side of town, bath and shower down the hall. Dollar a day. You?”
“The Derby. But I’ll be moving, I ’spect.”
“Yeah, I started out there, too. Guess we all do, but then I moved on. Can’t afford the damn Derby. You working yet?”
Archer hesitated. “Looking around. You know a man name of Hank Pittleman?”
“Pittleman? Yeah, heard ’a him. He’s some big wheel around town.”
“Saw him coming out of a place called the Cat’s Meow last night and we struck up a conversation.”
Dill’s face scrunched up like a frost-bit flower. “You listen up, Archer. Don’t you go near that place.”
“Well, I know we’re not supposed to.”
“No, what I mean is they check for our kind there, boy.”
“Come again?”
“They got, what you call, plants in there. They look for ex-cons breaking parole there. It’s a temptation, like. Send your ass right back to prison in a heartbeat, same as you just now told me if I messed with Ernestine Crabtree.”
Archer’s features remained inscrutable. “Is that right? Well, thanks for the warning. Won’t catch me in there.” Yet Archer wondered if he already had been caught. But then wouldn’t Crabtree have mentioned it?
“Sure thing. Hey, maybe we ought to get together some time.”
Archer shook his head. “No can do, Dickie.”
“Huh, why’s that?”
“Rule Number 2.”
“Come again?”
“Rule Number 2 on our parole list. You can’t be hanging around with other ex-cons. Didn’t you read the papers?”
Dill looked chagrined. “Well, reading ain’t never been my strong suit, boy.”
“They had a book depository at Carderock.”
“Book depository, what’s that then?”
“Like a library.”
“Ain’t nobody told me about that. But then again, I don’t much like books.”
Archer nodded. “Well, good luck,” he said, without any enthusiasm.
He left Dill there and walked off into the sunshine with forty dollars in his pocket and the rest of the day to figure out.
Chapter 5
POCA CITY HAD A REASONABLE NUMBER of distractions fraught with legal and other peril; however, Archer managed to avoid them all that day. He wasn’t sure about the next day, though. His natural defenses did have their limits. And when he was presented squarely with choices of right and wrong, Archer could be reasonably counted on to miss the angel’s cue about 20 percent of the time on a good day. But then again, he had been truthful with Ernestine Crabtree—he did not want to return to prison.
He mostly walked the pavements, halting to eat a ham and cheese sandwich for his lunch outside while sitting on a turned-over box, and later an ice cream cone bought from a uniformed Good Humor man perched in his blue-and-white truck. They jawed about matters both important and frivolous. He looked for but never saw Miss Ernestine Crabtree with the murderous father, though he kept a constant sight line on the court building. He thought she might come out to enjoy the sunshine and perhaps smoke one or two, but that never happened. He didn’t know why he wanted this. He was not going to have anything other than a professional relationship with the woman, but the note he’d found and the lawman’s leer and Dill’s telling him about the woman’s violent past made him curious about her.
His spending spree had cost him all of fifty cents, with the twin Jacksons lying in the depths of his pocket undiminished. He managed to scrounge a cigarette off a passing stranger, and he sat on a bench near the town square taking his time whittling it down and watching all who passed by in front of him. There was prosperity in the air, comingling with those clearly in economic despair. But those on that woeful side of the equation would no doubt work hard to get to the “other side” with all due speed, rising to the mountaintop to look down on others scrambling madly for their piece of the pie. And that, to Archer, was the fledgling American dream in a nutshell, particularly after a war that had knocked the stuffing out of just about everyone.
Archer had good reason to soak in as much of Poca City as he possibly could. This would be his home, at least for the foreseeable future, and he had made friendly with as many folks as he could on his walking tour, at the same time foraging for information to the extent he could without raising their suspicions. He had learned that some had short fuses, and he was not looking to make enemies of any sort.
Like Dill, many had heard of Mr. Hank Pittleman, though the opinions of