The Reluctant Pinkerton

by Robert J. Randisi

  * * *

  “Blake,” Orton said from behind his desk, “have a seat.”

  Roper sat down.

  “I have a favor to ask,” Orton said.

  “A favor?”

  “You strike me as being a lot smarter than these others.”

  “What others, sir?”

  “The rest of the men who work for me,” Orton said. “Like the Fixx boys.”

  Roper started to speak, but Orton cut him off.

  “Don’t get defensive,” Orton said. “I know you and the boys have a friendship. They’re good workers, but they’re not very smart. You are.”

  Roper was starting to think he was going to have to work on his undercover skills.

  “Sir,” Roper said, “I’ll do whatever job you assign me.”

  “I’d like you to work with me,” Orton said.

  “Sir?”

  “I need somebody right in here,” Orton said, “and somebody who can work auctions with me.”

  “I’m not an auctioneer, Mr. Orton.”

  “Stop calling me sir and Mr. Orton,” Orton said. “Just call me Pete. Or boss, if you want.”

  “Okay, boss.”

  “I don’t need an auctioneer, I need somebody to work behind the scenes,” Orton said. “Somebody who can read and write. You can read and write, can’t you?”

  “I can.”

  “And can you do math? Sums?”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “Then I’d like you to take a clerk job,” Orton said. “It’ll keep you from having to work with the cows, keep you out of the manure. Whataya say?”

  Roper hesitated, then said, “I say okay.”

  “Good.” Orton opened his top drawer, took out a brown envelope, and handed it across the desk.

  “What’s this?” Roper asked.

  “Expense money. I need you to get cleaned up, get a haircut and a shave, and buy some new clothes.”

  “Is this an advance on my salary?”

  “No, that’s company money,” Orton said. “If you’re gonna work with me, you need to be presentable. Get it done and come back after lunch, ready to work.”

  Slightly bemused, Roper stood and said, “Okay. You’re the boss.”

  Outside it occurred to Roper that a haircut and a shave would divest him of a good portion of his disguise. But since he had a good week’s growth on his face, he decided to keep the mustache.

  So far during his time in Fort Worth, two people had judged him to be something other than what he was striving to appear to be. Nancy thought he was more, and Orton thought he was smarter. But at least Orton was not sending men after him to hurt or kill him.

  He went in search of a barber.

  * * *

  After getting his shave and haircut, he checked his reflection in the mirror. The haircut had managed to get rid of most of the gray in his hair. The same could be said for the shave, but at least the mustache had some gray in it.

  From there he went to a nearby mercantile to look at clothes. He knew Fort Worth had some actual men’s clothing stores, but he didn’t want anything too fancy. He assumed his boss simply wanted him to wear clean clothes. Besides, he didn’t want to go to the higher-class parts of town. He had to maintain his cover, even though two people were acting as if they’d already seen through it.

  25

  Nancy Ransom left her room at the Bullshead and used a side door to leave the building. She didn’t want to be seen leaving by anyone whether it was inside or out.

  When she got to the main street, she walked quickly, keeping close to the buildings. She went three blocks and then turned right. She stopped at the first building she came to, went up the stairway that ran up the side of the building, and knocked on the door. When it opened, she stepped inside quickly.

  “I was wonderin’ when you’d show up,” Eddie Parker said, closing the door.

  “Things have been happenin’,” she said.

  “I thought maybe you didn’t want your cut.”

  “Oh, I want it.”

  He laughed, walked to a chest of drawers, and opened the top one. He took out a small pouch and handed it to her. She hefted it, then tucked it into the purse she was carrying. As always, she tried not to stare at his huge ears.

  “You better go over to the sheriff’s office today,” she told him.

  “What for?”

  “Manko’s there,” she said. “In a cell with Riggs and Dolan.”

  “What happened?”

  “They tried for that stranger again.”

  “The one who killed Giles?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What happened?”

  “He got in a fight with the three of them. A couple of stockyard workers stepped in and helped him. Then he shot Dolan.”

  “Dead?”

  “No, he shot him in the shoulder. But the sheriff kept the three of them in jail—overnight, I guess. Maybe they need to be bailed out.”

  “Why should I bail ’em out?” he asked. “I ain’t spendin’ my money on your mistake. Why’d you send them after him?”

  “There’s something off about him.”

  “Then leave ’im alone,” Parker said. “The way you described him, he don’t sound like he’s got enough money to make it worth our while.”

  “Maybe not,” she said, “but…I don’t know. He’s just…wrong.”

  “Well, take my advice, Nancy,” he said. “Leave ’im be. We got a good thing goin’ here with you pointin’ out our marks and me pickin’ out the boys to send after ’em. Let’s just both keep doin’ our jobs.”

  “I suppose.”

  “And if you want them three bailed out, you’re gonna have to do it yourself.”

  She studied Parker for a moment. He was in his late forties, had been walking on the wrong side of the law for years, but never anything big. He’d never been to jail. He knew when to act and when to wait. Maybe she should take her clue from him and leave that fellow alone.

  “All right,” she said. “Thanks for my cut.”

