by C. A. Asbrey
♦◊♦
The men walked back from the bar, Nat still snickering at Jake’s tales of woe at the hands of Abigail’s sister.
“You got to see her naked. Stop bleating. Lots of men would give their eye teeth for that.”
Jake scowled. “It ain’t funny. You’ve got no idea how far she pushed me. There’s only so much any man can take.”
“So, let me guess. When she took off, you let her go?”
“Of course I did. I gave my word to look after her and I did, but there was no way to chase her down without lookin’ like the kind of savage she was gonna paint me as. It was better to skedaddle and warn you. They looked like decent folks. I wasn’t gonna fight them either, especially when there was children there. There was nothin’ else for it. Besides, she’s a horse’s butt. If she didn’t leave, I was gettin’ pretty close to doin’ it.”
“So your charm didn’t work this time?”
“On her?” Jake snorted. “Women like her are the reason they don’t let women in the army. They fight too dirty.”
“And I thought you were falling in love,” chuckled Nat. “You said she was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen. You said she was warm, soft, and unique.”
“Yeah? So is cowshit. Looks ain’t everything. I can see why God gave her those looks. It’s an antidote for her personality.”
Yells and thumps from a nearby alleyway caused both men to turn and lock eyes. They knew trouble when they heard it and someone was being dragged down there—maybe for a robbery, but possibly to their doom. Whoever the victim was, they weren’t winning. There were thuds and high-pitched screams drifting toward them as they cautiously made their way to the mouth of passage.
“Is that a woman?” hissed Nat.
“Sounds like it,” Jake muttered through the darkness. “Who goes first?”
“Me,” whispered Nat. “Cover me.” He raised his weapon and fired. The explosive blast of black powder echoed against the brick walls of the alley, followed by Jake’s call.
“Stop in the name of the law!”
It was a bluff, but one which generally made opportunistic robbers head for the hills. Nat and Jake had no intention of arresting anyone.
One nod was all it took to swing into the long-established drill—they took either side of the alley, covering one another in turns as they made their way toward the scuffle.
Jake fired once more, and lights suddenly appeared at the previously dark windows. Sash windows were rammed up, and babies screamed over the people shouting from windows in a myriad of languages. The sound of running receding down the alley away from them was soon drowned out by the international babble going on above their heads.
“Hey! I just got the baby to sleep. What’s goin’ on down there?”
“Shut up yo face!”
“Stai zitto!”
“Hey, Raimundo. Shut up. You’re makin’ more noise than them lot,” called a female voice.
“No, I ain’t. That’s the baby. Go back to bed, Clara.”
An Irishman yelled from high above. “Póg mo thóin, Clara. You’re making more noise than the rest of ’em put together.”
“Póg your own thóin,” Clara bellowed back. “I know what that means. My pa was Irish. I’ll send my Bill over there.”
“If’n I was flexible enough to do that I wouldn’t need to bother with a woman,” the Irishman huffed. The window banged shut with a clatter which echoed through the alley.
More windows rattled shut, but the light cast from the windows of the disgruntled residents allowed the men to just make out a small bundle of humanity lying on the ground just behind some trashcans.
Jake holstered his weapon and strode forward. “Hey, ma’am. Are you hurt?” He reached out and felt the back of the figure struggling to rise from the ground. “Let me help you. Nat, give me a hand. Take her other arm.”
Nat put his gun away and felt around in the darkness. “Sheesh. She’s heavier than she looks.”
The figure was small but robust, and each of the men thrust their hands under a fleshy armpit and hauled the victim to their unsteady feet. The casualty stooped and grabbed at what must have been a hat as it was rammed on her head with a deep grunt. The group struggled back out to the main street where the small figure was propped against a wall.
Jake supported the wretch and stared in surprise at the ragged clothes and what looked like a pair of work boots sticking out from the bottom of a long coat which almost swept the ground. “Tell me where it hurts, ma’am.”
A hand reached up, the fingers swamped by the over-sized coat and pulled off the battered hat. A pair of bulbous eyes blinked at them from a familiar, but bloodied, face lit by the silvering moonlight.
