The Reluctant Pinkerton Read online

  “First,” she said, “I’m a Pink.”

  “What?”

  “An operative.”

  “For the Pinkertons?” he asked, aware that the question was inane.

  She nodded. “Allan hired me.”

  “When?”

  “Several months ago.”

  “Have you had many assignments since then?”

  “No,” she said. “William runs the Chicago office, and he doesn’t like me. He couldn’t fire me because of Allan, but he doesn’t assign me to anything.”

  “And what’s going on with you and Allan?” Roper asked. “That is, what was going on?”

  “Oh,” she said, staring at him, and then, “Oh! No, no, nothing like that!”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “but—”

  “No, no,” she said, “Allan had been lonely since his wife died. We started to talk, that’s all. Whenever he came to the offices, he’d stop by my desk and talk to me. One day he asked me if we could have lunch. I thought…well, like you—but that wasn’t it, at all. He was a perfect gentleman. He just wanted to talk. Soon, it became a regular thing and he—knowing what people would think—started to bring me here, where no one would see us.”

  The bartender came over, set the drinks down, and withdrew. Roper didn’t know if the man remembered Dol from other visits, but he acted like he’d never seen her before. The man was obviously good at his job.

  “Well then,” Roper said, “if you talked with him so much, maybe you can tell me how he died?”

  “That’s just it,” she said. “I don’t know. It’s what I want to find out.”

  “And you thought I’d know?”

  “If you don’t,” she said, “you will, as soon as they tell you. Then you can tell me.”

  “That’s all you want?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t want me to talk to William about your work?”

  “I’m quite sure the first thing William is going to do when he gets back to the office is fire me.”

  “And why would he do that?”

  She hesitated, then said, “Let’s just say he’s not the gentleman his father was, and leave it at that.”

  William? Roper thought. The married, with children, William Pinkerton making advances toward one of his female operatives? That didn’t sound like the man Roper knew, but then the Allan Pinkerton whom Dol knew was certainly not the same man whom Roper knew. The two of them had very different experiences with the Pinkertons.

  “You are seeing them later, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said, “for dinner.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Do you know what they want with me?” he asked. “Why they were so anxious for me to come to their father’s funeral?”

  “Not specifically,” she said. “I just know there’s a job they don’t feel they have the right man—or woman—for. I believe they’re going to offer you the job.”

  “Well,” he said, “they’ll be pretty disappointed when I turn it down.”

  “But you have no idea what job they are going to offer you,” Dol said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Roper said. “I’m not a Pinkerton operative.”

  “Why did you quit?” she asked. “Allan said you were the best op he ever had.”

  “Did he?”

  “I probably shouldn’t have told you that,” she said, “but since I did, I’ll tell you this, too…it really hurt him when you left. He thought he’d be turning the agency over to you one day.”

  “I had to live my own life, Dol,” Roper said. He didn’t believe for a minute that Pinkerton would have handed the reins of the agency over to him and not his sons. If that’s what he told Dol, then at least Roper now knew that Pinkerton had been telling her some giant fibs.

  “Well,” she said, “I suppose you did the right thing. They do consider you to be the best private detective in the country.”

  “So they say.” He’d heard that, too, but he didn’t know who “they” were.

  “Listen,” she said, “can we meet for breakfast tomorrow so you can tell me what they wanted you for?”

  “If I say yes,” he answered, “do I get more food for breakfast than I got for lunch today?”

  She stared at him for a moment, then looked at the table and seemed to just realize that they had never ordered food.

  “Oh my,” she said, “I did invite you to lunch, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “They have wonderful sandwiches here,” she said. “Please, let me buy you lunch.”

  “Only because I’m hungry,” he said, “and I’m starting to think I might not have much of an appetite tonight at dinner.”

  She smiled happily—which made her look impossibly young and pretty—and waved at the bartender.

  5

  After lunch Roper promised to meet Dol at his hotel for breakfast in the morning. He wasn’t sure how much he would tell her. He wouldn’t know that until after he talked with the Pinkerton brothers.

  He offered to get a cab and drop her somewhere, but she refused and said she’d see him the next day. She hurried off after that, her heels echoing on the pavement.

  Roper walked to the corner, flagged down a passing cab, and went back to his hotel.

  He killed time finishing his Mark Twain, then washed and dressed for dinner. He went downstairs, had the doorman get him a cab to the Chicago Firehouse Steakhouse on South Michigan Avenue, even though he could have walked it.