  He opened the door for her and said, “You sure you don’t wanna stay and have a drink?”

  “It’s a little early for me, Eddie.”

  “We could skip the drink,” he said hopefully.

  She had never gone to bed with him, and never would. That would be mixing business with pleasure.

  “Some other time, Eddie,” she said, like always.

  “Yeah,” he said, and closed the door.

  26

  Roper came out of the mercantile with a package of new shirts under his arm. There was also a new pair of trousers in there. He started to cross the street when he saw Nancy coming around the corner. He ducked back, but she hadn’t spotted him.

  He watched her walk by, thought about following her, but if she was going back to the Bullshead—and she was heading in that direction—it wouldn’t do him any good. He stepped out and walked after her, increasing his speed as he went. When he grabbed her arm and turned her around, she looked annoyed, but not frightened.

  “You!” she said.

  “Me.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I wanna talk to you,” he said.

  “If you don’t let go of my arm, I’ll scream.”

  “We’re in Hell’s Half Acre,” he said. “What’s anybody gonna do?”

  She glared at him.

  “All right,” she said, “but not on the street.”

  He looked around, saw a sad-looking café across the street.

  “There,” he said.

  “That dump?”

  “We don’t have to eat there,” he said. “I just wanna talk.”

  “Let’s go to the Bullshead.”

  “No,” he said, “I’m not havin’ you sic any more of your friends on me.”

  She frowned, then said, “Okay, just let go.” He did, ready to grab her again if she ran, but she didn’t. They walked across the street and stepped into the café. The sixtyish owner looked shocked that a
nyone would walk in.

  “We just want coffee,” Roper said to him.

  “Fine, fine,” the squat little man said, just happy he had some customers.

  The place was completely empty, so Roper grabbed a table for two against the back wall.

  “Sit,” he said.

  For a moment he thought she’d bolt, but she relented and sat.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “I wanna know why you sent Manko and his friends to start a fight with me last night,” he said. “I almost had to kill one of them.”

  “It was a mistake,” she said.

  “I’ll say,” he replied, “but why?”

  “Look,” she said, “it’s just all been a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

  “You’re not answerin’ my question,” he said.

  The owner came with a pot of coffee and two cups. He poured for them, then stood with his hands clasped and asked, “Anything else?”

  “No, that’s fine,” Roper said.

  The man withdrew.

  “What is it about me that sent you after me?” he asked.

  Nancy studied him for a moment, then said, “You’re wrong, mister. I been in the Half Acre, and places like it, for a lot of years. You don’t belong here.”

  “I don’t disagree with you,” he said, “but I ain’t got the money to go anywhere else.”

  “Well,” she said, “I guess that makes two of us.”

  Now it was his turn to study her.

  “You know,” he said finally, “I don’t think it’s the money that keeps you here. For you, it’s somethin’ else.”

  “There!” she said, pointing at him, her eyes flashing with something—not anger, but something else.

  “What?” he asked.

  “That comment right there,” she said. “That’s what I mean about you not belonging here.”

  She stood and started to leave, but he caught her arm.

  “Do us both a favor,” she said, yanking her arm from his grasp. “Stay away from the Bullshead. Stay away from me. Do whatever it is you came here to do, and get out of Fort Worth.”

  “Nancy—”

  He stood up, but she rushed to the door and ran out.

  He sat back down, thought about the exchange, and decided she was probably right. He should get on with his business and forget about her. Providing, of course, that she did the same thing and didn’t send any more men after him.

  The owner came over and said, “Pretty girl.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “She didn’t drink her coffee.”

  “No,” Roper said. He picked up his cup and took a sip, then another one. He looked up at the man in surprise. “This is damned good.”

  “Hmph,” the man said, tapping his chest with his hand, “you think I don’t know that?”

  27

  Roper finished the surprisingly good coffee and vowed to go back there to try the food. He stepped outside and glanced in the direction Nancy had come from. He walked that way and looked around the corner. Buildings on either side. She could have come out of any of them, or none of them.

  The purse she’d been carrying had been swinging heavily. A gun? he wondered. Or a poke? Maybe she had just come from seeing her partner, getting her cut of the bushwhack money?

  She’d headed back in the direction of the Bullshead. He had to figure she was going back there. He had no more time to spend on her, though. He had to get back to work so he wouldn’t get fired on his first day.

  He tucked his package under his left arm, keeping his right arm—his gun hand—free. Maybe she intended to leave him alone from now on, but there was no point in taking any chances.

  * * *

  When he went back to work, Orton told him to go into the storeroom and change into his new clothes. After he came back out, the man started to educate him about the paperwork that needed to be done. He had even brought in a desk for Roper to sit at.

  During the course of the day, Roper realized that Orton was constantly on call. Men would come running in with something demanding his attention, and at times his actual presence. At one point he ran out with a man, and when he came back, his boots were coated with manure.

  Before going into the water closet to wash them off, he told Roper, “This is the kind of job I’m gonna want to delegate to you eventually.”

  “You expect to have a lot of confidence in me,” Roper observed.

  “I hope to,” Orton said. “I’m hoping that I’m right about you and you’re as smart as I think you are.”

