“But it’s important you say nothing to him,” Roper added.
“I understand. Are you going to talk to anyone else? I mean, about who you really are?”
Roper decided to conceal the truth. “So far it’s still just you and me, Harold.”
“All right,” Kalish said. “Thanks for coming by and letting me know what’s going on.”
“Sure.”
Roper turned to leave.
“Mr. Roper,” Kalish said, “you said somebody tried to kill you. Were you hurt?”
“A bullet nicked me,” Roper said, “and I fell into some manure.”
“I thought I smelled…” Kalish said, waving his hand.
“Yeah, I tried to clean up at work. I’ll need to take a bath tonight. A long bath.”
52
Roper left the Cattleman’s Club and went directly to his rooming house. He had missed dinner, but Mrs. Varney agreed to draw him a bath—wrinkling her nose at him the whole time. He had a feeling she was doing it for her own benefit, not his.
He soaked in a bath until he was sure the smell of manure was gone. He managed to do it without getting the bandage on his arm wet, so the stitches the doctor had put there remained intact.
When he was finished, he dried off, pulled his trousers on, and walked to his room. He entered, put on a clean shirt, but didn’t button it. He was not going out again. He just wanted to be comfortable.
He walked to his window and stared out at the darkness of Hell’s Half Acre. In the morning he was going to register at a decent hotel before going to the police station. He wasn’t going to tell anyone where he was staying.
Idly, he wondered what had become of Dol Bennett. Had she gone back to Chicago? Or was she still hanging around Fort Worth?
He thought he still smelled manure and wondered if he’d need to take another bath when he got to his new hotel. But then he realized his clothes were on the floor in a corner. He couldn’t put them in the hall, so he decided to go downstairs and see if he could find a bag to put them in until he could get them washed.
He buttoned his shirt and left his room, went down the stairs to the main floor. Nobody was around. They were either in their rooms, or out of the house.
He waited a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, then made his way through the dining room to the kitchen. He got to the door and thought he heard somebody inside. He didn’t have a gun with him, but he didn’t really expect any danger there. He opened the swinging door as quietly as he could. He heard heavy breathing and grunting, saw two figures intertwined against a wall of the kitchen. He realized that the girl, Lauren, was there, having sex with a man—maybe one of the boarders. He had her up against the wall and was thrusting himself into her, his bare buttocks clenching and unclenching. Her eyes opened at that moment and then widened when she saw him watching them. He withdrew, letting the door close. What they were doing was their business, not his.
He went back upstairs.
* * *
About twenty minutes later there was a light knocking on his door. He opened it, saw a fully dressed but tousled-looking Lauren in the hall.
“Hello, Lauren.”
“Mr. Blake…” she said breathlessly.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’m not going to tell anyone what I saw.”
“You’re not?” She looked hopeful.
“On one condition.”
“Oh.” It appeared she thought she knew what the condition would be.
“I need a bag.”
“A bag?” She frowned.
“A sack, really,” he said. “Or even some brown paper. I have some…clothes to wrap up.”
“We have brown paper.”
“Good,” he said. “Bring me some and your secret is safe with me.”
“Really?” she asked. “That’s all?”
“That’s it.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
“I’ll bring it right up,” she said excitedly.
* * *
It had been about five minutes when there was a knock on his door again. He opened it and she thrust some brown paper and some twine into his hands.
“You can wrap up the clothes in this,” she said.
“Fine, thanks.”
She stood there.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Mrs. Varney,” she said, “if she found out…well, she’d skin me alive.”
“And the man, too, I bet.”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “She wants me to stay away from her boarders.”
“Well, don’t worry,” he said. “Like I told you before, your secret is safe with me.”
“Oh, thank you, sir.”
“I’ll see you at breakfast, then.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, “and it’ll be extra good. I promise.”
She hurried quietly down the hall.
He wrapped his smelly clothes in brown paper, tied the bundle up right, and tossed it in a corner.
He tried to turn in then, but his arm ached, and he thought again about somebody trying to shoot him. He wondered if they were trying to kill Talbot Roper or Andy Blake?
He got up, shoved the back of a wooden chair underneath the doorknob, then set a pitcher on the windowsill where someone trying to get in would have to knock it down.
Reasonably secure, he went back to bed with his gun beneath his pillow.
This time he fell asleep.
53
In the morning he was at the table for breakfast and received special treatment from Lauren, who graced him with a broad smile every time she came by. He was afraid it only served to make Mrs. Varney suspicious.
He noticed there were some faces missing, including Embry and Rickman. Catlin was still there, eating breakfast right next to him.
“What happened to our happy crew?” Roper asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I see some faces missing.”
“They moved on.”
“Embry and Rickman?”
“They left at the same time.”
Roper wondered if they had quit their jobs at the stockyards, as well.
“You missed dinner again last night,” Catlin said. “Good food.”
“Yeah,” Roper said, “I had some things to do.”
Roper studied Catlin for a moment, wondering if he was the man who was in the kitchen with Lauren last night.
“What have you been up to?” he asked.
