The Reluctant Pinkerton (25 page)

She touched her face and said, “I’ll have to do my makeup again.”

“Listen to me,” he said. He went to her and took her by the shoulders. “I just want you to go back there and tell Nancy what hotel I’m in, so she can send me a message here instead of the Club.”

“And what if she sends somebody to kill you instead?” Dol asked. “What if she tells Mr. Bonner, and he sends Jessup?”

“If that happens,” he said, “I’ll be ready.”

Bonner sat at his desk, waiting. When the door opened and Jessup walked in, he said, “It’s about time!”

“I just got your message.” Jessup was a tall, rangy man with an easy way of moving that men who were comfortable with themselves had. The thing Bonner liked about him was that he was unflappable in the face of any task.

“I’ve got a job for you.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Jessup said. “What job?”

“You’ve got to get rid of a body.”

“Whose body?”

“Nancy.”

“Nancy’s dead?” Jessup asked with only mild interest. “That’s too bad. I was hoping someday she and I…oh well, who killed her?”

“I did.”

Jessup chuckled. “Couldn’t you just have fired her?”

“Shut up,” Bonner said. “She’s in her room. Get rid of her.”

“Anyplace in particular?”

“Someplace she won’t be found.”

Jessup shrugged and said, “You’re the boss.”

“That’s right,” Bonner said. “I am.” He waved. “Go. And after that, I’ll have another job for you, one that’s more up your alley.”

Jessup gave Bonner a cocky little salute and left the office.

The boss, Bonner thought. He wasn’t the boss, not yet. But he would be. Oh yes, he would be, and soon.

*   *   *

Jessup strolled through the casino and up the stairs. He entered Nancy’s room and stared down at her body. He’d thought one day he’d get her into bed, that she’d eventually stop rejecting him.

“Too bad,” he said to the dead woman. He knelt down next to her, touched the skin of her shoulder, the upper slopes of her breasts. He’d always wanted to see her naked. Maybe, since he was alone with her, just a peek…

*   *   *

Dol reentered the saloon, hoping that no one had missed her. She’d tried to fix her hair and straighten her dress, had been unable to redo her makeup, but hoped nobody would notice.

She worked her way through the crowd, avoiding the groping hands, and went up the stairs. She made her way to Nancy’s door, thought about knocking, then simply turned the doorknob and entered.

She stopped short when she saw Jessup leaning over Nancy, who was lying on the floor, bloody, with the top of her dress pulled down to her waist. Jessup’s hands were on her breasts as he turned his head and looked up at Dol.

“Hello, Dol,” he said.

*   *   *

By the next morning Roper still had not heard back from Dol on whether or not she’d delivered her message. Worried, he went down to the lobby.

“Any messages for me?” he asked the clerk.

“No, sir.”

Damn
, he thought. He never should have sent Dol back in there, but she’d been there for weeks. Maybe he just never gave her enough credit.

He took a few steps away from the front desk, trying to decide on his next move, when he saw Detectives Carradine and Cole enter the lobby.

“Just the man we’re looking for,” Carradine said.

“What can I do for you, Detectives?”

“We got some bad news for you,” Cole said.

“What’s that?”

“One of your suspects has turned up dead,” Carradine said.

“Who’s that?”

“Nancy Ransom.”

“Jesus,” Roper said, “how?”

“She was shot, and dumped where somebody thought she wouldn’t be found.”

“But somebody did,” Cole said. “A drunk stumbled over them.”

“Them?”

“Yeah,” Carradine said, “there was another gal with her. This one was strangled.”

“Who was that?”

“We don’t know,” Cole said. “Ain’t identified her yet.”

“What’s she look like?”

Carradine shrugged. “Saloon girl, kinda small. Why?”

“Take me to her,” Roper said. “I might know her.”

“Okay,” Cole said, “come on.”

*   *   *

When they removed the sheet, Roper found himself looking down at Dol Bennett. Lying on a slab, she seemed even smaller and younger, looking like a broken doll.

“Know her?” Carradine asked.

“Yeah, I know her,” Roper said. “Dorothea Bennett. She was a Pinkerton.”

“This little girl?” Cole asked. “Jeez, who sent her in there?”

“I didn’t send her in,” Roper said, “but I sent her back in.”

“What’s that mean?” Carradine asked.

