by Tony Masero
The glowering figure of Allen Pinkerton studied the equally glaring Teddy Lobelia and scratched thoughtful fingers through his beard. They stared at each other across the desktop and to Kirby’s eye it was almost like a mildly distorted mirror reflecting the image of the two men.
Pinkerton was gruff, ‘You think this rascal will be useful to you? Because I sorely doubt it,’ he decided.
‘It’s not a matter of choice,’ said Belle. ‘He knows the way. We need him.’
‘Don’t I have a say in this?’ snapped Teddy. ‘You all aim to use a person against his will. That ain’t right, you know?’
‘You know Xavier Bond’s situation, is that right?’ Pinkerton asked, ignoring his whining tone.
‘I know where he is, if that’s what you’re asking. More than that I can’t say, I was just a messenger.’
‘Consorting with the enemy,’ Pinkerton growled. ‘That has to be a punishable offense.’
‘What are you saying?’ snorted Teddy. ‘The war’s over. It’s finished, I ain’t consorting with any enemy.’
‘Ah, but the stated termination for war crimes isn’t over yet, laddie,’ Pinkerton continued, getting the bit between his teeth. ‘You’re still liable for a stout prison sentence, I’d say.’
‘Now, hold on,’ blared Teddy. ‘You can’t do this to me. I’m an innocent party here, there’s no call for talk of prison sentences.’
There was little doubt that the authorities would have nothing but a passing interest in such a low level and irrelevant participant after all the years since the war, but Teddy did not know that.
‘Eight years at least, I reckon,’ said Kirby, adding fuel to the fire.
‘Probably in the Leavenworth Military Pen too. I hear that’s rough,’ Belle said.
‘That’s enough,’ pleaded Teddy. ‘I don’t warrant this. I just run messages that’s all. I ain’t some kind of war criminal.’
‘I fear a tribunal wouldn’t necessarily see it that way,’ intoned Pinkerton, who was beginning to enjoy Teddy’s discomfort and stirred the pot a little more. ‘It would be a Courts Martial offense under legislation forbidding crimes of subterfuge against the Union, might even hold the death penalty on an account of the spying involved, I dare say.’
‘What!’ roared Teddy. ‘Spying! Hanging! No!’
‘One cannot say,’ Pinkerton advised blandly. ‘There’s no telling how they would rule, There’s still a lot of ill feeling against Rebel activity and particularly against organizations such as the Knights of the Golden Circle. Why, they rub shoulders with the White Camellia and the Klan, don’t they?’
‘I ain’t no Kluxer,’ pleaded Teddy. ‘Don’t hold with all that pointy headed caped nonsense.’
‘But you took the oath of allegiance to the Circle, didn’t you?’ asked Kirby. ‘That’s just as bad.’
‘All right, all right,’ Teddy said in defeat. ‘I see where this is going. If I take you down there, I get to walk free with a pardon, is that it?’
Pinkerton sniffed, ‘It might be that something could be arranged. No promises, of course, but your efforts would be taken into consideration.’
‘Damn it! This is downright blackmail, you folks say you uphold the law, why you ain’t no more than criminals just like the rest of us.’
‘I’m glad you admit it in front of witnesses,’ said Belle.
‘Hold on, lady. I ain’t admitting anything.’
‘You just said you was a criminal, didn’t he, fellows?’
The two men nodded.
‘Sure did,’ agreed Kirby.
‘We all heard him,’ added Pinkerton, with a sly grin.
‘Hell and tarnation,’ cursed Teddy. ‘I hope you all burn in hell for this.’
Pinkerton rang a small bell on his desk and his eldest son, Robert entered from the adjoining office.
‘Yes father, you need something?’
‘Robert, my boy, will you take this rascal here, Mister Teddy Lobelia, to our guest room? I believe he will be staying with us a while.’
‘What’s this?’ protested Teddy. ‘You aiming to hold me here? I got business to attend to.’
‘Just for a while, Teddy,’ Belle explained. ‘Until we get travel arrangements sorted out. We wouldn’t want you to go astray in the meantime.’
‘This ain’t fair,’ Teddy complained as he was ushered from the room.
