A Gambling Man by David Baldacci (best short books to read txt) 📗

stop now,” he said. “It’s just getting good.”

“He left the car to me. It was really all he had.”

“How come the folks he owed money to didn’t try to get it?”

“They didn’t know he had it. They don’t know I have it.”

“You mean, he never drove it?” said Callahan.

“Never. It’s an unforgettable-looking automobile. If they had seen him in it…well, he wouldn’t have had it long. Same goes for me. Plus, I don’t even know how to drive a car.”

“Where is it?” asked Archer.

“Outside of town in a safe place. Why?”

“Well, looks like you’re going to have to sell it. Like you said, you’re more loath to part with your life than with the car.”

Their drinks came, and they each lighted up cigarettes and drank their spirits with enthusiasm.

Through a sheen of smoke Archer eyed Howells. “And you’ll need to make a decision fast. We saved you tonight, but I at least won’t be here tomorrow to do the same.”

“And saving you is not my job,” added Callahan. “We all have problems.”

“There’s no one I know with enough money to buy it.”

“How much you asking?” said Archer.

“Don’t be crazy,” said Callahan sharply. “Why do you need a car like that?”

“I’m just asking,” replied Archer, whittling down his Lucky and his bourbon. “No harm in that.”

“What would you do with a car like that?” asked Howells cautiously.

Archer didn’t answer right away as he blew lazy smoke rings to the filthy ceiling. “Maybe drive it to California.”

“California?” Callahan snapped. “Is that where you’re headed? Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

He tilted his gaze at her. “Before what? We just met.”

“But I told you that’s where I’m going.”

“Well, hell, you two can go out west together,” said Howells, smiling happily as if Archer and Callahan had just exchanged marriage vows.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” said Callahan. “And I barely know Archer. I can’t drive all the way to California with someone I barely know.”

“Well, the same goes for me,” replied Archer. “Particularly a gal with a gun.”

“What are you going out to California for?” Howells asked her.

“To get into pictures, what else?”

“Well, once you see the Delahaye, you may change your mind about not wanting to drive out there with Archer in it.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll arrive in style. You’ll be in all the newspapers.”

“But I’m not going to Hollywood,” said Archer.

“Oh, hell, son, California is California. Do you want to see it or not?”

“What do you say?” Archer asked Callahan.

She mulled over this. “It can’t hurt to look.”

“But how about one more round of drinks first?” suggested Howells.

“Only if you’re buying,” said Archer. “I busted a knuckle for you. That’s enough without you attacking my wallet, too.”

“Well, I will, on the condition that you buy the car.”

Archer sat back on his stool. “How do we get out to this place?”

“Got a buddy who can give us a lift in the back of his truck.” Howells checked his watch. “He gets off work in about ten minutes.”

“The back of his truck?” exclaimed Callahan.

“Well, you can sit in the front. Me and Archer can ride in the back.”

Callahan threw down money for the booze. “But let’s just keep it to the one round then, in case Archer doesn’t buy the damn car.”

Chapter 7

THE FRIEND’S PICKUP TRUCK WAS A RAMBLING, ancient mess of a Plymouth held together by wire, tape, and probably prayer by the gent driving it. That “gent” was a burly fellow dressed in blue overalls, dusty brogans, and a dirty, tan snap-brim hat with a fat cigar stuck in the red band. Howells didn’t provide a name for the man, and the man didn’t volunteer one.

Howells’s friend ogled Callahan as he held open the rusted passenger door for her. She tucked herself primly inside the cab and wouldn’t look at him. The lady didn’t need a magnifying glass to discern the man’s primal desire. Archer noted that Callahan kept a firm hand on her clutch purse, in which the .38 lay like a coiled rattler.

Archer hefted Howells into the back, where he sat next to a passel of tools. Archer rode higher up on the truck bed’s side panel. He buttoned up his jacket and turned up his collar because the air had gone cool. As they headed west, the sky was clear and the stars were stitched to the dark fabric in random patterns of elegance.

They were moving at too brisk a pace for Archer to light up a cigarette, so he just watched the dirt pass by. The land was flat, the vegetation uninteresting, and the occasional animal unremarkable.

“Not much out this way,” Archer commented after a few miles.

“Men came here for gold a long time ago. Now it’s just a stop on the way to somewhere else, unless you’re enamored of desert land.”

“I like the water.”

“You grew up on the ocean?”

“No. But I took a long boat ride home and it was the sweetest ride I’ve ever had.”

“Smooth, was it?”

“No, we actually went through a hurricane. Thought we were going to sink for about three straight days, guys puking and praying all over the place. I’d settled on the fact that I was gonna drown right then and there in the old Atlantic.”

“So why the hell do you like the water then?”

“I survived the war and that boat was taking me home. It affects a man.”

“I can see that,” said Howells thoughtfully. “I fought in the First World War.”

“I’m hoping there won’t be a third.”

“So California, eh?”

Archer shrugged. “Good a place as any, I reckon.”

“I wish I’d done more moving about when I was young.”

“You from here, then?”

“Not exactly. But I call it home now, for better or worse.”

“If you pay those boys off, who’s to say you won’t get back into debt? And you won’t have another car to sell.”

“You make a fair point, Archer, but right now I don’t see another option.”

Archer shrugged. “It’s your funeral, and any man who can’t see that deserves what he gets.”

“That’s a hard line, friend,” Howells replied, frowning.

“No, that’s life.