The Reluctant Pinkerton (17 page)

Roper thought that over. He didn’t know for sure who was paying Orton’s salary. He thought maybe that was something he should know, even if the man’s bosses had to be in on hiring the Pinkertons.

“I’d like that,” Roper said.

“We’ll do it right after work,” Orton said. “For now I think we’ll just wait here until these policemen are done.”

Roper looked over at Turnbull and Garcia, who were both
smoking. After fighting the fire most of the morning, a cigarette was the last thing Roper wanted.

*   *   *

They waited there until the policemen questioned all three men. When Rick John came out, Roper asked him what he had seen, but he was like Garcia. He didn’t see anything until after the fire started.

Once the three men had been questioned, Orton sent them home rather than back to work. They’d been awake a long time.

Orton and Roper reentered the office, found Carradine sitting at Orton’s desk, and Cole seated behind Roper’s.

“Did you get what you wanted?” Orton asked.

“Pretty much,” Carradine said.

“Then can I get my desk and my office back?”

“By all means.” Carradine stood up. Cole remained seated. In fact, he put his feet up on the desk. Roper walked over and stared down at him. Cole glared back.

“Can I ask why the sheriff isn’t here asking questions?” Roper asked.

“We’ve taken control of this case,” Carradine said. “There won’t be any need for you to see the sheriff.” He looked at his partner. “Come on, Cole,” Carradine said. “We better get back to the station.”

Cole looked over at his partner, then slowly put his feet down on the floor and stood up.

“You and me,” Roper said, “we ain’t gonna be buyin’ each other any Christmas presents, are we?”

Cole stared at Roper and said, “There’s somethin’ off about you, friend. I’m gonna find out what it is.”

“Just ask me, friend,” Roper said. “I got nothin’ to hide.”

“We’ll see,” Cole said.

“We’ll be in touch, Mr. Orton,” Carradine said.

Orton just nodded as the two detectives went out the door.

“That Cole’s got it in for you for some reason,” Orton said.

“I know it.”

“You don’t have a price on your head somewhere, do you, Andy?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Let’s get back to work,” the man said. “We still got a lot of damage to assess.”

When they went back outside, the two detectives were nowhere in sight.

“You think those fellas are really gone?” Orton asked.

“They may be gone,” Roper said, “but I doubt they’re done.”

At the end of the day Orton and Roper went back into the office.

“Not a good day,” Orton said, shaking his head and sitting behind his desk. “I still got some paperwork to do, but why don’t you go home and get cleaned up? Meet me back here in a couple of hours. We’ll go see my bosses, and then get some dinner somewhere.”

Roper was going to hate to miss dinner at Mrs. Varney’s, but he said, “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you then.”

When he got back to the rooming house, Mrs. Varney was setting the table for dinner.

“I hate to bother you, ma’am, but I’d like to take a bath. Would that be possible?”

She glared at him and said, “Lauren can finish up here. I’ll draw the bath for you, Mr. Blake. Will you be eating dinner with us?”

“No, ma’am,” Roper said. “I got an appointment with my boss.”

Looking unhappy, she went to draw his bath. Roper had learned that Mrs. Varney never looked happy.

*   *   *

Freshly bathed, wearing fresh clothes that didn’t smell like smoke, Roper came down the stairs and ran into both Embry and Rickman.

“Where have you fellas been?” he asked.

“We both had the day off,” Rickman said. “We been gamblin’.”

“He’s been gamblin’,” Embry said. “I was watchin’. Why?”

“You didn’t hear about the fire?”

“We heard somethin’ about a fire,” Rickman said, “but we was busy.”

“It was the stockyards that were burnin’.”

“Whoa,” Embry said. “We still got jobs?”

“It didn’t burn down, did it?” Rickman asked.

“No,” Roper said, “we fought it until the brigade got there, but we sure coulda used your help.”

“It was our day off,” Rickman said, as if that excused everything, and the two men went in to dinner.

Roper heard somebody descending the stairs behind him, looked, and saw Catlin coming down.

“Hey, how’d you make out last night?” the lawyer asked.

“It wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been,” Roper said. “We managed to fight it off until the brigade got there. I really appreciate you wakin’ me up.”

“No problem.”

“I’m glad I ran into you,” Roper said. “We had some detectives askin’ us questions about where we were last night. They might come to talk to you about wakin’ me up.”