Roper explained who Dol was, how she’d followed him to Fort Worth, how he’d thought she’d gone home, but instead, she’d gone undercover in the Bullshead.

“I dragged her out of there last night, but then I sent her back.”

“What for?” Carradine asked.

“To deliver a message to Nancy,” Roper said, flicking a thumb at the other body.

“Come on,” Carradine said, “let’s get out of here and talk someplace else.”

*   *   *

On the street, Carradine led the way to a small café, where they all ordered coffee, even though Roper would have preferred a strong whiskey.

“Tell us,” Carradine said.

“I shook Nancy up last night,” Roper said. “I thought I had her ready to talk, but Aaron Bonner walked in on us.”

“More scum,” Cole said.

“What did he catch you doing?” Carradine asked.

“Nothing,” Roper said, “I made it seem like I was warning Nancy to stay away from me, to keep Eddie Parker away from me.”

“You think Bonner was running her game of rolling customers?” Carradine asked.

“No,” Roper said. “He knew about it, but I think he wanted her to stop.”

“Or maybe he wanted a piece,” Cole said.

“No,” Roper said, “Bonner’s working on something bigger.”

“The stockyards thing?” Carradine asked.

“I think so. He’s got a fella named Jessup working for him.”

“Hoke Jessup,” Carradine said. “For a while he was suspected of every murder that took place in Fort Worth, but then he sorta faded from sight.”

“He’s working for Bonner.”

“That’s probably why,” Cole said. “We’ve suspected for a while that Bonner’s up to something, we just haven’t been able to pinpoint what.”

“Bonner and Jessup,” Carradine said. “We’ve never connected them.”

“But Bonner still isn’t the boss,” Roper said. “Somebody else is pulling the strings, and I thought Nancy was going to tell me.”

“And maybe Bonner thought so, too,” Carradine said. “That’s why he killed her, or had Jessup do it.”

“And your girl walked in on them,” Cole said.

“Probably,” Roper said.

“Not your fault, Roper,” Carradine said. “If she was a Pinkerton, she knew the risks.”

“She was a kid,” Roper said. “She should’ve gone home.”

“Well,” Carradine said, “we’re going to go and have a talk with Bonner, and probably Jessup.”

The two detectives stood up.

“You want to come along?” Cole asked.

“No,” Roper said, “I’m going to finish my coffee.”

They stared down at him, then shrugged and left. He obviously wanted to be alone.

Roper wasn’t sure about his next move.

He couldn’t believe Dol Bennett was dead. He could still see her in his room, with her little fists on her hips, glaring at him. He never should have sent her back in there.

The police were going to talk to Bonner and Jessup, and Roper had already talked with Eddie Parker, Louise Orton, and Nancy. With the murders of Nancy and Dol, he felt things had to be coming to a head. In fact, he himself might be next on the list.

He decided that a visit back to the Cattleman’s Club was in order. He just wasn’t sure who he was going to talk to when he got there, Kalish or Brewster.

He stood up, realized he had to pay for all the coffees as the two detectives had left no money behind. He shook his head, dropped some money onto the table, and left.

*   *   *

As he stepped down from his cab, he saw Cullen Brewster getting into a cab in front of him. He made a spur-of-the-moment decision.

“Never mind,” he told the driver, “I’m not getting out. Follow that cab.”

“Yes, sir.”

They followed the cab through the streets of Fort Worth, which, at this time of the day, were fairly busy. At one point they got stuck behind a delivery cart.

“Don’t lose him!” Roper shouted.

“Relax!” the driver called back. “I ain’t gonna lose ’im.”

And he didn’t. Eventually, Brewster’s cab pulled up in front of a brick house on a fairly affluent street.

“Stop back here,” Roper said.

His cab pulled to a stop and they watched as Brewster paid his driver and went into the house, using a key.

“What do we do, Chief?” the cab driver asked.

“Let’s just sit here awhile.”

“As long as you’re paying.”

Roper handed the driver some money and asked, “Will that hold you?”

“For a while,” the man said, putting the money in his pocket.

They sat for about ten minutes, watching the front of the house.

“Hey,” the driver said.

“What?”

“What if whoever he’s meeting was already inside?”

“If that’s the case,” Roper said, “I’m not sure he would’ve used the key.”

