The Reluctant Pinkerton (15 page)

The White Elephant was certainly the type of place Talbot Roper would frequent, but for “Andy Blake” it was pricey.

Why, then, he wondered, was it not pricey for his new friends, Embry and Rickman?

They led him to the long bar, where they waved down a bartender who seemed to know who they were. So, clearly patronizing the White Elephant was not something new to them.

After they each had a cold beer in their hands, Rickman said, “I’m gonna look over the tables,” and wandered off.

“Is he much of a gambler?” Roper asked.

“He likes it some,” Embry said. “Me, I like to hold on to my hard-earned money.”

“You know each other long?”

“Only since we met at the rooming house,” Embry said. “We hit the saloons together once in a while, but we ain’t what you’d call close friends.”

A beautiful girl went by, carrying a tray of drinks, and Roper could see that all of the girls were lovely, and fairly young.

“A lot different than the Bullshead, huh?” he asked.

Embry wrinkled his nose and said, “The Bullshead smells bad. Even the cigar smoke here smells better than that place.”

“Lots of difference in price, though.”

“If you manage your money well,” Embry said, “you can pretty much get what you want.”

Roper had been wondering about the finances of these two men, but it was true that if you watched what you spent, and managed your money, you could pretty much do or buy what you wanted. And Embry didn’t sound like a man who was earning extra money outside his job—say, for sabotage—and then spending it freely.

Maybe Embry and Rickman were not such good suspects. If it turned out they were involved in the sabotage, it would be quite a coincidence that he had ended up staying in the same rooming house with them. And Roper—like his friend Clint Adams—hated coincidence.

Rickman had secured himself a space at a roulette table, and Embry drifted over to see how he was doing. Roper
remained at the bar, taking in all the White Elephant had to offer.

The place had a kitchen that catered to customers who were interested in light fare. It did not serve full dinners. It also offered separate seating for those who didn’t want to eat, but only drink.

Before long, Embry and Rickman had disappeared. Roper figured they had probably gone upstairs, where there was a full casino. He decided to go up and see if they were there, and buy his round of drinks.

Upstairs was quite different from downstairs. It looked as if it had been designed by a completely different hand. The public area was decorated with fancy rosewood and mahogany fixtures shipped in from the East, thick carpets on the floor, and heavy drapes over the windows.

Every form of gambling was available and he found Embry watching Rickman at one of the roulette tables. He snagged a passing waitress and had her bring them three beers. He sipped his, alternating between looking around and watching the wheel, when he saw a familiar face across the room.

“I’ll be right back,” he told Embry, who simply waved that he had heard him, but kept his eyes on the table.

He walked across the room to the faro table, where a line of men were waiting to test their mettle against an expert, a man Roper had known for some time. He needed to make his presence known so that the man did not approach him, calling him by his real name.

He stood there and waited to catch the eye of famed gambler Luke Short.

Roper waited patiently for the dapper little gambler to look up and catch sight of him. When he did, he had to give the man credit. Roper saw only a flicker of recognition on the man’s face, and that was only because he was looking for it.

Short finished what he was doing, collected the money from the players, and then signaled someone to come and replace him. The players complained, but Short calmed them down.

“Take it easy, boys,” Short said. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

Short came around the table, wearing his trademark black suit, but carrying his silk top hat.

He stopped in front of Roper and said, “Damn.”

“Hello, Luke.”

“Who are you supposed to be?” the gambler murmured so no one else could overhear.

“Andy Blake,” Roper said. “I work at the stockyards.”

“Ah, I get it,” Short said. “Come with me.”

“You go first,” Blake said. “I don’t want it to look like we’re friends.”

“There’s a private room behind a curtain in the back,” Short said. “See you there.”

Roper watched the little gambler disappear into the
crowd, heading for the back. He looked around to see if anyone was watching him, saw Rickman and Embry’s attention still riveted to the roulette wheel. Satisfied that no one was paying him any attention, he strolled to the back, slipping between people without spilling his beer.

He found the curtain in the back and passed through it. Luke Short was waiting for him, holding a drink in his left hand, and his right hand out.

The men shook hands and Roper said, “Good to see you, Luke.”

