It seemed fitting that he’d been a cooper, so closely did he resemble a barrel. Solidly built but not gone to fat, despite his age. Shirtsleeves rolled up, exposing freckled, thick forearms and meaty hands that would have looked more at home on an ax handle than a fountain pen. In the heat, he’d shed his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair, where it hung crookedly, like a dark flag. My attention settled on one last, essential detail—his look of impatience—and I braced myself to make my claim.
“Mr. Pinkerton, my name is Kate Warne,” I said, trying to sound like a woman who had never perspired in her life. “I’ve come in answer to your advertisement.”
“Advertisement?”
I unfolded the newspaper in my right hand, belatedly noting a black smear on my gloves from the cheap ink. I spread the paper over the desk and pointed to the words.
OPERATIVES REQUIRED—for Pinkerton’s National Detective Agency. Intelligence and tenacity required foremost. Generous salary commensurate with personal danger. Apply in person to Mr. Allan Pinkerton, Washington St. at Dearborn St., Chicago.
Impatiently, he asked, “I see. On whose behalf?”
“My own.”
“You,” he said, saturating the word with disbelief. “You want to apply for a position as a detective?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“See, now, Miss…”
I supplied the name. “Mrs. Warne.”
“Mrs. Warne,” he said, his Scottish brogue extending the sounds of my name into an oddly appealing hum. “Women are…not encouraged to apply.”
I jabbed at the newspaper with my finger again. “The advertisement doesn’t say.”
“Because it doesn’t need to. I have never hired a female detective, and I don’t mean to start today.”
For just a moment, I faltered. Perhaps he really would turn me away. A rivulet of perspiration made the plunge from my shoulder blades down the small of my back, pooling under the lacing of my corset.
“Someone has to be first,” I said with all the force I could muster.
Blessedly unaware—I hoped—of my physical situation, Pinkerton rubbed one freckled forearm absently and put on a look of concern.
“Brass tacks, ma’am. Detecting is dangerous work. Criminal. Violent. How could I place a delicate female such as yourself in harm’s way? How could I explain such an outcome to your husband?”
“My husband is dead.”
He blinked at that, but it took him only a moment to recover, and he mumbled the usual empty condolence. “I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.”
“You needn’t be,” I said bluntly. “One can only lose things of value. But I did not come to talk to you about Charlie. I came here for work.”
A new light came into his eyes. It gave me hope. “Any children?” he asked.
“No.”
“Other family?”
“Parents, once,” I said. “We are no longer close.”
“Did they disapprove of your marriage?”
“Quite the opposite. I did.”
He laughed, a throaty rasp that made the room feel even warmer, though I was sure he understood that I hadn’t spoken in jest. He put his ruddy hands down flat on the broad desk. “So now, with no husband and no children and no parents, alone in the world, you’ve taken it into your head to become the first lady detective.”
“You make it sound like a whim, sir. Do I strike you as whimsical?”
“No, ma’am.”
It was time to play all my cards. I’d given the matter extensive thought, ever since the moment the advertisement caught my eye; now was my chance to voice those thoughts to a man who could change my future.
“Sir, here is the crux of it. Women can go places men are not welcome. They can win the trust of other women, the wives and companions to whom the criminals have confided their crimes. They can travel in genteel circles to insinuate themselves with seeming gentlemen. I’m certain the men who work for you have many talents, but there is one thing none of them can do: be a woman.”
There was a mix of consternation and admiration in his voice when he said, “All right, then. What do you propose?”
I was ready for the question and seized the opportunity with both hands.
“Give me a trial,” I said. “If you have a case in your possession that needs solving, give it to me. If I cannot solve it, I go on my merry way. If I can, you employ me as the first female operative of your agency, and welcome.”
He thought it over, still standing behind the desk. He tented his thick fingers together, fixing his gaze on me. I bore it.
After several long moments, he bent down and rummaged in one of the desk’s countless drawers. I waited, finding the tension almost unbearable, listening to the soft rustle of paper and a low humming, until he selected something from the sheaf of papers and stood.
“Your first case, then, Mrs. Warne,” he said, sliding an envelope across the desk.
Chapter Three
Blue Eyes
The contents of that file had brought me to Joe Mulligan’s on a night as hot as Hades, then into this close room with this dangerous blue-eyed man, a man who believed me willing to do the most tawdry and provocative things. Whatever the reasons, good or bad or both, I was trapped. A lamp on the desk cast a dim half-light. There was nothing else in the room but a chair, a bed, and us.
“How much will it take?” he asked, reaching into his trousers and producing a wad of cash from a pocket, staring at me expectantly.
I tried my best to brazen it out, letting my body remain still while my mind skipped and worked and fluttered. “That all depends, sir.”
“On what? Get on with it!”
“Goodness,” I said. A real prostitute would have used an oath. If I got out of here alive, I’d learn some. I forced a sauciness I didn’t feel. “Most men in your position aren’t in a rush.”
I began to move, ever so slightly, to get between him and the door. If I needed to, I realized, I could run.
Unless he could run faster.
“I’m not most men,” he said.
