The Reluctant Pinkerton (23 page)

He looked down at the boy.

“You know, I’d change corners,” he said, “but I was here first.”

The boy stared.

He decided to give the boy one piece. He took one and held it out. The boy grabbed it and stuffed it into his mouth, but continued to stare. Before long he was also drooling.

“Wipe your mouth, kid,” Roper said, popping another piece into his own mouth.

*   *   *

There was still half a bag of candy when a pair of ears walked by him.

He was surprised that the man came from another direction and turned into the side street, rather than coming from that street.

“Parker,” Roper said as the man with the huge ears walked by.

He looked down at the kid, who had not moved, and finally handed him the bag. The boy took it, as if he had known all along he’d get it.

“Enjoy it,” Roper said, and followed Eddie Parker.

Roper turned the corner, prepared to follow Parker for however long it took. He was surprised when the man simply crossed the street and went up a flight of stairs along the side of a building. He watched as the man unlocked a door and went inside.

Very convenient.

He walked to the stairs and went up slowly, giving Parker time to get settled inside. When he reached the door, he knocked.

The man with the big ears swung the door open and stared at Roper.

“Yeah?”

“Eddie Parker?”

“Who wants to know?”

This was the easiest part, because he was used to dealing with men like this. And in this instance, he could just be himself.

Roper stiff-armed the man back into the room, and followed.

Parker staggered back, his arms windmilling as he tried
to keep his balance. But he hit a chair and went over backward.

Roper closed the door behind him.

“What the hell—” Parker said, getting to his feet.

“We’re going to have a talk, Eddie.”

“Who the hell are you?” Parker demanded. “Get the hell out—”

“Shut up!”

Parker did, but just for a moment.

“Wait a minute, you can’t talk to me like that,” he said. He flicked his eyes to one side. Roper looked and saw the man’s gun sitting on the top of a table.

“Don’t try it,” Roper said.

“What?”

“The gun,” Roper said. “Don’t try for it.”

“What the hell—” Parker started, but he stopped himself. “Uh, can I get up?”

“Sure,” Roper said, “get to your feet.”

Parker got up from the floor, but couldn’t help himself and once again looked at his gun.

“Okay,” Roper said. He strode across the room and picked the gun up off the table. He put it in his pocket and looked at Parker.

“Okay,” he said again, “that temptation is gone. Now we can talk.”

“About what?”

“About you and Nancy Ransom.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Very bad lie, Eddie,” Roper said. “I know the two of you work together. And for a while I thought she worked for you. But now I know that you work for her.”

“Well, that’s—what?” Parker looked puzzled.

“You roll drunks for her,” Roper said. “That is, you find men who will roll drunks—or customers—for her.”

“Are you the law?” Parker asked suspiciously.

“I’m a private detective, Eddie,” Roper said. “From Denver.”

“So what are you doin’ here?”

“I’m trying to find out who’s doing damage to the stockyards.”

“The stockyards?” Parker said. “I don’t know nothin’ about that.”

“Are you sure?”

“I mean, I heard about some things—there was a fire recently. Right?”

“That’s right.”

“But I don’t know nothin’ about that.”

“You just rob people.”

“Well…yeah,” Parker said. “We rob people who have lots of money.” He shrugged. “They don’t miss it. Nobody gets hurt.”

“Except when they do.”

“Well…sometimes…”

“Sometimes somebody dies,” Roper said, “like the two men you sent after me.”

“What? You?”

“I’m one of the men Nancy picked out,” Roper said, “only that was a big mistake. I killed the two men you sent after me.”

“That was you?”

“That’s right.”

“Look,” Parker said, “that wasn’t me. None of that was my idea. Y-You’re right, I work for Nancy. It’s all her doin’.”

“Can you tell me why she’s sleeping with Pete Orton?” Roper asked.

“What? Who? I don’t know who that is.”

Roper could tell from the look on the man’s face that he was telling the truth.

Eddie Parker was just what he appeared to be, a low-level thief. Could it really be that Nancy Ransom was just trying to make some money on the side?

“What is she doing with you?”

“What?”

“Nancy?” Roper said. “What does she want with you?”