“Just trying to get my practice up and running,” Catlin said. “You don’t need a lawyer, do you?”
“Not yet,” Roper said.
“Well, keep me in mind.”
After breakfast, Roper pulled Catlin aside and said, “I’m leaving today.”
“You, too?” Catlin asked. “What’s happening here? Where are you going?”
“I’ll still be in town,” Roper said, “but I’m finding a new place.”
“Look,” Catlin said, reaching into his pocket, “I just got business cards made up. Contact me when you find a place. We’ll have dinner together.”
“I’ll do that,” Roper said, and they shook hands.
After that, Roper settled up with Mrs. Varney, who simply sniffed when he said he was leaving, and then he walked out the front door with his carpetbag.
* * *
Roper did not have time to check into a hotel before nine o’clock, so he went directly to the police station. He presented himself to the sergeant at the front desk and asked for Detective Carradine. He wondered why the Fort Worth Police Department had a marshal in charge rather than a police chief.
“Are you moving in?” Carradine asked when he came out.
“Out,” Roper said, “then in. I just didn’t have time to find a hotel before nine.”
“Yeah, well, follow me,” Carradine said.
He led Roper down a hall to a door that said, MARSHAL B. GATES.
Inside were Marshal Gates, seated behind his desk, and Detective Cole, sitting
across from him.
“Have a seat, Mr. Blake,” the marshal said. “I understand you have something to tell us.”
There was only one other chair. Roper took it, and Carradine stood.
“First,” Roper said, “my name’s not Andy Blake. It’s Talbot Roper.”
Cole sat up in his chair.
“The private detective?”
“That’s right.”
“You’ve heard of him?” the marshal asked Cole.
“Well, Jesus,” Cole said, “I thought everybody in law enforcement had heard of him. He used to be a Pinkerton, but left to open his own agency. He’s pretty much considered to be the best private detective in the country.”
Gates looked at Carradine.
“You?”
“I’ve heard of him,” Carradine said, with less enthusiasm than his partner.
“All right,” Gates said, “before we all get too excited, can you prove you are who you say you are?”
Roper produced his credentials. Gates examined them, then passed them on to Cole. Finally, they went to Carradine and back to Roper.
“All right, Mr. Roper,” Gates said, “why the subterfuge?”
“I’ve been sent in by the Pinkertons to find out who’s trying to sabotage the stockyards.”
“They don’t think we can do the job?” Gates asked.
“Hell,” Carradine said, “we don’t think we can do the job.”
Gates scowled at his detective.
“All I mean is—” Carradine started.
“Yes, we know what you mean, Detective,” Gates said.
“You joined the Pinkertons again?” Cole asked. He was looking at Roper in a totally different light than the way he had looked at “Andy Blake.”
“Just for this job,” Roper said.
“So,” Gates said, “have you solved the case? Is that why you’ve come out into the light?”
“No,” Roper said, “but yesterday somebody tried to kill me, so I must be getting close.”
“So why are you here?” Gates asked. “To tell us what you have? Or to ask for help?”
Roper didn’t want to give them all he had, so he said, “To ask for help.”
That seemed to mollify Gates and Carradine, and excite Cole.
“What can we do for you?” Gates asked.
“What do you know about a man named Eddie Parker?”
“A bottom feeder,” Carradine said right away. “Preys on the weak, because he hasn’t got the guts to go any higher. He’s a tall drink of water who is all ears.” Carradine held his hands to his ears and waved them. “Literally all ears.”
“What’s your interest in Parker?” Cole asked.
“Do you fellas know who Nancy Ransom is?” Roper asked.
“No,” Carradine said, and Cole shook his head. Oddly, Gates did not respond.
“She’s a saloon girl at the Bullshead Saloon,” Roper said.
“Not my place,” Carradine said. “What’s her game?”
“Apparently,” Roper said, “she’s working with Parker to have some Bullshead customers rolled.”
“That’s right,” Cole said, “we’ve had some complaints about that, but nobody’s mentioned her.”
“You sure she’s working with Parker?” Gates asked.
“Positive,” Roper said. “They tried to have me rolled when I first got here, remember?”
“Ah,” Carradine said, “the two you killed in your first hotel.” Roper was not surprised that the two detectives had uncovered that bit of information.
“Right,” Roper said. “I had talked to Nancy earlier. And I’ve talked to her since. She seemed to sense that I wasn’t who I said I was and agreed to leave me alone.”
“You think she’s the one who tried to have you killed?” Carradine asked.
“Or Parker,” Roper said, “unless he took the shot himself.”
“Never happen,” Carradine said. “He doesn’t have the nerve, or the ability.”
“So he hired it out,” Roper said. “Who does that kind of work?”
“In Fort Worth?” Cole asked. “You can’t swing a dead cat by the tail without hitting somebody who thinks he’s a crack shot and would hire himself out.”
“Great,” Roper said. “I was hoping you could narrow it down to two or three for me.”
“Afraid you’ll have to do your own legwork on that, Mr. Roper.”
