A Gambling Man (Archer #2)(40)

“How well?”

“Not nearly as well as they claim in the letter.”

“So no affair?” said Dash.

“No.”

“If there’s no truth to it, why worry?” said Archer.

Kemper snapped, “Because the damage will be done. I’ll get creamed in the election. Women can vote, Archer. And they won’t vote for an alleged philanderer.”

Dash interjected, “So our means of attacking this sucker are limited but they’re still there.”

Kemper sat back. “And pray tell, what might those be?”

Sheen interjected, “You’re not going to suggest paying off the blackmailer?”

“There’s no such thing as paying off a blackmailer,” replied Dash. “They just keep coming back. You might as well open a bank account for them to access.”

“So, what then?” asked Kemper.

“Any idea who’s behind this?” asked Dash.

“I might have some ideas.”

“Then let us have them.”

“What would you do with that information?” asked Sheen quickly.

“Both sides can play the game,” said Dash.

“Meaning?” said Kemper sharply, his indifferent manner vanishing.

Archer piped in, “Meaning you fight fire with fire. If what they say about you isn’t true but is still potentially damaging, then the same holds for them.”

“And if their reputation means nothing to them?” inquired Kemper.

“Easy to say, another to endure,” replied Dash.

Kemper tap-tapped his ash. “Okay. We can provide you with a list later this afternoon. Once we put it together I’ll have Wilson send it over. It will be a short one probably, and there’s no guarantee that the real culprit is on there.”

“It’s still a good place to start,” said Dash. “But you have to be prepared for them making this public if you don’t pay, or if blackmail is not their intent.”

“You mean, they might just want to smear Douglas and make him lose the election?” suggested Sheen.

“Maybe,” said Dash, keeping his gaze on Kemper.

The man sat forward, his brow furrowed. “Look, Willie, the last thing I want is for my wife to find out about this garbage in some cheap paper. She’s just recovering from an illness. She doesn’t need this on top of it.”

“What illness? I hadn’t heard.”

“Appendicitis. She had an operation. In fact, the doc in this building performed it. He handles the whole family.”

“Right. O’Donnell. He’s very good. It’s always surprised me he’s stayed here. He makes enough money to rent on the other side of Sawyer Ave. I hope she’s going to be okay.”

“She will. Beth’s strong. But this won’t help.”

“We’ll do all we can to keep it under wraps.”

A moment later there was a knock at the door, and Morrison entered with a sheaf of pages.

“Mr. Kemper,” said Dash, eyeing Morrison. “You can sign off on the retainer, get your duplicate copy, and then leave the check with Miss Morrison. And we can get to work.”

“The election is in four weeks,” Sheen told him.

Dash offered up a smile. “Then, by God, we haven’t a moment to waste.”

Kemper rose and joined Morrison over at the desk where he signed the papers, as did Dash. Archer came over to stand next to the desk. Kemper took his duplicate copy and passed it over to Sheen, who had risen and joined him. It was Sheen who took out a checkbook and made out the retainer check in the amount of one thousand dollars, signing it with a flourish. He handed it to Dash.

Archer saw that it was drawn on an account in the name of “Kemper for Mayor.”

Dash said, “Expenses are of course separate, and will be itemized and sent to you regularly.”

Kemper glanced at Dash and then at Archer. “Oh, joy. I wish you both luck in this endeavor.”

He and Sheen picked up their hats and left.

Dash turned to Morrison, passed her the check, and said urgently, “Okay, hon, carry that down to the bank and get it deposited ASAP. Then go over the list of outstanding bills, prioritize and whittle, stiff who you can, and negotiate the must-pays down as best you can. In the future I’ll need credit, and this is where I build it back up.”

Morrison nodded, glanced anxiously at Archer, and hurriedly left. A few moments later Archer heard the office door open and close.

Dash plucked a briarwood pipe from a stand on his desk, stuffed it with tobacco pulled from a pouch in his desk drawer, and took a moment to light it, puffing thoughtfully. He settled back on the davenport and glanced at Archer.

“Well?” asked Dash.

Archer said, “A dentist in charge? What did Sheen mean by that?”

“Kemper’s running against a fellow named Alfred Drake, who’s a dentist. But he’s no dummy. And Drake’s been on the town council for years. He knows the difference between floating a water bond and filling up a pool with water.”

“Nice of Kemper to provide a list of possible suspects.”

Dash lit his pipe again and sucked on the end to prime it. “The list, if we get it, will be worthless. He’ll put on there anyone he has a grudge against, hoping we can find dirt on them, whether it has anything to do with the election or not.”