“I need the money. I don’t want to bash hog brains in.”
She looked at him in confusion. “Hog brains?”
“Never mind.”
“Now, when you’re ready to head out to my daddy’s place, let me know. I’ll give you the keys to the Nash. It’s over in a covered garage on Fulsome Street. You can’t miss it.” She gave him directions to the place. “Just leave the keys in the glove box when you get back.”
“I will. Thanks.”
“And Archer? Be careful when you go out there.”
“Your old man pulled a shotgun on me last time I was there. Careful is all I’m going to be.”
Chapter 22
Archer rose early the next morning, washed his face, armpits, and other strategic locations of his person in the communal bath, put on fresh socks and underwear, and headed down the hall. He halted when he saw the door to 615 standing open.
“Hello?” he said, poking his head in.
The door swung fully open, and there was Shaw eyeballing him. He had on another suit, a faded gray double-breasted with a black-and-white polka-dot tie and a pair of scuffed black moc toe shoes. His hair was neatly combed and his features fresh. He smelled of aftershave and had another unlit stogie perched in his mouth.
“You’re up early, Archer.”
“Don’t like to let the grass grow under my feet. You never know when you might get yanked off ’em.”
“Let me ask you something. Come on in here.”
Archer stepped through and Shaw closed the door behind them. He pointed to the connecting door. “You ever been in that room?”
“No. And if my damn fingerprints are on that doorknob then somebody put ’em there.”
“Get off your high horse and just listen. We didn’t find a single fingerprint on the two doorknobs there, or the two on the hall door to 617.”
“Okay.”
“You find that puzzling?”
“Should I?”
“Presumably he went into that room on occasion? Why would there be no prints there?”
“You mean someone might have wiped them off?”
“Bingo.”
Archer looked at the connecting door. “Jackie told me he had the two rooms, but she didn’t tell me what for. Thought it was a waste, a man having two rooms. But she said he wanted ’em, and the man owns the whole hotel, so he can have what he wants.”
“Interesting. How’s your ‘job’ coming?”
“Well, I met with Mr. Pittleman and his wife before he was killed to let them know something.”
“Really now, what was that?”
“That Mr. Tuttle had apparently torched the car that was collateral for the loan from Mr. Pittleman that I was trying to collect for him.”
“Did he, by God?”
“I didn’t see him do it, but I saw the Caddy all burned up.”
“What were you doing out there, then?”
“Trying to get the damn car. It was collateral after all. That’s legal, right? Pittleman said it was.”
“Don’t know, Archer. I don’t do anything with debts and collateral and such.”
“Well, since I didn’t touch the car, no harm, no foul regardless.”
“Why wouldn’t Tuttle pay back the loan if it’s owed?”
“His daughter was hanging out with Pittleman, and Lucas Tuttle hated that. Told me he’d pay the loan if Jackie came back home. So long as she was with Pittleman, he wasn’t paying.”
“So Old Man Tuttle had a grudge against Pittleman, then?”
Archer was alarmed. “Now hold on. Don’t go get all riled up about him. He wasn’t going to do anything against Pittleman. I told him I was working on it. And, hell, if he was going to kill the man, he wouldn’t use a knife. He woulda shot him with the same damn Remington he pointed at me when I went out there.”
Shaw shook his head and grinned.
“What?” asked Archer.
“I just right now put up another plausible suspect to have killed Pittleman and you shot it down, boy. Are you dumb or just too honest, or both?”
“I did my time. I’m not looking to have anyone go behind bars if they did nothing wrong. I know how that feels.”
“So, you were innocent, were you?”
“Hell, yes, I was.”
“If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that.”
“Yeah, I know, you’d be as rich as a Rockefeller.”
“No, I’d be richer.” He eyed the connecting door to 617. “Want to see what’s in there?”
“You want me to?”
“Maybe you’ll see something I missed.”
Shaw opened the door and they passed through. It was then that Archer could see why the man wanted two rooms.
“Is this his office?” he said, looking around.
“It is indeed.”
There was a large desk with a glass top with a squat black phone sitting on it and a slim white phone book next to it. On the other side of the desk was a tobacco pouch; a briar pipe with a worn mouthpiece was aligned next to it, and a box of Van Dyck cigars sat alongside that. A calendar sat in its own holder on the desk glass with the days ink-filled with appointments and meetings, and a few manila files were next to it. Behind the desk was an oak shelving unit full of stacked paper, files, and an odd book or two having to do with land-title issues, at least that was what Archer gathered from reading off the spines. Against one wall was a four-drawer wooden file cabinet with alphabet ranges written on them from A to Z, top to bottom. Comfortable chairs and a couch were on the other side of the room. A full bar was set up against one wall, with an empty silver ice bucket and scooper off to the side. Though it was still morning, Archer looked lustfully at the bottles lined up there.
“You poked around already?”
Shaw nodded. “Checked his calendar and such. Didn’t find much there. But I did find some interesting things.”
“Like what?”
“Man was sick. Dying, actually.”
“Who? Pittleman? You got to be kidding?”
Shaw shook his head. “Found some medical reports. Man had a brain tumor. Inoperable, it said. Checked with his doctor. He confirmed it.”
“Funny.”
“What is?”
“First night I met him, Pittleman clutched at his head. Said it was the bad liquor.”
“Nope, it was cancer.”
“How long did he have?”
“Not long, the doc said.”
“Damn. So why kill the man if he was already dying?”
“That’s the question, Archer. But then your motivation would have nothing to do with that. If you wanted Jackie Tuttle, you wouldn’t want to wait on it. And by your own admission just now, you didn’t know he only had a little time left to live.”
“I never wanted a woman bad enough to slit a man’s throat, Mr. Shaw.”
Shaw perched on the edge of the dead man’s desk. “What do you know about Pittleman?”
“Hear he’s the richest man around. Owns most of the town. He’s got a place outside of Poca almost as big as this hotel. His wife is okay with him seeing Jackie, or at least she knows about it. Mr. Pittleman spoke about it right in front of her while I was there.”
“Did he now? What else?”
“I helped haul some stuff from here to his trucking warehouse the other day. Got paid a dollar for it. By a man named Sid Duckett. He works for Pittleman. Met another man there too, name of Malcolm Draper. He works for Pittleman, too. He’s his business manager. Man carries a gun.”
Shaw rubbed at his thin mustache. “Okay.”
“Anything else you find?”
In answer, Shaw picked up some pieces of paper and handed them to Archer.
“Didn’t find those in here. Found them in the trash bins behind the hotel.”
“You checked the trash bins?”
“You always check the trash bins, Archer. I even looked at the one in your room. Only found a drained gin bottle and empty packs of Lucky Strikes.”