“Nat? Jake? It’s Tibby. Remember me? I met you in Bannen when those women were murdered? Am I glad to see a pair of Pinkertons right now. Is your lovely lady colleague with you?”
Nat’s jaw dropped open. The man they’d met in Bannen had been a very natty dresser. This figure was as scruffy as any tramp they’d ever run across, but the face was undeniably the leprechaun-like journalist they’d come to know—with the addition of a bruised eye and a cut lip.
“Tibby? What the hell? Are you undercover or something?”
“Got it in one, gentlemen. The city is full of tramps this is the perfect disguise. Am I glad to see you two. Tiberius F. Dunbar owes you a great favor.” Tibby winced as his smile made his swollen lip ache. “Ow. It would appear I may have been rumbled by my quarry. The criminal fraternity don’t like investigative journalists worming their way into their midst.”
“That screamin’.” Jake’s brow creased and looked back at the alley. “I heard a woman.”
Tibby’s eyes widened and stared at them in turn. “That was me.”
“You?” Nat shook his head in disbelief and examined the little man. “You’re not even ashamed of screaming like a woman, are you?”
“Ashamed?” grinned Tibby. “I’m here and alive, aren’t I? It worked. Anyway, what’s wrong with expressing yourself? It’s what I do for a living.”
Jake glanced at his nephew. “Nope, that was a real scream. That wasn’t put on.”
“Of course it wasn’t put on. They were trying to kill me. How do you know all men don’t scream like that? How many men have you heard scream?”
“Just you, Tibby. You’re one of a kind.” Nat arched a cynical brow.
“Screamin’? Ain’t you got any shame, Tibby?” asked Jake.
“Not a jot. Well, maybe I’m ashamed of my wife at times, but that doesn’t come close to how she feels about me.”
Nat rolled his eyes. “Where are you staying? We’ll see you back to safety.”
“Staying? Nowhere. I’m in deep cover. I can’t pop back to my hotel looking like this, can I? No decent hotel would let me in. I’ve got a trunk at the railway station, but it’s miles away.” Tibby widened his eyes in an attempt to look pathetic which missed the mark and landed on reprehensible. “Can I come home with you? Just for tonight. They might still be out there waiting for me. I can’t stay out here.”
“No.” Nat folded his arms to underscore his answer. “We’re busy.”
“I’ll be quiet as a mouse. Quieter, even. Like a spider in the corner.” Tibby pushed himself away from the wall and stepped into a gait with a pronounced limp. “Please? Just one night. I’ll be fine on the floor.” His eyes widened, turning them up to watch the moon trying to fight its way unsuccessfully through heavy, dark, gathering clouds before turning the pools of simmering despair on his companions.
“No.” Jake shook his head. “We’re workin’ on somethin’. You’ll get in the way.”
“I’m working, too,” Tibby protested, “and it’s dangerous. I’m looking for Cornelius Schmitts Dewees. You remember him, don’t you? The rich boy who tried to set The Innocents up for murder because they were hurting his inheritance? I’ve heard he’s in San Francisco under a fake name.” His slightly-too-broad smile got even wider and h
is voice dropped to a theatrical whisper. “Is he what you’re working on, too? I could help.”
The men exchanged a silent conversation in a glance.
“That ankle does look real bad, Tibby,” Nat replied, scratching his chin. “I guess we can stretch to one night. Maybe Abi should have a look at it?”
“Don’t you think Abi’s got enough to worry about?” Jake muttered through gritted teeth.
“We’ll get that sorted soon.” Nat said with a smile. “Poor Tibby needs our help.”
“Abi? Miss MacKay’s here, too?” Tibby grinned. “I’ll look forward to seeing her again.”
“Yeah,” Jake murmured. “Don’t be too upset if she don’t feel the same way. She’s kinda preoccupied with a job right now.” He glanced down at the journalist leaning on him. “And you might want to rethink that limp, Tibby. It was on the other foot a minute ago.”
♦◊♦
Abigail’s eyes were so dark they were unreadable. They weren’t so lucky with the stiff, pointed body language which carried over to her brittle voice. She stared at Tibby who held his battered hat to his chest in little plump fingers as he smiled as hopefully as a battered bulldog at a butcher’s window.
