The Reluctant Pinkerton (6 page)

“I’m sure,” Roper said.

“Where are you staying?” William asked.

“The Allerton.”

“Second rate,” Robert opined. “I prefer the Drake.”

“I like the Allerton,” Roper said.

Robert shrugged and said, “To each his own.”

He watched the two brothers load into a cab, and then William turned and said to him, “See you in the morning.”

Roper nodded and the cab drove away.

“Cab, sir?” the doorman asked.

It was July in Chicago but it felt more like spring.

“No thanks,” he said, “I think I’ll walk.”

Roper tried to read that night—another Twain, this one
Punch, Brothers, Punch! and Other Sketches
, a short story collection—but he couldn’t keep his mind on it. There was something else going on with the Pinkerton brothers. He was sure of that, or they wouldn’t be asking for his help. Before he agreed to do this for them, he was going to have to get that out in the open.

He took the book to bed with him, but didn’t last long. He set it aside, doused the light, and went to sleep.

*   *   *

When he came down to the lobby at eight, Dol Bennett was waiting.

“We didn’t set a time,” he said. “Did we?”

“No,” she said, “but you strike me as an early riser.”

“You mind having breakfast here?”

“No,” she said, “you’re buying this time, right?”

He smiled. “Right.”

They went into the dining room. She was wearing another suit like the one she’d been wearing yesterday, this one brown. Before sitting, though, she removed the jacket,
revealing a light blue blouse underneath. It looked like silk to Roper. He was wearing his best three-piece blue suit for his visit to the Pinkerton offices. He had a cut-down Colt in a shoulder rig underneath.

“They must be paying Pinkertons well, these days,” he said.

She knew what he meant, and said, “I have my own money. An inheritance.”

“Good for you.”

“There’s no law against dressing well.”

“No, there isn’t.”

When the waiter came, she ordered a poached egg and some toast. Roper asked for chicken-fried steak and eggs, but was told they didn’t have it. He’d forgotten where he was. “Make it steak and eggs,” he said. He almost asked for grits, but that would have been another mistake.

“Yes, sir,” the waiter said. “Coffee?”

They both said yes.

“So,” she said, “how was dinner last night?”

“My steak was underdone,” he said, “but it was edible.”

“What about the company?”

“Stiff,” Roper said, “and uncomfortable.”

“But you got through.”

“I finished my dinner.”

“Did they make an offer?”

“They sure did.”

“I knew it!”

“Do you know what case?”

She hesitated, then said, “I have an idea.”

Roper didn’t comment.

“Fort Worth?”

“You got it,” he said.

The waiter came with their coffee. They leaned back in their seats to let him pour.

“What did you say?” she asked when the waiter was gone.

“I told them I’d give them my answer today.”

“I could do that job,” she said.

“Could you?”

“I know I could.”

“In the stockyards of Forth Worth?” he asked. “How would you fit in?”

“Undercover,” she said. “I could go in as a…a clerk, or something. Maybe a saloon girl.”

“You’d never pass as a saloon girl.”

“Roper,” she said, “you have to take this assignment.”

“I do?”

“Yes,” she said, “and tell them you want to take me with you.”

“Is that what this was all about?” he asked. “Lunch? Breakfast? Did you really have a relationship with Allan?”

“That’s true,” she said. “We talked, and that was all. But even he wouldn’t speak up for me when it came to assignments. He just made sure they kept me on the payroll.”

“So you need this assignment to keep your job.”

She hesitated, then said, “Yes.”

“Dol,” he said, “even if I take the assignment, I wouldn’t take you with me.”

“But…why?”

“Because I could get myself killed while I’m looking out for you.”

“You wouldn’t have to look out for me,” she assured him. “I can take care of myself.”

“That may be—” he said, but stopped as the waiter came with their food.

Once the waiter was gone, he said, “Eat your breakfast.”

“But—”

He cut into his steak.

They remained silent until the waiter removed their plates and poured more coffee for them.

“So what are you going to do?” she asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“You haven’t made up your mind?”

“No.”