At that moment, I realized he was acting like a man who wanted me out of his company, not out of my clothes. I forced myself to reassess. He was standing as far from me as possible, his body rigid, counting bills out onto the wooden chair. After each bill, he glanced up appraisingly; seeing my lack of reaction, he sighed and added one more bill, then repeated the pattern.
I dropped my coy pretense and asked what was on my mind. “Exactly what do you want to pay me for?”
“I want you to go away. Take the cash and go away. Don’t come back to this tavern tonight.”
I was flooded with relief but more confused than ever. “Why?”
“Sweet Lord!” he shouted, and I jumped at the booming curse in the small room. Whatever his purpose with me, whoever he was, he was still frightening. “Will you take the money and go?”
“No!” I said. “I have business downstairs.”
“Chicago is full of taverns. Do your filthy business elsewhere.”
“It’s not filthy,” I said. “You don’t understand. It’s…noble, really.”
“Oh, you certainly look noble.” The voice dripped with sarcasm.
“You’re part of Heck’s gang,” I snapped back. “How noble are you?”
“Shows what you know. I’m not a criminal. I’m…”
“Yes?”
He’d clammed up. So I looked at him intently again. Appraised him. Remembered. He’d stood out among the men in the bar below, and not just for his height and coldness. Only he was clean-shaven among the six. Also, he stood straighter than the rest, like a military man. My questions grew.
“Are you police?”
“No,” he said, but with a bit of a lilt to it, and then it was all clear.
“You’re a Pinkert
on agent!” I shouted in disbelief.
He closed the distance between us with three long strides and clapped his hand over my mouth. I thought about biting him. If he’d really been a criminal, I would have. But in the circumstances, if we were going to be colleagues, sinking my teeth into his flesh wouldn’t earn me a warm welcome.
I mumbled something into his hand instead. He put his finger to his lips to indicate silence, and at my vehement nod, he took the hand away.
“I’m a Pinkerton too,” I said. “Well, almost.”
“That’s ridiculous. There are no female Pinkerton operatives. Who are you really?”
Rather than putting his mind at ease, I’d apparently made him even more suspicious. My story was implausible, of course, despite being true.
“I met with Pinkerton three days ago at the office on Washington,” I said. “He showed me the file on Heck. I know about First Eagle. Five thousand dollars. We need to find it. Happy?”
He gave me a grim nod, clearly reluctant.
“Look,” he said, “I need to get back downstairs. You’ve distracted me long enough.”
“Why’d you grab me in the first place?”
“Why do you think? I was trying to stick close to him, and if he went off with you, I’d lose him. Which by now, I’ve probably done. You screwed this up big time.”
“Me? It was you!”
We stared at each other for a moment in a standoff. I knew I’d have to be the one to break it, and I knew how. An idea had begun to form in my head. I wanted to see if it would withstand sharing.
“Let’s work together,” I said. “We both want the intelligence, right? Let me tell you my plan.” A few minor adjustments to my original plan would accommodate his presence and even boost my—our?—chance of success.
In a few sentences, with a minimum of fanfare, I sketched out the best way to proceed. My role, his role, all of it. He listened, motionless.
After hearing me out, he nodded once and said, “All right.”
A compliment for my quick thinking wouldn’t have gone amiss, but I wasn’t going to quibble. We were in it together now.
• • •
Downstairs at Joe Mulligan’s, walking straight up to Heck’s table, we were greeted with raucous cheers.
“Back so quick, eh?” said Mustache.
“Wasn’t for that,” said Blue Eyes. “We’re acquainted.”
“I wanted my friend to introduce me to his friend,” I said, shooting a not-so-shy glance Heck’s way. Up close, he was almost good-looking, but there was a simpering edge to him that I didn’t like, and I was glad he seemed already half in the bag. Things would go much faster.
“Well, how do you do, my dear,” Heck said, patting the cushion next to him. I slipped in and laid my fingertips lightly on his arm.
“I’m quite well, thank you,” I said, “but nearly dying of thirst.”
“Tim,” he said to Blue Eyes, “two more.”
“Yes, Boss,” he replied and was off to the bar. My thoughts trailed after him—Was Tim his real name? Our conversation upstairs hadn’t included names—but I forced myself back to the task at hand. It was time for me to resume the role of slattern, and I remembered again just how much depended on my ability to inhabit the woman I was pretending to be. Whether or not I was ready, this was my chance.
I leaned and preened and teased. I inched and edged over the red leather banquette until the full length of my thigh pressed against Heck’s, so close I could feel the heat of his skin. When I shut my eyes for a moment, I could see the exact pattern of the crosshatched scars on the back of his left hand. Most importantly, I giggled operatically at his jokes, most of which weren’t terribly funny to start with and became less so.
Blue Eyes returned with a round of drinks, then another. This was an essential part of the gambit, but also a dangerous one. I tried to sip slowly. I spilled one drink on purpose. Once, I switched my nearly full glass for Heck’s nearly empty one. Even with such tricks, I could still feel the effects of the drink. I began to sense a vague tickle behind my eyes, almost a vibration in the bone, an interesting but distracting sensation. If our moment to strike didn’t come soon, I’d be too dizzy to seize it. I wanted to look up and warn my accomplice but couldn’t risk it. He knew what he had to do, and so did I. And we knew what would happen if we failed. At this point, no signals or glances would change any of that.