“You brought who?” She folded her arms, her toe tapping in irritation. “And how about why? A journalist? Here? Now? Him?”
“We couldn’t leave him on the streets after he was attacked, Abi.” Nat’s most twinkling smile didn’t seem to be thawing out her frosty demeanor. “He’s been hurt, and people are likely to be still after him.”
“Really?” Her voice had the crispness of new snow. “He’s wanted by someone? I take it they aren’t up to their eyes in an important case?”
“Clearly not by you, Miss MacKay, but these are vicious men.” Tibby’s lips thinned into an imploring line. “Please? It’s late and I’m hurt. I’ll sleep quietly, and you won’t even know I’m here. Look at the size of me. How much trouble could I be?”
She threw up her hands in frustration and turned on her heel, stalking back into the apartment. Nat stuck a hand in the small of Tibby’s back and propelled him forward until they all stood in the center of the room. The little man looked around at the room. It had a sofa and chair in front of a fire with basic hooks for cooking. A gate-leg table was folded out in front of the window, where Abigail was busily collecting the documents together in a clear attempt to stop the journalist from finding out what she had been working on.
“Lovely place you’ve got here.” He pointed over to the door in the corner. “Does that lead to the bedrooms?”
“The bedroom. The only bedroom. There are two rooms. Here and the bedroom.” She walked over to the aperture in question, her arms full of papers. “And you’re not going anywhere near it. I claimed it as I’ve been working all day as domestic help. I’ve been the only one doing physical labor as well as investigating. You’ll have to sleep on the floor. Although you might fit on that sofa. It’s too small for anyone else.”
“Domestic work, Miss MacKay? Mr. Pinkerton not paying enough?” Tibby grinned.
Abigail smiled in spite of herself and looked the little ragged man up and down. “Better than your employer by the looks of things.”
“Touché.” Tibby laughed, pausing to wince as the movement split his lip.
A frown flickered over her face as she relented. “You’ve been hurt? Let me put these away and we’ll have a look. Could you put some water on to boil? He’ll need that cleaned. I’ll fetch some iodine.”
Jake poured steaming water into an enameled dish as she arrived back with the iodine. “So, what are you doing here, Tibby?”
“I explained to your colleagues—ow—that smarts.” His eyes squeezed closed as he grimaced against her dabbing hand. “I had word that Cornelius Schmitts Dewees is living here under a false name. I think he might be onto me, though. Jake and Nat came to my rescue. It was a very fortunate happenstance.”
Abigail darted a meaningful look at Jake and Nat. “So that was why you were attacked?”
“Well, I can never be absolutely sure.” Tibby shrugged. “A man who speaks his mind as much as I do gathers enemies as he goes. It might just have been personal. What about you? Why are you here?”
“I’m not at liberty to say, Mr. Dunbar.” Abigail smudged at the wound and stepped back. “That right eye is swelling. You’re going to have a lovely black eye in the morning.”
“Yes, and a bad back. I may just have to go back to my own appearance and regroup. I have my real clothes in my luggage at the railway station. I’ll go fetch it tomorrow.”
“Do you have a photograph of Smitty Dewees in there?” asked Nat, his glittering eyes betraying the casual tone of his voice.
“I knew it,” Tibby cried in triumph, glancing at Jake’s intense stare. “You are after Dewees.”
Nat’s cheeks dimpled. “I’m interested, but that’s not why we’re here. I’d like to know what he looks like. I could be standing beside him on the street and not know it.”
“Sure.” Tibby nodded. “It was hard to get hold of. Dewees’s father got rid of any photographs he could find apart from a few baby pictures to make him hard to find. A wealthy man can afford to cover a lot of ground, and he’s clearly intent on making it as hard for anyone to find his son as he can. If nobody knows what he looks like, they can’t arrest him.”
“So how did you get one?” asked Jake.
Tibby’s battered face split into a grin. “Theodor Dewees is an older man. He was born in 1798 and was in his fifties when Cornelius was born.”
Jake cut in. “Cornelius? That’s Smitty, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Smitty is his nickname,” answered Tibby. “Smitty’s father knows nothing about modern technology. When Henry Fox Talbot developed his calotype process for photography, it meant there was a paper negative which could produce as many copies of the picture as the photographer wanted. It replaced the old Daguerreotype plates old man Dewees was used to. They were expensive and often reused, but the paper negatives are cheaper and easy to keep, especially for rich clients who might want more copies.”
