Page 12 of Archer
“Come on, Dad…” The empty home screen taunted me, filling my stomach with a feeling more bitter than the grapefruit I had that morning. “Don’t you know how freaky this is?”
My frown deepened as I willed my dad to call me before I wandered back into the living room without any goal in mind other than to find more information on Archer.
I hated to give any compliment to Archer, but there was an odd coziness to the place. The rust colored exposed brick and cluttered walls gave a warmth to the apartment that felt out of place considering how opposite I felt.
Before diving too deep into my sleuthing, I scanned the room. Nearly every shelf neatly decorated with different trinkets and a certain effort was shown in the precise way his sound speakers hung symmetrically on the wall around his mounted plasma television.
It was clear that based on the decorative style and large quantity of action movies that a woman had never lived there with him. The apartment did have style, more style than I would have expected of Archer, but everything had a masculine touch. Black appeared to be the only color he liked, aside from a forest green wingback chair, and the most eye-catching artwork in the room was a massive, surprisingly classy, picture of a motorcycle. Even so, any man being unmarried at his age was a red flag.
I brushed my fingertips along the soft green felt fabric of the out of place chair and the cool leather of his coat then wandered to his bookshelf, expecting to find books about motorcycles or how to pick up women. Crouching down, my eyes widened as I read the names of the authors.Hemingway, Poe, Chekhov…
“These are real books.” My fingers stroked the dozens of classics sitting on the dark wooden bookshelf. Standing back up, I said, “Bet he hasn’t read any.”
When I turned around, I noticed a single shelf hanging from the wall that I hadn’t seen from my prior angle. Strolling toward it to investigate, the first thing that caught my eyes was a framed photograph of two men staring at the camera, one smiling proudly and holding a leather jacket in his hands. Immediately, I recognized the blond man holding the jacket as Archer, but the other I didn’t. He looked much older than Archer, who looked several years younger than he did now. The man was gruff and appeared stern, his dark eyes piercing through mine, making the hair stand on the back of my neck.
Next to the photograph was a pipe and tin that smelled like a skunk. Opening up the lid of the tin, I found a bunch of ground up green leaves that were the definite culprit for the smell. Waving my hand in front of my scrunched nose, I set it back down. Beside the pipe were individual pins, badges, and patches held in plastic display cases. Bending over to inspect them closer, my brows furrowed as I squinted to read the details. All of them shared the same green and yellow design, but the golden pins had the green and yellow pattern painted in the center with two words engraved around it.
“Blazing Rebels…” I muttered and pondered for a moment. “Hey.” My eyes zeroed back in on the photograph and I noticed the sleeve had the same patch that was on the shelf. A dropping sensation fell in my stomach and I turned over my shoulder to peek at the jacket draped over the chair. I dashed over the chair and traced the cool, smooth leather around the patch that was stitched to the sleeve. Green and yellow, just like the picture, and in person I could see the small flame emblem in the center with the words Blazing Rebels circling it.
“Oh, god…” I said, feeling paralyzed with fear.
“I bet it’d look even better on you than me.”
Gasping the moment the first word was spoken, I spun around to see Archer standing in the doorway with the door still open. Daggers shot through my eyes straight at his. “Excuse me?”
“What is this?” I demanded to know, driving my finger into the leather jacket.
He ran a hand through his dirty-blond hair. “Uh… a jacket?”
“What kind of jacket?” I demanded.
“A leather jacket?”
“No.” Picking up the jacket, I pointed to the emblem. “This. What is this?”
“Oh, umm…”
“You’re a criminal,” I said. “Admit it.”
I was surprised, but not swayed, by how taken aback he looked. “Fine. Yes. I’m a criminal.” Behind him, he closed the door then walked toward me, making me step backward.
“Don’t touch me.” I held the jacket up in front of me like a shield. “I’m serious.”
“I’m not going to tou—” He stopped to roll his eyes and sighed with annoyance, making me more offended than scared. “Listen, yes, okay? I’m in a motorcycle club thattechnicallyis involved in crime, but it’s not what you think.”
Shaking my head, I dropped the coat to the chair, saying in a detached voice, “My dad left me alone with a criminal…”
“Will you stop calling me a criminal?”
“Why?” I asked. “What else am I supposed to call you?”
“Archer?”
I scoffed and began walking toward the hallway to hide in my room, but Archer blocked my path, asking, “Can’t we just try to get to know each other? Have a drink, maybe, relax?”
Inside, my blood boiled, and I looked at him with disgust slapped over my face. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
His eyes widened, shaking his head side to side, and held up his palms. “No, no. Of course not.”