  As he entered, he looked around and spotted the brothers sitting toward the back. The Firehouse had a tuxedoed maître d’, but he told the man, “I see my party.”

  “Who would that be, sir?” the man asked, not letting him pass.

  Roper stopped, looked at the man, then decided to just let him do his job.

  “The Pinkertons.”

  “Of course, sir,” the man said. “This way.”

  He followed the man across the crowded room to the table, where both William and Robert looked up.

  “Gentlemen, your guest has arrived.”

  “Thank you, Henry. Would you have the waiter bring us three brandies, please?” William asked.

  “I’ll have a beer, Henry,” Roper said.

  “Of course,” William said. “Two brandies and a beer, Henry.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He gave Roper—his suit and his choice of beverage—a condescending look and walked away.

  “Have a seat, Talbot,” William said.

  The brothers were seated opposite each other. Roper sat down next to Robert, with William across from him.

  “Again,” William said, “thank you for coming—to Chicago, to the funeral, and to dinner.”

  “I have to admit my curiosity is up.”

  “Curious about what, in particular?” Robert asked.

  “Well, what was so all fired important that I come to Chicago, how Allan died and…well, that’s it, for a start.”

  William chose to answer the last question first.

  “We’re still not sure what we’re going to tell the public,” he said. “The fact is Allan had a fall three weeks ago, and bit his tongue. I mean, he bit through his tongue.”

  “How bad a fall?”

  “Not that bad, really,” William said, “but his tongue became infected and…well, it became gangrenous and he…died.”

  Roper stared at the two of them.

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “You’re telling me he died because…he bit his tongue?”

  William and Robert exchanged a look.

  “I heard at the wake that he had a stroke.”

  “Not true,” Robert said, “but we may go with that story.”

  “Maybe he had a stroke, which caused his fall, which caused him to…”

  William was shaking his head.

  “I also heard at the wake something about foul play.”

  “The doctor assured us it was the tongue,” William said.

  “That’s…
that’s…tragic,” Roper said.

  “Exactly,” Robert said.

  The waiter came with their drinks, and William looked at Roper and said, “Do you mind if I order for all of us?”

  “No, go ahead.”

  “Three steak dinners, Andy.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Roper sipped his beer, still stunned by the news of what had caused Pinkerton’s death. Maybe he and Allan hadn’t gotten along, but what a waste for a man to die in his sixties in that way.

  “As for your other question,” William said “we have a proposition for you.”

  It looked as if Dol was right. They were going to offer him a job. He contrived to look more interested in his beer than in what they had to say.

  The brothers exchanged a glance, and Robert nodded. Roper took this to mean that William would be taking the lead. They were, after all, in his backyard. Robert ran the San Francisco office. Roper had been expecting for a long time that the Pinkertons would open a Denver office. He wondered if they would ever ask him to run it, now that Allan was dead. Allan, himself, would have opened it just to compete with him.

  “I’m listening.”

  “We have clients in Fort Worth who are being besieged by…well, let’s say saboteurs.”

  “That’s a fancy word,” Roper said.

  “The Union Stockyard Company has plans to build a stockyard there,” William said. “Mike Hurley is the president of the company. He’s looking for investors—big-time investors—to back the construction. To that end, he’s going to be playing host to possible investors, including a Boston bigwig named Greenleaf Simpson. Now Simpson, should he invest, has plans to stop shipping the cattle out of Fort Worth and start butchering and packaging it locally.”

  “So Fort Worth would no longer just be a stopping-off point,” Roper said.

  “Correct,” William said. “This could mean big money for Fort Worth, and for Texas.”

  “And somebody’s trying to ruin that?”

  “Definitely.”

  “What kind of sabotage are we talking about?”

  “Dead and mutilated cattle, fires, murder—”

  “Murder is more than sabotage,” Roper said. “Who’s investigating the murders?”

  “The local police.”

  “Why not the federal marshals or Texas Rangers?”

  “They haven’t been called in.”

  “Yet,” Robert said.

  “But you assume they will?”

  “Possibly,” William said, “but even then, marshals are not detectives. Neither are Rangers.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “We’ve been engaged to root out the saboteurs,” William said. “In doing that, we would put a stop to the fires, the dead cattle, and murder.”

  “So send someone.”

  “We don’t have anyone to send,” Robert said.

  “You have two thousand men working for you,” Roper said.

  “Strike breakers,” William said, “and manhunters. Not detectives.”