“Don’t worry,” Catlin said, “I’ll tell them you were in bed until I woke you.”

“Thanks.”

“And if you need a lawyer for any reason,” the man went on, “let me know. I’ll give you a good friend discount.”

“I appreciate that.”

The two men shook hands and split up, Catlin to go to dinner, and Roper to go back to the stockyards.

*   *   *

When he met up with Orton at the office, his boss had also cleaned up and changed his clothes.

“You look better,” Orton said.

“And neither one of us smells like smoke,” Roper pointed out.

“Funny,” Orton said, “I can still smell it. Must be the inside of my nostrils.”

Roper knew what he meant.

“Those detectives come back?” Roper asked.

“Not that I know of,” Orton said. “They talk to that lawyer friend of yours?”

“Not yet. How about your wife?”

“I don’t know,” Orton said. “I didn’t go home, I cleaned up here. Come on, turns out we’re going to meet my bosses for dinner. On them. Not bad, eh?”

“Not bad. Where are we eatin’?” Roper asked.

“Someplace that’s supposed to have the best steaks in town,” Orton said. “The Cattleman’s Club.”

“The Cattleman’s Club?” Roper asked.

“Yeah, I know,” Orton said. “Nobody usually gets in there to eat unless they’re a member, but we’re going to be guests.”

Roper was glad he hadn’t gone in or out the front door of the Cattleman’s Club the first time he was there. Nobody was liable to recognize him, except for that kitchen worker, as well as Mr. Kalish. Hopefully, neither of them would say a word.

When they crossed out of Hell’s Half Acre, they grabbed a cab to the Cattleman’s Club. A beefy doorman opened the door of the enclosed coach for them, and they stepped out.

“Are you gentlemen members?” the doorman inquired.

“No,” Orton said.

“Then I’m afraid you can’t go inside,” the man said. He was wearing a red coat and a black top hat. “This is a private club.” Roper was impressed with the width of the man’s shoulders.

“I understand that,” Orton said. “We’re guests. We’ve been invited to dinner.”

“By whom, sir?”

“Mr. Kalish.”

Oh great
, Roper thought.

“Come with me, please.” The doorman led them to the front door, allowed them to step just inside. “Wait here, please.”

“He’s going to be surprised when they tell him to let us in,” Orton said.

Roper wondered what Orton would think if he told him they were both working for the same man.

*   *   *

The doorman returned a few minutes later and said, “Please follow me, sirs.”

He led them down a long hall, past sitting rooms Roper had seen the last time he was there.

At the end of a hall the doorman opened a door and said, “Inside, sirs. Enjoy your dinner.”

“Thank you,” Roper said.

They walked in, found a long table—much like Mrs. Varney’s, but made of much more expensive wood, rosewood with a high shine on it—with well-dressed men sitting around it. Among them was Mr. Harold Kalish.

But Kalish wasn’t sitting at the head of the table. Another man was. He was younger than Kalish, dark-haired, pale-skinned, hair perfectly cut, suit more expensive than anyone else’s. The room itself had high ceilings, dark-paneled walls, and windows covered with expensive gold-bordered brocade drapes of green and maroon.

“Welcome, Mr. Orton. Who is that you’ve got with you?” the man asked.

“Good evening, Mr. Brewster,” Orton said. “This is my assistant, Andy Blake.”

Roper looked at Kalish, who—to his credit—was making every effort not to meet his eyes. Perhaps he thought he wouldn’t be able to keep their secret if he did.

“Welcome, Mr. Blake,” Brewster said. “I’m Cullen Brewster. And starting on my right and going around the table are Mr. Harold Kalish, Mr. Adrian Arnold, Mr. Edward Halfwell, and Mr. George Mannerly.”

Halfwell and Mannerly looked to be in their eighties and barely conscious of what was going on around them. Arnold was Kalish’s age, while Brewster seemed to be the youngest of them. This had to be the brain trust of the cattle interests in Fort Worth, the men who hired the Pinkertons. And Kalish was simply his contact.

“Have a seat, gentlemen,” Brewster said, “and we’ll start dinner.”

There was a chair at the end of the table, on each side. Roper hesitated while Orton walked to the table and sat next to Kalish. Roper sat across from him, next to Edward Halfwell, who smelled vaguely of something…old.