Insulted, Parker sort of adjusted his collar and said, “Well…I’m good at what I do.”

“Which is?”

“Thievery.”

“And why is she interested in thievery?”

“You really askin’ me?”

“I am.”

Parker shrugged and said, “I think she’s bored.”

“Or,” Roper said, “she’s following somebody else’s instructions.”

“What?”

Roper was getting tired of talking to Parker. He obviously knew nothing and was just going to keep asking, “What?”

“Okay, Eddie,” Roper said. “We’re done.”

He turned and walked to the door.

“Wait!” Parker said.

Roper turned. “Yes?”

“What about my gun?”

“I’ll leave it at the bottom of the steps.”

“Um, well…okay.”

“But there is one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t mention this meeting to Nancy,” Roper said. “If I find out you did, I’ll be back.”

“Um, okay.”

“Don’t make me come back, Eddie.”

“I won’t,” Parker said, “I swear!”

“Good-bye, Eddie.”

“You didn’t tell me your name!” Parker called out as Roper opened the door.

“No,” Roper said, “I didn’t.”

Roper’s intention when he left Eddie Parker’s rooms was to go and see Nancy next. But as he turned the corner and started walking down the street, he decided to go and see another woman first.

But before seeing either woman—Louise Orton or Nancy Ransom—he needed a few other things.

A bath, a shave, and his new suits.

*   *   *

In the bathtub, Roper kept his gun nearby, hanging on the back of a nearby chair, within reach. Somebody had tried to kill him once, and they might try again. Or maybe the shooting had been a warning. Either way he was determined to keep his own gun on him, or within reach.

He’d had his shave—and a haircut to boot—followed by this bath. Once he picked up his new suits from the tailor, which he would do next, he’d feel like himself again. No more “Andy Blake,” and more important, no more manure.

*   *   *

Roper had never been to Pete Orton’s house, but because he worked in the man’s office, he knew what his address was.

He also knew that Orton, being the man he was, would still be at work. Roper wanted to talk to Louise Orton alone. He needed to know if
she
knew about her husband’s infidelity, if she herself was cheating, and if she had anything to do with the sabotage. There had to be someone working on the inside.

The Ortons lived in a two-family wood frame house in a pretty middle-class neighborhood, probably equidistant from Hell’s Half Acre and the high-class saloons like the White Elephant.

He mounted the porch and knocked on the door. Louise Orton answered fairly quickly, frowned when she saw him.

“Can I help you?”

It was obvious she didn’t recognize him with his haircut, shave, and new suit. He took off the flat-brimmed hat he was wearing and held it in his hands.

“Mrs. Orton, it’s me, Andy Blake.”

“Mr. Blake?” she frowned. “Well, it is you. But…you look so different.”

“I can explain,” he said. “May I come in?”

“Of course.”

She let him in, led him to a comfortably, but not expensively, furnished living room, where she turned to face him. She was wearing a simple, high-necked dress that molded itself to her slender body. She was lovely, with a long, graceful neck and breasts that looked like teacups.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” she asked. “Did my husband send you?”

“Mrs. Orton,” he said, “my name is not really Andy Blake.”

“It isn’t?”

“No, ma’am,” he said. “My name is Talbot Roper. I’m a private detective from Denver, on loan to the Pinkerton Agency.”

She stared at him, then said, “I don’t understand.”

“Can we sit down?”

“Yes, please.”

He sat down in an armchair, while she took a seat on one end of the sofa.

“I’m sure you’re aware of all the incidents that have been occurring at the stockyards these past few months?” he said.

“Yes, of course,” she said. “Leading up to the recent fire.”

“Yes. Well, I’ve been sent here to investigate. I came in as ‘Andy Blake,’ to try to get some information without anyone knowing who I am.”

“I see,” she said. “You were lying to us.”

“I was undercover,” he said.

She smiled without humor and said, “Well, whatever you want to call it.”

“I was doing my job, Mrs. Orton.”

“So I assume you are also doing your job with this visit?” she asked. “What can I do for you, Mr…. Roper, is it?”

“Yes, Roper.”

