She ignored this and said, “If things don’t work out with Mr. Pittleman, I have other positions, as I said. You can earn money to pay him back what you owe.”
“I really do appreciate that, Miss Crabtree. More than you can know. But the fact is, the slaughterhouse job doesn’t really appeal to me. Now, old Dickie Dill might favor bashing hog skulls in for cash in his pocket, but it’s not something I’m suited for, being human and all.”
He thought she might laugh at this last part, but she fought it long and hard and her cold side won the day. “A job is a job. You think everybody loves what they do for a living?”
“Do you?”
“I do not have to answer that.”
“I know that. I’m just making conversation, since you’re still here.”
This seemed to sting her a bit, something he had clearly not intended.
“Well, I’ll let you get on with your ‘thinking’ then.”
Hiding his self-inflicted chagrin, he tipped his new hat at her and watched as the woman crossed the street and entered the Cat’s Meow without a backward glance at him.
He was cursing himself for having now messed up twice with beautiful young women, when he saw the pair navigating down the street.
Pittleman was dressed in a seersucker suit with a boater hat sporting a red-and-blue band, and brown and white wingtip shoes. Jackie Tuttle rode on his left arm and was bedecked in a tight lavender dress and a short-waisted white jacket with narrow lapels over it. Her legs were encased in black seamed stockings, and her feet in black heels with fancy laces around her ankles, the mere sight of which gave Archer the spine shivers. She wore a lavender beret over her dark hair.
He had never seen a more beautiful woman, other than Ernestine Crabtree minutes before. If someone had told him a place like Poca City could hold two such alluring women, he would have called the person either a liar or cockeyed beyond belief.
He slunk back behind a conveniently placed sycamore growing up out of the street as they passed, and so they did not see him as they entered the bar.
About two hours later Ernestine Crabtree exited the premises. Archer looked for but failed to see the companion to whom she had referred. He kept behind the tree as she looked around, perhaps for him, or possibly others. Then, despite the height of her heels, she began walking quickly down the street with elegant strides of her long legs.
He watched her go until she was nearly out of sight. He was about to turn back when Archer saw something that made him leave his post outside the bar and take up following Crabtree.
Chapter 12
THESE BOYS JUST don’t take a hint, thought Archer.
The subject of his frustration was the burly and unkempt Dan Bullock, who was currently following Crabtree. This was why Archer had left his post at the Cat’s Meow. His fellow ex-con was stealthily making his way from cover point to cover point as the woman walked along.
Archer felt he was back in Italy threading his way through a bombed-out village as he slipped along in the hopes of uncovering some information to help him and his fellow soldiers. He knew very well what Bullock was doing. He just didn’t know the exact particulars of his intentions in following a woman late at night. But he knew that none of them were good for Crabtree.
They had entered a neighborhood of cute bungalows with little shutters on the windows and tiny brown lawns. Archer thought it seemed like a nice place to call home. Bullock seemed to like these surroundings better for his purposes; he picked up his pace, closing the distance between him and his prey. There was no one else around.
Except for Archer, twenty yards behind.
Bullock took something from his pocket. Under the moonlight, Archer saw a flash of metal.
It was a knife.
Archer started to sprint forward.
He needn’t have bothered.
When Bullock was still five feet from his target, Crabtree turned. From her sizeable envelope purse the woman had taken a walnut-gripped .38 Colt Detective Special snub-nosed with a three-inch barrel. She took aim at Bullock’s broad chest as the big man came to a stop so fast he nearly toppled over.
“What in the hell!” he cried out.
Crabtree calmly looked him over and noted the knife in his right hand. “Mr. Bullock, first, drop the knife before I put a large hole in