An Agent for Amey

by Laura Beers

“That does not bode well for me.”

  “It doesn’t bode well for anybody,” the secretary said, lowering her hand.

  Amey’s eyes darted toward the closed office door. “Mr. Pinkerton isn’t in today?”

  The secretary shook her head. “No, he is on assignment.”

  “When is he not on an assignment?”

  Mrs. Reeves laughed. “That is a good point, my dear.”

  Bringing her gaze back toward Mrs. Reeves, Amey asked, “How are you doing this morning?”

  “I can’t complain too much.” The secretary cocked her head. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “I am,” she rushed to say.

  Mrs. Reeves studied her for a moment. “You appear anxious. Why is that?”

  A grin came to Amey’s lips. “Why were you never an agent, Mrs. Reeves?”

  “Unlike Kate Warne,” Mrs. Reeves started, smiling, “I was content just being a secretary.”

  A lock of blonde hair slipped out of her tight side bun, and Amey tucked it behind her ear. “I’m grateful for all of Kate’s sacrifices,” she said. “Because of her, I was able to become a Pinkerton agent.”

  “She was a good woman, that’s for sure,” Mrs. Reeves stated. “Now, back to my original question. Why are you so nervous?”

  “Well, what happened was…” Her words trailed off when Mr. Hopkins’s door was wrenched open.

  The stone-faced, brawny man, with his black hair slicked back, dressed in a dark blue suit, frowned disapprovingly at her. “Agent Barney,” he said in a gruff tone, “I would like to speak to you.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied as she moved to step into his office.

  Mr. Hopkins closed the door behind her and moved to sit down at his desk. He leaned back in his chair and proceeded to glower at her.

  Amey’s eyes took in the small room, barely large enough to contain the large desk. The walls were white, and no pictures hung from them. There was nothing cheerful about Mr. Hopkins’s office.

  Finally, the supervisor leaned forward and picked up some files off his desk. “You have had an exceptionally busy last few months, agent.” He opened the first file and pulled out a sheet of paper. “You put Robert Baker and his gang behind bars, and you were able to single-handedly discover who was embezzling at Snider & Company.”

  Not sure how to answer, Amey chose to remain silent. It was evident that Mr. Hopkins didn’t want to be interrupted.

  “But what is this?” he asked, pulling out a second piece of paper.

  “I couldn’t say, sir,” she replied.

  He held up the paper. “It is a complaint from the sheriff of Copper Springs about you.”

  “Oh,” she murmured.

  “Oh?” he repeated with a lifted brow. “Is that all you can say about the matter?”

  She winced. “I’m sorry.”

  “Please stop me if I missed something.” He brought the paper back in front of him and started reading. “You barged into a wedding, accused the groom of bank robbery and murder, and you tried to arrest him.”

  “I thought he was…”

  “I know who you thought he was,” Mr. Hopkins interrupted, tossing the paper back onto the desk. “Your obsession over Billy Joe Campbell must come to an end.”

  “How can you say that to me?” she asked, leaning forward in her seat. “He killed my brother.”

  “I daresay that he’s killed more than your brother,” Mr. Hopkins pointed out. “He’s a dangerous fugitive.”

  “Which is why I must stop him!” she declared.

  “No, you need to take a step back and let someone else handle it.”

  “With all due respect, sir, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “It isn’t a request, agent.”

  “I don’t think I can,” she admitted softly, then pressed her lips together.

  Mr. Hopkins let out a deep sigh. “I was afraid of that,” he said. “Which is why I have decided to transfer you to the Denver office.”

  Amey jumped up from her chair. “What? You can’t transfer me!”

  “I can, and I will,” Mr. Hopkins countered, “assuming you want to continue working as a Pinkerton agent.”

  Slowly, Amey lowered herself onto her chair. “But Chicago is my home. I couldn’t possibly leave.”

  “If you don’t report to the Denver office in one week, I will have no choice but to fire you,” Mr. Hopkins explained.

  She felt the blood drain from her face. “Fire me?”

