One Good Deed Page 8

  Tuttle would be on his guard for another attempt, and while Archer would die for his country, and almost had, he didn’t relish kicking the bucket via buckshot simply trying to earn a living. But if he didn’t get the car, Pittleman, who he assumed was a man of his word, would probably tar and feather Archer before running him out of town. And if he could argue that Archer had taken his money and not done what he promised, that constituted a crime and he’d be right back in Carderock.

  He smoked a Lucky right down to nothing, drank his gin slow and easy, and pondered why he had not taken the simpler route and become a hog-brain basher like Dickie Dill. This made him think of the scrawled note he’d found in Ernestine Crabtree’s office. He pulled it out of his old jacket, read it again, found it even more disturbing, and put it back where it had been.

  Maybe there was one person who could help him with his dilemma.

  Jackie Tuttle. But he had no idea where she even lived.

  But Poca wasn’t that big a place. He waited until the darkness was about to fall, put on his new hat, and then set out to find her.

  Chapter 9

  HIS SEARCH ENDED abruptly in the lobby of the Derby Hotel, where Jackie was sitting in a cane back chair in front of an empty fireplace topped by a slab of marble collecting still more dust. He stopped and looked down at her as Jackie smiled up at him.

  “Well, get a load of you,” said Archer.

  “Surprised?” she said.

  “You can see that for yourself.”

  She eyed his new clothes. “Nice duds.”

  “Yeah, lot better than what I had.”

  “I can see that for myself.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you to come down. What else?”

  “Why?”

  “Hank phoned and said you’d come by today. And he told me where you were staying.”

  “Why would he call you about that?”

  “Hank tells me most things.” She rose. “Let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

  She wore a skintight dark blue cocktail dress, a white scarf around her neck, and a black, fitted pillbox hat with a bit of frilly lace tacked up. Her shoes were black with low heels and bows on the toes. Her costly nylon stockings gleamed over her shapely calves. Gold chandelier hoops hung from her ears, and she held a small clutch purse in her gloved hands.

  “You do look sharp,” she said, running her hand along his lapel and then clutching his tie and pulling on it for good measure, bending him down to near her height. “With a little work you might be approaching dreamboat status. Sort of like Cary Grant and Clark Gable all rolled into one.”

  “You’re nice on the eyes too,” he said appreciatively. “Prettier than any gal I’ve seen at the movies.”

  “Glad we got all that out of the way. But don’t say that in front of Hank. He’s a jealous man. And that knife isn’t the only weapon he carries.”

  “Yeah, I saw his belly gun up close and personal today. But his wife doesn’t seem to be the jealous type. In fact, she doesn’t seem to give a whit.”

  As they walked out into the fading light and headed down the street, Jackie said, “Oh, Marjorie gives a whit, trust me.”

  “Care to explain?”

  “Not really. And I’m not sure you’re set up to understand even if I did.”

  They slid into a shallow booth with red vinyl seats at the Checkered Past.

  Jackie ordered a gin and tonic with a twist of lime.

  Archer went with a ginger ale.

  She looked at him oddly. “You lost your thirst or are you waiting to tell them the rest of the ingredients for a highball? They do a nice Seven and Seven here in case you’re interested.”

  “No, just trying to watch my p’s and q’s.”

  “How is not drinking doing that?”

  “If I get sauced, I might say or do something with you I might regret.”

  “Hell, Archer, that’s half the fun.”

  She sipped her drink when it came, while he chugged his.

  “So, Marjorie?” began Archer.

  “What about her?”

  “She knows about you and Hank.”

  “I know she does.”

  “You’re really not going to enlighten me, then?”

  She took off her pillbox and set it on the table next to her place setting. “And why exactly do you feel the need to be enlightened?”

  “I don’t like not knowing things. Gets under my skin.”

  “That’s a good attribute, but it doesn’t persuade me. I hear you talked to Lucas Tuttle.”

  “You mean your father, yeah, I did.”

  She shrugged. “And what did the old gasbag say?”

  “Why ask me? Pittleman must’ve told you, since I told him.”

  “I’m not going back home, Archer, if that’s what you want to know.”

  “Okay. But your father truly seems to miss you.”

  She looked at her menu. “What’re you in the mood for?”

  “Steak and potatoes, coffee, black. Piece of the cobbler to finish.”

  She glanced up at him. “You sound certain about that and you haven’t even looked at the menu.”

  “I am sure.”

  “You’ve eaten here before?”

  “Last night.”

  “What’d you have?”

  “Same as what I just said.”

  “You don’t like variety?”

  “Two things in a row is variety, of a sort.”

  “You’d make an intriguing study, Archer.”

  “Of what kind?”

  She pulled out a pack of Chesterfields and offered him one, which he took. She lit his with her metal lighter, cupping her gloved hand around his, and then did the same for herself. Jackie blew out a cloud of smoke and said, “Hell, just about any kind of study.”

  He turned his head and released smoke from his nostrils. With all the other tables similarly engaged, the restaurant looked like it might be on fire.

  “I heard your mother died in an accident. I’m truly sorry about that.”