“You, too, Ro—I mean, Blake,” Short said. “Working at the yards, huh? So I guess what brings you to the Fort is the trouble the cattlemen have been havin’, huh?”

“Exactly.”

“And undercover, I assume.”

“I was even more undercover, but when I went for a job at the stockyards, I ended up being hired as a clerk.”

Short started laughing, and in between bouts of laughter he said, “You…a…clerk?”

“Don’t laugh,” Roper said. “It puts me in a good position to learn what I need to find out.”

“Who’s your client?” Short asked.

“I’m working through the Pinkerton Agency,” Roper said.

“You went back to the Pinkertons?”

“Just for this case,” Roper said. “I went to Old Allan’s funeral and his sons approached me.”

“And you said yes?”

Roper shrugged.

“I’m making them pay.”

“So what are you doin’ here?”

“Two of my coworkers wanted to come here,” Roper said. “I didn’t want to make them suspicious by objecting. But I’ve been doing most of my drinking and eating in Hell’s Half Acre.”

“Any problems?”

“A few.” Roper told Short what had happened so far. The gambler listened intently until he was done.

“Sounds like not everybody accepts you as a stockyard worker,” he said. “I always said you had too much class.”

“I guess I’ll have to take some lessons when this is over,” Roper said. “Get myself some rough edges.”

“It’s hard enough shavin’ rough edges off,” Short said. “Just let me know if you need any help.”

“If things go right,” Roper said, “you won’t even be seeing me again.”

“No, no,” Short said, “when you finish your case, you and I are havin’ a good dinner together.”

“How long have you had a game here?”

“A few months,” Short said, “but it’s not only faro. I own the rights to all the gambling here, which makes me a one-third owner of the White Elephant.”

“I’m impressed,” Roper said. “Congratulations. How’s the law feel about having you in business in Fort Worth?”

“We’re workin’ on that,” Short said. “Look, I’ve got to get back to the table. I’m serious, Roper. If you need help, you only have to ask.”

“I know that, Luke,” Roper said, “and I appreciate it.”

“I’ll go out first,” Short said. “Oh, here.” He handed Roper a good cigar. “Handmade on the premises.”

“Thanks. I’ll follow in a few minutes,” Roper said.

They shook hands again and the gambler went back through the curtain. Roper waited a few minutes, then peered out past the curtain to make sure nobody would see him come out.

Once he was back on the casino floor, he went looking for his new friends, and found them right where he’d left them.

Roper waited and watched with Embry until Rickman was done with the roulette wheel.

“Ya win some, ya lose some,” Rickman said as he joined them. “You guys ready to go?”

“Ready,” Embry said.

They walked back to Mrs. Varney’s rooming house in the Half Acre.

“You guys go ahead in,” Roper said. “I’m going to smoke this before I turn in.”

He took the cigar out of his pocket.

“Where’d ya get that?” Embry asked.

“The White Elephant,” Roper said. “Seems they’re made on the premises.”

“Well,” Rickman said, “enjoy it. I’m goin’ to bed.”

“Me, too,” Embry said. “Night, Blake. See ya at work tomorrow.”

Roper bade both men good night and lit up his cigar. It was, indeed, a good one. He had it going to his satisfaction when the front door of the house opened and a figure stepped out. Roper turned to see who it was. As the figure
came down the steps, he saw that it was the young cook, Lauren.

“Hello,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, surprised to find him there. “Hello.”

“Are you just leaving now?” he asked, realizing it was an inane question. Obviously, she was leaving.

“Yes,” she said, “I had to clean the kitchen and get it set up for breakfast in the morning.”

“And you intend to walk home alone?” he asked. “At this time of night?”

“It’s all right,” she said. “I’ll be perfectly safe.”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” he said, “that you can walk through Hell’s Half Acre without fear. Is that true?”

“Yes.” She pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

“Why is that?”

She shrugged and said, “This is my home.”

“Lots of people live here,” he said. “Are they all safe?”

“I don’t know about a lot of people,” she said. “They might live here, but it’s my home. There’s a difference.”

“So then you don’t need me to be a gentleman and walk you home?”

