too much, since he would have had to dig into the dregs of his remaining cash to do so. Still, a woman should not pay for a man’s meal. It just wasn’t done.
“You have any work needs doing, let me know. I can pay off the meal.”
She ran an appraising eye over him. “Oh, I’ll let you know all right. You might come in very handy for what I need.”
Jackie then gave him such a look that Archer felt himself blush for one of the few times in his life.
As they walked out, Archer thought he saw Ernestine glance at him, but that also might have been his imagination. Dickie and his pals had long since left. Archer kept a sharp eye out for them on the street but saw neither hide nor hair of the terrible trio.
It was warm, the air still bone dry as they walked along.
“Does any moisture ever creep into the ether here?” he asked.
“Now and again, but not so you’d notice much. We’re pretty far from the ocean.”
“Guess so.”
“It does brittle your skin. I have to slather on moisturizer after I get out of the bathtub.”
Okay, thought Archer, that was a deliberately low blow, designed to knock him off his stride. And it succeeded beautifully. He nearly ran into a lamppost.
Jackie entwined his arm with hers and said, “You want to head over to the Cat’s Meow? We could do some dancing and quench our thirst for real. No bender, just a couple of highballs.”
“Aren’t you Pittleman’s gal?”
“We see each other from time to time. But I’m not his ‘gal.’ He provides for me.”
“Okay.”
“So you want to go drinking and dancing?”
“I’ll have to take a rain check on that.”
She did not look pleased by his refusal. “I might not ask again.”
“I understand that. Look, you have any idea where your father keeps the Caddy?”
She stepped away from him. “Do I look like a patsy? First, you give me the cold shoulder, and now you ask me to make your job easier, Archer? Why should I? Give me one reason.”
“I can’t think of a single one, Jackie.”
This frank answer seemed to soften the hardened edge she had adopted. “Well, he used to keep it in the barn.”
“Used to?”
“Would you keep it in the same place if a bunch of men had tried to take it?”
“Right. So where, then?”
She put a fist on her hip and stared at him. “There’s a building about a quarter mile behind the barn. My father stores old farm equipment there. If I were you, I’d look there.”
“Any idea where he might keep the car keys?”
“No.”
“That’s okay. I know how to hotwire a car.”
“Do you now? How is that, I wonder?”
“The Germans weren’t always good about leaving the keys behind when they abandoned their vehicles, so the Army taught me what to do.”
“Good old Army,” she said. “Providing skills you can use your whole felonious life.”
“Thanks, Jackie, for the information.”
“Don’t thank me, Archer, it’s your funeral.”
He thought she would just turn and leave, but she didn’t. She rose up on her heeled tiptoes, hugged him tight, and pressed her ruby-red lips against his cheek, leaving her mark upon him. She smelled of gin and lime, and also lavender and maybe the moisturizer she used after climbing naked from the bathtub. She slowly withdrew her body from his, her hands sliding down his shoulders, along his obliques, and then around his waist.
“See you around, Archer.”
“Yeah.”
She turned and left him there on the street.
Right now, he couldn’t have hit a German with a bazooka at a foot’s distance. He took off his new hat and slapped it hard against his thigh, giving himself a sting from the blow. Not so much to rid himself of the ubiquitous dust, but to make himself feel some hurt for allowing a lovely young woman who wanted to drink and dance and maybe do other things with him get off scot-free thinking he was a lame SOB from the east of here.
He went back to the hotel and slept until one in the afternoon dreaming of tubs and moisturizer and a host of college co-eds applying same and who all looked like Jackie Tuttle. He had dinner at a place cheaper than the Checkered Past. After that he stopped at a hardware store, where he bought a clasp knife and a Ray-O-Vac flashlight with batteries for the grand total of a buck-fifty from a man in a dirty undershirt with a bib tucked in gnawing on a chicken