‘I’m still not sure this is a worthwhile exercise,’ grumbled Pinkerton, once they had left. ‘I’d rather you stayed on Jesse James’ tail.’
‘Jesse’s suffered a hard knock, Allen,’ Belle said. ‘He’ll have gone to ground for a while. We’ll have time to finish things with Bond.’
‘And you intend to do what exactly with Bond? Bring the wee fellow back for trial?’
‘That’s what I aim to do,’ Belle promised.
‘Very well,’ growled Pinkerton. ‘I’ll allow it; there’ll be enough for your travel allowance available from the accounting department. You understand one thing Belle, the real reason I permit this is so that you can discover all there is to know about these Brazilian Confederados. I want to know if they pose any real threat to our country. If there are any foreign-based revolutionaries at play and intent on doing us harm, the President will want to know about it. The whole affair is a grand opportunity for those still loyal to the South to stir up trouble, albeit from a distance.’
‘Our main aim will be Bond, Allen, and if he’s up to anything we’ll let you know.’
Although Pinkerton realistically considered it was a waste of time and money he also realized that Belle was intent on capturing the man and he was smart enough to know that it would be wise to allow his two top agents some leeway in this adventure. He needed them both and this small sidetrack would keep them happy and in his service.
‘Very well, on your way then and luck go with you.’
They had made it to the head of the stairwell when they heard the cry.
‘He’s gone!’ shouted a disheveled Robert. ‘The little beggar made a break for it.’
Pinkerton’s son was racing up the stairs towards them, his hair awry and a bruise beginning alongside his eye.
‘Teddy?’ asked Kirby.
‘Yes, the little swine jumped me. He’s on the loose,’ gasped Robert. ‘Back alley.’
Kirby was already leaping down the stairs with Belle following at a more sedate pace, her skirts hindering her.
‘Go fetch him, Kirby,’ she called. ‘I’ll follow on.’
Kirby ran on ahead, he reached the lower landing to find a clerk in the hallway on his knees picking up scattered papers.
‘Which way?’ Kirby called.
Dumbly the startled clerk indicated a side door and Kirby brushed past him and through the doorway.
Kirby found himself in a high walled side alley, the windowless buildings on either side towering above. In one direction lay an obvious dead end the other reached back to the street where he could see passing pedestrians and traffic. Kirby headed for the busy street.
He reached it to find a mass of hectic town folk pressing rapidly along each sidewalk. Heavy freight carts and wagons made their way in a streaming convoy along the center and above a passing pony and trap Kirby made out the bobbing head of Teddy Lobelia. Head down and moving fast, Teddy was ducking around passersby and running as quick as his legs would carry him along the opposite side of the road.
Behind him, Kirby heard a cry and looked around to see Belle and a few other Pinkerton agents bursting from the alley to join him in the pursuit. Kirby ran directly into the stream of carriages and under the noses of a rearing team of cart-pulling horses. The driver cursed loudly but Kirby ignored him as he swung this way and that and wove a dangerous path through the traffic.
A high-stepping taxi-carriage swerved to avoid him and jittered into a brewery cart, startling the horses. The frightened beasts veered in panic and crashed into a small two-seater surrey coming the opposite way, overturning it and tipping the occupants into
the road. The loaded beer barrels broke free of their stays and lumbered in a heavy rolling stream onto the road. In seconds the busy street turned into a pandemonium of chaos. Horses squealed and bellowing drivers hauled on reins and lashed out with whips trying to control their animals. Pedestrians ran in fright as a runaway cart mounted the sidewalk and sideswiped a grocery stall, collapsing the stacked storefront display and spilling fruit in a bouncing river across the roadway.
At the noise, Teddy glanced over his shoulder and saw the oncoming figure of Kirby bursting through the confusion and coming after him. Teddy doubled his speed, issuing a panting whine of fear as he ran. He shouldered people aside and shoved his way forcibly through the crowd, raising a reply of irate calls and shaking fists.