“I don’t.”

“And if I asked you to let me, what would you say?” he asked.

“I’d say no.”

“Why?”

“Because if I let you walk me home,” she said, “I won’t be safe anymore.”

Roper drew on his cigar, let a stream of smoke go, and then nodded.

“You know,” he said, “I think I understand that.”

“Thank you, Mr. Blake. Good night.”

“See you at breakfast,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, and started off down the street.

Roper continued to smoke his cigar, watching Lauren until she faded into the darkness. He wondered what it truly was about her that made her so safe in Hell’s Half Acre. As
far as he knew, she was just a young cook, but maybe she was much more than that.

He smoked enough of the cigar to give it the proper respect, then tossed the remainder of it into the dirt and went inside to turn in.

The next morning Lauren served breakfast without ever once looking at Roper. He took the hint from her and didn’t try to speak.

Embry sat at one end of the table, Rickman at the other. There was still no conversation going on at the table while they all ate. Except for Roper and Catlin.

“Makin’ friends?” Catlin asked.

“I’ve met some fellas at work,” Roper said.

“What about these two?” Catlin asked. “Rickman and Embry?”

“Not friends, exactly,” Roper said. “Went out with them to the White Elephant last night.”

“That’s an expensive place.”

“Not my idea,” Roper said. “I won’t be goin’ back. I gotta save my money.”

Catlin nodded, speared another ham steak from the center of the table.

“What about you?” Roper asked. “Got friends in town?”

“Some acquaintances,” the lawyer said. “No friends.”

“What are you doin’ stayin’ in the Half Acre?” Roper said. “Doesn’t seem like the place a lawyer would stay.”

“This place was recommended to me as having good beds and better food. So far, I find that’s the case.”

“I agree.”

“And I can afford it,” Catlin said. “Once my practice gets up and running, I might be able to move to a nicer location. But I don’t know if I’ll get food this good.”

“Agreed again.”

“What about you?”

“Me? I don’t have a career, like you. I just drift from job to job. Right now I’m a clerk at the stockyards. Not the best of jobs, but I don’t have to wade through manure.”

“So,” Catlin said, “we’re both waiting for something better.”

“I guess that’s true.”

Roper looked around the table, saw a man—big, sloppy, beefy, mean looking—glaring at him.

“Who’s that?”

“That?” Catlin asked. “That’s Oscar. You know that peddler I told you about?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s the one we all figure gave the peddler his beating and tore up his wares.”

“Underwear.”

“Yep.”

“And what’s he glarin’ at me for?”

“Maybe because you’re talking.”

“I’m talkin’ to you,” Roper said. “You’re talkin’.”

“But he knows I’m a lawyer.”

“What’s that got to do with anythin’?”

“Well, look at him,” Catlin said. “Sooner or later he knows he’s going to need a lawyer.”

Roper grinned and said, “You’re probably right.”

*   *   *

Roper was in his room, getting ready to go to work, when there was a knock on his door. He opened it, saw Mrs. Varney standing in the hall.

“Mr. Blake.”

“Mrs. Varney,” he said. “Would you like to come in?”

She stared up at him sternly. “I don’t go into single men’s rooms.”

“I see. What can I do for you, then?”

“It’s Lauren.”

“What about her?”

“You have to leave her alone.”

“What have I done to her?” he asked.

“I see you lookin’ at her,” the woman said. “With that look.”

“What look?”

“You know,” she said. “That…
man
look.”

“I didn’t know I was doin’ that,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s what all you men say,” she replied. “You didn’t mean it. Well, I aim to see no harm comes to that girl.”

“Seems to me she’s pretty safe,” Roper said.

“As long as she doesn’t leave Hell’s Half Acre, she is,” Mrs. Varney said.

“I wonder how many people can say that,” Roper said. “That they’re safer inside the Half Acre than out.”

“Well, she can,” Mrs. Varney said, “but I also aim to make sure she’s at least as safe in my house. Do you understand me?”

“I understand, Mrs. Varney,” he said. “I understand you perfectly.”

“Good,” Mrs. Varney said. “As long as we do not have to address this matter again, you are welcome to keep your room here.”