  She tapped ash into the chromium ashtray and positioned her elbow on the table so that her cigarette pointed to the ceiling like she was putting up her hand to swear an oath; her flippant expression was gone. “Who told you? Surely not my father.”

  “Lady named Desiree.”

  She nodded. “Desiree Lankford.”

  “Efficient-looking woman.”

  “She is very efficient.”

  She finished her cigarette early and ground it out in the chromium ashtray.

  “Your daddy said he had the money to pay back the debt, only he won’t so long as you’re with Pittleman.”

  “Then I guess you’re going to have to take the Cadillac, like Hank told you to in the first place. You need to keep up, Archer. Hank doesn’t suffer fools gladly.”

  “And get shot for my troubles?”

  “Did my father answer the door with the Remington, then?”

  “Does he usually?”

  “My father’s not a trusting man.”

  “Yeah, it was pointed at all parts of me that I find important and necessary.”

  “Well, why would he point at the unnecessary ones? You say he had the money?”

  “What he told me. Why?”

  “Just wondering. What’s your plan now?”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll tell you this. Hank isn’t happy you already spent his money without getting his collateral.” She once more eyed his new clothes.

  “Is that why you sought me out? You sort of his spy? I won’t hold it against you. A gal’s got to do what a gal’s got to do.”

  “I have better things to do with my time, Archer, than spy on folks. I ‘sought’ you out because you’re new in town and I thought you might like some companionship.”

  “Okay, sorry about that. As to the plan, I’ll think of something. Always do.”

  “I like a man with confidence in himself. I just hope yours isn’t misplaced, b
ecause it won’t turn out well for you.”

  “I know about the Remington now.”

  “Not talking about that. I know for a fact that Hank was angry when the other men came back empty-handed. And he took it out on them, for sure.”

  “You don’t think I can hold my own with Pittleman?”

  “It’s not Hank you have to worry about. He employs a lot of men. And some of them are even bigger and stronger than you.” She added sweetly, “And I suspect that most of them aren’t nearly as nice as you are.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  “Don’t say I never gave you anything. Hey, where are you coming in from? You said seven hours from the east?”

  “Just wandering. Have been for a while.”

  “You mentioned you did two years of college?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Where?”

  “Not anywhere near here.”

  “Why didn’t you finish?”

  “Little thing called a world war came calling and interrupted my studies.”

  “Right, you said you fought.”

  “Every man my age did unless they had bad eyes, bad feet, or a bum ticker.”

  “I hear the sons of some rich or influential men didn’t have to suit up.”

  “Well, my old man wasn’t rich or influential, and, anyway, I volunteered.”

  “Why?”

  “Do my part, why else?”

  “Were you brave?”

  “More lucky than brave, probably.”

  “Why don’t I believe that?”

  “Believe what you will.”

  They ordered their food when the waitress came over.

  “Steak and potatoes for you, too?” he said after Jackie finished her dinner request and the waitress had gone off.

  She gave a surprised Archer a coy smile. “I like variety as much as the next person.”

  “You left home right after your mom died?”

  “Why do you care about that?” she said with a frown.

  “I’m just a curious soul, always have been.”

  “Well, it’s my business, not yours. So tell your curiosity to scram.”

  Archer looked around the dining room, and his gaze alighted and held on Ernestine Crabtree, who was eating her dinner in a far corner of the restaurant. She had a book next to her and a pad of paper in front of her and was writing something down with a pen.

  “What is it?” asked Jackie, glancing that way. “You know her?”

  “Just looking around, seeing what’s what.”

  “Eye for the ladies, Archer? Don’t be afraid to confess it.”

  “Look, I’m no better or worse than other men on that score. You know her?”

  Jackie sat back and ran a finger down her glass of gin. “Not really. Seen her around. She seems a little—”

  “—wound like a clock? Yeah, seems that way to me, too.”

  “It’s sad she’s all by herself with only a book to keep her company.”

  “Books can be good for you.”

  “You don’t strike me as a book reader, Archer, despite your two years in college,” she said skeptically.

  “You’re wrong there. I been reading books a lot lately. Good friends to help pass the time.”

  “Did you have time you wanted to pass?”

  “Don’t we all?”

  “What’d you study in college?”

  “Mostly the co-eds.”

  “You’re a laugh a minute until you’re not.”

  Archer looked around once more and flinched when he saw three men sitting at a table in another corner of the restaurant. Two of them were hardened, uncouth types with greasy hats and slovenly chins. The other one was Dickie Dill. He was eating his steak blood-rare and cutting it not with the restaurant’s cutlery but with a switchblade. That was disturbing enough, but all three men were also snatching glances at Crabtree, and then talking and laughing. That all set Archer’s nerves on edge.

  When one of the men rose and headed toward Crabtree’s table, Archer said to Jackie, “Excuse me for a minute.”

  He beat the gent to the table by a half second. Crabtree looked up first at the man and then at Archer.

  “Mr. Archer, what are you doing here?” she said.

  “Saw you sitting here and came over to say hello.” Archer glanced at the man. “Hey, friend, you know Miss Crabtree, too?”