  Mr. Hopkins’s face softened. “Go to Denver and work a few cases,” he encouraged. “You may discover that you prefer it there.”

  “I truly doubt that will be the case.”

  “The scene you caused in Copper Springs embarrassed the Pinkerton Detective Agency, and that sheriff demanded your termination,” he explained. “Frankly, you’re lucky that Mr. Pinkerton didn’t fire you immediately.”

  “But I was between assignments…”

  He held his hand up. “There is no such thing as an off-duty Pinkerton agent, and you know that.”

  “I had to track down that lead,” she argued.

  “That’s the problem, Barney,” Mr. Hopkins began, “you always go half-cocked the moment you think you have picked up the trail of Billy Joe Campbell.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” she attempted.

  Mr. Hopkins lifted his brow. “This isn’t the first time you attempted to arrest the wrong man.”

  She winced slightly. “Billy Joe Campbell is out there somewhere.”

  “Or he could be dead,” he pointed out. “After all, it’s been more than two years since anyone has seen the man.”

  “No, he’s too surly to die.”

  Mr. Hopkins picked up another file from the corner of his desk and placed it in front of him. “I have your train ticket to Denver,” he said, opening the file.

  “Can I please have another chance, Mr. Hopkins?” she asked, hopefully.

  The supervisor gave her a weak smile. “I’m afraid I can’t give you another chance,” he replied. “Ever since the great fire, we haven’t had as many cases come in, and I’m afraid I’ve had to let people go. Believe it or not, you are one of the lucky ones who are being transferred.”

  “Oh,” she said, biting her lower lip.

  “You’re a good agent, Barney,” he pressed. “You have good instincts, and you’ve solved more cases than most of the men in the Chicago office. But my decision is final.”

  “Then I suppose I have no choice but to go to Colorado,” she replied, clasping her hands in her lap.

  “Good choice.” He extended her a train ticket. “I hope you find enjoyment in Denver, Agent Barney. I truly do.”

  She accepted the ticket and rose. “Thank you, Mr. Hopkins.”

  “I’ll wire Mr. Archie Gordon to let him know to expect you in the next week,” Mr. Hopkins said.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  Mr. Hopkins’s expression remained stern, but she heard compassion creep into his voice. “I’ve enjoyed working with you, agent. I have no doubt that you will be a tremendous asset to the Denver office.”

  Amey offered him a weak smile before she turned to leave. After she closed the door behind her, Mrs. Reeves spoke up.

  “Whatever is the matter, dear?”

  She held up her train ticket. “I’ve been transferred to the Denver office.”

  “Oh, my,” Mrs. Reeves murmured. “I hadn’t expected that.”

  Tears came to Amey’s eyes, but she quickly blinked them back. Pinkerton agents did not cry, especially not in public.

  “I don’t want to leave Chicago,” she admitted.

  Mrs. Reeves rose from her chair and came over to embrace her. “You may discover that you prefer the Denver office,” she murmured against her hair.

  “I highly doubt that will be the case.”

  Stepping back, Mrs. Reeves said, “Alexina was transferred to the Denver office just over a month ago, and she willingly chose to stay when Mr. Hopkins aske
d her to return.”

  “That’s true,” Amey reluctantly admitted. “Perhaps I should consider it a grand adventure to be moving to the Wild West.”

  “And you will be closer to your family.”

  Amey’s mood soured. “I suppose so.”

  She had no desire to be near her family.

  Not anymore.

  “I’d better go home and start packing,” Amey said as she moved toward the door.

  Mrs. Reeves offered her a kind smile. “It will all work out. You’ll see.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Reeves,” she replied before she exited the building.

  As she hurried down the steps, Amey attempted to stay positive about her upcoming move. She had moved to Chicago over five years ago after she responded to a newspaper ad for the Pinkerton Detective Agency. They were looking for detectives for their Female Detective Bureau, and she was practically hired on the spot.

  Now she was being transferred to the Denver office. It shouldn’t matter what office she worked out of, as long as she was able to continue working as a Pinkerton agent. She would go to Denver and prove her worth.

