“We’re bound to hit something.”
“Yes, well, it would be simpler if I could just interrogate the lot of them.”
“And God have mercy on their souls,” Riot murmured.
“I’m not that bad.”
He wisely remained silent, and the two set aside business to simply walk and talk like every other courting couple in the park.
47
Proper Introductions
With a gentle cluck of his tongue, Riot signaled Jack to a stop. Horse and rider stared at a brick building. The horse snorted.
“I know. I know,” Riot said, sliding from the saddle. “May as well paint a red target on the front. It helps to know Ravenwood would’ve been struck with apoplexy.” Riot draped the reins loosely over a post. Jack was the sort of horse that resented being tied anywhere. “I’ll be back,” he said, offering Jack an apple. “If anyone comes close, give ‘em hell.”
Riot gave the horse a pat, and headed into the office. The door knocked an overhead bell, and it gave a pleasant ring.
He stepped up to the high counter and smiled. The last time he’d been there, he hadn’t paused long enough to introduce himself. No longer in rough clothes with an untrimmed beard, Riot supposed he struck quite a different image now. The girl at the counter didn’t appear to recognize him, so he played the client.
With bouncy black curls, rosy cheeks, and bright blue eyes, she didn’t look over sixteen. But Riot had a feeling she was older than she appeared.
The girl gave him a friendly smile. “Welcome to Ravenwood Agency, sir.” She eyed the holster at his hip. “Are you here for a consultation?”
Riot removed his hat, and cocked his head slightly. “I’m here to see Mr. Ravenwood,” he said, laying on an accent.
“That’s just the name of the agency, sir.”
“Is he the owner?”
“No, sir. Mr. Ravenwood founded the agency. Mr. Amsel is our Director of Operations.”
“I see. Then I reckon I’ll see that fellow.”
“Your name, sir?”
“William Kyd.”
While she consulted an appointment book, Riot rapped his knuckles against a wall. A dull thud returned. Brick or iron-plated, he decided.
“Was this part of the bar?”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Kyd?”
“This used to be a saloon. I recall there was a bar here.”
“Very likely,” she said, and smiled again. “Mr. Amsel is currently in a meeting, but other agents are available to take your particulars.”
“Are they?” Riot asked.
“Yes, sir.”
He knew she was lying. Lotario wasn’t with anyone. But she was good at it. Barely a flutter of a lash, and a smile that would make most men weak in the knees.
“I suppose it won’t matter,” he said.
“Wonderful.” She pushed a piece of paper forward. “What is the nature of your concern? You can write it down if you wish.”
Riot put an elbow on the counter and scratched his chin in thought. “Possible embezzlement. A proper crook stole my business right out from under my nose.”
“I’m sorry to hear, sir. I’ll have to ask you to surrender your firearm.”
“You can certainly ask, but I’m afraid I must decline.”
“I promise I’ll handle it with care,” she said with a flutter of lashes.
“I’m sure you will, but I’m fond of it.”
She gave a helpless shrug. “I’m afraid it’s policy.”
“I wouldn’t want it to misfire…”
“Don’t worry, I know my way around a weapon.”
He unbuckled his belt, winding it around the holster before handing it over. “I didn’t get your name, miss.”
“Daisy Reed.”
“A pleasure, Miss Reed.”
“Likewise, Mr. Kyd. I’ll see you get this back when you leave. Someone will be with you shortly.”
Riot sat down in a comfortable armchair as Daisy picked up a receiver. Somewhere in back another telephone rang.
“A client is waiting,” Daisy said. “A Mr. Kyd.” She must’ve sat down, because she disappeared from view, and lowered her voice.
Riot eyed the setup of the waiting room. A heavy oak door led to the main offices. It was reinforced and looked like it could withstand a dynamite blast. There was a gap in the ceiling above the counter. A retractable barrier of some sort? Lotario wasn’t taking any chances.
“Then surely you can see him?” Riot had excellent hearing. He could hear half the conversation Daisy was having on the interoffice line. “Yes, you. Why not?” Silence. And the line clicked.
