A Gambling Man (Archer #2)(18)

“It . . . it was actually about a gal and another car. Her father’s. She wanted to get away from him, start life fresh somewhere.”

“Well, my father’s long since dead, but sounds like my situation.”

“It didn’t turn out the way I thought it would. For either one of us.”

“Did you love her?”

“No,” he said sharply. “It was nothing like that.”

“Okay, Archer, don’t get sore.”

“Maybe I was just trying to be a hero. You know, save the gal.”

“I was just asking because with a guy and a gal it usually is about love, or lust, or a combo of the two.”

He eyed her curiously. “You sound like you know all about it.”

“You think you’re the only one life’s dumped on? I got my bruises, too, maybe they don’t show as well as yours, is all. And I never got to play the hero.”

“So were you the damsel in distress?”

She finished her drink. “I don’t recall getting saved one time. Quite the opposite.”

He put his empty glass down. “So I suppose you riding with me to California is out then.”

“What makes you say that?”

He looked up at her in some surprise. “I’m an ex-con, whether I deserve it or not.”

“But you gave me half your winnings at roulette when you didn’t have to. And I saw how you were with the old guy. You defended him from those thugs when you didn’t have to. They could’ve killed you, and you didn’t even really know him. And you saved our lives tonight with a nifty piece of driving and shooting. And you’re going to buy a car you don’t really need to help that old man from getting killed. And . . .”

“And what?”

“And we’re sitting out here all alone and you haven’t made one move on me. Now, I can tell you that has never happened to me before, least since my breasts came in.”

Archer actually blushed at this last remark.

She added, “And you get embarrassed when a girl says ‘breasts.’ That makes you all right in my book, Archer.”

“Funny the things you learn along the way. So California?”

“I can be ready to go after you get the car squared away.”

“What about the Dancing Birds? What about Mr. Shyner?”

“Oh, they’ve got lots of gals waiting to take my place. And Mr. Shyner knows I want to go to Hollywood. I’ll write him a note in the morning and get it to him. It’ll be okay.”

Archer nodded. “Well, I guess we better get some sleep then. Long day tomorrow.”

“I guess so.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

“What was that for?”

“Just for being a nice guy. There aren’t that many out there, least from where I’m sitting.” She eyed the window. “I’ve got carpet in my bedroom if you want to sleep on the floor. Might be easier on you.”

He eyed her long legs, the curve of her hips and bosom, the hair bouncing off her graceful shoulders, and, best of all, the woman’s warm, tender smile.

“For a lot of reasons, and I’m not saying they’re all good ones, I’ll sleep next to the snoring old man.”

“You sure?”

“No. But it might actually be harder, not easier, on me if I took you up on your offer.”

Her smile deepened. “Just confirmed everything I’ve been saying about you, Archer.”

“Yeah, well, good night.”

“Good night.”

She climbed in one window and he the adjacent one.

And neither one got much sleep at all.





THE NEXT MORNING, WITH ALL THE PAPERWORK DONE, Howells shook Archer’s hand on the steps of the government building.

“Well, good luck to you,” said Howells as he folded the cash and put it away in his billfold.

“And good luck to you, too, Bobby H. But if I were you I’d get out of town while you still can. Reno isn’t a good place for you. You can do better, and live longer, somewhere else.”

“You might be right about that, Archer. In fact, I’m certain of it.”

Archer read the man’s face like a telegram form. “But you’re staying?”

“Yes I am. It’s principle, sort of. Convoluted and perhaps nonsensical to some if not most, but principle all the same.” He twirled the ends of his mustache, as though putting an exclamation point at the end of his words.

“Like I said before, it’s your funeral, Bobby H, and I don’t mean that metaphorically. I mean six feet under just like for everybody else.”

Howells’s face crinkled at this remark. “You’re a good man, Archer. Take care out there in California. What I’ve heard of the Golden State there might be danger there as well.”

“There’s danger everywhere, if you take the time to look for it. And sometimes even if you don’t. By the way, where do I send the payments?”

Howells took a card from his pocket and passed it across. “This address will find me.”

Archer studied the card. It had a street address and read: “Robert Howells c/o Reno City Jail. To be held until picked up.”

“So do you live at the jail? Is that where the room you mentioned is?”