  Lifting her chin a bit higher, Amey strode down the sidewalk with a smile on her face and determination in her heart.

  2

  “Put the gun down, Henry!” Lincoln Hoyt ordered as he kept his revolver trained on the short man with blond hair. “And let the woman go.”

  Henry shook his head. “I’m not going back to prison,” he declared as he pressed the barrel of the pistol tighter against the temple of the woman that he was holding captive.

  The young woman whimpered as tears rolled down her cheeks. She was dressed in a silk robe, and her brown hair was falling loosely around her shoulders.

  “Then you shouldn’t have killed someone,” Lincoln drawled.

  “It was an accident.”

  “Tell that to the jury.”

  “They won’t listen to me.”

  Lincoln grunted. “Probably not, especially since this is not the first time you’ve killed someone.”

  “The first time was also an accident,” Henry declared, stepping behind his victim.

  “How do you keep accidentally killing people?” Lincoln asked, annoyed. “Because I have never killed someone ‘accidentally’. It has always been intentional.”

  “We were drinking, and things got out of hand,” Henry explained.

  “Then don’t drink.”

  Henry gave him a perplexed look. “What else am I supposed to do?”

  “Lots of people find enjoyment without drinking alcohol.”

  “That’s just asinine.”

  “Just let the woman go,” he demanded with a frown. He was growing tired of this exchange. “We both know you are going back to jail.”

  “But I don’t want to,” Henry whined.

  “I know you don’t want to, but you were the one who pulled the trigger.”

  “But he cheated at cards!”

  “That’s not my concern,” Lincoln responded. “My job is to arrest you.”

  Henry waved the gun in front of him. “What if I hired you not to arrest me?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t make deals with criminals,” Lincoln replied dryly.

  “Then I’m going to have to kill Betsy,” Henry said, bringing the barrel back to her temple.

  “No, you won’t,” Lincoln asserted.

  “Yes, I will.”

  Lincoln lifted his brow. “Look around you,” he said knowingly. “There’s no one at this brothel who will help you.”

  Henry’s eyes frantically darted around the small bedroom before he finally muttered, “It doesn’t matter, because I’m going to walk out of the brothel with my Betsy.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t let that happen.”

  “Then I’m going to kill her,” Henry stated.

  The young woman whimpered.

  “Again, I’m afraid I can’t let that happen,” Lincoln replied.

  “If you don’t let me walk out of this room then I will kill her. I swear I will!” Henry exclaimed, cocking his pistol.

  Lincoln kept a steady gaze on Henry. He had no doubt that he could end this altercation with just one bullet, but he didn’t want to kill again. He was tired of killing, especially stupid people. It just didn’t seem fair.

  “This is your last warning, Henry,” Lincoln said calmly. “Put your gun down or I’ll have no choice but to shoot you.”

  Henry laughed as he proved his cowardice by ducking behind the young woman. “No one is that good of a shot.”

  “I am,” Lincoln replied confidently.

  The humor was stripped from the killer’s face as he studied the man before him. “Just let me pass,” he barked.

  “No.”

  “Then this woman’s death is on your hands,” Henry attempted.

  “No one has to die here today,” Lincoln said. “Put your gun down and walk away with your life.”

  “But I will go to prison.”

  “Yes, you will,” Lincoln answered matter-of-factly.

  “I just came to Denver to spend time with my Betsy,” Henry complained. “How did you even find me?”

  “The Pinkerton Detective Agency has eyes everywhere.”

  Lincoln watched as beads of sweat trickled down Henry’s forehead.

  “I won’t go back to prison!” he shouted.

  The moment Henry’s finger twitched on the trigger of his pistol, Lincoln fired his revolver and hit him in the middle of the forehead.

  Betsy screamed as Henry fell to the ground with a thud. Lincoln calmly holstered his weapon and approached the hysterical woman.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?”

  The woman’s pale face stared back at him. “Is it over?”