It wasn’t long after that the door opened. A slim man in a white silk vest and a striped shirt stepped forward to offer a hand. His mustache was impressive, curled to tips, and his black hair was parted and slicked.
“Let me guess,” the man flashed equally white teeth. “You weren’t expecting a negro. My father wasn’t either. The name’s Garrett. You’ve come to the right place.”
Garrett carried himself with a lazy swagger as he gestured Riot towards a conference room. But Miss Off was heading down the hallway and stopped in her tracks. The woman gave a wolf whistle, then started cackling. The sound was in sharp contrast to her nearly respectable blouse and skirt (aside from the rat on her shoulder).
Garrett smiled smoothly. “Miss Off is always ready with a laugh and an encouraging word.” He tried to direct Riot away from the madwoman, but she had other ideas.
She showed off her missing teeth as she circled him. “Well ain’t you a looker. Never could resist a tight-assed cowboy.”
“Well thank you, ma’am,” Riot said.
“She can’t resist a compliment either,” Garrett said, giving the woman a firm look.
Miss Off reached up and gave Riot’s cheek a squeeze. Then called down the hallway. “Boss is here!”
Matthew came around the corner, froze, and stood there with mouth gaping. Garrett looked from Miss Off to Riot, eyes narrowing.
“Is everyone here?” Riot asked.
Miss Off pointed up with her middle finger. “Lazing around upstairs.”
“Best not to keep the Director of Operations waiting,” Riot said, extending a hand to Garrett. “Let me guess, you weren’t expecting a cowboy? The name is Atticus Riot.”
Garrett chuckled and shook his hand, his fingers long and his grip solid. “Surprise keeps life interesting. Good to finally meet you.”
“Likewise, and you as well, Miss Reed.” He gave her a reassuring smile, and inclined his head towards his gun.
Daisy quickly pushed the belt and holster into his hands. He draped the gear over his shoulder, and headed upstairs.
As soon as he left, Daisy planted her elbows on the counter and hid her face. “I may as well pack up my things.”
“Now why do you say that?” Garrett asked.
Daisy grimaced. “I wanted to prove I’m more than just a pretty face. This is the second time I’ve met Mr. Riot, but I didn’t recognize him from last time. He looked like a rough sailor sort. I thought he was older,” she whispered.
“Apparently not.” Garrett patted her back. “Cheer up. I didn’t recognize him either.”
“But I’m done for. You didn’t flirt with him,” Daisy hissed. “Lord, no one told me he was so… handsome.”
“At least you didn’t tell him he had a tight arse.”
The upstairs had been renovated—at least the main room, which was taken up by a pool table of all things. Lotario looked up from where he bent over the table with a pool cue. A flicker of surprise, and his fingers slipped. His shot went awry. He straightened to admire Riot, as the man walked around the room poking his head into doors.
“Are you trying to win favors with your new boss? Honestly, I don’t know if I prefer you with or without the beard. But I do prefer you in those trousers.”
Riot ignored the comment. “I’m surprised there’s not a faro table.”
“There w
asn’t room.”
Riot took a seat in a comfortable armchair. It seemed to be a requirement of Lotario’s, and in truth, it felt good to sit in something so plush after spending his nights bedding down in a stable.
“Have you seen Bel?” Lotario asked, perching on the edge of the table.
“I have.”
“Does she prefer the beard, or not?”
Riot took out his deck of cards. “Bel is doing well. I’ll tell her you asked.”
“She’ll know you’re lying.” Lotario fidgeted nervously with his pool cue for a moment. “Any progress on Dominic’s murder?”
“Nothing that stands out. A few leads, though. Bel is trying to find out what Dominic and his father argued about before he was killed. Ian Noble seems a disagreeable sort. Did Dominic ever speak of his father?”
“Not to me.” Lotario moved into a chair next to Riot, lest his voice carry. “Our relationship was more physical than emotional. What do you think of the Nymphia?”