A woman pushing a perambulator suddenly came out from a doorway in front of Kirby, he tried to leap over the obstacle but his toe caught the edge of the pram and he tumbled, tipping the carriage as he went. The woman screamed and her child began a terrified wail as Kirby rolled across the sidewalk. He was on his feet as quickly as he was able and his searching eye raced over the crowd in front of him. Nowhere could he see Teddy’s bobbing head. There were just too many people. All of them were gawping at the accident further down the road or staring accusingly at Kirby and the spilled perambulator.
Desperately, Kirby forged on.
Ahead of him, Teddy allowed himself a grim smile as he saw Kirby fall. It was his chance and he turned quickly off the street and into another side alley. Panting, he hid a moment in a deep doorway to catch his breath. The long alley was a seedy narrow place between high risers and empty buildings and was full of forgotten detritus stinking of human and animal waste.
Teddy peeked from his hiding place in time to see Kirby race on by without giving the alley a second glance.
Chuckling with relief, Teddy stepped out ready to slide down the alley and escape away down the far end.
A lone figure exited from a deserted yard ahead and came out from between the broken planks of a fence. He stood a hundred yards away, freezing and staring at Teddy as if in surprise.
Teddy did not know the man. The figure had his hat brim pulled down low and wore a long-tailed duster with the collar pulled up around his head. Teddy pressed on, intending to push past and be on his way.
He froze in his tracks as the man before him pulled out a gun from under his duster.
‘Wait! Wait!’ Teddy bawled desperately, thinking he was about to be robbed. ‘I ain’t got nothing for you.’
Ignoring him the stranger advanced, his eyes pale and fixed. He came on staring wildly and the pistol held long-arm straight in front and aimed directly at Teddy.
Jesse James paused for only a brief moment. A sudden faint doubt trickling around the back of his brain. Was this his target? Could he be mistaken? He had only seen Pinkerton from a distance before today, but this was him, he was sure of it. Same bearded face and stocky build. It had to be him in this fancy part of town and across the road from his headquarters.
‘Damn you, Pinkerton!’ snarled Jesse, the decision made. ‘Damn you to hellfire. This is for all you’ve done to me and mine.’
Teddy had no chance to answer. Jesse pulled the trigger, firing repeatedly as he strode on.
Teddy gaped in surprise, lowering his gaze to his chest as the first bullet smacked into his breast. He looked up about to speak when he was hit again in the mouth and half his cheek and ear was blown away. Staggering backwards, Teddy received a cylinder full of bullets about his body. He died with a look of curious questioning on what was left of his face.
Jesse stared down at the fallen figure, his lips twisted into a satisfied grimace. He had never met Teddy Lobelia in the flesh as they had only communicated by mail, so it didn’t crossed his mind for a moment that this was anybody but Allen Pinkerton. He sighed in relief and spat once on what he believed was his enemy’s body, then replacing the empty gun in his holster he turned on his heel and hurried away back through the fence and the empty yard on the other side.
It was Belle and three other agents who found the body, the repeated shots directing them away from the chase in the street and into the alleyway.
The four stood over Teddy’s remains as Kirby came running up.
‘You shoot him?’ he asked.
Belle shook her head, ‘No, I thought you did.’
‘I lost him in the crowd, any of you boys do it?’ he asked the other agents.
They all shook their heads negatively.
‘Then who the hell did?’
No one had an answer.
Chapter Eleven
The two-thousand-five-hundred-ton Booth Line steamship SS Cardwell rounded Cape Frio and entered the broad harbor at Rio de Janeiro five weeks later. Belle stood at the ship’s rail and breathed the air. It was full of the humid scent of jungle. A damp and pervasive but not unpleasant odor mixed with the taint of roasting chickens and frying fish coming from the dockside houses. The whole effect was ruined by the waft of open drains that brought with it the stink of flatulence and spoke of the underlying corruption that pervaded the city. The heat didn’t help either.
‘So where do we go from here?’ asked Kirby, coming up and standing beside her.
‘Same as we always do,’ Belle answered without turning to look at him but with a soft smile playing on her lips. ‘Straight on until morning.’
‘What are you so happy about?’
Belle kept her eyes fixed on the fishing skiffs bobbing on the water as they scurried away from the turbulence raised by the ship’s screw.