Five more minutes.

“Are you followin’ him to see if he’s seein’ your wife?”

“No,” Roper said, “not my wife.”

“Oh, somebody else’s.”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you go up and peek in a window?” the man asked.

“This fella knows me,” Roper said. “I wouldn’t want him to see me.”

“I could have a look,” the driver said. “I know this row
of houses. There’s a cobblestone alley in the back, lotsa windows.”

Roper hesitated, then said, “That might be a good idea, but hurry back, in case he comes out.”

“If he comes out,” the driver said, stepping down, “go ahead and take the cab. I’ll just meet you back here. My name’s James.”

“Okay, James,” Roper said. “Thanks. If I have to take your cab, I’ll double your fee.”

“That works for me,” James said.

James hurried down the street toward the building, then cut down an alley between buildings that Roper had not even spotted. After fifteen minutes no one had come out. But James the driver was coming back.

“He’s in there alone, drinking.”

“Drinking what?”

“Whiskey.”

James climbed up into his seat.

“We still waitin’?”

“We’re still waiting.”

That’s what Roper’s business was about.

*   *   *

It took forty minutes from when they first arrived, but another cab pulled up in front of the house, and a woman got out. Roper leaned forward and narrowed his eyes.

“That her?” James asked. “That your friend’s wife?”

“That’s her.”

They watched as she knocked, and then went inside.

Roper got out of the cab.

“Show me,” he said.

“Show you what?”

“Show me the window you looked through.”

James hopped down and said, “Come on.”

Brewster took the woman’s wrap, tossed it on a chair, then took her by the shoulders, turned her, and kissed her. She gave him one kiss, but when he leaned in for another, she turned and walked away.

“I’d like a cigarette,” Louise Orton said.

He took one out, lit it, and handed it to her. He watched her breathe the smoke in and out. She was an incredibly sexy woman. What she was doing with Pete Orton, he never understood.

“When is this going to be over?” she asked.

“Soon,” he said. “The investors are coming in. When they hear about the fire, that’ll be it. They’ll pull out.”

“And then?”

“And then my people come in.”

“And then what?”

“And then you leave your husband and you come with me,” Brewster said. “We’ll have more money than everyone at the Cattleman’s Club combined.”

“You keep saying that,” she said. “What about Roper?”

“What about him?” Brewster asked. “I’ll have Jessup take care of him.”

She shivered when she heard Jessup’s name.

“And Nancy?”

“Nancy’s been taken care of.”

“By Jessup?”

“What difference does it make?” Brewster said. “She’s gone.”

“And Pete?”

“He’ll be out of a job,” Brewster said.

She drew on her cigarette again, her arms folded.

“Does that bother you?”

“I’ll tell you what bothers me,” she said. “That detective.”

“Now that we know who he is, he’ll be taken care of,” Brewster said. “Just like the other one.”

“This one’s not like that other one.”

“I know,” Brewster said. “I knew there was something about him from the moment I met him.”

“Then you should have taken care of him right away.”

“Not until I was sure,” Brewster said. “You see, darling, that’s the secret of my success. I don’t move until I’m sure.”

“I wish I could be sure,” she said.

*   *   *

Roper looked in the window, watched as Brewster took Louise Orton’s wrap and kissed her, then watched as she turned away. She wasn’t happy. But Roper was.

“Okay,” he said, “you go back to your cab and wait for me.”

“Where are you goin’, boss?”

“I’m going to join the party,” Roper said.

They went back down the alley to the street.

*   *   *

When the knock came at the door, Louise’s eyes went wide.

“Who’s that?”

“I don’t know,” Brewster said. “Nobody knows we’re here.”

“Don’t answer it.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, touching the gun beneath his arm. “Just wait here.”

He walked to the front door and opened it.

“Hey,” Roper said, “invite me in.”

Brewster took only a moment to decide, then said, “Come in, Mr. Roper.”

*   *   *

Roper followed Brewster into the room where Louise Orton was waiting.

“What’s he doing here?” she demanded.

“Relax,” Brewster told her. “Mr. Roper just wants to talk, isn’t that right, Roper?”

“That’s right, Brewster,” Roper said. “Just a talk.”

“And that’s really all you can do, isn’t it?” Brewster asked. “Because you can’t prove a thing. Not legally.”