“You want to tell us what that means in plain English?” asked Jake. “You Boston folks talk funny.”
“It means old man Dewees didn’t understand that there’d be negatives of the pictures because he was used to the plates being reused.” Tibby sniggered. “He didn’t realize we could take endless copies, or he’d have destroyed those, too. It didn’t take much for me to find the photographer the rest of the family used. A few dollars later, I’ve got as many of them as I could ever need.”
A smile played over Jake’s lips. “You’re a cunnin’ old dog, ain’t you, Tibby?”
“I wouldn’t mind one of those pictures either, Tibby.” Abigail gathered up the iodine and bowl. “The agency doesn’t have one at all. I already checked. I’m sure Mr. Pinkerton would be very grateful.”
Chapter 8
“I’m getting worried about Abi.” Nat stood at the door of the restaurant staring at the busy street with pensive eyes. “She says she ate last night, but I don’t think she did. Now she’s missed breakfast. She’s worried sick.”
“Someone had to stay back to watch Bartholemew’s place in case Maddie gets back faster than we thought. We’ll take her somethin’.” Jake rolled his eyes as Tibby followed them out of the restaurant. “How much can one man eat? It’s like havin’ a goat. He inhaled that last biscuit.”
Nat chuckled. “You’re only griping because he beat you to it. He’s probably stocking up like a squirrel with nuts.”
“Nuts, huh? I guess he might be.”
Tibby beamed at them. “Well, gentlemen, I have to thank you for your hospitality. I’d better be on my way.”
“Not so fast.” Nat’s eyes narrowed. “You promised us a photograph.”
Tibby paused. “So I did. Shall I meet you with one later? I’ll be back in my normal attire and be considerably less malodorous.”
“Why meet up with us? Are you tryin’
to give us the slip?” asked Jake. “I’ll come along with you.”
“Me? Why would I do such a thing?” The hand stretching to Tibby’s chest in overplayed shock reminded Nat of a distressed matron.
“Because you only cooperate when it suits you?” Nat’s smile didn’t reach into his eyes. “We have met you before, remember.”
“As true as that may be, I could share the story of his capture by the Pinkertons if you get him first. I have no reason to disappear on you. Have I?”
“Or, you could be double-crossing us just for the sake of it? Why don’t I come with you to the railway station?” Jake asked. “I can help you get your trunk back to the hotel.”
“No need,” Tibby grinned. “I’ll get a cab. The driver can help me.”
Nat discreetly reached out and touched his uncle’s arm. “Fine. Where will you be staying? We’ll meet you there at noon.”
“I’ll be staying at the Occidental. I’ll meet you in the lobby. I’ll stand you for lunch to repay you for the breakfast.” Tibby tipped the brim of his hat. “Goodbye, gentlemen. I’ll see you later.”
They watched his little legs scuttle along the sidewalk, weaving through the public like a rusty tugboat in a busy harbor. Jake turned to his nephew with a frown. “Why did you stop me?”
“Because it wasn’t going to matter what we said, he was going to deny it. He used us for a safe place to sleep, and now he intends to give us the slip.” The men exchanged a knowing glance which lit Nat’s face with a smile. “Follow him. I’ll get back to Abi.”
“Why do I get all the worst jobs?” Jake scowled. “First, I get the wild woman of Brooklyn, and now I get the slumguzzin’ blatherskite.”
Nat gazed off down the street at the rapidly departing back taking a turn down an alley. “Yup, and he’s getting away.”
♦◊♦
It wasn’t long before Jake found him, attracting trouble as surely as a bored adolescent. A surly man was shaking a brush in his face, globules of lime wash slopping from the bristles with every swish.
“You’ve been hanging around these parts for nearly two weeks now, and that’s how long it’s been since I’ve had a single egg from my hens. You’ve been stealin’ them, ain’t you? I don’t know what the law’s thinkin’, lettin’ hobos hang around town; stealin’ and beggin’, and now I find you creepin’ down the alley at the side of my store.”