  “You’ve got to have somebody—”

  “No one with your credentials,” Robert said.

  “But I’m not a Pinkerton,” Roper pointed out.

  “And you don’t have to be,” William said. “We’re not asking you to join the agency. We’re just proposing that we…subcontract you.”

  “I see.”

  “We can work out a satisfactory fee schedule,” Robert said.

  “Fee schedule,” Roper repeated.

  At that moment the waiter appeared with their dinners. The conversation—or perhaps “negotiation” would have been a better word—was suspended until he had finished and withdrawn.

  6

  “We know that your fees are high,” Robert said after a few moments.

  “Higher than yours?” Roper asked.

  “That’s not germane,” Robert said. “We’re willing to pay your fee.”

  “I don’t know, fellas,” Roper said, cutting into his steak. It was medium rare, but he didn’t mind. After all, nobody asked him.

  “Are you well known in Fort Worth?” William asked.

  “I’m not, actually,” Roper said. “In fact, I’m really not well known on sight anywhere.”

  “We understand that you are clever with disguises,” Robert said.

  “I’ve had my moments.”

  “Look,” William said, “you can decide on your own approach to the job. Go in as yourself, or go in undercover. It’s up to you.”

  Roper chewed his steak and regarded the two brothers.

  “There’s something else going on here,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Robert asked.

  “Don’t you find this unusual?” Roper asked. “That the Pinkertons would try to subcontract me? Me, of all detectives in the country? Why not Heck Thomas? Frank Dodge? Jim Hume?”

  William hesitated, then said, “You’re better.” Roper could see how much it hurt the man to say it. It almost broke his jaw. And Robert was grinding his teeth.

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

  “I say I’ll have to think about it.”

  “How long?”

  “Just overnight,” Roper said. “I’m not looking to stay in Chicago much beyond that.”

  William and Robert exchanged another of their glances.

  “All right,” William said. “Can we meet tomorrow?”

  “I’ll come to your offices,” Roper said, cutting into his steak again. “This steak is excellent.”

  “Yes,” Robert agreed, “the steaks are very good here.”

  “Very well,” William said, “we’ll see you at the office tomorrow…morning?”

  “Sure, why not?” Roper asked. “Let’s say in the morning.”

  “Very good,” William said.

  “After breakfast.”

  “Yes.”

  They fell into an awkward silence as they began to eat in earnest. Roper decided to keep them talking to him, even if they really didn’t want to.

  “So how do you boys figure to divvy up the agency?” he asked.

  They both looked up from their plates and William said, “Oh, probably as we have it. I will stay here in Chicago, and Robert will handle the San Francisco office.”

  “Any thoughts of expansion?” Roper asked. “New York? Denver?”

  “To expand,” Robert said, “we would have to have someone we trusted to run those offices.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “Not yet,” William said.

  Roper studied the brothers while they ate. They answered whatever question he posed, but did not instigate any conversation of their own. Roper knew that Allan had had a high opinion of his abilities. He probably had not, as Dol had proposed, any intention of turning the agency over to him, but he was sure the boys had heard enough about him from the old man to resent him. It must have been killing them to ask him for his help.

  He pondered the question while they ate. He wondered if their big money clients had perhaps mentioned the possibility of hiring him instead of them. Maybe this was a last-ditch effort to actually get the job? By promising that he would be involved. Or maybe Talbot Roper was starting to have an exaggerated opinion of his own worth. Of course, it would be nice if that was the case.

  “What about women?” he asked suddenly.

  “What?” Robert asked.

  “I’m sorry?” William asked.

  “Female operatives,” Roper said. “How many do you have?”

  “Uh, a few,” William said.

  “None in my office,” Robert said. “It’s no place for a woman.”

  “Hmm,” Roper said, “maybe William doesn’t agree. Or was it Allan who hired the women that you do have?”

  “I, uh, have an open mind,” William said. “There might be some assignments that would be more suited to a woman’s talents.”

  “Hmph,” Robert said.

  Roper wondered if this question had been a bone of contention between the boys and th
eir father? Maybe Dol would have the answer to that.

  Roper decided to leave the boys alone and enjoy his own dinner.

  * * *

  After dinner the three of them left the restaurant and stopped outside for the doorman to hail them a cab. William and Robert were sharing one.

  “How is your family taking it?” Roper asked.

  “Cecily is not doing well,” William said.

  “We are handling it,” Robert assured Roper. “Our father would not want us to let the business suffer.”

  “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.”

  7

  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.