A Gambling Man by David Baldacci (ebook audio reader .txt) 📕

They all three hustled out of the alley and back to the main street.

“What was that about?” said Archer. “Why were they giving you the business?”

Howells turned to the side and spit blood and possibly part of his inner lip out of his mouth. “I told you I got enemies, Archer. It’s why I wanted you to help me, son.”

“You know this piece of work?” said Callahan, who had put her revolver back in her purse as casually as though it were merely her lipstick and powder.

He shook his head. “We don’t even qualify as acquaintances. And how come you have a gun?”

She gave him an illustrative eye roll. “I’m a good-looking, young dancer and I live in Reno. What else do you need to know, choirboy?”

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” said Archer to Howells. The old man was trying to wipe the blood off his face, but he just made a mess of it.

“The bar we’re going to has a washroom,” said Callahan. “If he can make it that far.”

“I’ll make it,” said Howells. “But only because I sure as hell need a drink.”

“Okay, but you can buy,” said Callahan.

“Why’s that?” said a startled Howells.

“We just saved your bacon is why, you old geezer. Don’t be simple.”

“Well, okay,” said Howells doubtfully. “But my funds are limited at the moment.”

“Great,” she said spitefully.

Howells turned to Archer, “And who is your charming friend, Archer?”

“Hey, bub, I’m right here,” she said. “Archer doesn’t have to speak for me. And the name’s Liberty Callahan.”

“I’m sure it is,” said a bug-eyed Howells.

She turned to Archer. “Hey, how’d you knock those two guys out with one punch anyways?”

Archer held up the set of aluminum knuckles he had earlier pulled from his pocket. “I always keep these around for emergencies.”

“Is that legal?” she asked. “You could get in trouble.”

“I figure if you can carry a gun, I can carry these.”

She cracked a smile. “I’m starting to like you, Archer.”

“Hell, what took you so long?”

Chapter 6

ARCHER HELPED HOWELLS CLEAN UP in the men’s washroom and then they joined Callahan at the bar, after he dumped both the snub-nosed and the knife in the waste can. They didn’t want to be near any windows, in case the three guys came looking for them. Although Archer was of the opinion that at least two of them would need a doctor when they came to, and the third a change of undershorts after Callahan’s antics with her .38.

Archer ordered a bourbon straight up, Callahan a Tom Collins, and Howells a sidecar.

“Go heavy on the brandy and triple sec, hon,” the old man told the waitress, a tired-looking woman in her forties with a Dutch boy haircut and a way of looking at you that made you feel like a heel even if you weren’t one. “I got serious troubles,” he added by way of explanation.

“Tell it to somebody who cares, hon,” she said before walking off.

“So give it to us straight, Bobby H,” said Archer. “Why were those guys giving you the heavy lifting?”

“I…I, uh, got a little gambling debt issue.”

“Then maybe you should stop gambling,” said Callahan. “That ever occur to you, genius?”

Howells looked down at the shiny surface of the bar. “I tried but it didn’t go too well.”

“How much do you owe?” said Archer.

“Eighteen hundred and fifty dollars.”

“Eighteen hundred and fifty dollars!” exclaimed Callahan. “Are you that bad a gambler or what?”

“Every bettor loses if he plays long enough, missy.”

“Can you find that kind of dough?” asked Archer.

“I have no, what you would call, liquid assets. But I have a car. A mighty fine one. I’m loath to part with it, but I’m more loath to part with my life.”

“What kind of car?” asked Callahan.

“A Delahaye.”

“What’s that?” said Callahan. “Like a Ford?”

“It is nothing like a Ford,” said Howells indignantly as he tapped his fingers against the mahogany bar. “It is a work of art. It’s French made, truly one of the most beautiful cars ever conceived. Indeed, only five of this model were ever built.”

“How come? Was it no good?” asked Callahan.

“No, a little thing called World War II intervened,” retorted Howells in a bristling tone. “It is in every respect a spectacular example of automotive genius.”

“How’d you get your mitts on something like that?” asked Archer suspiciously. “Your story isn’t adding up to me. You’re going to have to fill in the holes.”

“I didn’t get my mitts on it. My son did. He left it to me when he passed away last year.”

“Sorry to hear that. He must’ve been a young guy.”

“He was. You’re not supposed to bury your children,” Howells added somberly, staring at his hands.

Callahan and Archer exchanged a sympathetic glance.

“How’d your son get the car?” Archer asked quietly, after a few moments of silence. “There has to be a story in there worth telling,” he added encouragingly.

“He, like you, fought in the war. And did so bravely.”

“Okay, but I didn’t get a car in the bargain,” said Archer. “What did he do?”

“Why should I tell you anything?” replied Howells sharply.

Archer took out the aluminum knuckles and placed them between himself and Howells. “Because a few minutes ago I made your enemies my enemies. That’s at least worth a little information, friend.”

Howells eyed the knuckles and nodded, his expression now contrite.

“Near the end of the conflict my boy saved the life of a French soldier who was the son of one of the Delahaye company owners. As a gesture of thanks they shipped the car here. It’s a 1939 model, but it’s never really been driven and looks brand-new. It was actually built for a wealthy Englishman and was supposed to be delivered in early 1940. For obvious reasons, it was never shipped out to him.”

“How’d your son die?” asked Archer.

“He, too, had gambling debts.”

“You mean, they killed him over that?” said Archer.

“That can happen,” Callahan said knowingly, drawing a meaningful glance from Archer.

He rubbed at one of his swollen fingers and stretched out his stiff arm. “Go on, Bobby H, don’t