“It’s one of the worst cow-yards I’ve come across. Considering what I’ve seen, that’s saying a lot.”
“Do they have donkeys?”
“I suspect the restaurant serves donkey meat masquerading as beef, but live animals aren’t generally allowed on the premises.”
“Well, there’s that at least,” Lotario said. “I do agree with you. It’s unprofessional, crass, and gives prostitution a bad name.” Lotario sighed. “I actually hope the Knights of Chastity and their ilk succeed in shutting it down.”
“I do, too. Not all the women are there of their own free will, but closing it down won’t fix that problem.”
Lotario gave him a sympathetic look. “It must be hard.”
“It is.”
“All those naked women—”
“Lotario,” Riot warned.
“You are in a bad mood.”
Riot gave him a flat stare. “Bel found something of interest related to the racetrack case.”
Lotario arched a brow. “Do tell.”
“When is Tim due?”
“He’s late,” Lotario said. “I’d rather get any business out of the way that has to do with the Nobles.”
“You invited the Pinkertons?”
“We discovered something, too. I thought it might be beneficial to establish a working relationship with the Pinkertons.”
Riot couldn’t disagree. That didn’t mean he was happy with it.
A few minutes later, they heard Matthew, Garrett, and Tim stomping up the stairs. Tim was muttering about his knees. The old man paused at the top to savor his victory over the staircase, then his blue eyes sharpened on Riot. He started cackling. “I’ll be damned. Just like a button. Haven’t seen that look in a while, boy.”
“The real shock would be if you ever shaved,” Riot said. “I don’t think I’ve ever laid eyes on your chin.”
“And you won’t. Shot clean off in the war.”
Riot started to surrender his seat, but Lotario hopped up and returned to his perch on the pool table. “What did Bel find at the Noble manor?”
“A betting slip in Ian Noble’s desk for a horse named Lucky Connor,” Riot said. “Along with a newspaper folded to an article about a union overseer named Lester Capp, who was later found dead in an orchard. His body burned. The case caught her eye a few weeks ago because there were two other such cases, all in different states. There was also a large payout of five thousand to the racetrack in Ian Noble’s account book.”
Lotario rushed to the top of the stairs. “Miss Off!” he yelled.
“You said not to shout!” she hollered back.
“Never mind that. Bring me Bel’s newspapers.”
“They’re all burnt.”
“I don’t care, bring what’s left. And bring the file on my desk.” Lotario turned back to the assembled agents. “I went to the racetrack with Daisy and Garrett the other day. We noticed a private bookie catering to an extremely influential set during the race. We followed the bookie, and acquired his billfold, which had several betting slips inside.”
“Did you keep them?” Riot asked.
“No, but we wrote down the numbers and names before Garrett returned the billfold.”
Tim grunted. “And I take it this bookie headed over to the track’s head of security? To report to Carson?”
“He did,” Lotario confirmed. “At least the office. I didn’t lay eyes on Carson.”
Tim gave a low whistle. “Well, ain’t that suspicious.”
“I’ve tried every form of code using the dictionary we found at Monty’s, and nothing. But newspapers could work as cipher keys just as easily,” Lotario mused.
“So that’s what Mrs. Riot was so obsessed about before the attack?” Matthew asked.
“Bel sensed a pattern, but didn’t have time to pin it down,” Riot explained. “If there’s something to this as we suspect… it will be difficult to prove.”
“They’re using the racetrack to hire men to kill? With betting slips?” Matthew looked like he didn’t believe a word of what was coming out of his own mouth.
“That’s about it,” Tim said. “Reminds me of the Molly Maguires. Damn hard to trace.”
Riot frowned as he squared his deck, then went on to explain for Matthew’s benefit. “The Molly Maguires are an Irish organization. When mining owners started trying to break up unions in an attempt to squeeze every dime out of miners who were already struggling, the Molly Maguires fought back. But they were smart about it. A Molly never carried out a hit in his own district. It was an exchange system of assassinations—you kill this fellow for me and I’ll kill that one for you.”