  “I hope so, too,” Roper said.

  Orton went to clean his boots. Roper took the opportunity to go to the man’s desk and riffle it, in a controlled manner so that nothing would seem amiss. By the time Orton came back out, wiping his hands on a towel, Roper was back at his own desk, no wiser. He’d found nothing revealing on Orton’s desk.

  If somebody was sabotaging the operations in the stockyards, no one was in a better position to do that than Orton himself. He was Roper’s first suspect.

  But given the number of men who worked in the stockyards, who inhabited Hell’s Half Acre, and Fort Worth in general, he was the first of many.

  * * *

  At the end of the day, the Fixx brothers came by the office to meet him. As he came down the steps, and saw them standing there, grinning happily, he knew he had to look at them as suspects, too.

  “Hey, how was your first day?” Larry asked.

  “Look at your new clothes,” Stan said.

  “It went okay,” Roper said.

  “Let’s get a drink, huh?” Stand said.

  “Sure,” Roper said. “Let’s go.”

  “But not the Bullshead, right?” Larry asked, slapping Roper on the back.

  “Yeah, that’s right, boys,” Roper said. “Not the Bullshead.”

  * * *

  The Fixx brothers took Roper to a saloon just outside Hell’s Half Acre called Sullivan’s. The difference a few feet made was amazing. The place was clean, with high ceilings, honest games, pretty girls, a good piano player, and cold beer.

  They stood at the bar with their beers, and nobody jostled Roper’s arm, on purpose or otherwise.

  “So how’d the first day go?” Larry asked.

  “How you like bein’ Orton’s clerk?” Stan asked.

  “The day went fine,” Roper said, “and it’s better than bein’ knee deep in cow manure all day. You boys stink.”

  “That ain’t manure,” Stan said. “That’s how Larry smells all the time.”

  “Fuck you,” Larry said good-naturedly.

  “That why all the girls are stayin’ away from us?” Roper asked.

  “Naw,” Larry said, “they’re stayin’ away ’cause they don’t wanna be seen with no stockyard clerk.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Andy,” Stan said. “He wishes he could work inside, and not with all the cows.”

  “I’m buyin’ you boys another round,” Roper said.

  “Clerks,” Stan said. “God love ’em!”

  28

  Roper was impressed by the Fixx brothers.

  They didn’t gamble because they knew they couldn’t afford it. Each brother bought one round of drinks after Roper bought the first round, and then they went back to buying their own. The brothers apparently played and drank within their means, which made them more intelligent than Roper had originally thought.

  Roper adapted the same outlook for Andy Blake. He nursed his last beer and stayed away from the gaming tables. He remained at the bar and talked with the brothers, and eventually brought the subject around to the problems that had beset the stockyards of late.

  “It’s almost as if we’re cursed,” Stan said. “Nothin’ is going right. Equipment is failing, cows are dyin’—”

  “Dying of what?” Roper asked.

  “They don’t know,” Larry said. “We ain’t on the inside, but we heard the vets are stumped.”

  “And I heard somethin’ about somebod
y dyin’?” Roper said.

  “Yeah, that new fella,” Larry said. “He fell into the pens and somehow got trampled to death.”

  “The steers musta been scared ta death to do that,” Stan said.

  “He get on anybody’s wrong side?” Roper asked.

  “You mean did somebody kill ’im?” Larry asked.

  “Maybe he was foolin’ around with somebody’s wife? Or girlfriend?”

  “We didn’t get to know him,” Larry said. “He was quiet, kept to himself. But he didn’t seem like that kinda fella.”

  Stan agreed. Roper wondered how the dead detective had expected to be able to do his job without getting to know the other workers.

  “You know,” Roper said, turning his own attention to that problem, “I gotta meet some of the other guys, too. I don’t want them thinkin’ I’m stuck up because I got made clerk.”

  “I got an idea,” Stan said. “I know a place where some of ’em drink.”

  “Yeah,” Stan said, “we can go over there and introduce you to some of the other boys.”

  “Good.” Roper said. “Let’s do it. Where is that place?”

  “I think you heard of it,” Larry said with a smile. “The Bullshead.”

  * * *

  The Fixx brothers convinced Roper to go back to the Bullshead with them.

  “We’re always gettin’ into fights in saloons,” Stan said. “That don’t mean we ain’t good customers and we can’t go back.”

  Larry reinforced Stan’s statement, and Roper finally gave in. He didn’t want them questioning why he didn’t want to go back there. Plus, if most of the stockworkers were drinking there, that’s where he had to go to meet them.

  They entered the Bullshead and the smell hit him immediately. He hadn’t noticed it last time. But coming there directly from Sullivan’s, he could smell the difference. Stale beer, even staler sweat, and the cheap perfume the girls heaped on to combat the smells around them.

  They went to the bar and ordered three beers from a bartender who was unfamiliar to Roper, which suited him. The Fixxes, however, knew him and introduced him to Roper as “Sandy.”

  When they had their beers, they turned their backs to the bar and Stan said, “There. That’s a whole table of guys from work.”