A Gambling Man (Archer #2)(29)

His grin threatened to run off both sides of his face. He pointed to the name sewn onto his uniform. “I’m Sean, Sean Regan. My parents came from the county of Offaly.”

“My grandparents were from Cork.”

“Talk about a small world.” He turned and looked at his partner. “Hell, Jimmy, this gal’s family is from Cork.”

Jimmy couldn’t take his gaze off Callahan’s prominent bosom. “Cork,” was all he managed to say.

Archer noted that Callahan stood so that she was entirely blocking the door panel.

“I’m heading to Hollywood. I want to be in the pictures.” She put a hand on her hip and bumped it out and placed the other hand behind her long neck, turned into a profile shot, curved that long neck back like a swan’s, and hit them with a dazzling smile. “Think I have a shot? Tell me the truth now, fellas.”

Regan said, “Hell, you’re lots prettier than Rita Hayworth.” He glanced down at her stockinged legs. “Ain’t that right, Jimmy?”

Jimmy looked like he had downed two bottles of Old Forester as a warmup to really hitting the juice. “Cork,” he said throatily.

Jimmy was down for the count, Archer concluded. He’d probably forgotten about his Colt .45, or the fact that he was even a cop. And Regan wasn’t far behind.

“You are so sweet.” She gave Regan a hug and Archer watched the cop’s hand slide down to her buttocks. He made his landing and dug into her soft flesh. She made no attempt to move his fingers back to a respectable spot. Archer had to appreciate the lady’s self-control.

When Callahan stepped back, she said, “I was so nervous, but you’ve cheered me up no end. So thank you and now I’ll let you go on your way. I know how important police work is. My uncle’s a cop in Boston.”

Regan beamed. “Now there’s a big city, all right. They say on Saint Paddy’s Day every bar in Boston gives free drinks to every Irishman. Is that true?”

“Every Irishman and Irishwoman,” she added, giving him another broadside of a smile fired right from the biggest quarterdeck cannon she had.

He chuckled and tipped his cap at her. “Best of luck to you, Ms. Callahan.”

She did a little curtsy. “Thank you kindly, Officer Regan.”

They climbed into the prowler, Regan gave one more enthusiastic wave, and they were gone, just like that. It was hard for Archer to believe everything that had just happened was not a by-product of his imagination or a drunken binge.

Callahan watched them until they were out of sight and then got back in, tugging her dress sharply so the hem wouldn’t get caught in the door as she closed it.

“Okay, now I’m convinced,” said Archer.

She looked at him curiously. “Of what?”

“That you actually might make a go of it as an actress.”

“That wasn’t acting, Archer, that was just lying.”

“Isn’t it the same thing?”

“I don’t know. I’ve done a lot of one, but not necessarily the other.”

“It was lucky about the Irish thing.”

“What lucky? I saw Regan’s name sewn into his uniform. And I am Irish. I thought I would give it a shot. What could we lose, right?”

“Is your family from Cork?”

“Hell, who knows? Now, let’s get out of here before that dumb mick forgets the pleasure of grabbing my ass and remembers the blood and no dent. So hit it.”

And so Archer hit it.





HOURS LATER CALLAHAN AWOKE WITH A START and looked over at Archer. Only he wasn’t there. The car was empty except for her. The Delahaye was pulled off to the side of the road, next to a river. She looked out the window and saw Archer skimming rocks across the water.

She slipped her heels back on and got out, walking carefully over to him across the uneven terrain.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Just taking a break. You were asleep, seemed like a good time to stop.”

He reached down and picked up an opened bottle of Coke. “Got this back in Coalinga at the filling station. Just cooled it in the river for a few minutes.”

She took the bottle from him and took a couple of swallows before handing it back.

“So where are we?”

“Salinas Valley.” He pointed at the water. “That’s the Salinas River. Its mouth is way up at Monterey Bay.”

“It’s beautiful around here.”

“It’s farmland and very fertile. Nearly a hundred miles of it in the valley. Mountains on both sides. They raise a lot of crops here.”

“Were you a farmer?”

“Never plowed a field a day in my life. But I can read. You ever heard of The Grapes of Wrath?”

“I saw the movie. Henry Fonda, right?”

“Right. But first it was a novel by a fellow named John Steinbeck. The title comes from a line in the song, ‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic.’ Read it when I was in college.” He took a drink of the Coke. “It’s about the Joad family. The Depression and the Dust Bowl wiped out their farming prospects in Oklahoma, so they gathered all the possessions they had left, converted their sedan into a rattling truck, and set off for California for a better life.”

Now Callahan looked interested. “Well, hell, that’s what we’re doing.” She took the Coke from him and took another swallow before handing it back and settling her gaze on the rushing water and the picturesque land beyond.