A Gambling Man (Archer #2)(24)

The man sat on the ground holding his broken nose and sobbing in pain.

Callahan turned and walked back to the Delahaye. “Let’s go, Archer.”

Archer stood there for a bit until she was almost out of sight. Then he did just as she said.





THE DELAHAYE PROWLED THROUGH THE VALLEY like a muscular river drilling through rock. Archer had placed the weapons they’d taken in the trunk. Both he and Callahan were visibly shaken by what had happened. Archer’s mind was going a million miles an hour, and Callahan looked pale and distraught.

“I guess you think I’m a bad person,” Callahan said quietly, finally breaking the silence after about twenty-five minutes of nothing but the French car’s purr.

“I don’t think anything one way or another.”

“Girls have to know how to take care of themselves, Archer, at least this girl does. You think that just applies to guys?”

“No. But maybe I assume, just like all other guys.”

“Assume what?”

“That gunplay is for the men. Clearly, I’m wrong about that.”

“Fact is, my daddy taught me to shoot starting when I was eight years old. I could barely hold the deer rifle.”

“He taught you well. That was not an easy shot tonight with the bad light and distance.”

“He was as big as a barn. If I’d missed that lug I’d need glasses. And the other guy died from an accident. So that had nothing to do with me.”

Archer downshifted as the road began to curve sharply. They’d put up the car’s top because the temperature had dropped and the wind was pushing the cold into them like a railroad spike between the ribs.

“How about the little man then? You were going to shoot him in cold blood.”

“Maybe I was bluffing.”

“Don’t think so.”

She lit up a Camel and blew a puff of angry smoke at him. “How the hell do you know? How the hell do you know anything about me?”

“I’ve seen you gamble. You don’t have a poker face.”

She gave him a sideways glance that Archer—who was doing the same to her—felt to his toes. He wasn’t sure how to properly read this situation, mainly because he’d never met a woman like Callahan before.

So is that my fault or hers?

With an exhale of Camel smoke followed by a brush at her hair with a shaky index finger, she said, “Do we have to tell anybody about it?”

“I think there might be trouble if we don’t.”

She cranked her window down and flicked her Camel away. It caught a shaft of wind and glanced off an oak before sinking into the asphalt. She cranked the glass back up.

Archer continued, “But we have to think this through. They’re going to find the bodies. It was at a picnic area. Folks are going to stop there, just like we did. They’re going to unwrap their sandwiches, take out the potato salad, pour coffee out of the thermos, and then look around and start puking.”

“Maybe the other guy will get rid of the bodies,” she said.

“Why would he do that?”

“He’s got exposure, too, Archer. He’s a criminal, not us. We were just protecting ourselves.”

Archer shook his head. “I told Howells to get the hell out of Reno. And now he’s dead.”

She shot him a look. “So I say we forget it happened and if anybody asks we don’t know anything. Two murderers are dead; so what? They got what they deserved.”

He glanced at her purse. “Well, no matter what, you might want to do something with the Smith & Wesson, then.”

“Why?”

“Because your slug’s in the man’s back, that’s why. They can match bullets. And speaking of, we need to get rid of the guns in the trunk.”

She started to bite at a nail painted bright green until it bled, as she thought about this. “We still stopping at Coalinga?”

“Right now I feel like I’m never going to close my eyes again, but we need gas, and I need some coffee. And staying someplace feels like the right thing to do. We both can sort of calm down.”

“Can I have a pull on your flask?”

He worked it free from his pocket and passed it across.

She took a healthy swallow, sucked her lips inward in satisfaction, and recapped the flask. “That’s better. You want a shot?” she asked, holding it out.

“I’ve had enough shots for today, thanks.” He pointed to the river rushing parallel to the road. “That’s a good spot to dump them.”

“Okay, Archer, go ahead. But not my gun. We might need it in case that guy comes after us again.”

He got out, grabbed the shotgun, Derringer, and .45 from the trunk, walked down to the riverbank, and tossed them all in. He watched them float for a few moments in the strong current, and then they were gone, like fog in the heat of a rising sun.

He walked to the car, got back on the road, and sped up.

“You feel better?” she asked.

“Yeah. How about you?”

In a tone he had not heard her use before she said, “I . . . I killed a man back there, Archer. I . . . I’m not sure I’ll ever feel right again.”

He saw her hands suddenly start to shake and the muscles around her throat tense. Sweat bubbles rose up on her forehead.