A Gambling Man (Archer #2)(91)

He crawled quietly in the direction of the other apartment until he figured he was over it. Along the way he found some things that might actually be bona fide clues. But they would keep for now.

He found an identical door in the ceiling of the next apartment. With the loud music hopefully covering any sound he made, Archer decided to chance it and very slowly pushed down on the hatch.

He got it open about three or four inches, which gave him a sight line into the room.

Darling was on the bed, on her hands and knees. She was wearing nothing except her garter belt and the sheer nylons.

Sheen was completely naked, and Archer could see that the man looked just as fat unclothed, maybe more so. His skin was pasty; his chest, shoulders, and back were as hairy as a caveman’s without an ounce of visible muscle. He was standing behind Darling and had a tight grip on her firm buttocks.

Archer felt embarrassed watching them, and he looked away. Part of him wanted to close the hatch, go back to Fraser’s old room and run like hell. But then he asked himself: What would Willie Dash do? And it wasn’t like he was watching out of purely prurient interest, he told himself. He was investigating. And what he was seeing didn’t make a lot of sense. And that made him suspicious.

He looked back in time to see Sheen’s efforts slow and he began to pant harder. Darling rose up enough for Archer to see her face. And now he was even more intrigued, and puzzled.

Her expression was a delicate mixture of boredom and disgust. The lady was clearly not there because she was in love with Sheen or found him attractive. Now the question was: Why was the lady there?

Archer once more averted his gaze, but he kept the hatch open so he could hear.

When Sheen again appeared to be fatiguing, she commenced pushing back hard against him and moaning louder, telling him he was bigger, harder, stronger, more virile than any man alive. It was like a coxswain calling out encouragement to the rowers to get them to accelerate their strokes. Sheen, thus puffed up, obliged her, but he was so unsteady on his feet he bumped into the nightstand and knocked both a half-filled glass and a Bible onto the floor.

In short order, the flabby man, thus inspired, finished his business and slumped over her, his massive weight forcing the woman down flat on the bed. Her expression was now one of irritation coupled with relief. Archer watched as she wriggled out from under him. Then she turned, smiled, and patted his cheek.

“Oh my God, Wilson. I’m gonna be walking funny for a week.” He rubbed her cheek, smiled, and then promptly fell asleep.

She quickly rose, dressed fast, and headed for the door without even bothering to cover him with a sheet. Her glance back at the sleeping man was full of disgust.

Archer closed the ceiling door and retraced his steps to Fraser’s door.

He looked out in time to see Darling’s backside as she headed down the hall. Her stockings’ seams were all off-center, but everything else seemed to be in place.

Archer fell in behind the woman and trailed her back to the first floor. She went to the check girl to get her hat, a little pillbox number the color of her dress with a little black veil tacked up. While she was doing that Archer spotted the cocktail waitress who had served him and Kemper earlier and asked her a couple of questions. She answered them, and he passed her a buck in thanks. She stuck it down her blouse, eyed him, and said, “Well, I get off at one if you’re interested.”

“Thanks, but I got other plans.”

“Jeez, I can’t buy a man tonight.”

She flounced off, and Archer hustled over to claim his hat while Darling was adjusting hers.

“Well, funny meeting you here,” he said to Darling.

She quickly turned. “Mr. Archer?”

“I thought this place was built mainly for the guys.”

Her gaze inadvertently ventured upward, all the way, Archer thought, to the room where Sheen was now peacefully sleeping off probably the best sex of his life.

She blushed beautifully and looked back at him. “I was meeting a friend. And I come here for a drink now and then.”

“Oh, well, then I’ll leave you to it.”

“No. I mean, I’ve met my friend and we’re all . . . done now.”

“Well, then how about that drink we talked about?”

“What? Oh, um, all right. What the hell.”

“That’s what I like to hear from a gal: ‘What the hell.’ ”

He was rewarded with a crimsoning of her cheeks.

They got their drinks, he a beer and she a gin and tonic. He led her out to the rear terrace, and they occupied the same chairs he and Kemper had used earlier.

“So, was your friend one of the gals in the office?” he said.

“Um, yes, Sally. We had a drink.”

“You like working for Mr. Kemper?”

“It’s a job. I like the conditions.”

“I guess you spend more time with Wilson Sheen, though.”

She glanced sharply at him, searching his features for some telltale sign that his words meant something more. But Archer had prepared himself and gave nothing away.

“I mean, that’s why he has Sheen, right? To handle stuff for him.”

“Yes, that’s right. I do deal with Mr. Sheen more.”

She pulled out a pack of Pall Malls and he lit one for her. Her hand trembled. She took a puff and said, “Why were you meeting with him?”