“Why wouldn’t you just say no?”

“There’s something else going on,” he said. “Something else behind their offer. I want to find out what that is.”

“So what are you doing today?”

“I’m going up to the offices to see William and Robert.”

“You think they’ll tell you what you want to know?”

“If they want me badly enough,” he said, “yes.”

He paid the bill and they walked outside.

“When are you going?” she asked.

“Right from here.”

“We can share a cab.”

“You don’t mind being seen with me?”

“We don’t have to go into the building together,” she said.

The cab drew to a stop in front of headquarters of the Pinkerton Detective Agency, on Washington and Dearborn in downtown Chicago. Roper stepped down, helped Dol down, then turned and looked up at the big Eye logo on the three-story facade, accompanied by the words “We Never Sleep.”

“Nobody ever said Allan was subtle,” he said.

“What?” Dol asked.

“Never mind.”

“I’m going across the street for coffee,” she said. “I’ll come inside in a few minutes.”

“Fine,” he said, “I’ll be in William’s office, I guess.”

“Perhaps I’ll see you inside,” she said, and walked across the street.

Roper turned and went inside. He found the reception area in front of William’s third-floor office and presented himself to the woman there, a thickset, middle-aged lady with big horn-rimmed glasses.

“I’m here to see Mr. William Pinkerton,” he said.

“And your name?”

“Talbot Roper.”

“Oh,” she said, “yes. One moment.”

Her pause spoke volumes. He waited while she entered the office behind her, and then reappeared in moments, looking chagrined. Perhaps she’d been chastised for keeping him waiting.

“Please go in, Mr. Roper,” she said, with a lot more respect than she had originally shown him.

“Thank you.”

When he entered, he found both William and Robert waiting for him. William was seated behind a large, oak desk, while Robert was standing in front of the plate glass window. Roper wondered if he had seen him and Dol arrive together.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Roper said.

“Morning,” William said.

Robert just turned and nodded, keeping his arms folded tightly. Roper had the feeling the brothers had been having a contentious moment before he arrived. Maybe one of them wanted him to take the assignment, and one of them didn’t. His vote went to Robert for the dissenting vote.

“Well,” William said, “I expect you’ve made your decision.”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?” Robert demanded.

“You mind if I sit?”

“Of course not,” William said. “Sit. Can we get you anything?”

“No,” Roper said, sitting across from the older Pinkerton brother, “I just had breakfast.”

William nodded.

“I need more information before I make my decision,” Roper said.

The brothers had one of those moments of exchanging a glance.

“What kind of information?” William asked.

“Whatever it is you’re not telling me,” Roper said. “We all know you two would never ask me for anything without a damn good reason.”

Robert turned to look out the window again. William drummed his fingers on the desk.

“There’s pressure,” Roper said. “I want to know from whom.”

“We have to tell him,” William said to his brother.

Robert shrugged without turning.

“You’re right,” William said. “Our client said they wanted the best.”

“And they mentioned me?”

“You and Frank Geyer.”

Roper knew Geyer. He was another former Pinkerton who had opened his own agency, this one in Philadelphia.

“Then why didn’t they approach me or Geyer?” Roper asked.

William hesitated, then said, “It seems they want our organization behind your abilities as a detective.”

“Mine or Frank’s?”

“Either one.”

“So the decision to approach me instead of Frank was whose?”

William hesitated.

“Oh, I get it,” Roper said. “You went to Frank first and he turned you down.”

Neither man replied.

“Come on, boys.”

“Frank doesn’t like Robert,” William said.

“And the feeling is mutual.”

“But you guys don’t like me either,” Roper said, “and I’m really not crazy about either of you.”

“Our father had more respect for you than he did Frank Geyer,” William said.

“Then why did you go to Frank first?”

“He was closer,” Robert said. “There was a chance you wouldn’t make it here in time.”

“In time for the funeral?”

“Or the job,” William said. “Our clients are getting…impatient.”

Roper knew he could have demanded to know who
the clients were. All the clients, since there was obviously more than one. But that didn’t matter much to him. If he took the job, he’d be dealing with the Pinkertons.

