A Gambling Man (Archer #2)(77)

“What’s your interest in this?”

“My interest is my client’s.”

“Sawyer Armstrong really is your client?”

“You know I can’t divulge that.”

“You already did, asshole.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

Pickett eyed Archer. “Who the hell are you?”

“Archer.”

“Is that your name or occupation, dipshit?”

“Both, depending on the need.”

Pickett leaned back against the counter and assumed a friendlier expression. “Yeah, go on ahead, Willie. I remember when you used to know what you were doing. Before the bottle kicked in. Worst thing you ever did was marry Connie. She cut your balls right off.”

Dash put the phone receiver back in its cradle. “We’re divorced.”

“Yeah, right. You see her every day, I’m told.”

“Well, thanks for keeping such a watchful eye on me, Chief. It’s much appreciated.”

“Uh-huh. Run along, you damn gumshoe, before I change my mind.”

“I suppose you got uniforms up there?”

“And a suit, too. Just tell ’em I said it was okay. You can still spook people, Willie, and good for you. And if it gets real queer, just throw that rug you’re wearing at ’em. They might think it’s a skunk and run for it.”

“And the body is still there? It’s been quite a few hours.”

“Mortimer was out of town. Didn’t get here till a bit ago. So hold your noses, gents. The lady don’t smell too good.”

Dash eyed Dawson, who let out a sob at this insensitive remark. He gestured for her to follow them.

The three headed down the hallway. Dawson looked distraught and was blowing her nose into a hanky. She wore a long, dark blue silk robe that fit her like a bulky potato sack with no potatoes in it.

“I still can’t believe it,” said Dawson. “I mean, she was so young.” She shot Dash a sudden look. “But you were here talking to her yesterday. Something’s up. And she was killed for it, right?” she added in an accusatory tone.

“Well, you came out of your grieving at full stride,” noted Archer.

She glared at him. “I don’t take crap from anybody, especially men.”

“Now, just calm down, Mabel,” said Dash soothingly. “And tell us what you know as we head on up there.”

“I can’t see that body. I can’t see it again. The cops made me identify her. Oh my God, I’ve never—”

“You won’t have to. So tell me about last night, okay?”

“Like I told Archer here, Ruby didn’t show up to do her act. I had his friend Liberty Callahan sing in her stead. We had looked everywhere for the girl. I mean everywhere, and then—”

“Yeah, so just slow down right there,” said Dash. “Because this is important. When did you last see Ruby yesterday?”

“Cops asked me that. It was around eight o’clock. She came to get dinner. We have a separate room for the staff to eat their meals.”

“Did you talk to her then?”

“No. I was just finishing up my meal with somebody.”

“Pretty late for dinner,” noted Archer.

“This place gets rocking later. We’re usually not even a quarter full until nine. It is called Midnight Moods, after all.”

“What time do you close?” asked Archer.

“We don’t officially, but most people are gone by three a.m.”

“Jeez, don’t people sleep around here?” said Archer.

Dash interjected, “Did she seem upset? Was she alone?”

“No and yes.”

They headed up the stairs.

“When did you know something was wrong?”

“When the cops showed up after midnight. They came tearing in here saying they got a phone call about a dead woman, Ruby Fraser.”

Dash didn’t look at Archer when she said this, and Archer kept his eyes on a spot on the ceiling.

“Then what?”

“They asked me where the body was. Hell, I didn’t know anything about a body. So I took them up to her room. That’s when they found her, and then made me take a look.” She shuddered. “I know there are evil people in this world and maybe I’ve run into more than my share of them. But what they did to that poor girl . . . that takes the cake.”

“Funny way to say it, but I get your meaning,” said Dash. “Then what?”

“Then all hell broke loose. People running around, cops everywhere. And then, like the chief said, the coroner showed up a bit ago to tell us what we already knew about poor Ruby.”

“I understand Sawyer Armstrong was here last night with two of his boys.”

Dawson shot a glance at Archer and his injuries. “He might’ve been, yeah.”

“He was,” said Archer.

“Okay, he was.”

“Why was he here other than to paint Archer’s face purple and yellow?” Dash asked.

“He owns the place. He can come and go when he damn well likes.”

“You ever see him with Ruby?”

“No, never,” she said quickly.

“So you saw Ruby at eight. Have any idea where she went after that?” asked Dash.