Louise had folded her arms across her chest, but now she dropped them, as well as the stern look on her face.

“I suppose there’s no reason for me to be rude,” she said. “Can I offer you something? A drink? Or coffee?”

“Coffee would be fine.” He felt having coffee would soften the mood even more. He often accepted offers of coffee or tea in these instances for just that reason.

“Excuse me.” She went to the kitchen and was there for quite a while. If he hadn’t been able to hear her puttering around in there, he might have thought she’d gone out the back door. Roper was wearing his holster, having left his shoulder rig back in Denver. He eased his weight onto his left hip, giving himself better access to the gun on his right, just in case.

Louise finally reappeared, carrying a tray that contained a pot of coffee, two cups, and a tray of cookies. She set it down on the table in front of the sofa.

“Sugar? Milk?”

“Just black, thanks.”

She poured out two cups, took hers black as well, and then sat back.

“Well,” she said, “suppose you tell me why you’ve come to see me today? Could it be that you suspect my husband of being involved in these incidents?”

“I actually did suspect him for a while,” he said.

“What changed your mind?”

“Working with him for as long as I did,” Roper said. “I decided he was trying too hard to make things work. I can’t see him doing anything to sabotage the company.”

“He is a hard worker,” she said. “Some nights he doesn’t come home till very late.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you do with yourself when he’s not home?”

“My God,” she said calmly. She set her cup down, put her hands in her lap. “You suspect me of something, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he answered. “Let’s just say I’m curious about what you do with your time.”

“Maybe you should be concerned with my husband’s extracurricular activities.”

“Does he have some?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “He’s not as pristine as you seem to think he is. Not while he’s been cheating on me.”

“So you know about that.”

“And, it seems, so do you?” she said. “So why don’t you talk to that saloon girl he’s been sleeping with?”

“I intend to,” he said. “In fact, it’s my next stop.”

For the first time she seemed a bit shaken. When she used her hand to push some hair away from her face, there was a slight tremor.

“I don’t know how he could do that to us.”

“Mrs. Orton,” Roper said, “I’ll repeat my question. What about you?”

“You mean have I been cheating?” she asked. “You don’t know? Haven’t you been following me?”

“As a matter of fact, I haven’t,” Roper said, “so feel free to lie to me.”

She sat silently for a moment, then said, “I’m not a nun, Mr. Roper. I’ve had my share of lovers, but only when I realized Pete was…cheating on me. I know, I sound like the pitiful wife…”

“Why don’t you leave?”

“And go where?”

He decided not to answer. He was not a marriage counselor. Maybe if they stayed together long enough, they’d work something out.

“These lovers, Louise,” he said, “have you been with anyone you may have said something to? Something about the stockyards?”

“You mean have I revealed any secrets through pillow talk?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“I don’t know anything about my husband’s business, Mr. Roper,” she said. “He’s not home long enough to tell me anything. So no, I haven’t told anybody anything. I’m not the person you should be suspicious of.”

“That’s okay,” he said, “I have plenty of others.”

He stood up. She didn’t.

“If you don’t mind,” she said, “I’ll let you find your own way out.”

“I don’t mind, Mrs. Orton,” he said, and left.

Roper was of the opinion that neither of the Ortons was deliberately involved in the stockyard incidents. However, that didn’t mean that Pete Orton still didn’t tell Nancy Ransom things during pillow talk that could have been used. So his next step was to talk to Nancy. That meant going to the Bullshead for the first time as himself.

He found a cab after a few blocks and had it take him to the saloon and gambling hall.

As he entered, the place was as busy as ever. The stuffy smell of stale beer and sweat hit him as soon as he walked through the batwings, and he suddenly longed for a cold beer at the White Elephant. He’d had just about enough of Hell’s Half Acre.

He walked to the bar, found himself a spot, and ordered a beer. Looking around, he saw no sign of Nancy. He wondered if he’d frightened Eddie Parker sufficiently to keep him from running to Nancy Ransom.

The bartender brought him a beer that looked both flat and warm. “Nancy around?” Roper asked.

“She ain’t come down yet.”

“But she’s working tonight?”