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

“This looks swell,” said Callahan looking around, her eyes dancing with delight.

“It should. It’s the best we have.” She eyed Archer. “Pass your test?”

“If Liberty’s okay with it, then it’s okay by me.”

“Oh, hallelujah. Now let’s go start rehearsal, young lady.”

A few minutes later, Archer walked through the main bar area, only stopping when someone tugged on his sleeve and said, “Sit.”

He looked down and saw Willie Dash perched in an armchair and cradling a cup of coffee in one hand.

Archer sat across from him. “What are you doing here? I thought you went to get your car, and then were going to do some piecing together.”

“How long do you think it takes to pick up a car? And there is that thing in the detective business about coming back to the scene of the crime. And I am piecing things together right here in this chair. So what are you doing here?”

“I brought my friend, Liberty. She starts work here tonight.”

“She the gal plastered all over?”

“She is.”

Dash gave him a hiked eyebrow. “Well, lucky you.”

“It’s not like that between us.”

“That’s what they all say. Did you talk to Wilma Darling?”

Archer filled him in on their conversation.

“So she’s off to Ventura,” said Dash thoughtfully as he sipped his coffee.

“Is that a problem?”

“I don’t know, Archer. I haven’t quite got a handle on all this yet. Lot of moving parts.”

Archer hadn’t told Dash about going out to the island or his conversation with Reggie McKenzie, but he did want to run something by Dash.

“So, the only reason there’s a mayor’s election is because the former mayor died in the bathtub. Is it possible he was murdered?”

Dash eyed him severely. “Of course Ben Smalls was murdered, Archer.”

Archer sat back, a little surprised by the other man’s emphatic response. “But you didn’t do anything about it. The police apparently never concluded one way or another.”

“I’m not a cop, I’m a private dick, so what exactly could I do about it? But look at it this way—depending on who wins the election, certain things are going to happen in this town to benefit someone.”

“So you think the murders are connected to the election?”

“They’re both tied to Douglas Kemper, so I would say yes.”

“What do you think about Armstrong’s take on the mob and boys from Vegas?”

“Why would they want to come here? Like Armstrong said, they can get their hooks into Frisco and LA and Santa Barbara with the same amount of effort. And they’re all bigger prizes than Bay Town.”

“Like you said, you think Pickett is on the take. Low-hanging-fruit kind of thing, if they have him in their pocket.”

Dash nodded slowly. “That’s a good deduction, Archer. Very good. So Pickett might be at the center of this, clearing out the way for those boys to come here.”

“So their preferred candidate is Drake, the dentist. Why?”

“Maybe we need to have a talk with old Drake.”

“You know him?”

“Oh, yeah. Really smart guy, but he’s a dishrag, Archer. With about as much curb appeal as a bag of trash. Kemper would win in a landslide, if he’s allowed to keep running.”

“If Kemper drops out, could someone else enter the race?”

“Deadline was last week. It’s Kemper versus Drake, for better or worse.” He looked at his watch. “Drake will probably be home by now. So let’s go see the tooth fairy.”

Chapter 53

ALFRED DRAKE’S HOME WAS A LARGE two-story dwelling made of red brick painted white. It had views of the ocean on an elevated plot of land that was lush and green and filled with palm trees, live oaks, and pretty much every native species in between.

“Damn, how much does it cost to get your teeth fixed in this town?” said Archer. He pulled the car to a stop in front of the columned verandah that spanned the entire length of the house, with a sea of emerald-green grass spreading out before it.

“For a while Drake was the only quality game in town and he made a tidy sum. Then he invested well and he’s also done some real estate projects around here. He’s a sharp guy, like I said. I found out his father was in real estate in New York and made a small fortune, which went to Drake. He built this place about five years ago.”

Archer gave him a sidelong glance. “Why do I think you might have investigated Drake before?”

“Why, Archer, that’s confidential.” But Dash tacked on a grin. “Number of years ago some guy got really upset over a deal he did with Drake. He thought Drake had cheated him. Turned out my client was the one cheating and just hired me to hassle Drake into a quick settlement. But Drake stuck to his guns. I always respected him for that.”

A black woman in a maid’s uniform answered the door and told them that Drake was out by the pool. She took Dash’s card and left them there while she checked to see, as she put it, “whether Mr. Drake is accepting visitors at this time.”

After she left, Archer said, “I thought we were going to see a dentist, not the president.”

“The man can put on airs,” noted Dash. “In that regard, he’s just like most politicians.”

“Right. Are there any honest politicians?”

“Sure. They’re mostly all honest in the first six months. It’s only the time after that where they convince themselves they can do no wrong and everything that comes out of their mouths is the gospel, but all they really care about is getting reelected.”

“Franklin Roosevelt was pretty good.”

“He was already rich. Nobody could touch him.”

Archer gave him a dubious look. “So you’re saying only rich people are incorruptible?”

“Hell no, they’re the most corrupt of all. But FDR was different. He was rich but he inherited it and then he got polio. That made him see the world in a different light, least I think it did. He got the plight of the workingmen and -women like nobody else since Teddy Roosevelt. Too