I listened for his voice, though, and could hear him remarking time and again how late it was getting and how any man in search of serious fun tonight would have to look somewhere else than this joint full of priests and princesses. Bit by bit, I could tell, his nudges were having the desired effect. The other members of the gang were slipping away. At last, another hour in, only we three remained.
“And that’s why they called him the North Pole,” slurred Heck, now utterly tight, and it was time to put the next part of my plan into action.
Blue Eyes knew it too. I saw him lean across the table and tap his glass against the wood, saying, “Heck, I’d like to do you a favor.”
The smaller man perked up slightly, and the moment his attention was on my coconspirator, I snaked my hand into his coat pocket and eased out his wallet. I didn’t have the lightest touch, but he was too far gone to be wary.
Still wearing an empty smile, I let the wallet fall to the floor next to my foot and guided it gently underneath the booth. I kept my eyes on Heck and saw no reaction, no awareness. Blue Eyes was saying, “I’d like to lend you my hotel room for…your entertainment.”
The smaller man turned to me then, placed his hand confidently where my hip became thigh, and said, “Shaaall we?”
This was it. This was the moment. I had to play it, without getting distracted by the terrifying prospect of what happened if I played it wrong. His wallet wasn’t the only thing he wore under his coat: on the far side of his body, there was no mistaking the shape of a holstered gun.
“One small matter first,” I said.
“Oh?”
“Payment.”
“My dear friend’s attentions don’t come cheap,” Blue Eyes said, “but I assure you, every penny will be well spent.”
“Oh, I got plenty of pennies,” Heck slurred, patting his pocket. It took a tense five count for him to realize he was patting nothing. He swore, but there was little energy in it. “Aw, I’m sorry, honey.”
“Don’t have to be sorry,” I said, leaning close, trailing my finger along his collar.
“Another night, I’d…”
“Tonight,” I said. “Don’t you want it to be tonight?”
“Aw, of course, but…”
“Smart man like you,” I said. “I’m sure you’ve got more than you carry. Right?”
“Yeah.”
“So all you need to do is get to where that is.”
“Yeah.”
His liquor-soaked mind was a mule that wouldn’t get moving. But I was afraid to push any harder than I already had. Especially given that gun.
“I know it’s a hassle,” I said, “but I’d sure make it worth your while. If you could scare up the funds. Do you think you can do that for me?”
He considered it. We waited.
At long last, he said, “I sure do.”
We pretended we hadn’t been holding our breath. It was all I could do to keep my eyes down, but I didn’t want to give the game away.
“You come with me.” He gestured to Blue Eyes. “And you,” he said to me, “stay there.”
“I’ll be right here waiting,” I said with a broad wink.
They made their way out, slowly. Heck stumbled twice on only eight stairs. The second time, Blue Eyes tilted his shoulder into just the right place for the shorter man to lean on, making himself indispensable. The sight filled me with hope. I watched them until they were gone. I waited ten minutes and then
went home.
All according to plan.
Well after midnight, I peeled off my shirtwaist, my corset, and the thoroughly damp chemise underneath, which clung to my skin as if pasted there. With a half-filled basin of water lugged up from the kitchen, I scrubbed myself with a rough, wet cloth over and over again. Limbs, chest, neck. Whether it was the smell or the feeling I was trying to scrub off, I couldn’t rightly say. Either way, my skin felt raw and ruined, and only exhaustion drove me to stop.
I lay perfectly still on my narrow bed, the only furniture in the cramped, bare room, the cotton sheets unpleasantly warm on my bare back. The windowless room was a boon in winter, I tried to remind myself. But by the time this winter came, unless today’s gambit had worked, I’d be on the street. Even Mrs. Borowski’s sainted patience would run out sometime. There were no cheaper boardinghouses in Chicago, and I had no stake to move elsewhere. I was a bad cook, an incompetent lady’s maid, an impatient shop clerk. I’d already applied to every possible position appropriate for a lady. Only the inappropriate ones remained.
And I wouldn’t know until morning whether we had truly been successful. Fatigue and suspense were poor bedfellows. But I had to believe my chances were better with Blue Eyes than without him. Weren’t they? And, in any case, wasn’t it too late to change the bet I’d made? It seemed we had carried off the plan in style. There was every reason to believe he had executed the last few steps just as capably.
Perhaps I would have been better off continuing my bath, such as it was. I lay awake most of the night anyway.
• • •
I had no idea what time Pinkerton would report to his office in the morning, so I went at seven o’clock, figuring I might arrive first. I waited for half an hour in the street, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I rehearsed, before I saw him turning the corner a block away and heading in my direction.
He wasn’t alone.
As the two men walked up, the taller one wouldn’t meet my eyes. He looked more reputable than he had last night. Out of his criminal’s disguise, his near-military bearing was more pronounced, and his ice-blue eyes were less forbidding in the bright light of day. When I wasn’t terrified of him, he was even handsome. Today, he looked every inch the operative.
Girl in Disguise Page 2