As if by some signal, the doors opened and several waiters entered carrying trays. The room suddenly filled with delicious smells. They all sat back while the waiters served them. Kalish continued to avoid Roper’s eyes, which was fine with the detective.

Before long, they had plates full of food in front of them, one of which held a stack of steaks.

“Dig in, gents,” Brewster said.

Each man speared a steak with a fork and passed the plate on. Then they did the same with potatoes, onions, and carrots.

The waiters reentered and placed a cold mug of beer next to each man. After that a glass, which they filled with red wine. Each man had his choice to drink one or the other, or both.

Lastly, a glass of water was set before them all, and then a man—the head waiter—said to Brewster, “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“No, that’ll be all, Henry,” Brewster said. “I’ll ring if we need anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

The head waiter withdrew and the men began to eat.

“Mr. Orton—Pete…” Brewster said, “perhaps while we eat, you can fill us in on what happened last night.”

“Of course,” Orton said, and began talking.

Roper concentrated on his dinner and allowed Orton to fill the gentlemen in.

*   *   *

Orton managed to talk and devour half his steak at the same time. The other men ate and listened, with only Brewster asking an occasional question.

Roper was surprised to see the two older men eating the steak, albeit after cutting it into small pieces. They may not
have been in possession of all their faculties—or maybe they were—but he was sure they had the money to be part of this group.

“What about the police?” Brewster asked after Orton was done.

“They came this morning, two detectives from the Fort Worth Police Department. They asked questions, but I don’t know…I don’t know if they care to find out who did it.”

Roper looked around the table. Kalish kept his eyes averted. He wondered how many men seated at that table knew who he really was. It was only supposed to be Kalish, but Brewster seemed to be the man in charge. Had Kalish shared the information with him?

“Well,” Brewster said, “we’ve taken steps to ensure that we find out who’s doing it.”

“Really?” Orton asked. “Like what?”

Just at that moment Kalish looked at Roper and flushed. He looked like a guilty man about to be exposed. If Orton had been looking at him, he certainly would have caught on that something was wrong. But luckily, Orton was looking at Brewster.

“It’s not necessary that you know that,” Brewster said. “Just rest assured it’s being taken care of.”

“So what do you want me to do?” Orton asked.

“Business as usual,” Brewster said.

“We’re going to need money and supplies to rebuild the structures that burned down. And we need to do something with the cows that were killed.”

“How many head did you lose?” Adrian Arnold asked.

“About twenty.”

“Not too bad,” Kalish said.

“Could’ve been worse,” Brewster agreed. “And we want you to know we’ve had a meeting about you and we’re giving you a vote of confidence. We know none of this is your fault.”

“Thank you,” Orton said.

“Yes,” Arnold said, “your job is secure.”

Orton nodded, pushed his plate away. “I’m happy to hear that.”

“You don’t say much, do you, Mr. Blake?” Brewster commented.

Roper had finished his steak and had just been listening.

“Not my place, Mr. Brewster,” he said. “Mr. Orton’s the boss. I’m just the assistant.”

“But what do you think of all this?”

“Seems to me if you’ve taken steps to make sure these people are identified, caught, and punished, you should all just sit back and wait.”

He knew his words had special meaning to Kalish. He didn’t know if any of the others knew, or cared.

“Seems to me you’re right,” Brewster said, “but I’m thinking this better come to an end soon, or we’re going to lose some big Eastern investors.”

“Business always comes down to the investors,” Roper said.

“Andy!” Orton said sharply.

“No, no, Pete,” Brewster said. “I asked him what he thought. Yes, Mr. Blake, business does always come down to the money.” He looked at Orton. “Speaking of which, I’ll have some cash brought by your office tomorrow morning.”

“Good,” Orton said. “Thank you.”

Brewster smiled and said, “Now let’s have some coffee.”

*   *   *

After coffee, Roper felt that he and Orton were dismissed. Orton thanked his bosses for dinner, and they were shown out of the building.

“I don’t know if it was so smart, talking to the bosses like that,” Orton said outside.

“Hey,” Blake said, “they asked me.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Sorry if I embarrassed you.”

“You didn’t,” Orton said.

“Good. You better head home,” Roper said. “Your wife is probably wondering where the hell you are.”