“A deadly game of scratch my back,” Garrett murmured.
“Nothing tied the murderer to the victim, so it was hard to pin anything on the group until a Pinkerton, James McPharlan, infiltrated the Mollys.”
Tim grunted. “Seems these rich fellows are paying, though. What with that cash you found in Monty’s mattress.”
“This Carson fellow might not even be aware what’s happening with the betting slips,” Riot said.
“We’re not precisely sure what’s going on,” Lotario reminded them. “Though it all fits nicely together. Dammit, Bel’s not even on this case and she’s practically solved it.”
“I think you’re right to get the Pinkertons involved,” Riot said. “Organized crime is a multi-headed beast. Chop off one head and another will take its place. We need to strike at the body.”
Lotario cocked his head. “Have you been reading epics featuring mythical beasts? You sound like Homer.”
“What he means, boy,” Tim grumbled. “Is that this sort of thing isn’t wrapped up in a tidy bow overnight. It’s a pile of shit. It takes some damn patience and a heap of evidence, which considering my great age, I don’t have time for.”
Riot hoped the old man wasn’t planning on dynamiting anyone. “If we spook them too soon, the main players will fold and bolt. We’ll be left with underlings. And even with a mountain of evidence, this city runs on graft, so it’s quite possible they’d be released.”
“There must be another way,” Lotario said.
“Sure there is,” Tim said. “Find a handy journal where the ringleader writes all his diabolical plans.”
“That would certainly be convenient,” Lotario said. “Barring that discovery, I’ll persuade Mr. Taft to use the time and resources of the Pinkertons. That way I don’t have to pay anyone for a prolonged assignment we weren’t hired for.”
“This isn’t about money, boy,” Tim said. “Someone wants A.J. dead.”
“A good many want me dead, Tim.”
“So this wet-behind-the-ears laze about is just gonna sit back and let the Pinkertons track this fellow down?” Tim asked.
“You’re the one who sold him your share of the agency,” Riot pointed out.
Tim scowled. “Don’t get smart with me.”
The edge of Riot’s lip raised. “It could be a woman who wants me dead.”
&n
bsp; “Grow that damn beard back. I forgot how cocksure you are without it,” Tim grumbled.
Lotario cleared his throat. “Mr. Tim, I’m aware of the gravity of the situation, and I assure you I haven’t forgotten that a group of men nearly blew up my twin. But the Pinkertons have more resources, and any evidence they produce will carry more weight in a court of law. Considering the past year, I’d rather keep us clear of the courts.”
Tim grunted in agreement. No one could argue with that logic.
“If there’s something to those betting slips, I’ll find it. But I need time to break the cipher. Meanwhile, keep Grimm at the racetrack. The Pinkertons don’t need to know we have another agent there.”
“Speaking of the Pinkertons. Before they arrive…” Riot looked to Matthew. “Have you discovered anything at the rowing club?”
“I’m not sure it’s important,” Matthew said, digging out his notebook.
“You never know.”
“The current owners of the Triton Rowing Club are Valentine Jr. and Emil Kehrlein. They founded the Triton after they were expelled from the Dolphin Club by their father. They also started the Twinkling Star Improvement Company—”
“What a dreadful name,” Lotario said in despair.
“It’s a real estate development company, which…” Matthew paused for dramatic effect “…owns the Nymphia.”
“Why were the brothers expelled?” Riot asked.
“I don’t know. I haven’t been able to find out why, but considering the atmosphere at the rowing club, I think it might have something to do with womanizing, or maybe embezzlement. They were expelled along with seven others a few decades ago.”
“Weren't Valentine and Emil recently on trial and convicted for running the Nymphia?” Riot asked.
Tim grunted. “Appealed. Got sent to Judge Cook. I wager his palm was greased something fierce. He found some minor flaw in the law and changed their sentence to a two hundred and fifty dollar fine. Pennies for those two.”
“Was Dominic friends with the Kehrleins?” Riot asked.
Beyond the Pale Page 29