  “Not as well as I want to,” barked the man. “Three’s company, so beat it, pal.” He was larger than Archer, with a broad chest and thick arms.

  Archer said, “I would beat it, but I also have business with the lady.”

  “What sort of business?”

  “The personal kind.”

  “Like I give a damn.” The man reached out to grip Archer’s shoulder, but Archer deftly blocked the man’s thrust and took the hand in a firm shake. So firm, in fact, that the man’s eyes started to wince. With his other hand Archer held the man’s other arm tight against his side.

  “Mr. Archer,” said Crabtree. “What are you doing?”

  “Just having a gab with this nice man.”

  “It looks like you’re hurting him.”

  “Naw. I’m not hurting you, am I, fella?”

  “You better let go before I get riled,” said the man, his eyes watering now with the pressure Archer was applying.

  Archer glanced over at Dill to see the little man watching him intently, his blade held point up.

  “I mean no harm, friend. But I sort of have to insist on you going back to your table and I’ll do the same. You can see that Miss Crabtree is busy right now, so the respectful thing to do is walk away.” Archer gave the hand another firm squeeze, and the look in his eyes was of a man who was not going to be denied.

  The man looked down at the paper and the pen as Archer increased the pressure on the gent’s fingers.

  “I’ll come back ’nuther time then,” he said hoarsely.

  Archer slowly let go and stepped back. “Well, you might want to find somebody else to talk to. Dickie over there is a nice one. I know you’re eating with him and all already.”

  Crabtree jerked her head to look in that direction, then she glanced up wide-eyed at Archer.

  Before the man left, Archer pulled him close and said into his ear, “I’m just outta Carderock myself, pal. One thing I learned about Miss Crabtree, they got the law watching her all the time, case people like you and me make a move like you just tried to do. Dickie gave me the same advice about the Cat’s Meow. Just trying to help you out, friend. You take care.”

  The man looked goggle-eyed at Archer, gave a searching glance around the restaurant, turned, and hurried back to his table, where he sat and immediately entered into a serious discussion with the other two while shooting glances back at Archer.

  Archer looked down at Crabtree. “Sorry about that, ma’am. Didn’t mean to interrupt your meal.”

  “No, um, that’s fine. I, well, thank you, Mr. Archer.” She paused. “What did you just tell him?”

  “Nothing important. I take it he’s one of your parolees.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “He’s not drinking.”

  “Oh, yes. Dan Bullock. He was released three weeks ago.”

  “Right. Well, I was just wishing him luck in his new life.” Before she could respond he glanced down at the paper and saw the writing there along with a title at the top of the page.

  “You a writer? You working on a story?”

  She covered the page with her hand. “I…just scribble.”

  “Well, okay. See you at our next meeting.”

  “Yes.”

  He walked back to join Jackie.

  “What was all that about?” she exclaimed as he sat down.

  “Just heading off a little bit of trouble.”

  “Seemed like you knew her.”

  “Didn’t I say? I just met her walking around town. Nice lady.”

  She glanced at the table with the three men.

&nbs
p; “I think you might have made some enemies, Archer.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time. But I think it’ll be okay.”

  “A woman like that is a target, unfortunately.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “She doesn’t have a man with her,” said Jackie matter-of-factly.

  He stubbed out his Chesterfield when their food came. They ate their meal mostly in silence. Archer had things he wanted to ask but was afraid to, something he usually wasn’t, especially with a woman. But this was a woman the likes of which he had never really encountered before. He had an unsettling notion that she might be more than a match for him. Ernestine Crabtree, too. Poca City seemed to have its share of independent women designed to scare the bejesus out of him.

  Jackie insisted on paying and Archer didn’t protest too much, since he would have had to dig into the dregs of his remaining cash to do so. Still, a woman should not pay for a man’s meal. It just wasn’t done.

  “You have any work needs doing, let me know. I can pay off the meal.”

  She ran an appraising eye over him. “Oh, I’ll let you know all right. You might come in very handy for what I need.”

  Jackie then gave him such a look that Archer felt himself blush for one of the few times in his life.

  As they walked out, Archer thought he saw Ernestine glance at him, but that also might have been his imagination. Dickie and his pals had long since left. Archer kept a sharp eye out for them on the street but saw neither hide nor hair of the terrible trio.

  It was warm, the air still bone dry as they walked along.

  “Does any moisture ever creep into the ether here?” he asked.

  “Now and again, but not so you’d notice much. We’re pretty far from the ocean.”

  “Guess so.”

  “It does brittle your skin. I have to slather on moisturizer after I get out of the bathtub.”

  Okay, thought Archer, that was a deliberately low blow, designed to knock him off his stride. And it succeeded beautifully. He nearly ran into a lamppost.

  Jackie entwined his arm with hers and said, “You want to head over to the Cat’s Meow? We could do some dancing and quench our thirst for real. No bender, just a couple of highballs.”

  “Aren’t you Pittleman’s gal?”

  “We see each other from time to time. But I’m not his ‘gal.’ He provides for me.”