And he was considering taking the job, although he wasn’t sure why. Maybe that was something he’d have to discover about himself later. He hadn’t been to Fort Worth in a while, not since it had become more than just a stopover for the cattle on its way to the Kansas City railhead.

“What do you say, Roper?” William asked.

Robert turned to receive his answer. He was still grinding his teeth.

“Why don’t we sit down,” Roper said, “and hash out that fee schedule you mentioned.”

Fort Worth, Texas

Talbot Roper was in his early forties, tall, handsome, clean shaven, and usually well dressed. “Andy Blake” was in his mid-forties, tall, rumpled looking with hair slightly graying and receding, grayish beard stubble, and dressed in threadbare clothes that might have been expensive once, but had seen better days.

After establishing his “fee schedule” with the Pinkertons, Roper had gone back to his hotel room to figure out his approach. The Pinkertons got him railroad tickets to get him as close to Fort Worth as they could, after which he would ride in. In the end, Roper had decided to ride into Forth Worth as “Andy Blake,” leaving Talbot Roper, his clothes, his guns, and his horse behind. He rode an old sorrel, carried a worn Colt on his hip, wore sweat-stained clothes and hat. He figured to get a job in the stockyards, start his investigation there.

But first he had to establish his new identity, get a hotel room, and start drinking as Andy Blake.

*   *   *

Fort Worth was an experience for the olfactory senses. The aroma from the stockyards—largely manure—permeated almost the entire city. And it certainly added to the dubious attractions of the area known as “Hell’s Half Acre.”

The Half Acre was located between the railroad station and Courthouse Square, and was the place the cowboys, drovers, railroad workers, firefighters, stockyard workers, and gamblers went to sow their wild oats. There were plenty of saloons, gambling halls, and bordellos to accommodate them all.

The place he chose to do his drinking was a saloon called the Bullshead. Roper was only standing at the bar for a few moments, still nursing his first beer, when he realized he was in the right place. Behind him was an entire table of men who worked in the stockyards. If the smell wasn’t a dead giveaway, their conversation—loud and bawdy—certainly did.

As “Andy Blake,” Roper decided to drink for a couple of days before making any contact with the stockyard workers. After that he’d try to get a job there himself, but first he needed to make some friends.

On the third day in town, he made his move…

*   *   *

He waited until the Bullshead was in full swing, the noise deafening, the smoke suffocating, the gambling intense. Saloon girls were sashaying around the room, delivering drinks and avoiding the grasp of most of the customers.

One girl—a willowy blonde with a pretty face—came over and leaned on the bar next to him.

“This is your third night here,” she said.

“Is it?”

“I seen you the last two nights,” she said. “What’s your game?”

“What do you mean?”

“You just stand here and drink,” she said. “You don’t gamble, you don’t grab at the girls.”

“I’m new in town,” he said. “I’m just tryin’ to get my bearings.”

She studied him, looking him up and down, and said, “You don’t feel right.”

Just what he needed, a saloon girl with good instincts.

“Would you like it better if I grabbed you?” he asked with a leer.

“I might,” she said, “but I don’t think you would. You look like a man with class who’s slummin’.”

“Don’t you have some work to do?” he asked. “Somebody’s lap to sit in?”

She grinned and said, “Yeah, I do, but I ain’t done with you.” She closed one eye. “My name’s Nancy. I’ll figure out your game. You wait and see.”

He watched her walk away and changed his plans for the night.

From observing the men for three days, he had made his choice. There was a big, loud fella who sat with the stockyard crew who always looked ready for a fight. He drank a lot, grabbed at the girls, and wasn’t very smart. He figured picking a fight with this guy would make an impression on the stockyard crew. But now that Nancy was keeping an eye on him, he figured he better put it off for another night.

He finished his beer, paid his bill, and left the saloon, deciding to call it a night.

*   *   *

He’d gotten himself a room in a dive near the stockyards, close enough to be able to smell the manure. As he walked from the saloon to his hotel, he became aware that somebody was following him.