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

an all-night dance club—where people seemed to be having a good time without getting murdered—and asked for directions to his final destination. The bouncer actually knew the address and told Archer how to get there.

“That’s Wilma’s place,” said the man, a beefy gent with a bald head and hands the size of watermelons.

“Her place?”

“Yeah. Hey, you one of her customers?”

“Customers?” Archer said, puzzled. Then he quickly recovered and said, “Yeah, yeah, I am. Any idea where she is?”

The bouncer’s friendly features fell away as it was clear he did not believe Archer. “Forget it, mac, just forget it. Now beat it, I got work to do.”

He walked away, leaving Archer deeply disturbed.

The house was a one-story stucco with a red tile roof and enough plants, trees, and flowers to hide it from its neighbors. Its backyard was basically the ocean. A storm was drifting in, as Archer had found storms often did around here. It was like the Pacific wanted the coastal residents to be as wet as it was.

The Ford coupe wasn’t in the carport. The porch light was on, and that was it for illumination at this time of night. He pulled the Delahaye farther down the road and out of sight of the house. He got out and flitted back up the quiet street. He chanced looking in the mailbox and pocketed a couple of pieces of mail he found in there, which told him a lot, although the bouncer had already done that. He next circled back around, jumped a fence of the house next door to hers, and traversed the backyard, where the smell of charcoal from a recent cookout competed with the eucalyptus trees for dominance of his nostrils. Although he could still smell his sweat and the stink of fear that went along with it.

Archer squatted down behind the fence separating Darling’s place from her neighbor’s.

He waited for a few minutes there, reconnoitering the land in front of him. Finally satisfied, he gripped the top of the wooden fence and easily propelled himself over, landing in the wiry grass of Darling’s yard. He threaded his way up to the back door and tried the knob. It was locked. He didn’t have Dash’s lockpick kit, but he had a pocketknife. The blade was enough to push back the simple latch. The next moment he was inside and on the wrong side of the law, where Archer was getting to be more comfortable than was probably good for him.

He moved through to the kitchen, where he found a small refrigerator that held a glass jug of buttermilk, two eggs, a bunch of apples, and a wedge of cheese. The buttermilk smelled fresh. In the living room he saw the monogrammed cigarette lighter on a table.

Okay, here we go.

Archer sat down in a chair facing the front door and waited. He checked his timepiece. It was almost four in the morning and he had never felt further from sleep. It was like every nerve in his body was doing the jitterbug.

Thirty minutes later the beams from a car’s headlights cut across the front window. He sank down a bit deeper in his chair. He heard the car door open and close, and listened to the high heels poking into the sidewalk until their owner arrived at the front door. A key was inserted and the door opened, and there she was. In the illumination of the porch light he could see that she wore a narrow-brimmed, angled hat, a dark green dress that flared out from the hips, and a white, short-waisted jacket, long white dress gloves, and green pumps that lifted her impressive height ever more skyward. Her purse hung over her forearm. She looked like a knockout, thought Archer. And that cut both ways.

Archer eyed the purse and thought about the two things of importance that might be inside it, because he knew they weren’t in here.

She closed the door behind her, flicked on a switch, and dark became light.

And Archer went from invisible to revealed.

She froze and then gasped, her hand flying to her chest, which was heaving.

That sight made Archer feel better.

“You scared the hell out of me. How did you get in here?”

“Back door was unlocked.”

“No it wasn’t. I distinctly remember locking it.”

“You missed my meaning. I unlocked it.”

Her fearful expression faded and was replaced with a look that under other circumstances might have intimidated Archer. But not tonight.

“Explain yourself.”

“I need a drink. Couldn’t find one in here. Got your flask?”

She opened her purse and looked inside it. “I’ve got rye. Is that okay?”

When she looked up, Darling was staring down the barrel of the .38.

She coolly eyed the gun. “If you don’t want the rye, Archer, just say so.”

“Yeah, I wish a funny line would cut it, Wilma. Have a seat and take it real slow. Anything fast or sudden from you would not be healthy. And hand your purse over.”

“What, are you an armed robber now? It doesn’t suit you, Archer. Admit it, you’re a Goody Two-shoes.”

She tossed the purse to him. He caught it in one hand and set it on the table next to his chair while he watched her perch on the settee across from him and cross her long legs at the ankles, her gloved hands in her lap as prim and proper as could be.

“You want to tell me what this is all about?”

“You never should have given me the address of this place, you know.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to see that was a mistake.”

“But it’s a nice place, Wilma. Real nice. Cost a pretty penny, no doubt.”

“It’s not mine. I’m just renting it for a few days. And you told me to come here.”

“Starting off with a lie? Not the way I want this to go.”

“I’m not lying, Archer,” she said smoothly.

He pulled the letters from his pocket and tossed them down on the table that sat between them.

“People don’t have mail addressed to a place they’re renting for a few days.”

She looked at