Read Online The Reluctant Pinkerton by Robert J. Randisi - Free Book Online Page B

longshoremen and stockyard worker averted their eyes, preferring not to attract the attention of the law.
    “Mr. Blake,” Reynolds said. “Mind if I join you?”
    “You’re the law,” Roper said. “You ain’t gonna harass me, are ya?”
    “That ain’t what I’m here for,” Reynolds said.
    “Yeah, okay, sit down.”
    He didn’t want to appear very comfortable talking to a lawman.
    “What’s on your mind?” Roper asked.
    “I checked at the stockyards,” the lawman said. “You ain’t applied for a job.”
    “Did I tell you I did?”
    “Yeah, you did,” Reynolds said. “That’s what you said.”
    “That ain’t what I said,” Roper replied. “I said I was lookin’ for a job and thinkin’ about the stockyards.”
    “So where have you looked?”
    Roper put his fork down and stared across the table at the lawman the way a lot of men had stared at him in the past.
    “I’m gettin’ my bearin’s, Sheriff,” he said. “You know a man’s gotta know where to drink and where to eat.”
    “This is the place you picked to eat?”
    “Closest place to the hotel,” Roper said. “How did you find me here?”
    “Like you said,” Reynolds answered, “closest place to the hotel.” He looked around. “And you fit in here.”
    The lawman had no idea what a compliment he had just played the disguised detective.
    “You mind if I finish eatin’?” Roper asked. “I got a big day ahead of me.”
    “Big day of what?”
    “Job huntin’.”
    Reynolds stood up.
    “I’m gonna be keepin’ my eye on you, Blake.”
    “Why? Because two jaspers broke into my room? How is that my fault?”
    “Just a word to the wise,” Reynolds said, and walked out.
    As the lawman cleared the door, some of the other diners turned and looked at Roper, who contrived to look as if he was talking to himself, shaking his head and going back to his breakfast.
    Most of the other diners went back to their meals, but two men seated together stood up and walked over to Roper’s table, carrying their coffee cups.
    “Mind if we join ya?” one of them asked.
    Roper looked up at the two men. They were both in their thirties, with long, lank hair and the same rangy, saw-boned build. Roper quickly figured they were brothers.
    “I don’t know you,” Roper said.
    “Well, we can take care of that,” the other one said. “I’m Stan Fixx and this is my little brother, Larry.”
    Larry, the “little” one, was actually a few inches taller than his brother.
    “We heard you tell the law you’re new in town, and lookin’ for a job,” Larry said. “We thought maybe we could help.”
    “Why would you wanna do that?”
    “Well,” Stand said, “anybody who’s on the wrong side of the sheriff is okay with us.”
    “We just wanna welcome you to town,” Larry said.
    Roper looked up at the two men then said, “Yeah, okay, have a seat.” He had expected to make contact with somebody in the saloon, not this morning in a café, but this could work.
    “So, what did you do to get on the wrong side of Sheriff Reynolds?” Stan asked.
    “Two fellas broke into my room last night,” Roper said. “They were either gonna rob me or kill me.”
    “What happened?” Larry asked.
    “I killed them.”
    “Lucky for you,” Stan said. “Any idea who they were?”
    “The sheriff recognized one of them,” Roper said, “but I didn’t get a name. Just some guy who bushwhacks men for their wallets.”
    Stan and Larry exchanged a glance.
    “Mighta been somebody we know,” Larry said.
    Roper froze with his fork halfway to his mouth and said, “Not a friend, I hope. Or somebody you work with?”
    “No, no, no,” Larry said. “Hey, we’re just a couple of guys who work in the stockyards.”
    “We heard the sheriff say you were lookin’ for a job there.”
    “Yeah, maybe.”
    “Well,” Stan said, “we could take you in there and introduce you.”
    “We got some influence.”
    “Yeah?” Roper asked. He pushed his plate away.