommend you going there and finding out for yourself.”
“You had a bad time there?”
“You could say that,” Archer replied evenly.
“And what were you doing there?”
“Just passing through.” He paused, took a drink, and said, “So the car. What would you say to driving west with me?”
“I don’t know. How far is this place from Hollywood?”
“They’re both in southern California. Bet there’s a bus to Hollywood from where I’m headed.”
She eyed him nervously. “You looked real good with that gun back there.”
“Everybody looks good with a gun, until they get shot by somebody else with a bigger gun or better aim.”
“I don’t necessarily mean that as a compliment. You’re no criminal, are you? I mean, you haven’t been to prison, right?”
“Do I look like I’ve been in prison?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never met any ex-cons before.”
“You telling me in a place like Reno there are no ex-cons?”
“I’m sure there are. I’ve just never met any.”
“That you know of, you mean. They wouldn’t exactly come out and tell you.”
“Does that include you, Archer?”
Archer almost winced at how neatly she had played him on that one.
He finished one more finger of the Old Fitz before answering her. “Truth is, I served three years. Got out early for good behavior. Spent my parole time in Poca City. Only reason I was there. Now I’m done with my parole. I’m as free as any other man.”
“What were you in for? If you only spent three years in the slammer, it couldn’t have been too bad,” she added hopefully.
“I didn’t hurt anybody and I didn’t steal a dime. And I was innocent, by the way. But I guess they all say that.”
“I guess they do.”