‘Just great to be out and about at last, I guess.’
‘Yes,’ Kirby agreed. ‘Never did get on with all this water myself. I prefer a saddle on a four-legged pony than sitting in a metal tub that rolls around all the while.’ He stretched his arms leisurely, ‘It sure didn’t agree with you either, did it? Never knew you would get so seasick, Belle.’
‘Well, I’ve never been on a big ship sailing on the ocean before,’ she explained although there was a faraway look in her eye as she said it.
‘At least soon now we’ll be on something that don’t move under your feet all the time. You reckon that contact Pinkerton gave us will be any good?’
‘Time will tell,’ Belle answered, turning to face him full on. Her eyes widened as she took in his more than presentable suit. ‘Well, don’t you look the handsome one?’
Kirby eased the stiff collar with his forefinger. ‘Feel like a damned wooden Indian outside a cigar store,’ he grumbled. ‘This ain’t the gear for this heat, Belle.’
She snapped open a fan and waved it gently before her face, ‘I know what you mean. We’ll have to get something a little more suitable, I guess. I wonder if they have regular tailor shops in this place.’
‘Pity we lost out on Teddy Lobelia as a guide, he’d have known. Who’d you reckon did for him?’
‘Hard to say. Guess he had a lot of enemies as well as friends in that town. Fellow was a lowlife, so there’s no telling.’
‘He went down hard though. They certainly made sure of him.’
‘Six bullets will do it every time.’
‘Something funny about it though.’
‘I believe we’ll never know.’
Kirby nodded, looking down as a loud clattering below promised that the deck hands were running out the anchor chain, ‘Looks like we’re tying this boat off now. Time to go ashore.’
Rio de Janeiro’s dockland, the Cais Pharoux, was situated near the mouth of the Rio Janeiro Bay and this part of town was filled with wide streets and fine buildings, lighted by camphene lamps at night and with the houses of the rich set on pleasant avenues with macadam roads underfoot. This was no frontier town; the Portuguese had been here for over three hundred years. There was a feeling of busy splendor to the tightly packed and fine brick-built edifices surrounding the docks, where horse drawn trams and a small urban railroad with passenger cars ran down the street on tracks. Beyond that the place turned to dust and
filth.
The population was a hybrid mixture, the majority being slaves who, with the decline of the slave trade, existed on the edge of freedom, as yet still fully unrealized by the self-styled Emperor of Brazil, and they served the wealthy elite on their coffee and sugar plantations. But the cosmopolitan collection of traders who thronged the quayside were from all over, from England, America, Portugal and Germany and standing to one side stood the cautiously watchful indigenous coastal Indians, the Tupi who hovered silently and watched all. It was a busy cosmopolitan town full of trade and activity on the one hand and squalor on the other.
Beyond the city and the finery of the Emperor’s imperial palace, the Paço, stretched miles of coffee trees marking out the fazendas or coffee estates, where local owners kept court like old medieval lords and were a law unto themselves and would brook no interference from outside. Chacaras, the country houses that surrounded the city outskirts had been built on the wealth founded by the original Portuguese settlers and were laid out with lush gardens and acres of fruit trees. Fifty-two factories kept the population busy and produced everything from candles to porcelain. But over it all hovered the stench of sewage enlivened by busy clouds of mosquitoes and flocks of carrion crows that acted as natural predators on the filth that overran into the streets.
‘Senhor Kirby Langstrom?’
The gentleman who greeted them when they stepped ashore was something of a dandy, with a wide brimmed slouch hat set at a rakish angle. He wore an extravagant, waxed and sharply pointed mustache and equally pointed beard beneath his lower lip. He eyed them speculatively as he leant easily on a silver topped black cane and smoked a long black cigar whilst he waited at the head of the quayside steps.
‘I am Carlos Correio Natividade, at your service,’ he said, tossing aside the cheroot and inclining his head politely
‘Howdy, Mister Natividade. You had word of our arrival then?’ greeted Kirby taking his hand.
‘I did indeed. Senhor Pinkerton is most efficient in these matters.’