  “It’s over,” he replied. “He’ll never be able to hurt you again.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured as she wrapped her arms around her waist. “I thought he was going to kill me.”

  “I wasn’t about to let that happen.”

  Lincoln’s gaze shifted toward the dead body on the floor, and he cleared his throat. “Do you mind stepping out of the room while I remove his body?”

  Betsy’s eyes filled with tears as she nodded.

  After she departed from the room, Lincoln crouched down next to Henry and sighed. It didn’t have to come to this. Why did criminals always make such poor decisions?

  He squatted down, grabbed the dead man’s right hand and draped it over his shoulder. After a bit of maneuvering, he pulled Henry’s body across his shoulders, being mindful to distribute the dead weight evenly.

  He rose carefully and carried Henry’s body down the stairs and through the entry hall of the brothel. Sadly, this wasn’t the first time he’d had to carry out a dead man from this establishment.

  Many hours later, after a bath and a change of clothes, Lincoln arrived at the Denver office of the Pinkerton Detective Agency.

  He opened the front door and was immediately greeted by the smell of freshly baked cookies. He headed toward the kitchen, where the cook, Pearl, was transferring the cookies onto a plate.

  “May I have a cookie?” he asked hopefully from the doorway.

  Pearl turned toward him with a smile on her face. “Yes, you may, and thank you for asking,” she replied. “Most of the agents just come in and snatch them when I’m not looking.”

  “That’s wrong of them,” he said, walking closer to the plate of cookies.

  Pearl picked up two cookies and extended them toward him. “You have just earned yourself a second cookie, Agent Hoyt.”

  “Thank you,” he replied.

  Lincoln had just eaten his first cookie when Marianne walked into the kitchen and announced, “Archie is waiting for you.”

  “Is he?”

  She nodded. “He has an assignment for you.”

  “Excellent.”

  “You seem pleased.”

  “I don’t like long waits between assignments,” he said with a nod.

  Marian
ne looked at him knowingly. “You could take a vacation,” she suggested. “Perhaps go visit your family in New York.”

  “And how exactly did you know my family is from New York?” he questioned.

  She smirked. “Not only am I Archie’s wife, but I’m also his assistant. Furthermore, I do read the files of each agent.”

  He chuckled. “Ah, my apologies, Mrs. Gordon.” He started walking toward the door. “Thank you for the cookies, Pearl.”

  “You’re welcome, agent,” came the cook’s reply.

  As Lincoln walked down the hallway toward Archie’s office, he found himself feeling excited for his next assignment. He thoroughly enjoyed being a Pinkerton agent, despite the occasional kill.

  He stopped outside of Archie’s door and knocked.

  “Come in,” was the gruff reply from within.

  Lincoln opened the door and walked into the office, leaving the door open. “Marianne told me you wanted to see me.”

  “Yes, I do.” Archie tipped his head toward the door. “Would you mind closing the door? I’d prefer this conversation to remain private.”

  Lincoln lifted his brow at his boss’s request, but he knew better than to ask questions.

  Archie leaned back in his chair and placed his quill in the inkpot. “How did your case go?”

  Walking further into the room, he admitted, “Unfortunately, Henry didn’t want to go back to prison.”

  “Just as I expected,” Archie sighed. “Did you have to kill him?”

  “I did.”

  Archie tossed him a look filled with compassion. “I’d hoped that it wouldn’t come to that, but Henry had been on the run for nearly six months. I knew he wouldn’t go quietly.”

  “That he did not,” the agent confirmed. “He was holed up in a brothel, and he took one of the girls as hostage.”

  Archie picked up a file from his desk and opened it. “Do you have the report filled out for me?”

  Reaching into his brown vest pocket, Lincoln removed a folded-up piece of paper. “I do,” he replied, extending the paper toward Archie.

  Archie accepted the paper and unfolded it. “Did you ever discover why Henry was in Denver in the first place?”

  Lincoln nodded. “He was visiting his favorite lady at the brothel.”

  “The one he took hostage?”

  “That would be the one.”