“Well, I’m going to find Parker and talk to him,” Roper said. “I’m just letting you know.”
“Try not to kill him,” Gates said.
“I’ll do my best.”
“Or the girl,” Carradine said.
“Oh yeah,” Roper said, “I’ll be talking to her, too.”
“Well,” Gates said, “we appreciate you coming out from behind your disguise and letting us know, Mr. Roper.”
“Always ready to cooperate with the local law,” Roper said, standing up.
“Detective Carradine will walk you out.”
“I can do that—” Cole said, starting to stand up.
“Sit!” Gates barked, and Cole fell back into his chair.
Roper followed Carradine to the front of the building.
Out on the steps Carradine said, “I’m not as big a fan of yours as my partner is, Roper.”
“I could tell.”
“But if there’s anything else I can do to help, let me know.”
“Actually…” Roper said.
“Yeah?”
“Do you know where I could get a good suit?”
54
Roper thought about checking into one of the more upscale hotels, but he finally settled on something less ostentatious but still high end. It was called the Colonial Palace, and it was a few blocks from the White Elephant.
Carradine had given him some suggestions for a place he could get a suit, but Roper decided to go straight to the horse’s mouth, the dapperest man he knew of in Fort Worth.
Luke Short.
* * *
He pounded on the front door of the White Elephant until somebody opened it. It was a man with an apron, apparently a bartender.
“We ain’t open yet.”
“I’m here to see Luke Short,” Roper said, “not to drink or gamble.”
“Who are you?”
“Talbot Roper,” the detective said. “I’m a friend of his.”
“Roper,” the bartender said. He seemed to be searching for something in his head, then he nodded. “Yeah, okay. Come on in.”
The White Elephant was not just empty, it was cavernous with nobody in it. All the tables had their chairs stacked up on them.
“Grab a seat and wait here,” the bartender said. “I’ll get him.”
“Thanks.”
“There’s coffee behind the bar.”
Roper walked behind the bar and poured himself a cup. Then took a chair down from a table and sat.
The bartender came down and said, “Luke’ll be right down.”
He then disappeared somewhere in the back.
Short appeared moments later, came down the stairs looking as dapper as ever. If he’d had to dress quickly, he’d done a hell of a job.
“This better be good,” Short said. “I don’t get that much time to spend with my wife.”
“Sorry,” Roper said, “you said you were available to help.”
“I am,” Short said. “Let me get a cup of coffee.”
Short went behind the bar, came back with a cup. Roper had taken down a chair for him, and he sat in it, crossed one leg over a knee.
“What’s up?”
“I had to come out from behind my disguise,” Roper said.
“So you’re Talbot Roper again?”
“That’s right.”
Short studied him critically for a moment.
“You need a suit.”
“I do.”
“I’ll tell you where to go.”
“Thanks.”
“What else?”
“Eddie Parker,”
Roper said.
“Scum,” Short said, “but small-time scum.”
“I’m thinking maybe he’s moving up,” Roper said. “Know anything about a gal named Nancy Ransom?”
“I do, actually. Smart lady. I wish she’d come work here.”
“Did you make an offer?”
“I did,” Short said. “There’s somethin’ holdin’ her to the Bullshead. That’s all I can figure.”
“What if I told you she was involved with Parker?” Short asked.
“I’d say balderdash,” Short said. “She’s too classy for him.”
“Well, they’re working together,” Roper said. “I know that for a fact. What do you say to that?”
“If Parker and Nancy are doing something together, I’d say Nancy is running the show.”
“Now that is interesting.”
They both sipped their coffee.
“Okay, one more thing,” Roper said. “The bunch at the Cattleman’s Club.”
“Ah,” Short said, “they run the town.”
“You know any of them?”
“I’ve played poker a time or two with a fella named Arnold,” Short said, “but that’s about it. I don’t cross paths with the rest of them much.”
“What do you hear?”
“Nothing helpful, I don’t think,” Short said. “Mannerly and Halfwell are past it. Just too old. All they do is supply money.”
“And the others?”
“It seems that a man named Brewster runs the show,” Short said, “but I hear he couldn’t do it without Harold Kalish.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Why?” Short asked. “Did one of them hire you? They did, didn’t they? Which one? Which one hired you?”
“Thanks for talking to me, Luke.”
“You’re not gonna tell me, are you?”
Roper got up, turned to leave, then turned back.
“Oh yeah,” he said, “about that suit—”
55
Roper looked at himself in the mirror, liked the cut and fit of the coat.
“When can this be ready?” he asked.
“Since you’re a friend of Mr. Short’s,” the little tailor said, “later today, at four.”
“Seriously?”
“We aim to please.”
“I wish my tailor in Denver thought that way.”
They removed the suit and Roper got back into his “Andy Blake” clothes—hopefully for the last time. The clerk at the hotel looked at him askance until he produced the money for the room. It would have been the same with the tailor if he had not involved Luke’s name, and if Luke had not sent instructions with a messenger for the tailor to treat Roper the same way the tailor would have treated Luke.
The Reluctant Pinkerton Page 18
